Minho pov

Something in the small male’s eyes shifted and Minho suddenly felt tiny. Vulnerable, powerless, and defeated before Taemin even laid a hand on him. He immediately dropped his gaze, eyes finding silver rings going through his s, making him swallow dry.

It might have been this second of hesitation that gave Taemin the upper-hand, but the small male brought Minho to the floor within the blink of an eye, pulling his arm around painfully with more strength than Minho had ever expected him to be capable of.

“Urgh” he groaned as he was to his stomach. Taemin was pushing his face into the dirt beneath him, the hands that until then had only run through his hair gently, tightly gripping the roots, asserting dominance. His position meant that his airflow was cut off and Minho’s head started spinning.

Just seconds later, Taemin sunk his teeth into Minho’s exposed neck, the pain of penetrated skin shooting into Minho’s consciousness, his pained scream muffled by the ground.

Taemin let go almost immediately, his weight disappearing off Minho's body, making the latter turn around in desperate need of air.

"Don't" Taemin's voice cut through the air that was filled with cheers and the continuous beating of the drums.

Before Minho knew what was happening, there was a hand beneath his shoulder, keeping his open wound off the ground.

When he looked up at the other, the look in Taemin's eyes was unlike anything he had seen before, and Minho's breath hitched upon seeing it. Was it panic? Was it worry? Or something else entirely? Minho was unable to make sense of it, head still spinning from the impact on the ground when Taemin had initially taken him down.

The cheers ebbed out and were replaced by whispers, the onlookers exchanging skeptical looks, but Minho didn’t register anything besides Taemin’s hand holding tightly onto his shoulder as the latter’s dark eyes stared right into his.

“I will clean the wound.” Taemin stated, this time loud enough so it would be heard by the other clan members who were watching them curiously. He let go of Minho now that the latter could hold himself up and held out his hand “Get up.”

In a daze, Minho did as he was told to, Taemin’s hand pulling him back on his two feet. When he was finally standing upright, he could feel a drop of blood dripping down towards his collarbone, realizing that the bite must be deeper than expected.

None of the other sparring matches had ended with a bloody bite. They all left a mark, but as far as he could remember, none of them seemed to have penetrated the skin.

With the many eyes of the other clan members on them, Minho followed Taemin out of the circle and then through the camp until they arrived at a tent very close to Kibum and Jonghyun-ka’s.

Hesitantly, Minho set his foot inside after the other had disappeared inside, unsure if he was allowed to enter as Taemin had not verbally invited him.

As he stepped in, Taemin was just lighting up an oil lamp, the flickering of the flame bathing the inside of the tent in a warm light.

“Sit there. I will get herbs.” The short male said, still distraught, pointing at what Minho presumed to be his bed though it was nothing more than a cart that had been turned around and covered in a thin layer of animal fur.

Before Minho could reply, Taemin was already out of the tent, leaving him all on his own, still dazed from the evening, probably drunk from the liquor. In the distance, Minho heard the celebration going on, but in this corner of the camp, it was merely background noise.

He sat down on the hard surface of Taemin’s bed, looking around the tent that was so alike his own. There was barely anything inside. A set of clothes hanging from one of the poles, the bed – if you could call it that – and a wooden box that was placed on a rock. Was this all that Taemin owned? It was almost as if he was just a passer-by like him.

While the pulsing in his nape didn’t get any less painful, he eyed the box.

He wasn’t going to invade Taemin’s privacy, no matter how much he wanted to, it wasn’t right.

It wasn’t right, and still, he took the steps towards it. This was his one and only opportunity to get to know more about him. The man he owed so much to. The man that occupied more of his thoughts than would be considered normal.

The man he longed for when he fell asleep alone in his tent each night, the humming noise of the clan member’s going to bed filling the silence.

The man he had grown attached to without wanting it.

With fast movements, he opened the box, peeking inside.

A hairbrush.

A metallic box, filled with high quality charcoal that was only used in that form around the Dong area.

A booklet; probably made there too.

The booklet was filled with drawings that Minho could barely make out in the bad lighting, but he knew that they must be Taemin’s work.

He wouldn’t have taken Taemin for an artist. It didn’t play into his reputation, didn’t fit his rank, didn’t correspond to his function.

