BW C90

Chapter 90

In that instant, the scent hit him all at once—the copper of blood, the damp of rain, and the fragrance that was uniquely Taemuk’s.

At the same time, he felt the unyielding firmness of Taemuk’s body, the startling heat of his skin beneath drenched garments.

And yet, it wasn’t enough. He needed more. Proof. Certainty that this man was truly Taemuk—that only then could he be at peace.

“….”

Hoeun bit his lower lip and buried his face into his chest. Against his cheek thudded the weight of Taemuk’s heart—thump, thump, thump, thump—heavy, steady, raw. Of course. It was him.

Yes. It was Taemuk. Truly Taemuk.

“…General.”

His voice trembled as he murmured the word, hands rising to touch, to feel. He clumsily traced over him again and again, just as Jung-woo had once clutched at his sister, terrified she might vanish, terrified he might yet be dreaming this.

And then, at last, after drinking in his presence for so long, Hoeun lifted his gaze upward, to meet Taemuk’s eyes. He was staring back, face impassive, but his dark eyes burned blacker than they had ever been before.

“H-how… how did…”

How did you come? How could you appear in this single, perfect moment?

Hoeun’s lips quivered soundlessly. He couldn’t look away from him. Another rumble, another flash of lightning scoured the heavens, startling him back. He gripped at Taemuk’s sleeve, fumbling for words.

“T-the hospital—we must go to the hospital. The monsters swarmed the place and fired cannons, it collapsed entirely and people—people were buried, wounded—no, no, Sergeant Oh was there. He was struck—or maybe not, I couldn’t see—I couldn’t confirm—and I—I should have searched with Lady Seong-im, but I couldn’t—I failed, I fled instead, and Sergeant—Sergeant might still—”

The words tumbled crazed, tripping atop one another. Not even as a child had Hoeun babbled so incoherently. His mind reeled, tongue tangled, thoughts bursting apart. His breath came broken, his thin shoulders heaving unevenly.

Until at last, he squeezed his eyes shut tight and shook his head violently, forcing out a singular line:

“We must save Sergeant Oh. Quickly.”

“….”

Taemuk’s silence weighed heavy. His chest rose and fell, breaths ragged, expansive ribs swelling fit to burst.

And then Hoeun noticed.

He was panting? Taemuk?

And his heart—racing. Just as if he had sprinted with all his might. Yet had Taemuk not always held steady, even amidst swarms of beasts, not once needing breath? Hadn’t he always been cold as a blade? But now…

Something unfamiliar stirred unease in Hoeun as he shrank back half a step—only for Taemuk’s lips to twist, a low scoff clawing from them. His head bent, eyes locking with his—filled with reproach.

“The first thing you say to me when we meet again… is worry about Oh Gilsang?”

“…Eh?”

Hoeun blinked like a fool, startled. At that instant, steps approached them—Seong-im. She bowed low before Taemuk. He looked at her quietly, then spoke, voice low.

“Well done.”

But she shook her head immediately, as though the words weren’t hers to take. Her eyes lifted, almost pleading. Waiting for something more, words unsaid. Taemuk tilted his chin toward the door.

“Go see. He’ll be on his way here.”

For the first time, the rain that had never dampened her face seemed to finally soak her. Her eyes wet, she flung her sword aside and darted out into the storm.

Hoeun watched her receding form blankly, then turned back.

“Sergeant Oh… he’s alive?”

“Of course. You think he’d die to a mere cannonball?” Taemuk said flatly.

“B-but…”

Hoeun couldn’t accept it. He had seen the hospital collapse with his own eyes. Saw the wreckage pile crushing the courtyard. Surely no one could survive that, not with the swarm descending after.

“I told you once… even if you dumped a whole trunk of bombs on them, none would die.”

As he spoke, Taemuk’s fingers brushed down the length of Hoeun’s rain-heavy hair ribbon, slick beneath his touch.

“When… when did you say that?”

