Title: Loud as Lions
Genre: Slice of Life, Historical, StreetFighter!AU
Length: ~28,000 words
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: violence, (internalised) homophobia
Summary: Good men are still human.
A/N: This fic is dedicated in three parts: to the admins, to my beta, and to E.
“You’ve got a heart as loud as lions / So why let your voice be tamed?”
-Emeli Sande
“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”
-Friedrich Nietzsche
The man’s agile body slices through the air like a knife.
Kyungsoo watches with unaffected scorn, his lip curling at the display. Behind him, the crumbling shanty houses seem to ache and creak in the wind, skeletal bodies nearly cracking and burning in the sunlight. The road which the shacks lie on, clinging desperately onto the dusty surface like a lifeline, spreads out beneath Kyungsoo’s feet. It runs like a polluted river, twisting in both directions as far as the eye can see, seemingly touching the horizon, seemingly to infinity. Kyungsoo coughs, spitting into the bloody dust, eyes taking in the display as this man steps into his arena. An arena of the screams of the street, the stenches, the sights, the thick taste of poverty lying heavy on the tongue.
And here he comes, this man, into this arena that doesn’t fit him. Here he comes, with his clean clothes, polished shoes. Here he comes, as if there’s any glory to be had in this godforsaken place.
The fight is almost like a dance, an elaborate ballet as the man leaps to silent music notes hanging in the air. His movements are graceful, controlled, powerful – Kyungsoo doesn’t understand how such strength is possible when he looks as if a breeze would blow him right over – and they’re so different to what Kyungsoo knows of fighting that he wonders if the man is doing any harm at all. It’s ridiculous, really, all this grace. All this elegance, when the dust scuffs Kyungsoo’s bare, bruised feet, and the shack he used to share with two families lies hot and disintegrating at his back. A crowd is gathering, young boys baying at the violence, new mothers trying to shepherd their children safely away, old men betting on the outcome. The sky, blue and gaping, seems to swallow them all whole until the noise drops and all eyes focus on this man, so different from the dregs of society who usually live here.
Then, the man fells his opponent with a sharply aimed kick and the image is shattered. The suspended world comes rushing back to Kyungsoo through pained groans and the taste of blood on the air, in his mouth. The earth is warm and damp under his bare feet, the smell of rain lingering in the air as the heat of the day rises.
The man lands. Straightens. Brushes the non-existent dust from his clothes. Snaps his head up to meet Kyungsoo’s gaze. Smirks.
The crowd roars. Surges forward to meet the man. Kyungsoo turns away, disgust rising in him like bile as he rakes his eyes over the tall man. Raising an eyebrow, he moves to turn away when a strong hand grips his forearm, flipping him back to face the streetside arena.
“Like what you see?” The man drawls, so utterly sure of himself that Kyungsoo, bare-footed and bloody in the thick dust, wavers slightly.
Kyungsoo glances up and down the man: tall, lean, tanned. Loose-fitting clothing lies on his body, his feet in expensive-looking shoes. Toes probably pointed beneath the leather, Kyungsoo scoffs internally.
“That’s not real fighting," Kyungsoo replies belligerently, his fists automatically curling at his sides, the blood drying on his lip from his last fight.
“Excuse me?” the man replies, an eyebrow rising as his mouth falls into a smirk. Smug bastard.
“I said,” Kyungsoo repeats, a little louder and more defiantly this time, “that you’re not a real fighter. Just a dressed up aristocrat strutting about.”
The man’s lip quirks as he looks at Kyungsoo with renewed interest. “I could take you on.”
“Bring it on, pretty boy," Kyungsoo shoots back, ushering the man away from the house before aiming a solid fist at the man’s gut.
