CHAPTER 47: KISSES AND ARROWS

The arrows kept falling, not warning shots, but a clear way of telling them to get lost.

"This is crazy!" Jae snapped, cowering behind the log alongside Caelan and Rong Ye. "We should leave right now and come back later! Before we get run through like wild boars!"

"And leave our things behind?" Rong Ye replied, without taking his eyes off the forest. "We’d be left without food, without water, without shelter. We’d be dead in two days."

"So what? Do you think it’s better to die now?"

Caelan raised an eyebrow quietly, as if everything seemed less alarming than it really was.

"What if we talk to them?"

Jae turned his head towards him with an incredulous expression.

"Talk? With those who are shooting arrows at us?"

"It might work," Caelan said, shrugging. "We just have to tell them we’re from Rhys. If they know him, maybe they’ll listen."

Rong Ye gave a dry laugh.

"Oh, sure. ’Hi! You’re shooting at us, but we just wanted to say we’re friends with Rhys. Could you maybe stop trying to kill us?’"

"Yeah, that sounds like a foolproof plan," Jae added sarcastically. "Nothing could go wrong."

But Caelan smiled. That cocky, confident smile of his, the one that appeared just before he did something stupid but surprisingly effective.

"Just watch", he said.

Then he raised his voice, strong and clear, with a confident tone that rose above the whistling of the arrows:

"We didn’t come here to fight! We know Rhys! He sent us!"

The forest fell silent as the arrows suddenly stopped flying.

Caelan smiled even wider, as if he had just proven his point.

"See?" he said, turning slightly toward them. "Sometimes you just have to..."

But he didn’t finish the sentence.

Several hooded figures dropped from the tops of the nearest trees. They wore clothes that blended into their surroundings: dull greens, browns, dark fabrics that absorbed the light. They moved cautiously, as if they were part of the forest itself.

The first blow landed directly on Caelan, who reacted immediately, placing himself between the attackers and the other two. Without losing his balance, he spun, blocked a kick, dodged a punch, and returned the blow with just enough force to knock the enemy back.

There were five of them. Fast, agile, trained. But they didn’t use weapons against him, and that gave him an advantage.

Caelan twisted his body to dodge attacks, blocked with his forearms, and responded with closed fists to the face or stomach. One attempted to flank him, but Caelan intercepted him with a kick to the chest that knocked him down.

Another one lunged at him from the side, and Caelan grabbed them by the arm, spun them around, and hurled them into a tree. Despite being outnumbered, he didn’t allow any of them to get close to Jae or Rong Ye. It was clear he wasn’t fighting on impulse. He was fighting with experience. As if he’d been in these situations many times before.

Jae took a step forward, as if wanting to intervene, to do more than just watch.

"We have to help him!"

But Rong Ye held his forearm tightly.

"No. He can handle them. We must recover the supplies."

Jae hesitated, but Rong Ye’s expression left no room for argument. They ran, crouching low, through the still-damp vegetation, toward the clearing where they had left their backpacks. Their hearts pounded. The shouts of the fight behind them mingled with the cracking of branches and the whistling of the wind.

As soon as they arrived, Rong Ye lunged for his backpack and strapped it over his shoulder. Jae did the same, but he’d barely finished fastening one of the straps when the sound of snapping branches made him spin around.

"¿Rong Ye?"

A figure emerged from the bushes with feline movements, lunged at Rong Ye, grabbed him tightly by the waist, and dragged him into the thicket. The attacker was taller and much more powerful than him, with thick arms and an imposing presence, like a wild beast. Rong Ye kicked and tried to scratch his face, but it was in vain. He couldn’t stop him.

"¡Jae!"

"No!" Jae launched himself after them, but another figure, just as silent, stepped in his way. It hit him hard in the stomach, knocking him backward.

Jae rolled on the ground, tasting the metallic tang in his mouth. He tried to stand up, but the attacker pushed him against a tree trunk.

From afar, Rong Ye’s voice sounded again, growing fainter.

"¡Jae!"

