BW C148

Chapter 148

Byeonguk received his greeting with an awkward expression.

“…Yes, well. Young Master… did you sleep well?”

“Yes, I slept well.”

“Your body… is it all right?”

“Yes. Much better. The fever has gone down, and the coughing has eased.”

Hoeun answered each question without fail, smiling all the while. His calm yet clear voice was impossibly bright.

“……”

Byeonguk leaned his upper body back a little and looked Hoeun over carefully. At least, since he was standing straight, nothing seemed broken. His face was pale, yes, but not bloodless. There had been no disastrous blood loss, that much was clear. He wasn’t sweating coldly, and the heat that had once filled his cheeks had also disappeared.

By some miracle, Hoeun was alive. And fairly intact, at that.

Only one thing bothered him—the wound at the corner of his lips. The reddish scratch was definitely something he had not seen yesterday.

“But your lip, how did you…?”

Byeonguk stepped forward to take a closer look—but a black wall of a man suddenly blocked his view in front of Hoeun.

“Why are you looking at his lips?”

It was Taemuk.

“Don’t look.”

He spoke while gazing down at Byeonguk with cold, hardened eyes.

“……”

Byeonguk was so stunned he couldn’t even scoff. The eyes that had always brimmed with respect and reverence for Taemuk now held a crooked spark of rebellion.

“I merely examined it because it’s a wound he didn’t have yesterday. A wound. That. Wasn’t. There. Yesterday. If it wasn’t there yesterday, that means it appeared overnight, does it not.”

“……”

At those words, Taemuk went rigid. The glare he had fixed on Byeonguk slid away. Byeonguk clicked his tongue, swallowing the nagging remarks he nearly added.

“Still… fortunate it’s only a small scratch.”

“……”

“…You endured it well.”

“……”

“Then I will go prepare for departure.”

Byeonguk bowed and left. Taemuk watched him retreat quietly—when suddenly, the presence behind him shuffled forward and held something out.

“He left this behind. The cold is biting. You should wear it.”

It was Taemuk’s military coat.

Taemuk looked at Hoeun’s face. More precisely, he looked at the split on his lip. The wound, still too fresh to scab over, tinged the surrounding skin with a faint, innocent pink.

“…You’re right. It is cold.”

He accepted the coat without protest, then spread it wide and draped it over Hoeun’s shoulders. It was so large—nearly the size of a heavy winter robe—that it swallowed Hoeun whole. The weight made Hoeun’s eyes round.

“Why are you giving me this…?”

“You said it’s cold. Wear it.”

“But—”

“I’m not cold.”

Taemuk cut off his refusal before he could even voice it. Hoeun blinked rapidly, then broke into a small, shy smile.

“Yes.”

He pulled the coat tightly around himself. He had worn the Jeokudae cloak countless times, but a military coat was new to him—though “wear” might have been generous for how it draped over his tiny frame. Still, the feeling was strangely special.

As he rolled one of the golden plum-blossom buttons between his fingers—

“……”

He felt a gaze fall over the top of his head. Taemuk was watching him.

“……”

So Hoeun looked back up at him. Their eyes shone brighter than usual. Perhaps it was the snow blanketing the ground, or the morning sunlight raining down—or perhaps some sparkling, refreshing feeling blooming between them. He couldn’t tell.

Just then—

“Young Master, mount up. We’ll be departing.”

Gilsang called out from afar.

“Ah, yes!”

Hoeun responded quickly and turned around, stepping through the snow that had piled up to his knees overnight. But he stumbled after only a few steps. The ground was invisible, so even careful steps plunged deep, throwing off his balance.

“Ah—ah….”

As he flailed, a hand the size of a pot lid grabbed his elbow. Another arm wrapped around his waist. And then—his body lifted into the air.

“General?”

Hoeun tilted his head back to look at Taemuk. Without a word, Taemuk held him and marched steadily across the snowy field. Hoeun, now accustomed to being carried, lifted, and moved by him, simply let his limbs dangle obediently.

Taemuk set him atop his horse. Hoeun blinked, dazed, then bowed slightly from his seated position.

“Thank you.”

“……”

Taemuk didn’t accept the gratitude aloud. Instead, he slipped Hoeun’s feet into the stirrups and brushed the snow from his boots—lest it melt through and chill his already delicate body. Hoeun was frail enough that even a bit of wet snow could bring on days of suffering.

