"Take up your swords and partner up," Lord Wiwha said, crossing his hands behind his back as he stepped out of the pitch. 

Like usual, for him, Kibum searched for Minho among the fellow hwarangs, meeting his gaze with an upturned eyebrow. Minho looked away with a smirk, which was more than enough of an answer for him. Kibum untied the strip of leather from around his wrist and stepped around the others, heading to the far back corner of the pitch. He gathered his hair up in a messy top knot, tying it off with the leather, and turned to watch Minho cross the pitch with two swords. 

Once he reached him, he passed Kibum his sword. "Hair up? Really?" he asked, smiling cheekily as he twirled his sword at his side. 

"I can't help it that you like to pull it when we spar." 

The clanging of metal on metal filled the air, and Kibum glanced around at the other pairs who had already begun. "That was one time. ing years ago. And you said you forgave me, so…" 

Kibum rolled his eyes and tapped the flat of his blade against his thigh before he lifted it, sliding it against Minho's blade. He grinned when Minho scowled -- he hated that sound -- and readied himself for Minho's first attack. 

This was something they have done since they were very little with sticks they found in the forest behind their homes instead of swords. Kibum rarely won, as Minho was used to brawling with his older brother, but the few times he had, he lorded them over Minho, reveling in his exasperation. 

He hoped that today he would get to see that again, but when Minho parried his defense, he began to doubt a bit. Still, maybe he should try to take this training more seriously. He probably would if he were paired with one of the other hwarangs, but since it was Minho, he didn't really -- 

"Hey!" he exclaimed when his sword fell to the ground. 

He glared at Minho, who widened his eyes a little and then, through gritted teeth, said, "Come on, Bummie, we don't want to get a mark against us again, do we?" 

To be honest that was the fault of the fates for putting them in the same room. At least he wasn't stuck in the same room as his brother, too. Kibum looked across the pitch, finding Jonghyun sparring with his roommate, Lee Jinki. Sighing, he bent over to pick up his sword. "Fine." 

Minho tapped his blade against Kibum's, his eyebrows arching. "If you best me, I'll give you my portion of the meat at dinner tonight." 

Kibum, who had been about to strike, lowered his sword a fraction. "Are you serious?" Minho's eyes twinkled as he nodded. "What do you get if you win?" 

"I win every time. It's not special for me anymore." 

Kibum's eyes narrowed as Minho grinned cheekily and blocked the first of Kibum's attacks. Each one was blocked or parried, though not always with ease -- much to Kibum’s satisfaction -- and the duel lasted longer than any of the others they had had. Sweat beaded on his face and neck, dampening his hairline and soaking into the collar of his hanbok. Still, he persisted and still, Minho deflected him, until…

With a deft twist of his wrist, Kibum evaded Minho’s blade and pressed the dull edge of his sword into Minho’s neck. They stood, frozen, their eyes holding the other’s gaze as they caught their breath. Minho was the first to look away, his gaze trailing down his face and focusing on his lips for the span of several rapid heartbeats before meeting Kibum’s eyes once more. Kibum’s gaze flicked down to Minho’s lips as well, but only for a second. He his own, gulped, and took a step back, lowering his sword from the side of Minho’s neck. 

“Good, um, good job…” Minho said through labored breath.

“You too.” 

Once the others were finished with their duels, they all returned their swords to the armory. They stood an awkward distance apart as they followed the rest of the Hwarang back to their rooms. They had two hours to clean themselves after the exertion of dueling and to rest before their history lesson with Lord Wihwa. When it came time for their room’s turn to shower, Kibum tried to stop his eyes from wandering over to where Minho was, his back to the rest of them while he cleansed himself, but ultimately, he failed. In the classroom, Minho was silent throughout, his usual quips under his breath to Kibum non-existent. At dinner, Minho wordlessly gave Kibum his bowl of meat as he sat down beside him, albeit a little further away than Kibum was used to.

“Are you upset with me?” 

“No,” was Minho’s immediate reply. 

He had been strangely quiet all day, even until lights out. He was already tucked into bed before Kibum could ask him what was bothering him. 

Kibum couldn’t help but wonder why, and, with his thoughts so focused on Minho, he visited him in his dreams. They were back in the sparring pitch, just the two of them, fighting with sticks instead of swords this time. It was a perfect mirror to the earlier duel, even up to the end when Kibum bested Minho...but that was when it diverged. 

When Minho’s eyes focused on Kibum’s lips, he dropped the stick, letting it clatter on the ground between them. Minho smiled, then, and Kibum leaned into his hand as he cupped his cheek, guiding their lips to meet. 

Kibum woke with a start, breathing heavily as he took in the pitch-black room. It had been years...so many years since he had dreamed about Minho like that. Since he had allowed himself to. He gulped, his throat suddenly dry, and shifted in bed, moving to the edge and quietly slipping out of it. Out of habit, he peeked into Minho’s bunk above his bed, only to not find his familiar shadow. “Minho?” he whispered, his voice harsh in the night, He was met with the snores of their still-sleeping roommates, and nothing more. Was he out of bed, too?

He must have been because Kibum found the door ajar.

Kibum followed the length of the hall, his hand trailing along the wall to guide him through the darkness. He had been considering calling out for Minho when he saw him, sitting on the ledge of the pavilion overlooking the pond. Quickly, Kibum made his way over to him, not even bothering to announce himself as he sat beside him. If Minho was surprised by his presence, he made no move to display it. They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the lapping of the water against the bank and the singing of the cicadas in the surrounding trees. After a while, Kibum nudged their shoulders together, and Minho chuckled. 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?"

“Worrying you.” 

Kibum scoffed. “I was thirsty and got up to get some water. I only noticed then that you were gone.” Minho made a low, slightly amused noise in acknowledgment, and nothing more for several moments. “What’s troubling you?” 

“I…” His voice died, suffocated by the unusually awkward silence between them. “I don’t know how to say it.” 

“It’s just me. Just us. There’s no one around.” Kibum found his knee in the moonlight, squeezing it gently until stilled beneath his touch. 

“If you knew...if you knew you might never want to look at me again, let alone touch me.” 

Kibum considered removing his hand but decided against it. Instead, he rubbed his thumb over the curve of Minho’s knee, hopefully soothing him somewhat. “What is it?” 

“I think...I...I think I’m in love with you.” 

Kibum’s thumb immediately stopped moving as he let Minho’s words sink in. “What…

“I’m in love with you,” he said, his voice fuller, bolder now. 

“You think? Or you know.” 

“I know. I have been for years, and -- “ He turned, then, finally meeting Kibum’s eye in the pale moonlight. “And I didn’t think it was even possible that you would feel the same way…”

“Until today.” 

Minho nodded. “Until today.” 

Kibum let out a huff of a sigh and reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind Minho’s ear. “Well, I’m sorry I made you wait so long.” Minho leaned into his touch as his finger grazed his cheek, then closer as Kibum guided him into a kiss.