Somehow, the man ducks out of the way instantaneously, righting himself to bring a kick up and across at Kyungsoo’s stomach. Grabbing the man’s leg, Kyungsoo pulls him off balance, landing a punch on his chin. The man smirks again, nodding as if impressed, seemingly not fazed at all by Kyungsoo’s fist in his face. Around him, he hears roars from the crowd, but the sounds are disembodied in his ears. He’s sure someone is shouting his name - the crowd know him, know how he fights, and he’s popular amongst the young fighters - but he can’t make it out over the blur of his vision and the satisfying sound of fists hitting flesh. Distracted, Kyungsoo doesn’t notice the leg snaking around his ankle and tripping him to the ground.
Kyungsoo, used to falls, braces his hands out to protect his face, rolling over quickly before the man can land on top of him. He kicks his opponent squarely in the middle, winding him effectively. Jumping to his feet in one quick move, Kyungsoo moves forward and lands a punch in the same area of the man’s chest, sending him further back. Then, to finish him off, he raises his leg in a kick which never connects with its target as the tall man grabs his foot and somersaults him to the ground.
Lying coughing, winded for a brief second, Kyungsoo struggles to get to his feet as a shiny, well-made shoe pins his chest to the floor. The crowd hushes around them, shocked at how easily Kyungsoo could be brought down, but Kyungsoo pays no attention. It’s as if the other jostling humans have suddenly faded from his periphery, so all he can see is this one arrogant man, staring down at him. Looking up with seething resentment, he sees the tall man, smiling slightly, quirking his eyebrow and offering Kyungsoo a hand up.
Kyungsoo takes it, springing to his feet as he prepares to flip the man over, to--
The man twists Kyungsoo’s arm behind his back in one quick, graceful move, a smile that’s one part smug to one part apologetic appearing on his lips. “Good try.”
Kyungsoo grunts in acknowledgement, wrestling free from the man’s grasp before holding his hands up in mock surrender. He spits a mouthful of blood on the floor, staring at the man with begrudging approval. “Not bad for a pretty boy.”
The man smiles. “I would shake your hand, but I’m sure you’ll try to ground me again and I wouldn’t want to have to break any of your fingers,” he says pleasantly, as if they were discussing the weather or engaging in other pleasantries.
Kyungsoo snorts. Now, this was something new. He’d never seen such effortless control over mind, body and speech. “So kind of you, your highness,” he replies with a mocking smile and bow, knuckles aching and bare feet scabbing on the sun-baked earth beneath them.
The man smiles again. Kyungsoo blinks, a slight tremor passing through him as he clenches his fist and wills himself to calm down, wondering why that one smile disconcerts him so. “It’s General Kim to you. And you would be?”
“Do. Do Kyungsoo.”
“My latest recruit,” Kim says quietly, firmly, no tone of question in his voice.
“You’re a palace guard? A soldier?” Kyungsoo asks, barely able to conceal his disgust. Scrounging off the crown to prance around in some uniform and protect a king who deserves to be dead? Seems to suit this man down to the ground.
“Yes,” Kim replies, an assessing stare sweeping over Kyungsoo. “You can start training tomorrow at first light. I assume you know where our camp is?”
“And I assume you know that I wouldn’t be seen dead anywhere near the palace," Kyungsoo retorts, fists aching to strike Kim again. “It’s not for the likes of me. Nothing I could want comes from there.”
“Food, lodgings, protection from the crown, military training, comradeship?” Kim asks, a mocking lilt to his controlled tone. “Of course. Nothing anyone could possibly want there.”
Kyungsoo clenches his fists. “You can find another recruit.”
“Of course,” Kim replies, honesty rather than arrogance in his voice. “I just thought that you would want to show me you can do better than this. That you can be the best. I thought you could take on any challenge, and beat it. Perhaps I was wrong.”
Kyungsoo doesn’t say anything for a long moment, hatred flaring in his eyes as General Kim starts to walk away.
Stop. Stop. No aristocratic bastard is going to beat him. “Kim!” You bastard. “Kim!”
The General turns around, tilting his head to look at Kyungsoo. “Yes?”
“I’ll be there tomorrow, damn it all," Kyungsoo mutters, and Kim nods his head in assent, a tiny smile spreading across his face. He’s going to be a better soldier than this pretty boy ever could be, damn it all. Then, he’s going to enjoy the way that smug smile slides off that face when he pins Kim to the ground.
