BW C149

Chapter 149

“Why are you laughing.”

“My mother used to say the same sort of thing.”

Whenever he whined that he had no appetite, she would chide him softly, ‘Who thinks about food when eating?’ Then beside them, Deokwoo would widen his eyes and say, ‘How do you not think while eating? I’m always thinking—how tasty it is, how I want more…’ And his mother would sigh so deeply it seemed the earth might cave in and turn her face away.

“……”

Hoeun’s eyes grew dim as he thought of his mother for the first time in a while. Was she well? She must be. Had she eaten? She must miss him terribly. Was she still crying for him? She shouldn’t—he was doing just fine. If only he could send her word somehow… Those thoughts drifted through him when—

“…You must’ve eaten very little.”

Taemuk spoke in a low voice.

“Well… I suppose I’ve committed no small amount of unfilial behavior when it comes to eating.”

Hoeun admitted his faults readily. Then he brushed a hand lightly over his stomach and added:

“But what can I do when food simply refuses to go down?”

When one vomits day and night, suffers cold sweats from indigestion, and tastes bile rising up the throat, even a pig would hesitate to eat. It wasn’t his fault; it was his body’s fault for being born lacking. He often thought that if he could clear a rice bowl as heartily as Dongja or Mansu, he’d have no greater wish.

Hoeun licked his dry lips for no reason. Taemuk seized the ribbon of his hair and tugged—not painfully, but enough to scold him.

“You were spoiled too much growing up. Go a week without food and roll around in the snow, and you’ll start eating snow just to survive.”

“I won’t deny I grew up spoiled, but no matter how starved I am, how could I possibly eat snow?”

“I’ve eaten it.”

“……”

“If it’s snow, you should feel grateful. I’ve eaten dirt too.”

At that, Hoeun froze for a moment, then gradually turned his head to look at him. Taemuk wore his usual indifferent, emotionless expression. He added nothing more.

Hoeun couldn’t tell whether it was a joke or the truth—but somehow, it didn’t feel like a lie.

Taemuk was a soldier and had wandered battlefields for a very long time. Hoeun had once heard that when military rations ran low, it wasn’t uncommon for soldiers to starve to death. And though Taemuk was a general, what use was rank if there was truly nothing to eat?

It must have been hard.

The desperation and wretchedness of eating dirt was something Hoeun—who had known nothing worse than stomachaches—could not even fathom.

His heart softening, Hoeun covered the back of Taemuk’s hand, the one wrapped around his waist.

“No, more than that…”

“Well, first of all—”

From a short distance away, soldiers’ voices drifted over: Gilsang, Seongim, Byeonguk, and others following behind. They had been talking nonstop among themselves for quite some time.

“What do you suppose they’re discussing?”

Hoeun couldn’t hear from this far, but Taemuk—whose ears were sharp—would know exactly. Taemuk replied lazily:

“They’re saying that next time, they should go even farther so I won’t be able to find you.”

“……”

“And they’re saying it in a place where I can hear them. Idiots.”

Taemuk clicked his tongue. It was meant as a joke, but Hoeun did not laugh. He glanced at the soldiers, then at Taemuk, and quietly turned his head forward again.

Then Taemuk leaned in close to his ear and murmured almost like a whisper:

“Still—next time, go farther, like they said.”

“……”

“Hide better.”

“……”

“And hold back your coughing. Understand?”

When I’m sick, my hearing gets even sharper. You have to be careful.

Taemuk, with surprising kindness, was teaching him how to avoid him. As if he truly wished that next time he would not be able to find Hoeun.

“……”

But Hoeun did not respond. He only breathed, his breath coming out shallow. Uncomfortable with that silence, Taemuk grasped his chin and lifted it, forcing their eyes to meet.

“Answer me.”

“……”

Hoeun blinked his large eyes slowly, then rolled them sideways.

“I don’t want to.”

“…What?”

“—Even if I said I would, could I? It isn’t something I can choose, so I don’t know why you ask. If you order it, General, I must obey.”

Hoeun shook his head and brushed Taemuk’s warmth off his chin with the back of his hand.

