Banho (likely a place name)

Northern forests, no man's land. Midnight.

Bang Chan took a bullet through his shoulder. Three of his soldiers were killed, the rest fled. Now he sits by a boulder, clutching his pistol with its last bullet. For himself.

Two icy eyes emerge from the darkness. Lee Minho.

— Finish him off. You'll be a hero.

Minho lowers his gun.

• If I wanted to kill you, you would have been dead in the ravine.

He takes out the first aid kit, a tourniquet, and a flask of tea. He bandages the wound silently, quickly. His fingers are cold, but precise.

“Why?” Chan croaks.

Minho looks up. There's weariness in his eyes.

"You're the only one who didn't shoot me in the back in the swamps. I haven't forgotten."

Chan freezes. He was looking through binoculars and couldn't say "ply."

• I just...

— I know. I'm just bandaging it. Tomorrow we'll be enemies again.

He holds out a flask. The tea is sweet, with honey.

“We know too much about each other to be enemies,” Minho says quietly.

They sit in the dark. There is no war, no armies. Only the forest, tea, and two people who will try to kill each other tomorrow. But not today.

Morning.

Chan wakes up cold. Minho hasn't slept—there are dark circles under his eyes.

• Go. Dawn is in an hour.

Chan gets up and turns around:

• Next time I won't miss.

Minho chuckles:

— Shoot more accurately. Otherwise, we'll have to bandage it again.

He throws the flask:

— Take it. With mint. You need more.

— How can I find you? Not on the battlefield.

Minho stands up and dusts off his uniform.

• Don't look for it. If I need it, I'll find it myself.

He walks away into the fog. Chan watches him go, clutching his warm flask. The war goes on. But now he knows: somewhere, there's someone who won't shoot.