PABO Ch 13

As the frail Muhwa bowed low enough to expose his pale nape, Nachalsa took a step back.
Then he said, flatly, “Don’t use honorifics. It’s uncomfortable.”

“What? Why?”

Haryeon Sol lifted his heavy eyelids. Instead of trying to read the other man’s expression, he gauged the atmosphere.

‘Could it be…?’

After watching the silent Nachalsa for a few seconds, Haryeon Sol cautiously parted his lips. What came out was a blunt voice.

“Are you… younger than me?”

Instead of answering, Nachalsa moved closer to the bed and sat down beside it. Feeling the heat of the ondol blazing beneath him, he reached out. The sweat soaking Haryeon Sol’s forehead transferred onto his palm.

“Hah.”

Clicking his tongue, Nachalsa scolded him.

“Are you trying to boil your brain? What’s the medical center there for?”

Letting the barrage of reprimands go in one ear and out the other, Haryeon Sol put on a dull expression. Perhaps because of the fever and numbness in his limbs, his thoughts felt paralyzed as well. Sitting there with his forehead pressed into Nachalsa’s hand felt not strange at all. If anything, the coolness of that hand felt nice.

Exhaling hot breath, Haryeon Sol leaned his face fully into the other’s palm. He heard a tutting sound, as if being lightly chided, but even that sounded pleasant.

“It’s cool….”

Come to think of it, his situation was terribly monotonous. The reason he had not been seriously ill since entering Munjeong Palace was not because his Flowering sickness had improved. It was because he never went out, stayed cooped up in his room, ate well, rested well, and lived quietly. If he wanted to continue living without incident, he would have to be one with his bed for the rest of his life. Even stepping out to feel the cool air of a summer dawn was forbidden.

Suddenly, a thought entirely unsuited to him filled Haryeon Sol’s mind. Wouldn’t it be all right if there were at least one uninvited guest who came by from time to time in this dull life? Even if they maintained a vague, give-and-take sort of relationship, who would throw stones at him? He was neither a Muhwa who would be troublesome whether one formed an alliance with him or fell out with him, nor was he the Emperor who could shake the very foundations of his position. Knowing just one collateral royal did not seem as though it would cause any real problems. Nachalsa’s touch was pleasant to just that extent.

“If you’re sick, shouldn’t you go see the Emperor, at least?” Nachalsa asked, brushing Haryeon Sol’s hair aside. Beneath his suddenly damp hand, a pale, rounded forehead was revealed.

“The Emperor…? How could I just go see him out of the blue? I’ve never even met him.”

“You can write letters, send greetings, attend a luncheon. The Emperor’s not some unreachable being.”

The way Nachalsa spoke, as if it were only natural, sounded utterly absurd to Haryeon Sol. He simply let out a small scoff and did not bother responding.

As if provoked by that reaction, Nachalsa poked Haryeon Sol’s temple with his index finger, again and again.

“Why? You don’t even want to do that? Are you worried that if the Emperor sees you, he’ll fall for you at first sight and start chasing you around?”

“What?”

“You seem awfully confident.”

If Haryeon Sol had not been a patient of the Flowering sickness, he might not have been so flustered by those words. If only he could have seen Nachalsa’s face—smiling as if amused, despite the mocking tone.

But Haryeon Sol could not read his expression, let alone his features. Taking the words at face value, he panicked. He wondered if, in Nachalsa’s eyes as a distant imperial relative, his attitude as a Muhwa had come across as offensive.

Haryeon Sol immediately pulled his head away from where it had been resting. A cowed look crept onto his once-relaxed face. Breaking out in a cold sweat, he began to mutter excuses.

“No… that’s not it…. It’s just kind of creepy, that’s all.”

“What is?”

Nachalsa wiped his palm against the sheet, rubbing away all the cold sweat that had dampened it. Then he placed his hand back on Haryeon Sol’s head. As if bewitched, Haryeon Sol entrusted his head to that grip and grumbled, “The Emperor… I mean, he’s twenty-six, right? Then he’s three years younger than me….”

“He’s twenty-seven.”

“Two or three years, same thing….”