“I thought you might," Kim calls as Kyungsoo turns away from him. “Oh, and Do? That’s Sir to you.”
Waking from uncertain dreams, Kyungsoo breathes in the smell of rain on the air. It’s still cold as the first light of dawn is just starting to tinge the edges of the blackening sky.
His gut clenches on nothingness, fear stinging like shards of glass in his stomach. He doesn’t want to go, Kyungsoo realises with a jolt of surprise. His stomach growls and he pushes himself up to a sitting position in a bed he managed to barter for last night in his shelter under a thick tree. He’s used to this – the blood, the hunger, fighting to stay afloat – but he never thought he’d miss it.
No, that’s not right. It’s not that he’ll miss this life (not with that aching pang of longing, anyway). It’s difficult, though. To abandon everything he knows for… for what, exactly?
For food? Lodgings? A purpose?
For General Kim, a voice in his head supplies. To obey him like a dog. Is this what you’ve fought your whole life for? To roll over like a dog when some big man tells you to?
No. No. That’s not what this is, surely. This is survival. Common sense. A step up in the world. And damned if he’s going to obey some pumped up aristocrat like a stray.
No, he tells himself as he stands on aching legs, resolution creating a hard, thick shield around him. No. This is going to be his fight. This is going to be his victory.
The air tastes stale as Kyungsoo looks up at the palace, at metres of colourful rolling stone, unlike anything he’s seen before.
Lying about a quarter of a mile away, the training camp sprawls around the palace grounds. There are two big buildings - barracks - longer and cleaner than the ramshackle houses on the street. They’re made from some kind of stone, pebbled over and whitewashed. In front of them lies a huge square of dirt, marked by several foreign looking pieces of what Kyungsoo guesses are training equipment - a large, animal skin covered cylindrical bag, a tall wooden post, a collection of dull swords thrown carelessly into a pile. Further away, Kyungsoo can just about make out sprawling fields, the green grass drying and yellowing in the early summer heat.
He lets out a soft huff of air, a reluctant smile appearing on his lips as he eyes the other recruits, milling about aimlessly as a group of older, experienced men stand in front of them. Kyungsoo eyes them suspiciously, before catching sight of Kim and realising they must be the generals.
One of them shouts something that Kyungsoo misses entirely, but he follows suit as the recruits gather into a straight line, hands folded behind their backs. Kyungsoo follows suit, keeping his arms loose and lax as he slouches his posture. He’s not going to obey like a dog. Like these others.
The generals start a roll call, progressing through the men who respond in loud, clear voices, and Kyungsoo smirks. Such easy obedience.
“Do?” A man with kind eyes asks him. Kyungsoo immediately dislikes him, the sign of easy weakness in his soft expression causing him to tense up automatically.
“Yes,” he replies simply, shooting a disdainful look at the general, who frowns at his audacity.
“Where did we pick up someone like you, then?” A taller, meaner-looking man asks, eyeing his bare, bleeding feet and bruised face with repulsion. Kyungsoo stiffens, then relaxes. This is what he’s used to – disgust, anger, a fight. This, he can deal with.
“Kim recruited me.”
“General Kim,” another voice adds, and Kyungsoo doesn’t need to turn to know it’s him. Kim. The pretty bastard. “I thought I said that was Sir to you, Do.”
Kyungsoo says nothing, looking straight ahead to feign discipline.
Kim sighs. “Just watch him fight. You’ll see. We can iron him out.”
“Beat the insolence out of him, more like,” the tall man mutters and Kyungsoo’s expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t fear pain, and he won’t submit to it. “Show us then, Do. Kim, you’d better be right about this kid.”
Kim nods slightly, his mouth twitching up, and Kyungsoo is filled with a burst of irritation for this collected man. What does it take to make him angry, anyway?
“Hwang,” Kim begins, jerking his head towards a strongly built man who steps out of the line-up to face Kyungsoo, “meet Do.”