As he was doing this, Gilsang approached.

“Captain, take my horse. I’ll ride with Seongim.”

“No.”

Taemuk dismissed the suggestion with a casual wave. Gilsang tilted his head.

“Then what will you ride? We’ve no spare horses, sir. We came in too much of a hurry to bring extras.”

At that, Taemuk’s mouth curved into a grin. He turned to Hoeun.

“Carry me.”

“…Pardon?”

Hoeun blinked as though he had misheard. Taemuk repeated himself.

“Let me ride with you.”

“Ride… what?”

“Me.”

“……”

“You heard Gilsang. No horse. So you take me.”

“……”

Hoeun’s long lashes fluttered wildly. Then a conversation from some time ago resurfaced—the first day they’d executed the “cling-on strategy” during Chilbok’s confrontation.

‘Let me ride with you.’

‘Ride what?’

‘Your horse, General.’

He remembered perfectly the look Taemuk had given him then—as though he were insane. But in the end, he had ridden with him. And from then till now… they had come all this way.

It hadn’t even been that long ago, yet it felt distant. Thinking of that day, Hoeun’s eyes softened as he smiled.

“Yes. Please mount. I will take you.”

The morning forest was radiant and clear. Snow lay thick, but the sunlight kept the cold at bay. The animals had long gone into hibernation, leaving the world quiet. Only birdsong and the soft crunch-crunch of hooves on snow could be heard.

A perfectly peaceful scene—yet Hoeun’s face kept scrunching with annoyance. His rider kept doing infuriating things.

The large hand holding the reins over Hoeun’s own began to stroke them slowly. Then it wormed inside his sleeve, brushing his wrist bone, pinching lightly at the spot where the pulse beat beneath the skin.

With the other hand, Taemuk slipped under the coat he had so kindly put on him, stroking his waist, sliding upward to touch his neck and jaw, even fiddling with the ribbon tying his hair.

Hoeun tried desperately to pretend he did not feel those hands—but they were too large, too heavy, too warm. Impossible to ignore.

Sometimes the hand would press over a bruise, and he had to grit his teeth to hold back a sound. Thankfully, Taemuk seemed to mistake his silence for embarrassment or shyness. Still, if the touching continued, Hoeun didn’t know what would happen.

Taemuk must not find out he was bruised. If he did, he wouldn’t let him near again. He might even put a literal leash around his neck.

Wrestling with that fear, Hoeun finally spoke.

“If… if you keep touching me, I’ll d-drop you.”

It was meant as a threat, but Taemuk immediately let out a low laugh.

“Drop me? Who? You? Drop who? Me?”

Then he laughed harder, his throat moving, the sound vibrating straight against Hoeun’s ear. It felt like the swish of a beast’s tail brushing his earlobe; Hoeun hunched his shoulders, rubbing one ear with his shoulder.

“Or—or then I’ll fall off myself.”

“Mm… that won’t work either.”

Taemuk wrapped both arms around Hoeun’s waist, pulling him close. He even pressed his nose to the pale nape of his neck. Hoeun shuddered, but escaping Taemuk’s grasp was impossible.

Taemuk continued kneading him to his heart’s content—until his hand brushed over Hoeun’s ribs and his expression suddenly darkened. He had long known Hoeun was thin, but this was far worse than before. He had seen enough famine-stricken corpses to know the resemblance.

“You’ve lost far too much weight.”

He said it while running his hand repeatedly along Hoeun’s ribs.

“A fever always takes some weight.”

Hoeun frowned faintly and tried to pry his hand off while replying.

“If you lost it, you need to put it back on. We eat as soon as we arrive.”

“……”

“Why aren’t you answering?”

“I simply… haven’t given it much thought.”

The medicinal tonic he’d drank at lunch yesterday was still sitting in his stomach. Byeonguk had forced an entire bowl on him since he had barely touched his food. He couldn’t refuse such earnest effort, so he downed it all—and now wasn’t hungry.

But Taemuk scoffed.

“Who eats because they think about it? You just eat. Eat.”

At that, Hoeun’s eyes widened slowly. Then, forgetting himself for a moment, he let out a soft laugh—puhuhu—before he could stop it.