Their swords clash. It is loud, fierce. It rings and reverberates through the air. Around them, the courtyard is silent. This close, Hwarang can see the flecks of colour in his prince’s eyes. Can see the way the light hits them, making them look green and brown in turns. He can count his prince’s eyelashes if he so wishes.
Eden’s breaths are the loudest things he can hear. Beyond that is the rushing of the blood in his veins at the exercise and the pounding of his heart as he realises he is still just staring at his prince. Hwarang moves his wrist to disengage their blades and slips back into their fight, carefully boxing thoughts of the warmth of Eden’s body away and placing them on a mental shelf.
It is just the fight, he tells himself. It is the proximity of their spar, and the way Eden’s talents at dance translate into a fluidity of movement on the field. It is just the fight.
(It is not. It is the way Hwarang has seen Eden laugh with abandon just once, and aches to be the reason he does it again. It is the way Eden’s eyes go warm when they settle on Hwarang, his tone just a shade too soft to be anything but friendly. It is the way Hwarang’s pulse has started to race when he catches sight of Eden, the way he has noticed Eden would fit perfectly in his arms.
It is a long list of many small things Hwarang had not realised he was putting together until the painting is complete, and he thinks oh.
This has always been where he was headed.)
a snippet from The Prince & The Bodyguard, a writing commission I did for @spadenoace (also posted on Ko-fi).
You can find my commissions list both on Ko-fi and here.