The other man nods shortly and bows quickly, Kyungsoo’s brows furrowing as he copies the move jerkily. Fights don’t start like this on the streets.
Kim raises an eyebrow, seemingly amused at his confusion, before stepping back one pace, his arm stretched out between them.
“One,” Kim begins counting as Kyungsoo’s fists clench and the wind picks up slightly, “two, three," Kim looks over at Kyungsoo for one quick, agonising second, and Kyungsoo’s not quite sure what that smug, amused expression is mixed with, for there’s an emotion there he can’t quite place. The line-up quietens, and Kyungsoo can feel pairs and pairs of eyes upon him as he prepares to prove himself.
“Fight.” Bring it on.
It’s easy from then. All it takes is a few quick, square blows, a well-placed kick, a dodge here and there. Hwang, while burly and strong, lacks Kyungsoo’s uncivilised, brutal strength. It’s not pretty, that’s for sure, and Kyungsoo knows that his technique must not be the most sophisticated, but it’s the most effective.
He fells the man in one hard, decisive blow, crouching over him in one quick move to pin his hands by his head. Snapping his head up, Kyungsoo counts loudly to ten, eyes fixed on the generals, ignoring the man beneath him. Then, finally, he stands up and sweeps into a deep bow, raising his eyebrow at Kim.
It’s silent for a few long moments before the recruits break into wild, feverish applause, awed at Kyungsoo’s guts. Kyungsoo says nothing, eyes sweeping along the line of generals, who hold every expression from awed to gleeful to irritated, until he reaches General Kim.
He’s bent over, Kyungsoo notes in alarm, wondering what happened until he sees that Kim is laughing. Hands clutched over his stomach, he doubles over with mirth, his eyes disappearing into curved crescents as he laughs and laughs and laughs. “I told you,” he manages to get out between peals of the most strangely appealing laughter Kyungsoo has ever heard, looking at the stuffy general in amusement. “I told you about Do.”
And then – not when he wins in front of his fellow recruits and generals, not when they applaud him like a king, not when the aching worry in his chest subsides for a glorious moment – only then, when General Kim laughs like that, does Kyungsoo finally smile.
Kyungsoo watches General Kim for the next few days. Never too long, never too closely, because the last thing he’d ever want that insufferable man to think is that Kyungsoo is any way interested in what he does. Because he’s not. Not really.
It’s just fascinating, the way Kim interacts with people. He doesn’t just talk, he engages, he asks, he jokes, he empathises. God damn it, the man almost twinkles when in conversation.
As a man who talks with his fists, Kyungsoo can’t help but be captivated. Curious. A little jealous. It all seems so simple to him, this easy man with his easy walk and easy smile and easy way of talking, and Kyungsoo is both enthralled by and resentful of this.
Kyungsoo never finds it easy: to talk, to smile, to engage with these people who are nothing like him. He wants to speak, to be verbose and charming and witty, to be effortless with his grace and his manners, but he finds the words stick in his throat.
Luckily, the men here are simple, and Kyungsoo’s legendary first day fight has served as well as any introductory speech would.
Now, when Kim calls him up to demonstrate combat in front of the other recruits, they pat his back and watch him attentively. Kim beckons him over and he prepares himself, cricking his neck and staring at his opponent, a man whose face Kyungsoo recognizes, but not his name.
He’s about to launch himself forward when suddenly, Kim stops him with a hand on his chest, the fingers spreading warmth through the thin material of Kyungsoo’s shirt.
Kim smiles at him, quirking that same irritating eyebrow, and Kyungsoo is filled with an indescribable kind of rage, or intrigue, or something else entirely that he doesn’t want, or know how to, name. From the ground, Kim picks up a long, sheathed sword, throwing it to Kyungsoo to catch.
Kyungsoo’s breath catches. He’s seen weapons before – he’s always kept a tiny, blunt dagger in his belt in case things get ugly – but never like this. Unsheathing it, he stares at the shining metal, the thick handle, the wicked sharpness of the blade. He’s never seen something so beautiful, yet the sword feels heavy in his hand, wrong somehow as he tries to wield it in the way he’s seen the other recruits do.
