AN:  Heyyo, my lovelies!  Please enjoy this chapter!  

*places out a couple boxes of tissues and hurries off*

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The sun was nearing the horizon when Hoseok started to unbuckle the horse from the cart. The sturdy beast whuffed at the silvery hair of the man, lipping him in what he'd come to think of as a show of affection. He turned and rubbed a hand over her velvety nose.

"I'm hurrying, hold your... well, hold yourself." He smiled at her as her ears perked forward to the sound of his voice. She tossed her sable head a few times and shook her mane out before nosing at his shoulder. "Impatient nag," he teased.

When he finally got the last of the straps undone, he hooked a lead-rope to her halter and guided her to a nice copse of trees with some lovely grass nearby. A few deftly tied knots secured her to a thick pine, giving her enough line to both graze and reach the tiny stream that trickled nearby.

"I'll rub you down later. I have to check on the boys first." He slapped her rump before making his way back toward the tiny, canvas covered cart he had snitched from Market Square.

It had been three days since the carnage of the attack on Inner Seoul. In the chaos created by mass panic, Hoseok had lost his bearings. He'd found himself alone in a back alley, trying to orient himself so he could find his troops, grab as many slaves as possible, and beat a hasty retreat. What he found, instead, was a panicked young man begging for help. One look at the tear-streaked face – and the slave brand on the younger's wrist – and Hoseok couldn't refuse.

Rounding the back of the wagon, the general moved the flap of the canvas opening to the side, poking his head into the covered section. The young man was kneeling next to the prone form of another man, wiping the unconscious slave's forehead with a scrap of cloth that was already damp with sweat.

"How is he?" Hoseok asked softly, climbing up into the wagon. He walked on his knees to the other side of the form, gazing down at the slack face of the stranger. Even flushed with fever, his hair slicked with perspiration, he was undeniably handsome.

The young man across from him shook his head, running fingers through reddish-orange hair. Hoseok thought it was the oddest color he'd ever seen on a person, like a herd dog he'd met on Lord Jeon's lands once. "He needs a healer," the younger murmured, wiping at a fresh sheen of sweat that beaded on the forehead of the unconscious man. "An alchemist or something."

"We're fresh out of those," Hoseok replied dryly, receiving a glare from the shorter man. He had to remind himself that he wasn't talking to Yoongi and sighed. "Sorry."

"If we can't get him some kind of medical help, he's going to die." The redhead returned his gaze to the stranger. His voice lowered further, barely above a whisper. "It should have been me but..." He bit his plump bottom lip. Hoseok hoped he wasn't going to start crying again.

"We're traveling as fast as we can, Jimin," Hoseok replied grimly. "I can't push that horse any harder; this cart can't take it. If we lose this," he rapped his knuckles on the inside of the wooden sidewall behind him, "He will definitely die. I can't carry him all the way to the Jeon Estate."

The slave frowned, eyes flicking up to Hoseok's face before returning to his charge. "Too bad you're a fake; you could have used magic to help him."

Hoseok did not like the bitterness in Jimin's voice. "Like you're much better," the general grumped. "I may look like a noble, but at least I don't act like one."

"What?" Jimin's dark eyes narrowed slightly.

"My faking was done for a purpose." Hoseok tugged at a lock of silver hair that fell into his eyes. "What's your excuse for walking around like you shit gold?"

Jimin grumbled something under his breath, but Hoseok was pretty sure he heard babo included.

"See, right there." Hoseok rolled his eyes. "You even use fucking noble words. You're lucky I'm not Nobility, or I'd probably have killed you for that."

They glowered at each other over the body of the stranger before Hoseok continued. "If you talked like that to your master, I'm surprised you're still alive."

"He's the one who taught me," Jimin defended hotly. "And he wasn't my master, he was my friend."

Hoseok barked out a short laugh. "Right. Sure." He leveled Jimin with an expression that dripped with disdain. "I'm guessing that's what he told you so he could get you into bed without a fight?"

"You don't know him," the younger snarled, throwing the rag down onto the wooden floorboard next to his thigh. "You know nothing."

Hoseok clenched his fists where they sat in his lap. "Maybe if you actually told me something, I'd know more than nothing," he retorted. "You won't tell me where you came from, you won't tell me who you belonged to, for all I know 'Jimin' isn't even your real name. Hell, it's a girl's name."