“I said he’s twenty-seven.”

“Yeah, whatever…. Anyway, you want me to fawn over a younger guy just so I’ll hurt a bit less? Are you insane? I’m a grown man—I’ve got some shame.”

Haryeon Sol knew, rationally, that there was no need to say that much. But the problem was Nachalsa’s hand. That big, firm, cool hand made him feel too good. The clarity that had briefly returned to him slipped away again.

And so he spilled everything that was on his mind.

“The Emperor doesn’t need me anyway. They say there are tons of pretty Muhwa…. Why would someone like that go out of his way to meet a man?”

“Why not.”

Nachalsa’s reply was light, almost a snort.

“The Emperor likes men.”

“…”

Hearing that for the second time through someone else’s mouth, Haryeon Sol hunched his shoulders. With eyes that barely worked, he made a show of glancing around, then pouted.

“Is that really true? Is it okay to just say stuff like that?”

“Everyone knows it. Keeping quiet won’t change anything. The Emperor likes men. His first love was a man, too.”

“How would you know that?”

“…”

This time, the silence belonged to Nachalsa. As if the turn to speak had been passed to him, he closed his mouth and rolled his eyes. Then, a beat late, he answered, “All the Muhwa who visit his bedchamber every day are men, aren’t they? Yicha Hyeok, too.”

“Hyeok… ah, I mean. People say he’s an incredible beauty, though…”

“In my eyes, your face isn’t ordinary either, hyung.”

At that sudden remark, Haryeon Sol furrowed his brow. Drawing a line between his eyebrows, he half-opened his eyes. There was no doubt about it—Nachalsa was teasing him.

“Hey…. Guess I really am older than you, so don’t pick fights.”

“Pick fights? When did I ever?”

“You keep going on about the Emperor and my face and all that. Stop messing with me.”

A deep sigh followed his words. Shaking his head, which felt lighter than before, Haryeon Sol flopped back onto the bed. He pulled the sweat-damp blanket up and covered his face completely, only for Nachalsa to swiftly yank it away.

“What I’m saying is…”

When Haryeon Sol opened his eyes, a face was suddenly right in front of him. The black eyes that had once seemed animal-like were clearer now. Those dark pupils drifted slowly from top to bottom, and a low, steady voice followed.

“You’re the prettiest, hyung. More than any other Muhwas.”

The words were so close that the breath woven between each syllable tickled Haryeon Sol’s philtrum. Forgetting even how to blink, he froze. All he could do was sink his back fully into the damp sheet and let out a trembling voice.

“…Are you crazy?”

Nachalsa laughed. Letting out a low chuckle, he gently cupped Haryeon Sol’s face with both hands. The touch felt like he was checking his temperature, examining his complexion, so Haryeon Sol behaved obediently, like a sick child confined to bed.

Soon, Nachalsa hummed in satisfaction.

“Now you really look like you’ll live.”

He was right. Haryeon Sol could feel the fever that had weighed heavily on his head receding. His trembling hands and feet had long since calmed. The chill that had lingered beneath his nails was gone as well. His body, once aching all over, felt light—like a cotton pillow wrung dry.

“Mm….”

Making a vague sound that was neither a reply nor a groan, Haryeon Sol nodded. Nachalsa’s hands on his cheeks moved slowly. He lifted his thumbs and placed them over Haryeon Sol’s swollen eyelids, gently drawing them down until his eyes closed. Haryeon Sol did not resist at all. More accurately, he could not.

‘This feels nice.’

As drowsiness washed over him, Haryeon Sol smiled.

Yielding his body to the drowsiness that poured over him languidly, Haryeon Sol smiled.

Even after he had slipped into sleep in an instant, Nachalsa continued to hold his face for a long while. He bent his large upper body low, pouring nearly all of his focus into Haryeon Sol. Had there been two onlookers watching his behavior, they would likely have said different things. One might have thought he was imprinting the eyes, nose, and lips of someone who had rolled neatly into his grasp deep into his memory. Another might have suspected that he was comparing Haryeon Sol to someone else he already knew. Or perhaps, they might have wondered whether he was painstakingly trying to recall someone he had met long ago.