Kim, silent with that ever-present grin on his face, counts down, each number a jarring sound in Kyungsoo’s ears as he bows to his opponent.
The world dwindles to all that lies in Kyungsoo’s line of vision as an agonising silence falls around him. The sword is unwieldy in his hand and for once, Kyungsoo feels uneasy, his inexperience evident simply in the awkward way he holds it. It feels leaden as he swings at his opponent, who blocks each slow strike of Kyungsoo’s weapon with his own, the clash of metal breaking sharply through the humid silence.
Then, the man breaks free and slices at the air inches from Kyungsoo’s stomach.
Ducking suddenly, Kyungsoo overbalances and falls to the ground, the man’s sword kissing the air around his exposed throat.
Silence reigns, absolute deathly silence, and Kyungsoo closes his eyes as the tumultuous laughter of the other recruits washes over him like a landslide. For a few difficult moments, he can’t open his eyes, can’t look up and see the smug look on his opponent’s face, the glee on the other men’s faces, the disappointment that General Kim would wear like that slow, casual smile.
But when he does finally look up, it’s not disappointment he sees on Kim’s face. It’s subtle, delicate curiosity, as if Kim is wondering just what Kyungsoo will do next; if he’ll lie there and admit defeat, or…
Kyungsoo takes advantage of his opponent’s distraction as the idiot grins up at the other recruits to knock the blade away from his throat, jump to his feet, snaking his leg around the man’s knee and bringing him down to the dust in one fluid move.
The camp quietens as the other recruits stop laughing to stare at Kyungsoo, and only one man’s gentle chuckle can be heard. Kyungsoo doesn’t need to look up to see who it is, but all the same, he bends into an obsequious bow in Kim’s direction, catching his eye just in time to see the flash of admiration in the General’s eye.
With a small smile, Kyungsoo takes his foot off his floored opponent’s chest, walking slowly over to join the other men who feverishly pat him on the back and grin at him.
Kim is still looking at him when the next drill starts, and Kyungsoo glances up at the darkening clouds, smelling the soft rain in the air.
After that, Kyungsoo truly becomes a member of the camp. He can’t quite understand it, if he’s honest, but he doesn’t object to friendly gazes and words. At first, he felt disdain for these men who obeyed like dogs, falling at every General’s command. But after watching the drills, he saw the strength of these men, the skill.
Saw the power of the Generals, learned that here, what mattered was your ability and those with more talent than you damn well deserved your respect. He learned that obedience was the code of honour here, and these men were good. Much better than those who he fought on the dirty, bloody streets. Much better than him.
“What about General Kim, then?” Kyungsoo asks Park that afternoon, a tall, gangly soldier with little coordination but who has authority hidden in every syllable of his deep voice. Park, so impressed with Kyungsoo’s abilities, had attached himself to him after the drill, possibly in an attempt to learn how to be more like Kyungsoo. Not being used to such adoration, Kyungsoo found himself uncomfortable in Park’s company, but grateful for the companionship and information nonetheless.
“Kai? What about him?” Park asks, picking a piece of grass between his fingers and reaching it up to his lips. It produces a melodic sound as he blows on it, and Kyungsoo shuts his eyes to feel the soft summer breeze brushing at his face.
“Kai?” Kyungsoo asks, the foreign name sticking on his tongue.
Park shrugs, reclining in the long grass. “That’s what we call him. Someone heard one of the Generals calling him that, and they guessed it’s some kind of nickname he calls himself.”
“Kai," Kyungsoo says, testing the weight of the syllable on his tongue. Somehow it doesn’t seem to fit Kim, at least as Kyungsoo knows him. “Where did he get the name? Where did he come from?”
Park shrugs again, closing his eyes as he lolls in the grass. “No one really knows. He’s been in this regiment for years, that’s for sure. I’m not sure exactly how long, but some say that his father was a soldier here and he was born in this camp. Some also say he lived far away across the country and travelled here and there, building his skills until the king heard of him and summoned him here. He never mentions anything personal. Never has any visitors. Never leaves the camp. Fighting’s in his blood, that’s for sure.”