"It is not!" Jimin yelled.

"Of all the stuck up Exers to be saddled with, I get you," Hoseok pressed on, anger welling up inside him. He wasn't sure why he was so upset, but something about the younger man rubbed him wrong. "I'm supposed to be leading a group of hundreds, I was supposed to save more than two." He looked down at the stranger. "And one of them might not even make it," he added more softly.

Maybe that's why he was so frustrated with the auburn-haired man. If he hadn't run into him in the alley, Hoseok thought he'd have found his soldiers and been able to complete his part of the mission. Instead, he'd had to carry a half-broken, mostly dead slave halfway across Inner Seoul, steal a wagon and a horse, and leave with only two others in tow, neither of whom he knew.

He didn't even know the name of the man dying between them. Jimin claimed to not have known him, but Hoseok didn't trust a lot of what came out of the smaller man's mouth. He was too secretive; he tended to dodge around questions and give answers that were vague at best. Hoseok could count on one hand things he knew about the odd Exer.

He'd introduced himself as Jimin and, despite Hoseok's earlier comment about it being fake, he figured it was actually the guy's real name. Jimin answered readily to it and there had been no hesitation when he'd told it to Hoseok.

He also admitted that he was eighteen and was not from Inner Seoul. According to his brand, he'd been born in the Park Kiyong estate pens, not the city ones. Hoseok had not seen his back, though, so he had no idea who actually owned him. That was one of the topics he tended to deflect away from.

It was obvious through his behavior that the dumb boy was in love with his owner and was probably trying to protect the man's identity. What was even more ludicrous to Hoseok was the fact that Jimin had stated that he would help Hoseok get the stranger to safety, but he had no intention of staying longer than necessary. The idiot actually wanted to return to his owner!

The younger man didn't seem to realize that there was no way that he'd be allowed to do that. He knew who the rebels were, who they were affiliated with. It would be too much of a liability to let Jimin go back into slavery, even if it was the younger's choice. Hoseok knew Yoongi too well; the older general would order Jimin killed rather than risk the lives of every member of the resistance.

As much as Hoseok found Jimin anger-inducing, he didn't want the other to die. He had plenty of redeeming qualities. He was helpful with the horse, he took good care of the stranger, and he pulled his weight around camp by cooking and gathering firewood. It was just his secrecy that irked the general.

"We should name him."

Hoseok blinked a few times, Jimin's soft tenor pulling his mind from the rabbit trail it was barreling down. "What?"

"This guy. We should give him a name." Jimin had picked the cloth back up and wiped at trickles of sweat that ran down the stranger's temples. "Then if he dies, we'll have something to put on his grave."

"I guess." Hoseok rubbed the back of his neck. "I've never named anything before," he admitted. "Have you?"

"Na- My master had a songbird once," Jimin said quietly. "He let me name it."

Hoseok raised his eyebrows slightly at Jimin's verbal stumble. The general wasn't sure what was more intriguing about it, though; the fact that he nearly revealed who his master was, or the fact that he was about to call his master by name. Slaves didn't do that.

There was no doubt Jimin was a slave, though. Brands couldn't be faked the same way hair color could. They weren't marked by a mere piece of hot iron; it was done using magic. A normal brand had a different look to it, it was rougher in texture, and Jimin's mark was identical to the magical version.

"What did you name it?" Hoseok decided to let Jimin's slip pass. Maybe he could weasel the name out of him over time. They were going to be traveling together for at least a couple weeks in order to get back to the Jeon estates, after all.

The younger ducked his head as if embarrassed. It was too dim under the wagon canvas to see if he was blushing, but Hoseok guessed he probably was. "Noodles."

"Noodles?" A snicker escaped the older man.

"I was eight," Jimin defended.

That was also interesting. "What adult man lets an eight-year-old slave name his songbird 'Noodles'?"

Jimin quirked a brow at Hoseok. "He was nine at the time. He thought it was a great name."

Something was definitely not adding up. Hoseok shifted so he sat with his back against the front wall of the wagon, stretching his legs out next to the stranger. "You're eighteen?"

Jimin nodded slightly, fidgeting with the damp rag.

"That would then make him nineteen."

"Uhm, yes."

Hoseok pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment. "He isn't your master, then. They can't own slaves until they're twenty," he pointed out. "So, who is he, actually?"

