ALEA IACTA EST | MINSUNG ✔️

6. Pretty

pretty /pri-tē/
attractive in a delicate way

-⎽__⎽--⎻⎺⎺⎻- ⚓︎⎽__⎽--⎻⎺⎺⎻-

Han Jisung walked right into the cell this time, not even warning the pirate of his entrance. Minho was asleep, stretched out on the cot with his eyes closed.

"Captain," the guard walked closer, prodding at the pirate's shoulder, "It's noon, you need to wake up."

Minho's eye popped open, his entire body tensing, before he sprang up and grabbed the guard. They tumbled in midair for a second— Han's eyes wide open and surprised, Minho's gaze narrowed and focused— before they fell unto the bed, Han lying flat down with Minho pinning him down, thighs on his hips and arms on his shoulders.

"Minho," the guard whispered, his mask still obscuring most of his face. "It's Han."

The pirate stayed stoic, no emotion baring over his face nor stiff muscles that pressed the guard into the cot. But when Han whispered his name one more time, recognition flashed upon Minho's exhausted face, before his expression turned into one of horror and he leaped off the guard. He strode backwards until his back collided with the rough stone of the wall, the farthest of the distance he could get between them.

Minho looked up, anguished eyes pointing straight at the guard, "Fuck, I'm so sorry. My instincts kicked in, I didn't know it was you—"

"Minho!" Han stood up hastily, crossing the room in a few steps and stopping right in front of the captain, closer than he'd ever been before. "It's okay, I promise. It's my fault, I didn't think things through."

But Minho shook his head, pressing himself further into the wall, "No, don't make excuses, I shouldn't have attacked you—"

"Minho, stop!" Jisung's hands were on his shoulders, holding them firmly. "Calm down. It was my error, I've been trained to not do what I just did. Stop apologizing, you were asleep."

Minho slumped backwards, stumbling until he sat down harshly on to the cot. He crossed his legs, burying his face into his palms.

"Minho, look at me." Jisung moved in front of him again, crouching on the dirty floor. "Please."

The soft call of "please" had Minho raising his head from the bed of his palms, finally looking down at the guard.

"Ah, finally," the guard sighed, "Stop apologizing, it's not your fault. I've been instructed to never touch a prisoner in their sleep because of the knee-jerk reactions most of them have, so it was completely my bad."

"What would I do during my last days without your insistent nagging?" Minho wondered.

"You couldn't have killed me. I think you forget that I trained for three years and am always armed."

"Well, shit," Minho leaned backwards, unfurling his legs, "Guess I would have a better death then. Get killed without an audience clapping, and I get to see your pretty face before I go."

"Men aren't pretty, Sir," Jisung stated, eyes on his coat as he unbuttoned the fabric once more, grappling with the obscure fastenings. Minho had come in contact with soldier's coats before, and he could attest that the buttons were unnecessarily complicated to undo.

"Men are certainly pretty. We already talked about this, all genders can be pretty. Come on, you think I'm pretty, don't you, little guard? I want a truthful answer this time."

Jisung hung up his coat on the cell bars, arms exposed by the sleeveless white shirt he had underneath. Then he stared at Minho, running his eyes up and down Minho's frame. The captain slightly regretted asking Jisung that, not when he looked like shit, bedraggled and skinny. He wished the guard had seen him a couple months ago: shining gold piercings littering his ears and bottom lip, auburn hair tousled from the salty breeze, and body toned under loose shirts from hours fighting and swimming.