BW C43

Chapter 43

Watching Taemuk’s broad back, Hoeun took a handkerchief from his bosom. The handkerchief that had wiped Taemuk’s blood was entirely scarlet; he couldn’t even tell where the embroidery Mother had stitched lay anymore.

He dipped it into the river. Ripples of blood unfurled over the water.

“Mm…”

After a moment’s hesitation, Hoeun awkwardly shook the handkerchief. It seemed he ought to wash it, but never having laundered anything with his own hands in his life, he didn’t know how. So he merely soaked it and kneaded it gently. Even so, the blood came out little by little.

Finding it oddly fascinating, Hoeun forgot how the cold water numbed his fingers and worked the cloth diligently. When most of the blood had at last leached out, an unbearable chill seized him.

His hands smarted with cold, his feet had all but lost sensation, his cheeks stung in the river wind, and the tip of his nose was numb. If he stayed longer, a fever might come on again—perhaps even a worse ague.

“Um… General.”

After wavering, Hoeun called Taemuk softly. Taemuk, who had just surfaced from a dive, turned to look at him. Hoeun pleaded with drooping brows.

“My feet are terribly cold. It feels as though my toes have turned to ice. May I take them out now?”

“…”

Taemuk swept back his wet hair with his broad hand, then waded toward Hoeun with long strides through the water. His thick muscles gleamed slickly in the moonlight; in his black pupils a glint of gold flashed. He looked like a predator that lived in the water. And somehow, strangely beautiful—like a merman.

For a moment, Hoeun had the silly thought: surely he won’t eat me.

Reaching him, Taemuk grasped his shin where the trouser legs had been rolled up and lifted it high, holding it to the moonlight.

Hoeun’s white foot was red with cold. He tucked in his chin with a soft groan—“Urgh…” Then, “Oh?”—and craned his neck.

At first his ankle had been so swollen it was hard to get his shoe off, but now the swelling had entirely gone. The ankle, thin to the point of gaunt, was the original ankle that belonged to Hoeun.

With lips rounded in wonder, Hoeun blew a soft ho… and rotated the ankle a little. There was still some pain, but far less than before.

When Taemuk had first told him to put his feet in the river, he had thought it torture beyond torment. It seemed that hadn’t been the intent. He felt sheepish to have thought so badly of Taemuk.

“Why didn’t you say you were hurt.”

As he spoke, Taemuk put Hoeun’s ankle back into the river. To Hoeun’s eyes, it seemed already healed; apparently not to him. Hoeun swayed his ankle in the water and answered,

“Because I wasn’t hurt.”

“What are you talking about.”

“Just that—this isn’t being hurt… Everyone got badly injured fighting monsters, and Sister Dongja can’t even move one arm—how could I call this being hurt. Bandages and medicine would be a luxury.”

All the more since he hadn’t been hurt fighting monsters, but in falling from a horse on his own. He felt only shame, and more shame. In truth, he had hoped Taemuk wouldn’t know. He had meant to suffer it alone.

“…”

Taemuk said nothing. Hoeun glanced at him and wrung out the handkerchief. Clear water streamed down. His dry wrist trembling, he wrung it a few more times, then spread it neatly and laid it on the grass.

Then something glittering between the blades caught his eye—round and flat like a silver coin. But it wasn’t a coin. It was a piece of chocolate—the very chocolate Hoeun had once shared with Taemuk and the soldiers.

Why is this here? he wondered, tilting his head—then saw, a handspan away, Taemuk’s uniform laid aside. In the gaping pocket lay the chocolates Hoeun had put there, untouched. He must have left them as they were.

Hoeun unwrapped the gleaming piece and put it in his mouth, without much thought. Perhaps he simply wanted something to eat. He rolled the chocolate around his tongue—then, a beat late, became aware of Taemuk’s gaze.

“Would you like one, General?”

He held out another chocolate to Taemuk as he spoke. He offered it knowing he wouldn’t take it. One offered food, as he had been taught.

“…”

Taemuk regarded him quietly. Hoeun’s lips, holding the chocolate, worked slowly. A sweetness seldom tasted on the field unfurled like a floral scent.