Jimin looked down at his hands mulishly, lips screwed into a frown. Hoseok felt a brief flash of victory to have caught the other in a lie. With a sigh, Jimin ran fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes. "The son of my owner," he finally admitted, though he didn't sound too pleased about giving up that information.

"You grew up together, then." It was more of a statement than a question but he saw Jimin nod a confirmation. Maybe Hoseok had been incorrect in assuming the whole 'friendship' thing was just a ploy to get Jimin's trust. "That's pretty abnormal," he commented.

Jimin didn't acknowledge Hoseok's words, crawling to the back of the wagon and looking out at the sky. "We should make a fire and get something cooking before it gets too dark." He was evading again and Hoseok sighed internally.

"I'm not very hungry," Hoseok admitted with a slight shrug. "I'll just have an apple and some of the jerky. Pass me the lantern and I'll get it lit so I don't have to find our rations in the dark."

Jimin grabbed their only portable light source and handed it to the older man. It took a moment of fumbling with the striker but Hoseok managed to get it ignited. It cast them in a golden glow, throwing shadows against the canvas above them. He set it on top of a box before opening a burlap sack to search for the apples.

"We still need a fire so I can make some broth for... uhm..." Jimin hesitated as he looked at the stranger. "Woobin maybe?"

Hoseok wrinkled his nose. "He doesn't look like a Woobin. Jungho?"

Jimin crawled back to his position next to the stranger's hip, tilting his head in thought. "Dohyun."

"Minki," Hoseok countered.

The other pulled a face. "Absolutely not."

"You named a bird 'Noodles'. I don't think your opinion is the best when it comes to naming someone," Hoseok snapped.

"It was a bird." Jimin threw his hands up, exasperated. "It isn't like I'm suggesting we call him 'Braised Beef' or 'Kimchi'!"

"Jin."

The airy voice slipped between their conversation, freezing both men in place. Then, like a rope snapping after being pulled too taught, Hoseok and Jimin whipped their heads around to stare down at their patient.

"My name," he whispered, his voice strained with pain, "is Se...Seokjin. Where-" he labored to breathe for a heartbeat. "Where is my brother?"

Not sure what else to do, Hoseok exchanged a glance with Jimin before inching closer to Jin, apples forgotten. "It's only us," he told the dark-haired man. "I'm sorry."

"Y-" Another gasp left his lips as he tried to move. "Yoongi?" He raised a shaky hand and pointed at Hoseok weakly.

Hoseok shook his silvery head. "No. I'm General Jung Hoseok. Yoongi is my superior. How do you know him?"

"Yoongi..." Jin's eyes slid closed as he took a few measured breaths. "Yoongi has Tae. He saw it. Yoongi has him." Hoseok could see the effort Jin was putting into talking and felt his heart squeeze painfully.

"Then he's safe," Hoseok reassured him, reaching out to take the hand Jin had pointed with.

Seokjin managed a small nod. "Yes." He peeled his eyes open and moved his head slightly to take in Jimin's form. "You." He reached with his other hand and Jimin instantly grabbed it between both of his. "You're the Chestnut boy." The dark-haired man managed a fraction of a smile.

"He's delirious," Jimin murmured.

"No." Jin's voice was slightly stronger. "You're the one he saw." He took another deep breath but didn't gasp as he had a moment ago. "He saw this happen."

"Saw what happen? Who?" Hoseok questioned, confusion pinching his brows together.

"Tae. My brother." He blinked a few times. "He can see things that are going to happen. He knew I'd die."

He didn't know why but the matter-of-fact way Jin announced his own imminent demise bothered him. "You're not dead."

"Yet," Jin amended with the smallest of shrugs. "I'm very thirsty, though."

Hoseok nodded and let go of Jin's hand, twisting to grab the waterskin that lay somewhere to his side.

Seokjin gasped loudly, the sound harsh and pained.

"What did you do?" Jimin demanded when Hoseok spun back around to look at the injured man. "Did you hit his leg?"

"I didn't touch him!" Hoseok defended, an edge of panic in his voice as he brought the canteen to Seokjin's face. "Here, drink this." He cradled Jin's head in one hand, guiding the mouth of the bottle to the other's lips.

