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    Chapter 147

    Hoeun’s smile made Taemuk pause—just for a breath. That bright, unguarded expression seemed to shoot straight into his retinas and lodge there. But then Hoeun glanced up at him, shy and furtive, and slowly reached out.

    “Still
 um
 should—should we hold hands?”

    With both hands, he drew Taemuk’s hand toward him and clasped it firmly. Then he shut his eyes tight, as though concentrating, trying earnestly to share his energy with him. Whether it truly did anything or not, he wanted to offer something.

    “Please don’t hurt anymore, General
”

    Hoeun blew a soft hoo
 of breath onto Taemuk’s hand. The ticklish warmth made Taemuk’s fingertips twitch, yet he did not pull away.

    Hoeun continued to cling to his hand—gripping, correcting his grip, holding again. Sometimes he coughed, sometimes he grimaced faintly when fever surged through him, but not once did he release Taemuk’s hand.

    It was unclear how long that continued. Eventually, Hoeun, overcome by the weight of the approaching dawn, slipped into sleep almost as though fainting—still clutching Taemuk’s hand in both of his.

    “

”

    Taemuk simply watched him. At some point he lifted the hand Hoeun wasn’t holding and brushed it across his own chest. His heart had suddenly ached—sharp, startlingly new. He had spent a lifetime being torn, bitten, shattered, and broken, yet he had never felt anything quite like this.

    He remained that way until daybreak—gazing at Hoeun, and quietly soothing the strange ache in his heart.

    Hoeun woke slowly. For once, his eyelids felt light, his body refreshed. After a few blinks he realized the fever tormenting him for days was gone. His throat no longer burned, his lungs no longer scraped painfully with each breath.

    His cheeks were hot, but not with illness. It felt like the natural heat of being near a fire
 or in a warm room.

    Simply put—it was hot. Stiflingly hot. Sweat clung to him.

    In midwinter. Inside a tent.

    For an obvious reason.

    “

”

    Hoeun looked down. A thick, bare arm was wrapped tightly around his chest and waist. Tanned skin, bulging muscle, prominent veins.

    Taemuk’s arm.

    Behind him, Taemuk’s chest pressed to his back—holding him firmly from behind. Even their legs were tangled. Taemuk’s body heat poured into him without restraint.

    “

”

    Taemuk had said the pain had subsided, yet his body still burned like a furnace. Because of that, Hoeun had spent the entire night drenched in sweat, overwhelmed by his heat.

    Ironically, the sweating had cured his cold. The old man’s words—that sweating was good for such illnesses—weren’t entirely wrong after all.

    “
Pfft
”

    Hoeun let out a small laugh. The situation was ridiculous. He was Taemuk’s Guide, yet he had been healed by Taemuk’s warmth. Shaking his head at the absurdity—

    Taemuk’s hand shifted under his clothing, brushing against the skin below his chest. Only then did Hoeun realize Taemuk’s hand was under his underrobe. Taemuk had been the one to dress him carefully the night before, tying everything neatly—and yet, somewhere in the night, that same hand had wandered beneath his clothes. It was funny. And embarrassing.

    Hoeun gently slipped the hand out, then wriggled around. He found Taemuk half-undressed—his outer garments stripped away in his sleep.

    “

”

    Taemuk was asleep.

    Hoeun had assumed the movement of that hand meant he was awake, but no—apparently it was a habit more than intention.

    “

”

    Hoeun stared at him. Seeing him asleep was rare. Taemuk always rose before everyone, carrying burdens no one else could bear. He must not have slept well at all these past days—managing an entire Jeokudae on the march, while Hoeun was sick, while they faced Shikgoe, while he himself had been gravely injured.

    Hoeun studied his face closely. Even in sleep, his expression was blank—but blessedly free of pain. Hoeun brushed his hand cautiously over the smooth, muscular chest and released a small sigh of relief.

    Then he inhaled—

    “

”

    A sharp pain radiated along his ribs. Strong enough that he nearly gasped aloud.

    He looked down. Through the loosened gap of his underrobe, something dark caught his eye—far too dark a color to belong to his pale skin.

    He lifted the fabric.