Soon Taemuk reached out his hand. It seemed he would take the chocolate. Hoeun held it out a little farther. But Taemuk’s hand passed by the sweet—and caught Hoeun’s jaw. Then, as the breadth of his great back bent slowly, their lips met.

“…”

Hoeun’s eyes rounded in surprise. The hand holding the chocolate curled in tight.

Taemuk held his lips there without moving. Then he extended his tongue and licked along the seam of Hoeun’s mouth. Hoeun’s whole body flinched. He froze for a time—and then, at some moment, he parted his lips a little.

It was an act as if he guessed that was what Taemuk wanted; he always ordered him to open when they kissed.

Sure enough, Taemuk’s tongue pressed in as if it had been waiting—slick and hot, tasting strongly of Taemuk; Hoeun’s brows lifted and settled.

The chocolate, melting slowly in Taemuk’s heat, dissolved in an instant. Sweetness seeped into every corner of his mouth, so sweet it made his molars tingle.

But Taemuk seemed to care nothing for the chocolate. Rather, as if it were an encumbrance, he cleaned what clung to Hoeun’s tongue, palate, and inner cheek. Then, with a chup, he drew Hoeun’s now-cleared tongue wholly into his mouth.

“Mm…”

Hoeun let slip an involuntary husky hum. He tucked his chin—Taemuk drew his jaw toward him, as if to say don’t. Then, tilting his head, he mingled their tongues deeper than before.

Their lips flattened; their tongues entangled. Wet against wet made a slick sound, and he could not tell whether it came from their mouths or the river.

Hoeun squeezed the chocolate in his hand more tightly. His shoulders rose, unawares. It was unfamiliar, strange. They had kissed nearly every day, yet this feeling was new.

Until now, their kisses had been Taemuk’s rough onslaught—teeth colliding, lips mashed, the root of his tongue aching.

Today—how to say it… sweet. His shoulders rose while his back loosened; his fingers tensed while his brows drooped—such a curious sweetness.

Then Taemuk drew closer still. With one arm he braced himself on the ground; with the hand holding Hoeun’s jaw, he took him by the waist. The river splashed, soaking Hoeun’s knees.

Their lips met deeper still. Their tongues tangled more fiercely. Sometimes drops fell from Taemuk’s hair—tok, todok—tapping Hoeun’s brow or cheek. Each time, he flinched in surprise—but did not push Taemuk away.

“Hh…”

Only, as time passed, it grew harder to keep up with Taemuk’s kiss. He lacked breath. When he could bear it no longer and knit his brows, Taemuk drew his jaw back. Then he licked Hoeun’s upper lip or, with a chup, sucked his lower lip—giving him room to breathe.

Hoeun panted raggedly. His breath smelled of chocolate. When it had calmed, Taemuk sealed their lips again.

“Mm, nn…”

Heat rose in Hoeun’s body. Though his feet were still in the river, he felt no cold. It was Taemuk’s body heat. It felt as if not only Hoeun but the whole great river had been warmed by his flame-like warmth.

The kiss went on for a very long time—long enough that the chocolate in Hoeun’s clenched hand grew soft and yielding with heat. Then Hoeun drew back, timidly. Their lips, clinging without a gap, stretched as if reluctant to part—then finally slipped free.

“…”

Pressing them gently, Hoeun bit his tingling lips. His mouth burned and throbbed; so did his cheeks. It felt as if a heart were beating in his cheeks, pulsing.

He swallowed, and glanced at Taemuk. Taemuk was still right before his nose; his gaze was thick and hazy.

Shamed anew under that look, Hoeun lowered his eyes and belatedly put on a show of decorum.

“Th-this place… is o-outside. If someone were to see…”

At that, Taemuk gazed into the dense grassy woods. He narrowed and opened his eyes. For an instant, his ears seemed to prick.

“There’s no one here but monsters.”

So saying, Taemuk inclined his head slightly—as if to kiss him again. But Hoeun jerked up his head.

“M—monsters? Isn’t that an even bigger problem?”

His clear voice rang sharp over the wide river. His already large eyes grew larger; pure pupils caught and reflected the moonlight, glittering.

Watching him, Taemuk gave a short laugh as if a scoff.

But it was not a scoff.