The moment his fingers settled against the nape of his neck, Seokjin's breathing eased. He took a couple gulps before Hoseok pulled it away. "You'll vomit if you drink too quickly," he explained as he laid Jin's head back down on the makeshift pillow they'd made from old, empty sacks. Jimin had found them shoved in a box in the cart when they'd first stolen it.

Hoseok turned to tuck the bottle away as Jin groaned a complaint. The other man's hand scrabbled toward where Hoseok sat. With a sigh, the silver-haired man grabbed the hand to prevent him from getting ahold of the bottle. Seokjin stilled again the moment their skin touched.

Jimin was staring at the general, making him start to feel a little uncomfortable. "What?" the silver-haired man asked sharply.

"It's you," the smaller man breathed.

"What?" Hoseok repeated, brow furrowed.

Instead of elaborating, Jimin smacked his own hand against the side of the cart, hard. Then he reached across and grabbed Hoseok's wrist with his other hand. A very peculiar expression flickered across Jimin's face as he stared at the hand he had used to hit the wall. He let go of Hoseok, grimaced, then grabbed him again.

"What are you doing? Let go of me." Hoseok tried to shake him off but Jimin's grip tightened.

"You're making the pain vanish," Jimin told him, astonishment clear on his face in the golden lamplight. He let go and swore under his breath, shaking his hurt hand slightly and flexing his fingers. "You said you're not a noble. You don't have magic. But my hand hurts." Jimin reached toward Hoseok again but the older man pulled his arm away. "The moment I touch you, the pain stops."

"That's impossible." Hoseok shook his head incredulously. "I'm slave-born, same as you."

"I'm from Hanguk and my hair is orange," Jimin retorted. "Sometimes the universe does weird things. You must have some kind of magic-"

It hit Hoseok like the boulder from a catapult. "Shit!" His hand flew to his chest, feeling the outline of the charm Jeongguk had given him before the soldiers marched north. He let go of Jin's hand and lifted the bobble from around his neck. The moment it left contact with his skin, he felt the ache pierce into his knees. He could hear Seokjin's breathing return to a labored rattle.

"Put this on," he ordered, holding the necklace out to Jimin. "Make sure it touches your skin."

Bemused, the younger did as bid. His eyebrows rose as he stared at the hand he'd hit against the wagon. Then, Hoseok reached across and gripped Jimin's wrist. The ache in his knees subsided almost instantly. "Shit," he repeated in amazement.

The two stared at each other for a fraction of a second before Jimin practically ripped the necklace off and pressed the stone against the exposed skin above Seokjin's shirt collar. The injured man's breathing evened out again. He gazed up at them with eyes unclouded by pain.

"Whatever magic you're doing, please stop undoing it and redoing it," Jin pleaded. "It hurts."

Hoseok slipped the braided leather thong over Seokjin's head, tucking the pendant under his shirt so it would stay in place. "This has to touch you to work," he explained, feeling stupid for having forgotten all about the spelled trinket. "So, don't move around too much or it might fall off your chest."

Seokjin nodded his understanding before reaching out to retake Hoseok's hand in his own. "Thank you."

Hoseok hummed his response as his own pain vanished with the touch, relaxing slightly in relief.

"What is it?" Jimin cut in. "That necklace?"

"The younger Lord Jeon is a healer. He made it for me; it takes away pain."

Jimin's eyebrows rose, eyes widening. "Why would he do that?"

Hoseok licked his lips. "I have bad knees," he said vaguely.

"At your age?" It was clear from his tone that Jimin didn't believe it. "How?"

Hoseok had no intention of answering the other man. Jimin wasn't the only one who could dodge a question. "We should get that broth going so he can have something in his stomach. Did you want to make the fire, or should I?"

Jimin huffed slightly. "I'll do it. I don't think he wants you to leave." The younger looked pointedly at Seokjin and Hoseok's rejoined hands. Without waiting for a reply, Jimin snagged the striker in one hand and the haversack that contained their jerky in his other, and then crawled out of the wagon, disappearing from sight.

"He seems pleasant," Seokjin noted, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Hoseok turned to examine the other's face in the flickering lamp light. "Do you really have bad knees?"

"Yes." Hoseok shifted himself so he could sit more comfortably and still keep one hand in Jin's.

"Why?" It was an open and innocent sounding question.