“Yes," Kyungsoo replies, thinking of the way Kai fights, all elegant lines and leashed power. “That’s for sure. And is he always…does he ever get angry?”
Park opens one eye to look at Kyungsoo. “Not as you’d expect it. Sure, he’s terrifying – there was this recruit who was caught stealing and I swear Kai’s voice could cut through bare skin – but he never gets in a rage. He never shouts, he never tries to hurt anyone. He never loses control.” Park shivers. “But somehow…it’s worse, the way he does it. So cold. So disappointed. So chilling. I’d take a hundred lashes over a dressing-down from Kim Kai.”
Kyungsoo doesn’t say anything as he repeats the General’s name over and over in his head. Kai. Kai. Kai. Like an incomplete heartbeat, it stutters: disjointed, incomplete, wrong.
The sky darkens as the recruits bed down, but Kyungsoo’s evening is just beginning. Carefully, so as to not wake Park who is snoring next to him, Kyungsoo tiptoes out of the dorm and out into the night.
High humidity makes the evening airless, Kyungsoo struggling to breathe as he trudges out to the training square. The last of the summer light lingers in the sky, illuminating the dark ground. It’d be so easy to give up now, so easy to turn back and dive into his bed, sleeping his aches away. But Kyungsoo’s not used to easy, and there’s no way he’ll let himself be so vulnerable again. He’s seen vulnerability, seen the moment where a fight changes and one man can’t defend the skin on his own back. He’s seen it and he can’t afford to let this vulnerability corrupt him. Kyungsoo’s always been strong, powerful, independent. Damned if he’s going to let a lump of metal beat him. Damned if he’s going to let Kai think he’s a weakling.
Pulling the sword he had hidden under his bed out of its sheath, Kyungsoo watches the gleam of the blade in the night’s half-light. Then, with determination, he spreads his weight, grips the handle of the sword and tries to follow the drill moves Kai taught them that morning.
He needs to work on his speed and get used to the weight of the sword in his hand, he thinks as he strikes the air this way and that, trying the feints and dodges Kai had outlined earlier.
Speeding up, he completes the full drill five times before sinking to the ground, exhausted. He hears a noise behind him and starts quickly, turning to see nothing except a discarded tunic blowing in the breeze.
Shaking off the feeling that he’s being watched, Kyungsoo heaves a deep breath, grounds himself, and starts again. The light’s starting to fade from the sky and he wants to complete the drill at least another three times before morning.
At first, it doesn’t help. For the first few nights spent in exhausted agony, drilling the moves again and again and again until he drops, his performance doesn’t improve in the day.
On day one, he’s thrown to the ground in one blow. On day two, three, and four, it’s the same.
Day five, after four nights of strenuous self-training, sees him withstanding two attacks from his opponent before he falls.
It’s not until day nine, though, after eight solid days and nights of hard training, that he manages to ground his opponent.
When it happens, it’s not with a fanfare, but with a heat-of-the-moment move, an elbow into his opponent’s shoulder partnered with a quick flick of the sword to his gut which sends him sprawling as Kyungsoo follows through to stand over him with the sword hovering above his chest.
There’s silence, then a roar of applause from the men watching.
Kyungsoo smiles and smiles and smiles, but it isn’t until later, when Kai finds him, pride shining in his eyes, reaching out his hand for Kyungsoo to shake, that Kyungsoo truly feels like a king.
“All that practice paid off, huh?” Kai whispers to him with a wink, smiling stupidly. Kyungsoo’s shock must be obvious on his face, because Kai just laughs. “Do you really think I wouldn’t keep tabs on one of my best recruits, Do?”
Something warm blooms in Kyungsoo’s chest, singing at this praise. One of my best recruits. One of my best recruits. He shakes his head. This is not like him.
“I could help you," Kai continues, looking at Kyungsoo a little too intently for him to feel entirely comfortable. “Train at night. You’d train better with a partner, you know.”
