16

The abandoned homestead they found themselves in at nightfall wasn’t exactly paradise on earth, but it was good enough for a temporary shelter. It even had most of the original roof left.

“Horses are hitched,” Taemin said over the creak of the crooked doorway as he entered the ramshackle building. He held a low-burning oil lamp out in front of him, casting a gentle glow over the interior. “At least I think they are. I tied them to a tree, but I’m not exactly a knot expert.”

Aching and exhausted, Minho managed a lackluster half smile as his only response. He was toeing the floorboards, trying to avoid any rot that would have them crashing through to the dirt.

Taemin let out a heavy sigh. “Come on, Minho. Talk to me. There’s no need to be ashamed about what happened earlier, okay? You’re in massive amounts of pain—you just got shot like less than a week ago, remember—and, well, I honestly think it would be more ed up if you weren’t so bothered by taking a man’s life. The way it happened was super gruesome, too, with all the blood just whooshing out like…” Taemin grimaced at himself. “Sorry. That’s not helpful.”

Minho kneeled down and began to unravel his bedroll. “You didn’t seem bothered at all,” he said quietly.

“I never claimed I wasn’t. I was. Maybe I just have a lot more practice hiding it than you… I don’t know. I’ve killed a hell of a lot of people, Minho, but it’s not like I take a sick joy in it. It’s just what I gotta do to survive. If you didn’t kill that guy, he would have killed us, and if he did, well, I wouldn't hold it against him. Sure, it would ing , but I kinda would have it coming to me, y’know? That’s just the kind of life we lead.”

Minho clenched his teeth to hold back the impulse to prod for more information about Taemin’s life. When Taemin wandered closer, Minho snapped, “You have your own bedroll. It’s strapped on the back of the horse. Go grab it.”

Ignoring him completely, Taemin squatted and grabbed a corner to assist Minho in straightening it out. “What is it, then?” he rambled on. “Is it the blood or the killing? ‘Cause I meant what I said, Minho. I have no issue handling that for you.”

With a sigh, Minho finally gave in. “It—it’s the blood, mostly. The visceral reminder that all we are is a big skin bag of meat with all this liquid sloshing around inside… It’s disgusting, and—and it freaks me out. I don’t like thinking too hard about it, about how vulnerable and mortal and weak humans are. How—how gross we are…” Minho shuddered and clenched his eyes as if that could shut off the images tormenting his brain. “I hate it. I hate all of it. Blood gushing out, bones breaking, the horrible wheeze as someone takes their last—”

“Hey, hey, hey! Stop, please!” interrupted Taemin, waving his hands in front of him desperately. “Damn, I’m sorry I asked. Jesus , Minho… You ever consider getting yourself a shrink? What the hell is going on up there?” 

He poked Minho directly in the center of the forehead, and if he wasn’t equally disturbed by his own words and confused by Taemin’s, Minho might have snagged that finger and broken it in his fist.

“Shrink?” he repeated, hoping for clarification.

“Y’know… A therapist, a—a… what are they called… a psychologist. Psychiatrist? Psychoanalyst? The doctor for your head.”

“What?”

Taemin sighed and brushed him off. “Nevermind. Are you feeling any better, though? Physically, mentally, emotionally…” He trailed off, raising his eyebrows and pouting his lips slightly to try and encourage Minho to take over the conversation.

Minho shrugged. “It’s not the first time I’ve been shot. I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not what I asked,” said Taemin, his pout deepening.

Minho rolled his eyes. “Godammit, Taemin… Yes, I’m feeling better. It still hurts like hell, but not the kind of pain that makes me wish the bullet killed me in the first place. I just did too much too soon.”

“You cried a lot,” added Taemin with a hint of the judgment he promised to withhold.

Minho shut down. “Let’s just go to bed,” he grumbled. He began to tear at the laces on his boots, trying to remove them as quickly as possible.

“I thought you looked kinda beautiful, actually. It’s y to see a man so vulnerable…” Taemin leaned across the bedroll and placed his hand just above Minho’s knee. “It’s hot to see you so… so raw.”

Minho grabbed Taemin’s hand and tossed it off of his leg. “I’m too tired to be seduced right now, Taemin. I just want to sleep.”

“Who said I was seducing you? I was merely trying to comfort you in my own way. It’s not my fault if it made you .”

“You are so irritating,” mumbled Minho, but his cheeks were warm. 

Taemin grinned. “You say that now, but I can tell you’re already learning to love me.”

Minho tried not to engage him further and instead made a move to take off his jacket, not entirely interested in spending the night crusted in somebody else’s blood, but the strain of his muscles in the movement made him wince.

“Stop that,” Taemin scolded, moving behind Minho and grabbing the collar of his jacket to take control. “Are you an idiot? If something hurts, you’re supposed to stop. Let me help you before you start sobbing again.”

Minho let himself be disrobed like he was a dependent toddler, unable to dress or undress himself. Taemin was gentle, easing it down off of his arms and folding it in his lap. Though the blood bothered Minho, Taemin was unruffled by it.

“What’s this?” Taemin said, capturing the corner of a scrap of paper that stuck out of a pocket of the jacket. 

“Oh,” Minho had nearly forgotten. “It’s from the carriage—uh, that paper we found under the bricks.” He held out his hand for it, but Taemin had already made away with the prize. Like an inquisitive toddler, he brought his face close to the paper as he bathed it in the faint light of the lantern, as if the proximity could somehow lend way to understanding.

“What’s it say?” asked Minho, giving Taemin’s literacy skills the benefit of the doubt.

“Uh, not much,” responded Taemin. He traced over the letters with his fingers. “Not a long message at all.”

“But what does it say?”

“I, um, I think you should come over here and see for yourself, actually.”

Minho bit back a more acerbic comment and said simply, “You really can’t read, can you?”

Taemin sighed and sat cross-legged