Hoseok studied Seokjin carefully before answering. "I made my master angry when I was young," he explained. "He broke both my knees as punishment."

There was pity and understanding in Seokjin's eyes; every slave had seen their fair share of atrocities visited upon their fellows by the time they'd reached their early teens. "What did you do?"

Hoseok felt a shiver run up his spine. "I..." He looked away and shook his head. "I told him no."

The hand holding his squeezed gently. "You seem to have healed; you must have been very young."

"Thirteen," Hoseok replied, shuddering at the memory. Seokjin's hand tightened again.

"How old are you now?"

Glad Seokjin wasn't asking any follow up questions about the event, he forced his shoulders to relax. "I turned twenty in February."

"Still so young." Jin shook his head. "Only a year older than my little brother. He'll be nineteen this winter. I can hardly believe it."

"What about you?" Hoseok asked, hoping to steer the conversation even further away from his past.

"I'll be twenty-two in December."

Hoseok couldn't help himself; he laughed. "You're saying I'm young? You're hardly older than me."

"But I'm still older." A ghost of a smile flashed across his face before faltering. "Where are we?"

"About three days travel south-east of Seoul." Hoseok ran his thumb along the back of Seokjin's hand in soothing strokes. "Heading for my home."

"Three days?" He looked surprised and Hoseok nodded to confirm. "If I've been asleep for that long, why the hell am I so tired?"

Hoseok bit his lip and grimaced. "I know you don't feel the pain anymore, but you're really badly injured." He saw no need to sugar coat it for the older man. "Your leg is broken. The bone didn't break the skin, but I'm sure the muscle is pretty badly torn. We tried to set it, but neither Jimin nor I have any real training. You've had a fever all day, and half your body is one giant bruise. It's trying to heal itself but with injuries this bad, it's going to take a huge toll on you." He paused as he let that information sink in. "People don't normally survive being trampled by horses," he added gently.

"They don't usually survive having both their knees broken, either, but here you are," Seokjin replied in what was probably the most optimistic tone Hoseok had ever heard anyone use.

"I had a noble heal me with his magic," Hoseok reminded him.

"Is he where we're going?"

The younger man nodded.

Seokjin shifted slightly, eyes starting to flutter shut as he sighed. "Then I'll just have to survive until we get there so he can heal me, too. You'll make sure I do, though, so I'll be fine."

Within seconds, the older man was breathing the slow, even rhythm of sleep. Hoseok stared down at him, startled by how sure Seokjin had sounded.

With a shaky groan, he slipped his hand out of Seokjin's and forced his creaking knees to cooperate so he could crawl out of the wagon. He let Seokjin's words circulate through his mind, wishing he had as much faith in himself as the older man did.

Lowering himself slowly onto a log by the fire, he winced as his knees protested loudly. He saw Jimin watching him from the corner of his eye.

"Why did you tell him no?"

Hoseok shot Jimin a dark look over the fire.

"I wasn't intentionally eavesdropping," the younger said quickly, feeding another log to the fire. "I had to go back and get the pot, and I happened to overhear." He pointed at the cooking implements next to him.

The general pressed his lips thin as he stared into the dancing flames. He felt he had no reason to tell Jimin anything when the younger wouldn't do the same.

"If you tell me, I'll tell you who I belong to."

The offer caused Hoseok to eye the younger again. "Why do you even want to know?"

Jimin poked at the fire with a stick and shrugged awkwardly. "I don't know. Curiosity, I guess."

"There's no point in telling you."

"There's no harm in it, either."

Hoseok returned his gaze to the fire, contemplating the swirling sparks as they danced around each time Jimin poked at the logs. He was surprised when the younger broke the silence first.

"When I was sixteen, a maid caught me and my master's son in bed together. She - my master - had me whipped for it. Thirty lashes. The alchemist managed to keep the worst of them from scarring."

A chill crept up Hoseok's back, ran over his shoulders, and settled in his chest. "She?" he whispered. Hoseok's mind started to race; there were only so many women that could legally own slaves.

Jimin either didn't hear or ignored the question, continuing his story. "A few weeks ago, she walked in on us herself. I was knocked nearly senseless. Afterwards, he told me what she was going to do to me as punishment." He put the pot over a section of hot coals that he raked together with his stick. "I was going to be given to her soldiers, to rape as they pleased. Then I would be castrated and sent to die in the quarries." Though Jimin's expression remained neutral, his eyes fixed on the pot as he slowly stirred the contents, Hoseok could hear the quaver in his voice. "He saved me. Took me out of the dungeons, cleaned me up, and took me with him to Seoul, despite the fact that I don't actually belong to him."

