- [COMPLETED]
he looks up, first at the vast cerulean sky, then at the person standing in the distance waving him over, and hardly believes that this is real.
"i'm waiting, hongjoong," seonghwa calls out, his smile blinding. "i'm here."
so hongjoong...
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***
Seonghwa winces at the commotion in the courtyard. The sun is bright against the cobalt blue sky, its circular beam shining down on the glinting armour and the sharp, iron swords that mercilessly clash with each other. The sound's loud and grating, along with the shouts of victory Suho hollers anytime he brings a new swordsman down to his knees.
Another one of the metal men attacks, purposeful and precise with the swift blow of his sword, but Suho blocks his hit as soon as he attempts this, muscles bulging under his chainmail as he rips off the man's weapon and presses his into his breastplate. Suho does the same with the next two attackers, even managing to smack off the latter's gauntlets to the stony ground. It makes noise, just like everything else.
"Good game, men," Suho greets the rest of the knights. His wet, raven hair sticks to most of his face, yet it doesn't hide the proud, cocky smirk growing over his features. To be able to fight off a lot of the knights at just sixteen years of age is certainly something to brag about, at least to him.
He turns, shifting his fingers down his hair as he takes in Shinhye's and Seonghwa's forms on the benches. "Did you two see that?"
Shinhye rolls her eyes, not too fond of her brother's antics even after thirteen years of enduring him. "Hurry up," she says, patting the hilt of her violet dress which hides a weapon of its own. "I need to attend dagger practice within five minutes, so please, dear brother, step off."
Suho pays her little mind, his attentive eyes falling on the youngest of them. Instinctively, Seonghwa tenses up, because even when he's currently doing nothing wrong the older boy seems to just be able read him like a scroll.
"Were you watching?" Suho eventually questions. "You need to be able to pick up some moves by now."
"He's only six," Shinhye rushes to Seonghwa's defense, something that comes once in a blue moon, even.
"This is what Father wants," Suho reasons, flipping around the glimmering sword in his hand at first before passing it to the boy responsible for gathering the practice weapons. "Seonghwa will have to begin sword fighting eventually."
Which isn't something Seonghwa's looking forward to in the slightest.
He hates the atmosphere, hates all the screaming and the sweat and detests how eager the men are to one-up each other even if it costs them their survival. The swords are too long -- too sharp -- and they reflect off the sweltering sunlight in the harshest of ways. Seonghwa can barely even look at them; why would he want to learn how to fight with them when he'd much rather read Hongjoong a story as the younger nods off, or share bean cakes at the back of the cottage as the starry twilight commences, drenching the trees in darkness?
"Are you okay?" Shinhye asks beside him. She's already on her feet, dagger in hand. The metal's adorned with blood-red crystals. They make him think of the fanged monsters Hongjoong dreams about at times, ones that disintegrate in number once Seonghwa reads to him just hours before he goes to sleep.