I don’t need you I don’t need you I don’t need your help I don’t need anyone’s help. Kyungsoo’s fists clench as he tries a weak smile, nodding quickly before looking away quickly, determined not to see Kai’s face. Do Kyungsoo does not ask for help. Ever.
Risking a look back at the General, Kyungsoo sees the warm, genuine smile painted over his face, his stomach lurching in response. His eyes wander down to Kai’s collarbones, shining with sweat above his training shirt, before he looks away with a jolt, swallowing painfully.
Kyungsoo shivers. This isn’t right, he knows first-hand. He remembers his mother’s stricken face, the teasing of the boys on his street. Boys don’t like other boys like that. Boys don’t look at other boys like that. Boys don’t smile at other boys like that. They shouldn’t. Freak. Freak. He’d thought it was over. He’d thought he’d stopped thinking like this, feeling like this. Hadn’t all the fighting cured him? Hadn’t it beaten any sense into him? Kyungsoo stops, turning away sharply from Kai, filling his mind with the prettiest girl in the village. With her bouncing, shining hair as she skipped through the street. With her smile, her slender, graceful body. With the way the men looked at her.
It doesn’t help. It never used to, but Kyungsoo’s always used her as a talisman, as if her beauty could chase away all this unwanted emotion. He watches her walk away from him in his mind’s eye, small head turning to smile at him as her face morphs into Kai’s for a flash so quick he can almost tell himself it doesn’t happen. It can’t have happened. He shakes himself violently. No. No.
What is it about this man? What is it?
Kyungsoo’s stomach knots itself together as he waits to meet Kai. He doesn’t understand why – after all, he sees this man every day – but somehow it’s different.
New. Scary.
He arrives at the training square, kicking his feet in the dust as he waits for Kim to arrive. The sword, shining in the soft light, feels leaden in his hand as the air, thick with rain, swirls around him.
“Do," Kyungsoo hears, whirling around to see Kai approaching him. Maybe there’s fear etched into the lines of Kyungsoo’s face, because Kai immediately softens.
“Kyungsoo,” he says quietly, and Kyungsoo’s skin prickles at the way the two soft syllables lie on Kai’s tongue.
“S-sir," Kyungsoo replies, closing his eyes as his toes curl in embarrassment. He’s Do Kyungsoo, for god’s sake. He’s won more fights than anyone he knows in the Seoul area. He has a reputation for ruthlessness. What is it about this man that changes him so?
Kai smiles slowly, easily, and Kyungsoo hates that he’s in control, always so in control. “You’re a good fighter, Do. Your bare-knuckle skills are unrivalled at this camp, and your swordplay has greatly improved. What you need to work on are technique, agility, and outplaying your opponent.”
Kyungsoo frowns. What right does this arrogant ass have to outline his flaws in such a matter-of-fact tone?
Kai laughs the way he always does and gestures Kyungsoo over. “I’ll show you.”
Unsheathing their swords, they bow to each other, as Jongin holds up three fingers, then two, then one.
Kyungsoo lunges for Kai’s chest, swinging his sword at speed, but Kai blocks him easily, pushing him back with the power of his parry.
“Obvious, Do," Kai explains as he easily blocks each of Kyungsoo’s strikes. “Your eyes always dart to where you’ll attack next seconds before you do so, so I’m always ready. What’s more, you follow a pattern similar to the one I showed you in a drill. You can’t be so predictable.”
Kyungsoo growls, jerking his sword suddenly to Kai’s neck, who nods back at him approvingly as he easily flicks Kyungsoo away.
“Better," he supplies, a smile cresting his lips. “But if your opponent’s as quick as me, they’ll still be able to block you like I did. Try something completely unexpected.”
Kyungsoo glares at him, suddenly stepping closer and curling a leg around Kai’s ankle to bring him down as his blade slices the air mere inches from the General’s neck. The man goes crashing to the ground, and Kyungsoo savours the surprise in his eyes for three glorious seconds before Kai curls his own leg up and brings Kyungsoo’s crashing down over him as he rolls to the side and on top of Kyungsoo, pinning him down by the wrists.