The younger took a shaky breath. "I know I've lived a charmed life for a slave, but I know pain, too. I know what its like to be terrified that my actions will cause my death in some horrible way. But I also know what it's like to be loved unconditionally, to have someone who cares so much about me that they'd put their own reputation and status in danger just to ensure my safety. That's why I want to go back to him when we're done getting Seokjin to safety." He hesitated, flicking his eyes up to meet Hoseok's. "I honestly think he'd be on your peoples' side, if you just had a chance to explain to him what you're doing. Namjoon isn't a monster."

They lapsed into silence as Hoseok's stomach dropped into his feet. "The prince."

Jimin nodded mutely, idly tapping his stick against a rock, leaving black smears behind from the sooty tip.

"Fuck." Hoseok ran both his hands through his hair. "Fuck!" He made to stand but gasped as his knees protested. He remained on his log and buried his face in his hands. He definitely couldn't let Jimin go back now; the guy was the goddamned crown prince's... what? His friend? His lover? Hoseok lifted his head. "Shit," he murmured. The prince had a male lover; that was huge news. It was one thing for male nobles to partake in the pleasure houses that offered men as options, but the way Jimin spoke of it, they were legitimate, full on lovers.

"I didn't know he liked men," he admitted, brain in a jumble.

"He likes me." Jimin shrugged. "I think he likes women, too, though. We once accidentally walked in on the maids changing and he turned so red, you'd have thought he was a tomato." A playful smirk graced the ginger's face, making him look rakish in the light of the fire. "We ended up in a closet right afterwards; he was hard as a rock over a couple pairs of tits."

Hoseok continued to stare at Jimin, surprised by how open he was being. The way he was talking, it didn't sound like lies. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you don't trust me, and I don't blame you." Jimin tossed his stick to the side and checked on the broth he was brewing. "But you just gave up the thing that takes away what is probably constant pain to the guy that saved my life." Jimin tasted the broth then stirred it some more. "And that says a lot about the type of person you are."

"You even pronounce things like a noble," Hoseok griped, not sure what else to say.

"Namjoon insisted I attend all his lessons. I can speak, read, and write both common and Noble. I'm better at mathematics than he is. I can recite every member of the royal family, all the way back to the first Kim emperor, including all the cousins and distant second aunts. I have a complete noble's education." Jimin gave him a look that made Hoseok feel stupid. "Of course I sound like one."

They were quiet again as Hoseok let it all percolate in his brain. It was a lot to chew on. One thing stood out, though, and that was Jimin's sudden openness. Being Namjoon's personal... whatever... must have put a lot of strain on Jimin the past few days. He couldn't blame the younger man for hiding it. With a long exhale, Hoseok fixed his eyes on the younger man's face. When he noticed, Jimin raised his eyebrows.

"The late lord Jeon broke my kneecaps because I told him no when he ordered me to suck his dick." He never said it out loud; he could count on one hand the number of people who knew the exact circumstances of his injury. Yoongi knew, as did Alchemist Heechul and one or two of the older staff members that had found him broken in an unused guest room of the estate. "He raped me for disobeying, then broke my knees with an iron fireplace poker."

Jimin's mouth had popped open. "But you were..."

"Thirteen," Hoseok finished for him, dropping his gaze to the fire. He wrapped his arms around his body, shivering despite the heat from the flames. "Forgive me for not trusting very many nobles."

Arms circled him suddenly, making him jerk in place. He hadn't heard Jimin move but the younger was perched next to him on his log, hugging him tightly. He held himself stiffly for a moment before relaxing into the embrace.

After a moment, Jimin let go and stood. "The broth is done," he said softly, holding his hand down to help Hoseok to his feet. The older took the hand and stood with a grunt. "Let's go feed our new friend, then you can cuddle up to him so your knees stop hurting."

Jimin flashed him a smile that turned his eyes into tiny crescents before he snagged the pot handle and turned toward the cart. Hoseok limped along behind him, muttering under his breath, "I don't cuddle."

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AN: >.> Hi.

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