Chapter 167

“…Pardon?”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“……”

The expression drained from Hoeun’s face. The sudden apology left him flustered and dazed. Unable to find an immediate response, he merely parted his lips, and Taemuk, gently cupping Hoeun’s hand in both of his own, spoke again.

“I won’t do it again. Ever.”

“……”

“I’ll treasure you.”

“……”

“To me, you’re… precious. Very much so.”

As Taemuk continued, his lips moved awkwardly, as though unfamiliar with forming such words aloud. In truth, this was the first time in his life he had ever spoken them. Yet Hoeun was someone who could only be described as precious—no, even that felt insufficient.

To Taemuk, Hoeun was not merely his iin. Of course, the fact that the heavens had bound them together was one reason among many—but it was only one of countless reasons.

Hoeun was beautiful, kind, gentle, intelligent, good-hearted… and above all, the person who had made Taemuk no longer alone.

Before Hoeun, Taemuk had always been alone. Even with the Jeokudae soldiers bustling around him, in the end, he was solitary.

After being torn apart by shikgoe all day and dragging himself back with mangled limbs, the others would be held by their own iin, comforted in their pain. Taemuk, however, had to writhe alone in an empty military tent. Perhaps it had not even been pain, but loneliness. Something no one could help, and no one could cure.

But now, Hoeun asked whether he had returned safely, whether he was hurt. He welcomed him, worried over him. With these beautiful hands, he touched him, held him. Hands that soothed not only Taemuk’s body, reduced to rags, but even his heart. How could someone like that not be precious?

Taemuk hesitated briefly, gauging Hoeun’s reaction, then lowered his head and pressed his lips firmly to the wound on Hoeun’s hand. He traced upward along his fingers, planting a soft kiss on the fingertips as well.

Leaving his lips there, he let out a deep sigh.

“I wish your wounds would heal whenever I touch you…”

“……”

“I can’t fix you, so don’t get hurt. And don’t be in pain.”

As he said this, Taemuk looked at Hoeun with a gaze that was both tender and faintly improper. He seemed to despise the idea of Hoeun being injured to an unbearable degree.

“……”

Hoeun stared at Taemuk, dazed. I’ll treasure you. You’re precious. The words echoed in his ears. In truth, they were not words unfamiliar to him—he had heard them from his parents, his brothers, even from Deokwoo.

Yet hearing them from Taemuk felt different. No—entirely new. He understood that the way Taemuk meant treasuring and preciousness was not the same as familial affection.

After that, Taemuk continued to fuss over Hoeun’s hand—furrowing his brow at the wound, clicking his tongue in dissatisfaction, then glancing at Hoeun as if embarrassed by his own words before pointedly looking away.

“……”

Hoeun watched Taemuk without blinking. As he did, Taemuk’s appearance—his handsomeness—struck him anew.

How could someone look so unmistakably manly? His eyes were deep-set, yet his gaze was that of a wild beast; his nose straight and clean, his jawline sharp and firm.

As Hoeun examined Taemuk’s face inch by inch, a sudden thought crossed his mind: I want to kiss him. He wanted to hold him, touch him, knead him. It was a desire he had never once felt in his life.

Without realizing it, Hoeun leaned toward Taemuk. He even lifted onto his toes.

Then—

“Let’s go back. You need medicine on that hand.”

Taemuk released Hoeun’s hand as he spoke. Startled, Hoeun quickly straightened up. His face flushed as though heated over fire. Me—having thoughts like that. Such indecent thoughts… He blinked helplessly.

Just as Taemuk moved to lift him, he noticed Hoeun’s reddened face and frowned.

“Why is your face so red?”

“Ah—uh—that is—um—my hand! My hand hurts…!”

Hoeun blurted out whatever came to mind. Taemuk’s expression instantly turned serious.

“It hurts that much? Then let’s hurry.”

Taemuk scooped Hoeun up. Startled, Hoeun flailed, trying to escape his arms. Though he was carried by Taemuk every day, suddenly it felt unbearably embarrassing.

“P-please put me down. I can walk.”

Taemuk knit his brows and tightened his hold around Hoeun’s legs.

“What nonsense. How are you going to walk through all this snow? You want to catch a cold and start coughing again?”

“…Nonsense?”