Jae lay gasping on the ground, helpless, his hands still clutching the straps of his backpack. The attacker didn’t stop. He kicked him once in the side, then again in the leg, forcing him to drop the backpack and take cover. He was barely able to defend himself.

"No..." He whispered.

As he tried to catch his breath and dodge the blows, he looked up, searching for Rong Ye among the trees and undergrowth. But he was gone.

The attacker landed one last punch straight to Jae’s face. As darkness enveloped Jae, a single thought crossed his mind, bitter and silent:

I’m useless. I can never help anyone.

***

Rhys was still holding Eun-woo, his forehead against his, as if that small touch was enough to keep him whole. Eun-woo didn’t know when his hand had moved down Rhys’s back, gently caressing the contours of his shoulder blades, as if he feared that if they separated, everything would break again.

Rhys was the first to move. Not urgently, but with a reverent calm. He raised his face, still wet with tears, and met Eun-woo’s gaze. There was something more than relief in his gaze. Something that looked back at him with devotion and fear.

"Can I...?" Rhys murmured.

Eun-woo didn’t know what he was asking. But he nodded. Maybe because, deep down, he needed it too.

Rhys kissed him.

Their lips touched, first as a question, then as a plea. Eun-woo responded awkwardly, barely opening his mouth, afraid of doing something wrong. He felt his own heart pounding in his ears, and his skin, so sensitive under his shirt, reacted to every touch as if it were the first time someone had touched him like that.

Because it was.

Rhys was the first and he would be the only one.

Rhys wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him more firmly, and with the other he slowly moved down his back, lingering at the curve of his waist. He lingered there for a few seconds, as if gauging the courage to continue. Eun-woo tensed for a moment, but didn’t move away.

"It’s okay," Eun-woo said softly. "Just... go slow."

Rhys nodded. With a care that seemed born from a fear of breaking something precious, he slipped his hand under Eun-woo’s shirt. His fingers grazed the skin of his waist, so soft, so warm, and slid upward, feeling the contours of his ribs and the tension in his muscles.

Eun-woo closed his eyes. He held his breath.

The touch made him feel naked, but not of clothes. Stripped of everything he’d always hidden: his doubts, his insecurity, that part of him that thought he’d never be enough for anyone.

Eun-woo shivered as he felt Rhys’s lips on his collarbone. The warmth of his mouth was moist and left a tingling trail that slid down to his chest.

He responded awkwardly, reaching up and slipping his hand under the sweatshirt that still partially covered Rhys’s torso. He touched his skin, still warm from the fever, but firm. He felt the rapid heartbeat just beneath it.

"Does it hurt?" he whispered.

Rhys shook his head.

"No, not with you."

Eun-woo wrapped his legs around Rhys’s waist, as if his body knew what he couldn’t yet name. The closeness was new, but not overwhelming. It was slow. Necessary.

They both breathed at the same rhythm.

Their chests brushed against each other beneath the fabric, and each caress that slid skin against skin seemed to erase a bit of the past, of the mistakes, of the pain.

Rhys slid Eun-woo’s shirt up and placed his lips on the center of his chest, right over his heart. He left his lips there, unmoving, as if the gesture itself were a promise. Then he lifted his face and looked at him.

"I’ve never felt anything like this," he said in a raspy voice. "Like my body is returning to itself just from being near yours."

Eun-woo swallowed. His voice trembled as he replied:

"I... I’ve never done this. None of this. I don’t know if I’m doing it right."

Rhys smiled, a slight, quiet curve, as if he had just heard the most beautiful thing in the world.

"You’re doing just fine."

And he kissed him again.

Deeper.

Slower.

Their hands moved again, not urgently, but like someone exploring a new map for the first time. Their mouths sought each other again and again, until time seemed to melt away around them. Until nothing remained but the touch of their skin, the murmur of their breathing, and the throbbing heat of two people learning to touch each other without fear.

They went no further.

It was not necessary.

They slept intertwined, their chests against each other, their legs crossed under the blanket and their lips still wet from their last kiss.