BW C123

Chapter 123

Yet that small smile did not last. Taemuk’s weight grew heavier and heavier, until Hoeun truly feared his ribs might snap. As he gasped, struggling for breath, Taemuk propped himself up on an arm—then rolled to the side. He dragged the wheezing Hoeun with him, settling him on top of his own body.

“Uh…”

The unfamiliar posture made Hoeun instinctively try to climb off. Taemuk’s arm curled around his waist, refusing to release him. Hoeun pushed at him, twisted, wriggled—but to no avail.

After a few futile attempts, he ran out of strength and gave up, collapsing limply atop Taemuk’s broad chest. He could feel Taemuk’s quiet, smug laugh beneath him, but he was too exhausted to glare.

“……”

“……”

Stillness settled over the inn room. With no squelching kisses, no scuffling limbs, the quiet felt deeper. Only their breathing could be heard.

Hoeun blinked slowly—then suddenly noticed Taemuk’s heartbeat beneath him.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

So strong that he could almost feel his own hair shift with each beat. Listening to it lulled him, exhaustion sinking into his bones.

He had slept in Taemuk’s arms in Ramjae-eup, and again on the journey here. Now, the sound of that heartbeat alone made his eyelids heavy. It was a different comfort from his mother’s soothing pats—deeper, heavier.

Would he someday be unable to sleep without Taemuk nearby? The absurd thought made him chuckle faintly. He was drifting off when—

“……”

His eyes snapped open. He remembered—it was their last night here. The last night he could see the children. Hoeun shot upright.

“I—I must go say goodbye to the children.”

He tried to climb off, but Taemuk’s arm tightened around his waist.

“Do it in the morning.”

“In the morning? But… did you not say we were leaving tonight?”

“We’ll leave in the morning.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m injured.”

“Oh. Right.”

Hoeun nodded quickly—then paused.

“But… you’re healed.”

The wound was gone. The fever too. He looked baffled, and Taemuk, utterly brazen, replied:

“It still hurts inside.”

“……”

“You think getting shot heals that fast?”

“……”

“You’ve never been shot, so how would you know.”

Hoeun stared at him. A lie, clearly. He studied Taemuk in silence, pushing his mussed hair behind one ear. Then, as though deciding to indulge him, he nodded.

“Yes, of course. You must still be in pain. Since it was a gunshot. Then resting a day is wise.”

It was a harmless lie—one that bought him more time. He could eat breakfast with the children, see where they would stay, what school they might attend. Then leave with an easier heart.

Content with the conclusion, Hoeun lay back down atop Taemuk, nestling into his firm chest, rubbing his cheek against muscle as he sought a comfortable spot. His eyes fluttered shut—

“Those men earlier.”

Taemuk’s low voice vibrated through his sternum.

“…Sir?”

Hoeun lifted his head. Taemuk lay with arms folded behind his head, staring down at him.

“You mean those ruffians?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? Did they come to the inn? In revenge?”

He whipped around toward the door. Nothing stirred, but Taemuk’s ears were far sharper. Yet Taemuk seized his chin, pulling his gaze back.

“What would a bunch of fingerless bastards do if they came.”

“Then… why mention—”

“They lost their fingers.”

“Yes?”

“They’ll live crippled forever. Can’t work. Can’t feed themselves. Begging, maybe.”

“That… is true.”

Hoeun lowered his eyes—only for Taemuk to flick his chin up again.

“They only tried to steal money. Isn’t that punishment excessive?”

“……”

“I thought you’d be yapping already—‘they’re people too,’ ‘spare them,’ all of that.”

“Ah…”

Hoeun breathed out softly, lips moving as if to speak, yet silent. Taemuk’s gaze sharpened, cool as steel.

“Don’t tell me—because they aren’t nobles, you don’t care if they die or end up maimed?”

Taemuk thought he’d cornered him. Thought shock would bloom across Hoeun’s face, his emotions laid bare as always. But Hoeun simply shook his head, composed.

“That is not it.”

“No?”

“I was wondering whether losing their fingers truly was excessive. Whether my thoughts were wrong.”

“…What?”

The answer blindsided Taemuk. Hoeun continued, steady and earnest:

“I believe it was an appropriate punishment.”

“……”

“They were the ones excessive.”

Hoeun frowned faintly, recalling the gun. Their insolence, their vulgarity—it still left a sour taste. Having lived upright, he had little tolerance for such filth.

“If they had merely tried to steal money, then yes—it would have been excessive.”

He nodded gravely to that truth. But then his gaze hardened again.

“But they had guns. They threatened—and fired.”

“And you think that was their first time?”

He shook his head. No.

“And I am a man. Weak, yes, but still a man—and a noble. And I had you beside me.”

He placed a hand gently upon Taemuk’s thick shoulder. It was solid as iron. Taemuk cleared his throat, almost awkwardly.

“Yet they still pointed guns at us.”

Status and strength meant everything in their world. Hoeun sat at the peak of status; Taemuk at the pinnacle of power. If even they were targeted, then—

“What of women?”

“……”

“What of children?”

“……”

“They would have acted far more cruelly.”

They had moved with ease—bold, shameless, skilled in intimidation. They believed they could win against Taemuk. That meant they had always won. Countless women, countless children—must have lost to them already.

“It is vile to prey on those weaker.”

“……”

“If it had been my mother, or Jung-woo, or Jung-i…”

Hoeun’s fist clenched tight. Rage swelled—imagined horrors enough to make his blood boil. Had it been true, he might have used the gun Taemuk taught him to wield—not for Shikgoe, but for them.

“Had they not been punished, they would have continued. Seeking weaker prey, ensuring no defeat.”

His voice cooled, resolute.

“So no, I do not think it excessive.”

“……”

“Dongja-nunim, Mansu-hyung, and Sergeant Oh likely knew as much.”

He glanced up, seeking Taemuk’s agreement.

“Well…”

Taemuk trailed off. They probably just felt like chopping hands, but for their dignity, he held his tongue.

Then Hoeun gently pried Taemuk’s hand open and pressed his cheek into his palm—an unconscious gesture, habitual affection from being youngest in his household. Taemuk’s throat bobbed sharply—but Hoeun did not notice, lost in thought.

“And above all—”

“Above all?”

Hoeun opened his mouth—then shut it, eyes lowering.

“…It is nothing.”

Hiding something. Taemuk’s eyes narrowed. He seized Hoeun’s face, pale cheeks squishing out between his fingers.

“What is it.”

“Truly, nothing.”

Even squashed, Hoeun’s tone stayed stubborn, unyielding. It irked Taemuk. Grinding his teeth, he threatened:

“If you don’t say it, I’ll make you suck my dick.”

“Eugh—!”

Hoeun’s fair face crumpled in outrage. His clear eyes blazed pure condemnation.

Taemuk bore it without flinching. Even if Hoeun had spat curses—madman, bastard, vulgar beast—he would have looked the same.

Hoeun sighed, defeated. After a moment’s hesitation, he burrowed his face back into Taemuk’s palm and muttered:

“They dared insult you.”