BW C129

Chapter 129

Hoeun’s fingertips slowly brushed over the countless place names listed across the parchment, while Taemuk raked a rough hand through his bangs. His tone carried a faint edge of irritation as he spoke.

“I’ve been so busy dealing with the things that kept swarming us that I never even thought of seeking them out first.”

At the sound of something like self-reproach in his voice, Hoeun quickly corrected him.

“It is not that you couldn’t — you simply had no time to.”

No one knew better than Hoeun how relentlessly occupied Taemuk was. The thousand soldiers who looked to him, the small village folk who tended their fields nearby, the people of Ramjae-eup, and the countless Shikgoe they encountered on their travels. Hoeun had only witnessed a fraction, yet even that was overwhelming; the past had surely been worse, never lighter. And even then, Taemuk still traveled back and forth to Hanyang in search of the guide — how could anyone bear so much?

Wanting to ease his mood, Hoeun forced a smile.

“Even so, you are remarkable. To think this far just from a record chart.”

One way or another, they had taken a great stride toward uncovering the Shikgoe’s identity — surely a cause for celebration. Yet Taemuk’s gaze only grew darker.

“It’s going to get harder.”

“P-pardon?”

“We’re going to face many more of those things. And just as many will get hurt. And…”

Taemuk, uncharacteristically, let his sentence trail off. Yet Hoeun felt certain he had heard the rest anyway.

‘And many will die.’

Hoeun’s smile faded. Unable to find a proper response, he bit down gently on his lower lip. Taemuk stared through the tent cloth — or rather, beyond it — at the Jeokudae soldiers standing outside.

“And even so, those men will follow me without complaint the moment I say to move. Even knowing how it may end.”

“……”

“But we have to do it. Because if not us, then no one will.”

“Because we are Jeokudae…”

“Exactly. Because we are Jeokudae.”

“…”

Hoeun drew a thin breath. He had always thought of the Jeokudae merely as the strongest unit, nothing more concrete. Yet now he understood — their shoulders bore an unfathomable weight. Hoeun, who had lived weakly all his life, could not even fathom such responsibility.

He looked at Taemuk. Taemuk was neither crying nor grieving nor visibly tormented. He simply stared at the flickering lantern with that usual impassive expression. Yet despite staring at light, his eyes were pitch-black, without a single glimmer.

In those jet-black eyes, Hoeun saw loss. Future deaths already seemed to sit like stones upon his heart.

Hoeun set the book aside and slowly crawled toward Taemuk. Kneeling before him, he took his hand gently.

“I will go with you.”

He did not know what awaited them. What they had endured already was brutal enough, and the road ahead promised to be even harsher. Fear tugged at him.

And yet — if it was with Taemuk, he felt he could endure. He would surely be useless, a burden to others, but still — as Taemuk’s guide, he would do whatever he could. No — he wanted to.

“…”

Taemuk slowly lifted his gaze to Hoeun. Hoeun met his eyes head-on, and spoke each syllable with solemn conviction.

“No matter how it ends, I will walk that path at your side.”

“…”

Taemuk did not respond. He only watched Hoeun with a heavy, unreadable gaze. Silence fell.

“……”

“……”

Yet in that stillness, so much could be heard — the wind filtering faintly through the tent, the canvas fluttering, the soft pop of charcoal in the brazier… and the sound of their breathing.

Who knew how long that hush lasted? At last, Taemuk gently withdrew his hand from Hoeun’s grasp, only to stroke Hoeun’s unbound hair. Silky strands slipped through his fingers, parting like water.

“…”

Hoeun swallowed, throat suddenly dry. It did not hurt, nor did it even feel like much — yet his throat burned inexplicably.

Taemuk stroked his hair perhaps half a dozen times. He lingered especially on the ends where the ribbon had once been tied, toying with them over and over. Then he lowered his hand, took Hoeun’s hands resting on his knees, and brushed his thumb along the delicate bone of his wrist.

“I want to.”

“…P-pardon?”

“Till the end.”

“…”

Hoeun’s gaze froze. The sentence was short, but its meaning was unmistakable.

