“God, forgive me your Majesty.”

Jihoon didn’t change his expression, merely waving at the general with a limp hand as he went over reports. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. You weren’t the only one to fall asleep.”

The General stretched slowly, blinking. “Sire, have you been up all night?”

“That depends. Is it morning?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yes.”

The General cleared his throat. “Sire…”

“Feel free to go get some breakfast, General, the other officers are in the mess tent.”

“Have you eaten, sire?”

“That depends. Would you call what they’re serving food?”

The General grinned a little. “Alright. Then, with your permission si-”

Jihoon waved him off.

Mingyu sighed at the King, sitting down next to him. “Well, that’s that.”

“…any word from Wonwoo?”

“We don’t really have much of a signal here at the front.”

“…get on the radio. Contact the 3018th MASH unit. Ask for Wonwoo and Vernon, if he’s there. When you get them, fetch Seungcheol.” He stood up. “I want to speak with them.”

It took a while, but finally, Vernon was on the phone.

“Vernon? It’s Woozi.”

“Hey!” The boy was surprised, but the connection was clear enough to hear him well. “What’s up?”

“How’re things at MASH?”

“Sewing up wounds, staving off death. The usual.”

“I could have you two court-marshalled for enlisting underage you know.”

“Aw, shucks, we’re just trying to help.”

“I know you are. That’s why I’m not going to fuss.” Jihoon breathed deep. “Wonwoo there?”

“Yeah, in a minute. He’s washing his face. Oh, no, wait, here he is.”

The phone audibly changed hands: Wonwoo’s voice was bright, all things considered. “Your Majesty, I’m sorry to have made you wait.” Silence passed. “He’s alright,” Wonwoo breathed. “The doctor says he’s going to pull through. He’ll be sent back to Seoul to be properly hospitalized soon.”

Jihoon let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God. Alright, get your back here.”

“Can’t I wait until he’s conscious?”

“Sorry, Wonwoo. I need you here.” Jihoon looked up and waved his corporal into the small radio room. “I want you here on the double. Vernon still there?”

“Yeah. Here.”

“Vernon?”

“Woozi?”

“I have somebody here who would like to speak to you.”

Seungcheol came out with a red, blotchy but dry face. He’d done his best to make it look like he hadn’t cried on the phone to his kid brother. He didn’t do a very good job.

Jihoon just stared at him, and Seungcheol took a deep breath. “Thank you. For letting me have that.”

“You’re not going to die. Neither is he.”

They both just looked at each other, painfully aware that others were watching. They couldn’t kiss, or hug.

Jihoon stepped forward and gave his boyfriend a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Love you, you know.”

Seungcheol snorted a laugh. “Yeah. You, too.”

“Hey. Don’t worry, alright? Vernon and Seungkwan are both going to be alright. Promise.”

Seungcheol nodded a little. “Yeah. I just… it’s hard. Not knowing.”

“Yeah.”

In three days, over 100.000 troops had been put up to the front. Thousands had come back wounded, or not come back at all. Jihoon had not yet led an attack – he was waiting for a soft spot – and the cold and blood and shoddy coffee were getting to pretty much everybody.

Jihoon’s expression was constant, austere, and mean. He held a contempt in his eyes; a hatred for war, battle, and the forces that had moved him and the men to have to be at war.

A TV crew came to film him to make a documentary about him in his war. Apparently in Seoul they were dubbing it ‘the Dark War’ because it belonged to the Dark Prince. Never mind that it was actually Jun’s war and there was nothing the barista would have liked better than to not have any war whatsoever.

Wonwoo was beside himself, trying to set up security. Having civilians in a military zone at the front in front of the King whose entire family had been murdered was not his favorite event to organize. He conducted their personal searches himself, and allowed them into the King’s tent with much chagrin.

It took them a while to set up the camera and microphones and lighting – which Woozi thought was a ridiculous addition to a war zone – and then the interviewing could begin.

“Your majesty,” the interviewer smiled brightly. “How goes the war?”

Jihoon paused a moment. Could this woman really be this stupid?

“War, madam,” he muttered through clenched teeth, “never goes well.”

“Madam,” a PR representative muttered, “you will be reminded you are not here to gather tactical intelligence, but to document the emotional state of affairs at the front.”

She coughed. “Yes, yes of course. Your Majesty, in Seoul there is much talk of you welcoming this war. That you have wanted this war for years. Is there any truth in that?”

“No, there is not.” The King did not offer any extra information.

“Then, you do not look to invade our neighbors?”

“I do not.”

“Your Majesty, you recently sent your younger siblings away to Tokyo on a diplomatic visit. Was that in order to gain Japan’s involvement as a backing for your war?”

Jihoon’s expression changed minutely: his lips retracted to show a little more teeth, and his head moved to glare a little harder. “In case you hadn’t noticed, my family was being slaughtered one by one. I did what I had to to keep my bro