BW C135

Chapter 135

“…Are you uneasy?”

“Yeah. I am.”

Taemuk could not fully grasp the shape of this unease — only that it swelled and swelled again. Hoeun was too small. Too thin. Too breakable. And far, far too… precious.

He coughed constantly, burned with fever, swayed on unsteady legs — irritating enough — and now bled for no reason. He had not been struck, nor bitten by a shikgoe. The blood simply came. And they could not even say when it would stop.

It stopped this time — but if one day it didn’t? He had so little blood in that tiny body to begin with. What if he bled and bled and it ran dry? The thought alone made Taemuk’s gut twist.

“Don’t get sick. Don’t get hurt. Don’t nosebleed. Don’t get tired. It pisses me off. Got it?”

Frowning so deeply his nose bridge creased, Taemuk delivered the command like a general sentencing someone — grave and uncompromising.

“….”

Hoeun looked at him quietly. Pathetically enough, he liked it — that Taemuk feared he might vanish. It meant he mattered. It meant he was needed. Useful. Wanted.

“…Yes. I will try.”

Hoeun smiled softly as he nodded. Taemuk wiped the blood from his face, then laid him down. He reached for the blanket — but froze. The bedding was damp, stained with blood, sweat, and all manner of unspeakable traces.

He tossed it aside and climbed down, returning with his own overcoat. Draped over Hoeun, it covered him from throat to toe — large enough to be a quilt.

Satisfied, he nodded lightly — until Hoeun tugged the fabric down from his chin and murmured,

“This isn’t very warm.”

Taemuk didn’t complain — simply climbed down again, clearly intent on finding another blanket or fur. But Hoeun caught his ring finger.

“J-just… if you hold me, I’ll be warm…”

His gaze sank shyly, words fumbling from his lips — clumsy, awkward, unmanly. Yet earnest. Taemuk stiffened.

“…Well… I am warm.”

His reply was strangely awkward. Hoeun couldn’t help but laugh quietly. Perhaps this was new for Taemuk too — these gestures, these feelings. Just as Taemuk was the only military god he had, Hoeun was likely the only Guide Taemuk had ever known.

Taemuk returned to the bed and lowered himself beside him — stiff, hesitant. Moments ago he had done everything two bodies could do; yet simply lying together now made him awkward. If anyone saw, they’d surely laugh.

“….”

“….”

Silently they stared at the tent roof, thick quiet settling between them. Awkward, heavy. Unexpectedly, Hoeun spoke first.

“I am cold.”

“A-ah.”

Taemuk immediately drew him close, kicking the coat open with clumsy feet. Hoeun’s lips twitched faintly upward as he nestled into Taemuk’s chest, cheek pressing against solid warmth.

Through thick muscle, he heard a steady thump, thump, thump. Heavy and rhythmic. It loosened his limbs and drained the tension from his bones.

He was tired. A long day, a brutal night, and a nosebleed — exhaustion clung to him like frost.

Taemuk stroked his hair; Hoeun’s eyes slowly closed. He whispered softly,

“General.”

“…What.”

“From now on… could you call me Hoeun like earlier?”

“…What?”

“You called me that — Hoeun-ah. I liked it…”

Never mind the obscene words that followed — that one moment had been beautiful. Not the title — the voice. The expression. The way he felt seen — like someone Taemuk could call by name.

“….”

Taemuk did not answer at once. He swallowed, cleared his throat, wet dry lips — then murmured,

“…I’ll think about it.”

The answer was vague, but Hoeun smiled. It was not rejection. Not silence. Nearly — almost — a yes.

“Yes.”

He burrowed deeper into Taemuk’s chest and shut his eyes tight, breath sighing out — his voice thick with sleep:

“Then… I should sleep now. Rest well, General.”

“Mm.”

Taemuk brushed Hoeun’s long hair like combing silk. Kissed his brow, his head. Smoothed the sharp ridges of his thin shoulders. Under that warmth, sleep took Hoeun helplessly.

“Sleep well… Hoeun-ah.”

Perhaps he heard it. Perhaps it was part dream.

1. A Cough That Cannot Be Hidden 

“Hff…”

Even his exhaled breath hung thick as fog. Billowing white clouds froze mid-air and dropped like powder. The snow-covered ground was white — the world white, sky to earth swathed in frost.

Hoeun hunched his shoulders, groaning softly. The cold bit to the bone. Hanyang winters were cruel — but this? Eyes stung as if icing over; nostrils burned as though growing icicles within them.

Worst of all — there was no escape from it. In the encampment, there had been tents, braziers — now, nothing. Only biting wind and merciless snow.

He sniffed, shoulders curling.

“Cold, Young Master?”

Gilsang’s voice came from beside him. Hoeun startled and shook his head.

“I’m fine. Warrant Officer, are you well?”

Layers — he was wearing so many layers. Two pairs of fur stockings. Taemuk’s cloak wrapped around him like a blanket since before mounting the horse. Meanwhile, Gilsang wore only uniform and cloak, a cloth covering his lower face.

Hoeun refused to complain before such a man. He straightened his back, forced his chin up. Gilsang’s answer surprised him.

“I’m a military god. Cold don’t bite us much. Pain don’t hit the same.”

“Oh… I didn’t know.”

So that was why Taemuk, burning hot, handled flame and steel like nothing — why gunshot wounds barely slowed him. A relief — or perhaps not? Pain meant restraint; lacking it meant recklessness. Hoeun’s brows pinched slightly. Gilsang mirrored the motion.

“I worry for ya, and the Guide.”

He turned back. Not far behind rode Seong-im. Cloaked heavy in wool, head and face wrapped in cloth — yet her posture, normally straight as a spear, bent slightly against the cold. She too suffered, as did many riders behind. Though some looked unfazed, most flinched each time the wind lashed past.

Hoeun bit his lip. Had he not asked Taemuk those questions, they might have traveled later — in spring — spared such suffering. Ten thousand soldiers, freezing because of him. Guilt weighed like snow.

But Gilsang shook his head firmly, as if reading his thoughts.

“No, Young Master. T’other camp colder than here. Flat land — wind cuts like knives. Summer? No shade, heat kills quicker.”

“…Truly?”

He had no way to know — but the reassurance eased him. His breath lowered in relief — and then the wind shrieked again. Hoeun tucked his neck like a turtle, whining softly.

And then—

Thudududududududu.

Hoofbeats thundered toward them.