ALEA IACTA EST | MINSUNG ✔️

8. Duel

dü-əl /duel/
a combat between two persons

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Jisung sauntered into the cell unannounced that morning.

Minho glanced up when the guard made his way in, "Is this your temporary home now? Do you even sleep in the bunkers, or do you spend all of your time with me?"

"It's my job to be here. I literally get paid to watch over you and others."

"You care for others?"

"Of course? I thought you knew, I don't spend the whole day with you for a reason."

"I didn't think of that," Minho looked away.

Jisung actually laughed. "Are you jealous that I'm caring for other men?"

"No." Minho changed the topic quickly. "Though if you're such a high-ranking soldier, why are you tasked with caring after lowly prisoners?"

The guard's smile fell instantly. "Because I'm not fit to fight in a battle."

"I thought you won a bunch of awards in fighting."

"I did," Jisung sighed, "When I could still fight fully."

"What do you mean?" Minho had an idea, based off his personal experience, but he couldn't be sure.

"It's better if I show you," he removed the jacket again. It seemed like this was part of their routine, with Jisung entering the cell and carefully unfastening the buttons of his jacket, the expensive covering abandoned on a rusty bar.

But this time, his fingers moved quickly to his shirt, and unbuttoned the brown buttons there, the starched white lapels falling away from his collarbones.

Minho looked away, focusing on a large notch in the wall. It didn't seem right to look at Jisung, as much as he wanted to.

"Minho," the guard called, the rustling of his starched shirt accompanying his words. "You can look at me, although I appreciate you giving me privacy."

Slowly, the captain looked at Jisung.

His shirt wasn't off completely. Instead, it had five buttons loosened, the shirt still fastened on his stomach.

But the smooth planes of his obviously built chest distracted Minho heavily. Almost enough for him to oversee the clean line cutting through one of his pectorals, glowing a darker pink against the tan skin of his chest.

Hours of staring at his own made Minho instantly know what that mark was. A scar, and a painful looking one at that.

Jisung explained before the captain could ask, "I got the scar around a year and a half ago, when I was twenty-three. I had been advancing through the ranks at a pace abnormally fast, and my ego was inflated terribly because of that. Anyway, I got sent to a minor battle with a clashing kingdom, and I was one of the leading soldiers. For almost the full battle, it was fine— I cut through their ranks, each slash of my sword building my confidence. But then," his voice quieted, "Just when I thought I was invincible, a sword stabbed through my chest."

He slid down the white fabric off his shoulder, exposing the line arching from his collarbone to a few inches above his sternum. "Looking back on it, I think I had it coming. No one with that high of an ego thrives long. Even though I kept my rank, the instant demotion from a top soldier to caring for lowly prisoners of war absolutely destroyed me, but it did keep my ego in check. I'm mostly healed now, but I don't think I'll ever be able to leave the dungeons. That's why, originally at least, I spent so much time with you because your danger proved my worth."