He wanted to do it — all the way. To the end.

But… it would hurt. It would be painful. He would cry.

What if he said no? Could he say no? Did he have that right? Would he be grabbed by the hair again, face shoved down beneath him?

And yet — strangely — Hoeun felt that this time, he could choose. If he refused, Taemuk would simply say, “Very well,” lie down, and sleep as if nothing had happened. And at dawn, he would quietly tend the brazier and replace the charcoal — just as he had these past few days.

So should he refuse?

Tell him he still feared him, still had not shaken off the memory of his cruelty — then turn away and sleep?

Hoeun’s breaths came fast and shallow as he searched Taemuk’s eyes. Then he swallowed hard.

“…Yes.”

He agreed — to something even he could not fully understand. He was still afraid of him, still terrified — and yet, oddly… he wanted it. He felt it would be all right.

Because this Taemuk was whole — not wounded, not lost to rage, not burning hot. This was the real Taemuk. He would not hurt him like before.

Taemuk’s brow lifted faintly, then settled. He, too, seemed surprised.

“Once I begin, I won’t stop.”

He generously offered one last chance to flee.

“Yes.”

But Hoeun did not flee. He had already resolved himself. His body might be frail, but his will was not. Once he chose, he followed through.

He expected Taemuk to seize him by the hair, drag him close, and crush their mouths together — as always. Instead—

“…”

Taemuk moved slowly. With steady eyes locked on Hoeun’s, he undressed him — not tugging, not tearing, but unhurriedly, with deliberate care.

“…”

With each garment that slipped away, Hoeun’s chest rose and fell faster. When only his under-robe remained, his fists clenched tight without his noticing — yet Taemuk noticed, pausing with a finger hooked through the ribbon at Hoeun’s collar.

“…”

Hoeun caught his breath, then nodded faintly — it’s all right. At that, Taemuk tugged the ribbon. The loose robe slid down in a whisper, baring Hoeun’s skin.

The falling fabric brushed his arm with a faint scritch, like a blade’s kiss. The sensation was small, yet Hoeun flinched, shoulders curling to his ears. Embarrassed, he darted a glance upward — and sure enough, Taemuk’s brow had furrowed slightly.

“…”

Hoeun bit his lip and lowered his gaze.

“Cold?”

Taemuk stroked his goose-bumped arm. Hoeun froze a moment, then shook his head.

“I… don’t know.”

He could not tell whether it was chill or nerves. He felt neither heat from the brazier nor cold from the air — only shivers rising again and again.

Taemuk gave the faintest smile. Lifting Hoeun’s arm, he pressed his lips firmly to the gooseflesh.

Hoeun startled and looked down — only to meet Taemuk’s eyes looking up at him.

“…”

Taemuk followed the trail of goosebumps with his lips, pressing slow, firm kisses — like sealing stamps — along his arm, up to his shoulder, then down across his chest, drifting lower until he reached his solar plexus.

By then, Hoeun had half reclined, back arching, ribs stark beneath pale skin, long hair cascading over the bedding like ink spilled across snow. Taemuk held him by the waist, kissing him over and over across the chest.

“G-General…”

Hoeun whispered. Though they had shared many acts before, Taemuk had never pressed his lips to his body like this. It was nothing like biting or licking. It felt… different. Too intimate. Too earnest. And it made shame curl hot in his belly — not shame at the act, but shame at his own body.

His thin frame looked like bare bone even to himself — how must it appear to Taemuk, with his powerful, masculine body looming above? Lying beneath him, Hoeun felt like a skeleton.

He scrunched his eyes shut and even covered them with an arm.

And at that moment — something soft and warm closed around his nipple.

“Hh—…!”

Hoeun’s eyes flew wide. Taemuk was suckling him. It was the same skin, the same body — yet the sensation was utterly different. And the embarrassment doubled, tripled.

“G-General…”

Unable to say stop, he could only call helplessly. Taemuk, heedless, suckled gently — slrp, chup — then flicked his tongue in a slow circle around the areola.