Hoeun frowned, until memory struck—a night not long ago, after the Bond Festival, in the hotel. Taemuk had said it then:

“Tell your father—dropping crates of bombs here won’t kill a single one, so don’t waste time.”

He had thought it mockery then, just an excuse to insult his father. But it had been truth. By what method? That didn’t matter. He was alive. That was enough.

“…Thank goodness. Truly… thank goodness.”

Relief cracked from his lips. Relief so immense it shattered him. And with it—his body collapsed, sagging downward.

Taemuk caught his waist as he fell.

“S-sorry…” Hoeun whispered, clutching at his arm, straining to stand. But his legs had liquefied beneath him, beyond control. Even his head rocked helplessly, tipping against Taemuk’s chest.

“What did you do that you can’t even stand?”

Those words, sharp and careless, bit him raw. Hoeun flared, eyes wide at him. All this— he thought, all this is your fault. It wasn’t, of course. It was the beasts, the wretches, the fate of this world. But Taemuk was the only one he could blame, the only one he could cling to.

“Why… why did you come so late?”

“What?”

“You left as though you’d return soon. As though I could see you again quickly. Why… why did you make me wait so long?”

“…I wasn’t late.”

His eyes flickered toward the ruin of the monster at his feet. Perhaps not early—but unfair to call it late, after how far, how hard he had run.

But Hoeun’s sharp glare would not ease. His hand only clenched harder against Taemuk’s arm.

“You were late. Terribly, terribly late.”

He dwelt on it, hammered it, repeating terribly twice—as if repetition might pound nails into Taemuk’s chest. Memories of the hospital collapsing, of leaping from third-story windows, of running in the rain, of vile nobles at the shelter, of monsters, of storms, of this cursed night—all crushed down onto him, until he could hardly breathe.

Taemuk clicked his tongue.

“And so I told you to stay at the camp. What business had you following me here….”

Hoeun let out a weary cry, almost a sob. Anger burned at how casually he was scolded when he longed for comfort. His only thought left—petty, childish—was hatred for Taemuk’s coldness. And yet, the only one he could weep before, the only one he could lean to, was Taemuk. He clutched his sleeve and murmured:

“…I was afraid.”

“….”

“I was truly, terribly afraid.”

His face twisted as tears welled, trembling, slipping from the corners of his eyes. Taemuk looked down with cold disdain, yet brushed a sodden lock from his cheek with his thumb.

“Then you should have called me sooner.”

His chastisement stung him. Hoeun’s lashes bristled, and he flared, daring to raise his voice.

“You should have told me! That I could call you! That no matter how far, you would hear me!”

“….”

“If you had told me—if only—”

If he had known, he would have shouted from the hospital itself until his throat bled, would have screamed his name, summoned him to shatter the dark. He would not have had to endure such terror, such despair.

Though in the end, yes, those he had protected yet lived—his flesh had been torn by it, his spirit shattered into pieces sharp in his chest.

His trembling lip bled fresh as he gazed up, then suddenly flung his arms tight around Taemuk’s waist. He buried his face in his chest, voice muffled:

“You are cruel. Truly cruel.”

“….”

Taemuk blinked once, slow. He could not understand this boy who snarled at him with words, yet pressed his body close, clinging like a child. Perhaps it was nobility, some strange contradiction of class—or simply Hoeun.

Still, he braced his arm firmer against his back, supporting him.

Then Hoeun slid down, catching Taemuk’s hand in his own. It was not about some promise Taemuk had once made to hold hands. No—it was simply what he wanted.

“….”

Their fingers entwined, palms pressed together—and Taemuk shivered faintly, his throat working, muscles taut beneath skin.

But Hoeun did not notice. Too far gone in exhaustion, too hazed from strain. Even so, in his haze, he clutched tighter, pressed cheek to the breadth of Taemuk’s chest, murmuring, trembling:

“Still… still, thank you. For coming for me.”

“….”

“Truly… thank you….”