Minho couldn’t suppress a smile upon having valid proof that there was more to the small man than the latter wanted people to know. It meant that the person Minho experienced, the one he saw glimpses of when they were alone, actually existed.

Afraid of Taemin finding him like this, Minho arranged the objects in the exact way they had been before, closed the box and returned to his spot on the cart-bed, waiting for the other to return.

Taemin's steps were completely soundless when he returned, only the fabric's rustling announcing the short man's arrival.

He was carrying a few things in his hands, placing them on top of the box that had been opened by unauthorised hands minutes ago.

"I am sorry. We never bite this hard... I... I don’t know why..." Taemin rambled, and Minho blinked. He had never seen him lose his face. For the first time since they had met, Taemin's façade broke down completely. He looked stressed, guilt driven, worried and anxious, emotions Minho hadn't thought the other to be capable of expressing.

"I am fine." He reassured, hand twitching, resisting the urge to touch Taemin’s arm to underline his words.

“Now yes. But the bite can make you sick. I… I don’t want you to be sick.” He said, grabbing the stone mortar he had brought with him.

“I understand that you feel bad about drawing blood, but I will be fine. My body has endured many other illnesses, I am strong enough. Don’t worry.” While Minho was speaking, Taemin started grinding what he had put into the mortar earlier.

“What is endured?” he asked, and Minho replied shortly:

“Lived through.”

Taemin nodded in understanding, not saying anything else until Minho asked him what he was grinding together.

“Rosemary oil with caraway, cloves and garlic.” Taemin replied, a lot calmer than he had been a few minutes ago, the repetitive motion calming him down.

“Mhh sounds delicious. I hope you will not make me eat that.” Minho tried to lighten the mood.

For a second, Minho worried that Taemin wouldn’t react to his light-hearted comment but then he saw the small male’s shoulders move ever so slightly and he realised that he was in fact chuckling, a soft smile forming on his full lips.

The sight of Taemin smiling at his joke made his chest swell with a content feeling and he wouldn’t ever wish for this evening to have ended differently.

“No.” Taemin replied after a short while, looking up from the paste he was grinding still. “I will put it on the bite.”

It wasn’t long until Taemin’s small hands were pressing into the skin around the wound, asking Minho to tell him where it hurt.

“Can you take off your shirt?” Taemin’s voice was soft and clear, but Minho still took a few seconds to make sense of what he was saying.

“My shirt?” he asked, swallowing dry.

“I need to wash the wound. Your shirt will be wet.”

Minho was unsure if was somehow less taboo in this clan’s culture, but no matter what, he grew up in a noble family where was generally frowned upon. Taemin seemed to notice his hesitation, speaking up again.

“I will not take long.”

Much to Minho’s dismay, the small male’s short fingers opened the knot above his shoulder on their own, and he could feel his pulse in his neck, his heart beating so fast he worried it would collapse. He tensed up the further Taemin’s hands reached down to pull the fabric off, averting his face with gritted teeth.

It felt like ages until the shirt was finally off and the long-haired male gently washed the bite with water, making sure to dry Minho’s chest completely when he was done.

Throughout the whole procedure, the latter was painfully aware of Taemin’s sweaty chest in front of him, the flickering light of the oil lamp making his skin look golden while he applied the freshly made, stinking paste onto the wound.

“Why did you do it?” the small man’s voice cut through the silence like a sharp knife, making Minho’s heart skip a beat. He didn’t reply at first, unsure of the answer to Taemin’s question.

“I don’t just want to see you from afar.” He finally said, Taemin’s fingers halting in their movement, resting on his collarbone, barely touching him.

“You don’t have to fight me to see me close.”

Minho could feel the small man’s fingers trembling against his skin for a reason unknown to him.

“Yes, I do apparently.” ---- “As it seems.” He added, unsure if Taemin knew what he was saying.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Minho lifted his head to capture the other male’s gaze, his heart pulsing up to his temples. “Why not?”

Taemin didn’t reply, finishing the bite’s treatment before turning away without a word, a weird thought developing in Minho’s mind.

“You feel the same.” He uttered on a whim, eyes widening in realisation that it was the only explanation for how the other