    There was a bruise near his ribs. Blue-black, severe. More bruises mottled under his arms, across his waist.

    “

”

    All the places Taemuk had touched during last night’s kiss—his hands rough with excitement.

    Hoeun blinked rapidly. He wasn’t shocked. He wasn’t frightened. He simply shifted his gaze from one bruise to the other
 thinking.

    Then, very carefully, he slipped out of Taemuk’s arms and dressed. He tightened his sash more firmly than usual, secured his collar tightly, then tested his movements—shoulders, arms—to ensure no bruise would accidentally show.

    His face remained perfectly neutral. No fear. No pain.

    After checking several times, he returned to lie beside Taemuk as though nothing had happened.

    But the moment he lay down, a thick arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him in.

    “Why are you up already?”

    The voice—lower than usual with sleep—froze Hoeun like a creature hearing a tiger growl. When had Taemuk awakened? Had he seen him dressing? Had he seen the bruises?

    He couldn’t let that happen.

    Hoeun blinked quickly, swallowed, and answered in a steady, unaffected tone:

    “I was
 getting dressed.”

    “Why? Cold?”

    “N-no, not exactly. I just felt
 a little chilly
”

    “Really? I’m still warm.”

    Taemuk drew him in even closer, pressing their cheeks together as if to say See? Warm, isn’t it?

    Hoeun widened his eyes, inhaled sharply—then, unable to deny the warmth of him, laughed softly.

    “Yes. You are warm.”

    “Then sleep more.”

    Taemuk fumbled for the blanket and pulled it over Hoeun. Exhaling long and slow, he settled back to sleep.

    “

”

    Hoeun stayed perfectly still until Taemuk’s breaths became deep and even. Then his hand drifted downwards, pressing lightly over the bruised ribs.

    A throb of pain pulsed there. He touched it again. And again.

    Taemuk stepped out of Hoeun’s tent wearing only the white inner garments beneath his uniform. He stretched broadly—his body sore but refreshed. Clearly, sleeping with Hoeun in his arms had helped him mend.

    “

”

    “

”

    The soldiers stared at him as if witnessing a supernatural phenomenon. Shocked. Bewildered. Offended by the absurdity of it all. Byeonguk even stabbed his weapon into the snow in exasperation, while Gilsang and Seongim simply stared—long, hard, and unblinking.

    Taemuk ignored them and inhaled the crisp, stinging cold of winter morning. Then he straightened the tent flap he had disturbed on his way out—cold wind mustn’t enter. Next he swept snow from the top of the tent—cold mustn’t seep in.

    Still, their stares did not break.

    “What,” Taemuk snapped. “Quit staring and pack up. We’re heading back.”

    The soldiers exhaled collectively—long, heavy breaths that fogged the air like morning mist. One shook his head in disbelief.

    Taemuk glared as though they were unreasonable.

    Byeonguk approached, boots crunching in the snow.

    “How exactly did you come here, sir?”

    “I ran.”

    Taemuk answered without a shred of shame.

    “

”

    Byeonguk stared. His eyes spoke many things—criticism, disapproval, disbelief. Taemuk only shrugged with galling nonchalance.

    “That’s why you idiots should’ve kept proper watch. If you hadn’t been slacking, you’d know I was on my way.”

    Byeonguk’s eyebrows shot upward like climbing a cliff.

    “The sentries still haven’t recovered! What on earth did you do to them!?”

    His voice rose sharply. Taemuk lightly chopped the air near his own neck.

    “Just a tap. Not even hard. I wouldn’t hit them to kill them.”

    “
Ha
”

    Byeonguk rubbed his forehead as if warding off a headache. Taemuk simply shrugged again, completely unapologetic.

    Byeonguk glared at him before glancing at Hoeun’s tent—still standing straight, looking utterly fine. On the outside, at least. Whether the inside was fine was another matter entirely


    At that moment, the tent flap rustled—and a pale face appeared.

    “General, you forgot your uniform coa— Oh. Byeonguk-nim. Good morning. Did you rest well last night?”

    It was Hoeun, holding Taemuk’s uniform coat, smiling gently at Byeonguk.

     

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