But Taemuk lifted his chin again. The face staring back at him was strange—almost as if he were angry, yet curious, maybe even fascinated.

“If you could choose… what would you do?”

“I’d stick right beside you, of course. And I’d do everything I can as your guide.”

“Everything?”

“Yes. Anything.”

Hoeun answered firmly. He wasn’t afraid of pain or death.

Truthfully, until a few days ago, he had been afraid of pain. He had already experienced how harsh and agonizing intimacy with Taemuk could be. He had never wanted to endure that kind of pain again.

But hadn’t he seen it? Taemuk vomiting blood. Taemuk collapsing to his knees because he couldn’t stand. Seeing him like that—Hoeun would rather be the one hurting. Even if it tore his limbs apart to receive him, it wouldn’t compare to the pain of witnessing Taemuk suffer. If he could swallow that suffering in Taemuk’s stead, perhaps he would even feel at peace.

“……”

Hoeun looked at Taemuk with resolute eyes. Taemuk slowly released his chin and murmured almost to himself:

“Not afraid of anything, are you.”

“Why should I fear? It’s only my duty as your guide. What frightens me more—what I dislike—is you being hurt, General.”

At the excessively devoted words, Taemuk let out a faint, dry laugh. For a moment, Hoeun felt like a true nobleman—the kind who loved to prattle about ‘duty.’ Though in Taemuk’s experience, Hoeun seemed the rare sort who didn’t merely speak of duty but actually upheld it.

Still, it wasn’t the answer Taemuk wanted.

“Why don’t you like it? Ah—because I’m a man?”

“That’s not it.”

“Then? Ah, because I’m a general of the Great Korean Empire?”

“T-that’s not it either.”

“Not that? Then… ah. Because I’m the only one who can prove your worth?”

“……”

Hoeun did not deny it this time. Taemuk chuckled again. Of course—that was the answer. But it did not please him.

Then Hoeun looked at Taemuk, then forward again. His gaze wandered as though he were conflicted. He fidgeted with the reins as though tearing them apart, then spoke in a hesitant voice:

“They are all correct. But…”

“But?”

“There is… another reason.”

“What is it?”

“Well… isn’t it the same reason you dislike it when I die, when I am hurt? The same reason you bear the pain alone?”

“…And you think you know why I do that?”

Taemuk asked. The question was vague. He was not testing whether Hoeun knew the true reason—Taemuk himself didn’t know. All he could think of were flimsy explanations—because Hoeun was his guide, because he was frail—and none of them satisfied him. They felt lacking.

Taemuk stared at Hoeun. The clever Hoeun might explain it to him. But Hoeun only shrugged with an airy, languid expression.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“What?”

“But really, is the reason a person hates pain or death so varied and complicated? You dislike it when I hurt, and I dislike it when you hurt—so wouldn’t the reason be the same?”

“……”

“So please understand why—even if I am hurt—I wish to remain by your side.”

“……”

“Yes?”

Hoeun lifted his head and looked up at Taemuk upside down, his clear eyes shining like glass beads.

“……”

Taemuk could not answer. He wasn’t ignoring him—he had simply been momentarily dazed by the beauty of those eyes.

But Hoeun misunderstood the silence and pouted.

“Hmph… Even if you say no, General, next time I’m sticking right beside you.”

He declared boldly, then snapped his head forward again.

“……”

Taemuk continued staring at him. All he could see was the back of his head—small, with two delicate ears—but he couldn’t look away.

Was it the way the thin, gold-tinted earlobes glowed in the sunlight?

Or the fine, wispy hairs at the nape of his neck drifting in the wind?

Or the nape itself—smooth as porcelain, soft and elegant?

‘You dislike it when I hurt, and I dislike it when you hurt—so wouldn’t the reason be the same?’

‘So please understand why… even if I am hurt, I wish to remain by your side.’

The reason he hated when Hoeun was hurt.

The reason he feared Hoeun dying.

As he pondered those words, Taemuk suddenly swept a hand across his chest. The same throbbing ache he’d felt last night—when Hoeun slept holding his hand—returned.

And at last, Taemuk understood.

The reason.

The feeling.