“Yeah. If it’s nonsense, then what—birdsong?”

“……”

“Just because your voice sounds nice doesn’t turn nonsense into birdsong.”

Taemuk enunciated each word carefully, absurdly so. Hoeun stared at him blankly for a moment—

“Hahaha…”

—and then burst out laughing. After saying he would treasure him, after calling him precious, Taemuk now talking about nonsense felt so very Taemuk that Hoeun couldn’t help himself.

“Why are you laughing?”

Taemuk raised one eyebrow, utterly baffled. He even checked Hoeun’s head, wondering if he’d been injured without his knowing. That, too, was ridiculous, and Hoeun laughed again.

Hoeun had always eaten slowly, but today he was especially sluggish. Watching from across the table, Taemuk finally lost patience and placed a thick slice of meat into Hoeun’s rice bowl.

“Eat.”

“……”

The soy-sauce-marinated meat looked delicious, but it was thick and rough—something that required a lot of chewing. Hoeun reflexively pressed his lips together. A sharp, stinging pain flared inside his lower lip. Unable to touch the meat, he simply stared at it, until Taemuk picked up his chopsticks again.

“What—don’t like meat? Then eat bean sprouts.”

This time, he placed a small portion of bean sprouts into Hoeun’s bowl—only two strands, careful not to overwhelm him. But Hoeun’s lips twitched restlessly before he slowly set his spoon down.

“I want to stop eating.”

“Full already? That fast?”

Taemuk looked over the table in confusion. Hoeun usually struggled to finish even half a bowl of rice, but today he hadn’t eaten even that much.

At Taemuk’s stiffened expression, Hoeun hesitated. Should he tell the truth, or lie? Deciding it was wrong to lie to a superior, he spoke softly.

“It’s just… my mouth hurts.”

“Your mouth hurts? Why?”

Taemuk bent forward, peering intently at Hoeun’s lips. Yet they looked perfectly fine—no cuts, no tears, no pallor. Just soft and delicate.

As Taemuk narrowed his eyes in confusion, Hoeun covered his mouth with his sleeve and explained quietly.

“I think I have guchang.”

“What’s guchang.”

“It’s also called a mouth sore.”

“So what is it.”

Irritation crept into Taemuk’s gaze. He understood wounds and cuts, but illnesses were foreign to him. Thanks to Hoeun, he was learning new ailments every day; today’s lesson appeared to be guchang.

“It’s inflammation inside the mouth. It stings, so chewing is difficult.”

Hoeun said, still covering his lips.

“You’ve got inflammation in your mouth? Let me see.”

Taemuk shoved the table aside with one hand and pulled Hoeun toward him. While Taemuk sat directly on the floor, Hoeun, seated on a cushion, slid easily into place before him.

“……”

Instead of answering, Hoeun shook his head. He was embarrassed to show the inside of his mouth, and disliked making a fuss over something so trivial.

“Open your mouth.”

Taemuk ordered, looking fierce enough to pry it open himself if needed.

“It’s r-really nothing…”

After hesitating, Hoeun reluctantly opened his mouth. Taemuk gently held his cheeks and examined inside—but found no inflammation. Just as he was about to slide a finger in to check beneath the tongue—

“Here…”

Hoeun lightly flipped his lower lip down with his finger. Nestled in the pink flesh was a small white sore, no larger than a pinky nail. It looked insignificant, but given its location, it must have been quite uncomfortable.

Hoeun already took little pleasure in eating; pain with every bite would make skipping meals all too easy.

Taemuk exhaled sharply through his nose and struck the table in irritation. Two soup bowls rocked at once, metal utensils clattering sharply.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

He glared at Hoeun.

“…What?”

“Every time I tell you not to get hurt, you end up hurting somewhere. Are you getting back at me?”

Hoeun blinked, then let out a soft laugh. Revenge was the last thing on his mind—and even if it were, would hurting himself really count? The idea was absurd.

But Taemuk was serious.f

“Don’t laugh. Answer properly.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then why does it hurt?”

“Well… it happens when I overdo things, or get tired, or don’t sleep enough.”

Hoeun replied, pressing his lower lip gently before releasing it. It had happened at home too—when he ate too little, went sightseeing with Deokwoo, or lost sleep. If anything, it was surprising it hadn’t happened earlier at the front.