NOVEL WEB Chapter 14: 14
The confession hung in the air, a fragile, impossible truth, yet it settled between Jihoon and Taeyoung not as a chasm, but as a bridge. The moments after Jihoon's revelation were a blur of raw emotion. Taeyoung, the man who commanded armies and struck fear into the hearts of his enemies, held Jihoon with a tenderness that bordered on reverence, his large hands carefully tracing the lines of Jihoon's face, as if confirming his beloved's impossible journey. He didn't question the how, only the what it meant for them.
"Terminal," Taeyoung murmured again, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. "No cure?"
Jihoon shook his head weakly, nestled against Taeyoung's chest. "Not in my world... not when I left." The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken fear, the ticking clock now louder than ever. But then, Taeyoung's arms tightened around him, a silent vow of defiance.
The next few days were a strange, intimate cocoon. Taeyoung rarely left Jihoon's side, his presence a constant, unwavering warmth. He spoke little of the revelation itself, instead focusing his immense will on Jihoon's comfort and recovery from the recent attack of illness. He personally oversaw the physician's visits, his dark eyes scrutinizing every herb, every tonic, demanding explanations for their properties with a fierce intensity that made the old physician tremble.
Namhyun and Seokjoon, now fully aware of Jihoon's extreme fragility (though not the otherworldly cause), maintained a vigilant, almost suffocating, watch, their loyalty deepening into a protective zeal that bordered on comical. Jihoon once tried to sneak to the library for some more research, only to find Seokjoon politely but firmly blocking his path, a tray of steaming broth in hand. "The General's orders, Sir. Rest. And consume every drop." Jihoon groaned, but a fond smile touched his lips. He was utterly loved, utterly spoiled, and utterly trapped in a very comfortable, very concerned cage.
One night, after Jihoon had seemingly drifted off to sleep, he felt Taeyoung shift beside him. Taeyoung's hand reached out, not to simply hold, but to gently trace the contours of Jihoon's body beneath the silk covers, as if memorizing every line. He moved slowly, deliberately, his fingers lingering on Jihoon's ribs, then tracing the curve of his waist, before settling over his chest, directly above his heart. Jihoon felt the subtle warmth, the soft pressure, the profound tenderness of that touch.
He opened his eyes slightly, just enough to see Taeyoung's face bathed in the moonlight filtering through the window. Taeyoung's eyes were open, fixed on him, filled with a raw, almost desperate anguish, yet also an overwhelming love. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Jihoon's forehead, then his eyelids, then his lips, a silent prayer, a desperate plea for time.
"Don't leave me, Jihoon-ah," Taeyoung whispered, his voice rough with emotion, raw with a fear Jihoon had never heard from him before. "Do not fade." He pulled Jihoon closer, burying his face in Jihoon's hair, clinging to him as if Jihoon might vanish at any moment. Jihoon, deeply moved, wrapped his arms around Taeyoung, holding him just as fiercely. In that moment, surrounded by the quiet hum of the night, their souls intertwined, a profound intimacy deeper than any physical act. The vulnerability Taeyoung showed, the sheer terror of loss that shone through his formidable façade, irrevocably bound Jihoon to him. He knew, with absolute certainty, that he would fight for every single breath, for every moment they had together.
As Jihoon slowly regained his strength, Taeyoung's focus shifted from purely physical care to a relentless, almost obsessive, pursuit of a cure. He summoned scholars from every corner of Goryeo, not just physicians, but astrologers, alchemists, historians of obscure lore, and hermits rumored to possess ancient knowledge. He described Jihoon's "unique illness from a distant land," omitting the transmigration for now, lest he risk Jihoon being labeled a demon or a fraud. The palace buzzed with whispers about the General's "afflicted spouse," and his unprecedented efforts to find a cure.
Meanwhile, the presence of Min Youngjin and Prince Jaemin in the mansion continued to be a delicate dance. Jihoon, with Taeyoung now aware of his mission, found his efforts to steer Jaemin and Youngjin's relationship gaining an unexpected ally. Taeyoung, once indifferent to Jaemin, now subtly ensured the two princes had their private moments, recognizing Jihoon's silent intent. He'd create diversions, or simply send a curt nod towards a secluded part of the garden when he saw them together.
One afternoon, Taeyoung even subtly intervened when a high-ranking Goryeo official, Minister Lee, tried to corner Jaemin, ostensibly to discuss his future in Goryeo. "His Highness is quite fatigued from his journey," Taeyoung stated, his voice deceptively mild as he stepped between Minister Lee and Jaemin. "Perhaps Minister Lee can discuss his proposals with my husband, Sir Jihoon, who now oversees all matters concerning Goryeo-Joseon relations within this household."
He then gave Jihoon a knowing look, a silent instruction to protect Jaemin, and a mischievous glint that dared Jihoon to handle the notoriously verbose Minister Lee. Jihoon stifled a groan, but inwardly, he admired Taeyoung's quick thinking. He found himself spending hours in polite but firm conversation with the Minister, subtly deflecting inquiries about Jaemin's loyalty while redirecting the focus to diplomatic niceties. It was tedious, but it kept Jaemin safe.
The presence of Min Youngjin, however, also brought a new dynamic to Taeyoung's possessiveness. Youngjin, observing Taeyoung's profound devotion to Jihoon, occasionally offered a subtle, almost calculating, smile to Jihoon, a silent acknowledgment of the shift in power and affection in the General's household.
Taeyoung, ever vigilant, would invariably respond with a quiet, firm move: a hand resting on the small of Jihoon's back, a look that dared Youngjin to even consider stepping too close. It was a silent, territorial display that both amused and thrilled Jihoon.
As the days turned into weeks, Jihoon's perception of Goryeo transformed. It was no longer merely a historical setting from a novel, a place he was trapped in. It was home. The mansion, once a cage, was now filled with the warmth of Taeyoung's love, the steadfast loyalty of Namhyun and Seokjoon, the gentle friendship of Jaemin, and even the exasperated affection of Madam Ahn. He found himself taking genuine pleasure in overseeing the estate, in learning the intricacies of Goryeo culture, not just as a means to survive, but as a part of his new, chosen life. His roots, surprisingly, were growing deep.
One crisp morning, while overseeing the planting of new medicinal herbs in the ancestral garden, Jihoon paused, feeling a sudden pang of wonder. He looked around at the ancient trees, the quiet pond, the diligent gardeners. He glanced towards the training grounds where he could hear the distant clang of swords, a sound that no longer brought dread, but a feeling of security, knowing Taeyoung was there. He thought of his previous life, the sterile hospital, the bleak prognosis.
That world now felt like a fading dream. This one, with its vibrant colors, complex customs, and deep, consuming love, was undeniably real. He coughed then, a familiar, dry rattle that still brought a metallic taste to his mouth, reminding him of the constant threat. But this time, it was accompanied by a fresh wave of determination. He was fighting for this life, for this love, for this home. He would not give up. He would not fade. His roots were too deep now.