“Nice try, Do," Kai whispers, a smirk that goes right through Kyungsoo appearing on his face. “I was surprised for a split second, but you didn’t finish the job properly. Remember to fully immobilise your opponent to win the fight.”
“Like this?” Kyungsoo breathes out suddenly, his voice not sounding like his own as his heart hammers through his chest and he wonders how Kai can be so much more attractive up close. The village girl flits desperately through his head, but he can’t focus on her face with Kai in such close proximity.
“Like this," Kai replies quietly, musingly, looking at Kyungsoo with confusion and wonder and something else that Kyungsoo’s seen in his eyes before but can’t quite pinpoint.
Suddenly winded, breathless, helpless, Kyungsoo pushes up at Kai, who rolls off him and to the side. For a few quiet moments they lie next to each other, breathing heavily and feeling the humid weight of the summer air press upon them.
“Not bad for a pretty boy, Kai," Kyungsoo mutters before he can help himself, covering his mouth straight after. “God, I mean Kim, General Kim, S-sir.”
Kai says nothing and Kyungsoo is terrified as he looks at him that the cold, biting anger Park had told him about would be fixed on his face. Instead, Kai, the great General, is doubled over in gales of silent laughter. His laugh is soft, and Kyungsoo’s heart swells in admiration for a man who can make light of any situation. Kai’s happiness is somehow infectious, irrepressible, and Kyungsoo realises he’s never met anyone else quite like that.
“The recruits told you about my nickname, then," Kai finally says when his laughter
has subsided, looking at Kyungsoo with interest.
“Yes," Kyungsoo replies, wanting to ask so much, wanting to know so much, terrified of this want building within him. He pauses, and then his voice becomes quieter, more thoughtful. He doesn’t usually speak like this, wouldn’t open himself up to anyone, but Kai’s quiet wisdom invites confidence, and Kyungsoo’s words just spill from him like water-drops. “They like me now.”
“Now?” Kai asks, sitting up and turning to look at him.
Kyungsoo sits up too, but doesn’t look at Kai. Somehow it feels too much, too intimate, so Kyungsoo stares at the moon instead as it appears from behind a cloud.
“They didn’t at first, I don’t think. They admired me, but they didn’t like me. I don’t know what changed.”
Kai is silent for a few moments, and Kyungsoo wonders if he’s gone too far. Kai would never be interested in the personal life of a low recruit. A street rat at that.
“They saw you fail," Kai finally says softly, as if he’s just talking to himself, and Kyungsoo’s head jerks up as his eyes stray briefly to the prominent Adam’s apple lying on Kai’s golden throat. Again, Kyungsoo jerks his eyes away, focusing intently on a patch of drying grass beneath him. “They saw you weren’t perfect, but that you would damn well try your best to be. They saw you get up again, and fight through the difficulty, and conquer your demons," Kai pauses again, looking at Kyungsoo, really looking at him so Kyungsoo just can’t look away. “For men who are fighting for someone they don’t know, against someone they can’t quite hate, that kind of determination shows that maybe, just maybe, there’s something to fight for.”
Kyungsoo doesn’t say anything – he’s not sure if he’s able to at this moment – but he just stares at Kai, trying to form a smile in his eyes that just can’t appear on his lips.
Kai looks at him one more time, smiling as if he would only smile for Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo’s heart stutters over a beat. “You remind me of that too. Every day. You remind me that if we’re fighting for ourselves, fighting for each other, maybe it doesn’t matter which king we need to honour and which king we need to hate. Maybe it only matters that we can fight to survive.”
A light drizzle starts to fall as Kai stands up, reaching his hand out for Kyungsoo to take.
Thank you is all Kyungsoo can think as he lets Kai pull him up, as he tries a tentative smile. He can’t quite say it, though, and he hopes Kai realizes that as a warm, comfortable silence falls between them and the moon falls behind a cloud, darkening their walk back to the camp.
|
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaisooficrec
