4DAS Side Story – Fin
by BrieSide Story: 4 Months, Two Hearts
At the end of the long escape, snow had gently piled up.
It might sound romantic, but in truth, it was just a blizzard. Thanks to months of treatment gas dispersal, the zombie crisis had more or less been overcome, but the extreme weather—ranging from desert heat to polar cold—was getting worse by the year.
This winter, the snowfall across the Korean Peninsula was, to exaggerate only slightly, better measured in meters rather than millimeters or centimeters. What used to be considered heavy snow—20 or 30 centimeters—was now routine. On bad days, snow could pile up to thigh height within just a few hours.
New snow continued to fall before the old snow had a chance to melt, making the situation even more serious. Even in the middle of cities—not just remote mountain cabins—people were frequently getting stranded because of the snow.
Maybe things will get better once summer comes, maybe winter will be more bearable… Such modest hopes were buried under heaps of snow with not a trace left. It was as if the weather held a grudge against the people who hadn’t been swept away by the zombie crisis, turning outright violent.
But Rowon didn’t entirely hate the snow.
Overwhelming natural disasters came for both survivors and the infected alike. Those who were more or less snowbound by the blizzard had no choice but to come together and cooperate in order to survive, and at that point, people no longer had the luxury of caring whether someone used to be a survivor or an infected.
No one knew how long this awkward solidarity would last, but at the very least, it was true that the blizzard was covering up people’s sins.
Whenever the snow fell on him, Rowon felt like his own wrongdoings were briefly covered in white as well.
Still, the snow will have to stop eventually. We can’t starve to death.
On a morning near the end of December, Rowon went outside to shovel snow during a brief break in the clouds.
It was disheartening to see how much snow had piled up, nearly burying the first-floor window. Still, he had to clear a path somehow so the food supply truck could get through. If he didn’t do it now, the snow would freeze solid and make things even harder later.
Shoveling snow was tough but not complicated. As long as he kept moving the shovel and tossing the snow aside, a path would eventually open.
After struggling for dozens of minutes, he managed to carve out a way to the outside. He wiped the sweat from his brow under the dazzling sunlight and looked up at the building he was staying in.
Thankfully, the sign was mounted high enough to avoid being buried.
[True Love Local Children’s Center, XX-dong]
He stared blankly at the sign for a moment, caught his breath, and went back to shoveling.
Still, I’m lucky we found a place to stay. If we hadn’t had shelter during this blizzard, it would’ve been so much worse…
Surprisingly, the center was functioning just as its name suggested. It took care of underprivileged children, teaching and supporting them.
In a world like this, where so many kids had lost their parents, the place had naturally taken on the role of an orphanage.
There were nearly thirty children who had nowhere else to go and lived there full-time.
Of course, taking care of kids wasn’t easy in times like these. Even full-grown adults were struggling to survive, so feeding and clothing children was no small task.
Still, since it was a public facility, the government was directly distributing supplies, so at least the children weren’t starving. As long as the staff made some effort, things could run without too much trouble.
After months of wandering and running away from their apartment, Rowon and Young-il had finally managed to get jobs and settle down at this welfare center.
To be precise, it was Young-il who had officially gotten the job.
Rowon was just a college student, but Young-il had fifteen years of experience working as a high school teacher.
Young-il himself brushed it off, saying he wasn’t sure how helpful his ethics class background would be for the kids, but the center director had firmly disagreed.
Who cares about math or English anymore? What these kids need in this new world might be ethics more than anything.
I don’t know. Not sure I’m in any position to be teaching kids about morality…
But if it helps even a little, then I guess that’s something.
Young-il had muttered that with a bitter smile, and Rowon still remembered the expression on his face vividly.
Even though he said that, Young-il was surprisingly popular with the kids.
Maybe because he instinctively knew how to take care of them, or maybe because, despite his gruff and intimidating looks, he had a good relationship with the children.
As for Rowon…
“Teacher, teacher! Come build a snowman with us!”
A group of small children came tumbling out from inside the building.
Their faces were bright like the long-awaited sunlight, and their voices were cheerful and friendly.
But Rowon, a bit nervous, responded hesitantly.
“Teacher’s clearing snow right now. If you play around making snowmen in this weather and catch a cold, the director’s going to be mad. Don’t mess around—go back inside where it’s warm.”
So, yes. Rowon was also being called “teacher” for now.
He had never actually taught kids before, not even done volunteer tutoring.
So really, he was just called an “elementary teacher” in name only—his actual job was to do odd tasks around the place.
To be honest, he had no idea how to talk to kids.
Maybe it was because he’d grown up as the youngest, always being looked after by an older brother with a big age gap. Whenever he faced someone younger than himself, he just had no clue how to deal with them.
For now, he was sticking to polite, halfway formal speech to maintain courtesy, but sometimes, the words wouldn’t come out at all or he’d end up acting so awkward that he just wanted to run away.
“It’s cold inside too.”
“That’s why mister— I mean, Teacher Young-il is putting bubble wrap on the windows. If you’ve got nothing to do, why don’t you go help him?”
“The older kids are helping, so they said they don’t need us. Come build a snowman with us!”
Even so, the younger kids stuck to Rowon fairly well.
It was baffling—were they really that starved for someone to follow, that they clung to someone this unapproachable and bad with words? Still, with how attached they were, he couldn’t exactly ignore them.
“Then help me clear some snow first. If we pile up all the snow from the roadside over there, we’ll have enough to make a snowman.”
The kids burst into laughter and started swinging brooms they’d brought from who-knows-where.
They were small, but surprisingly strong, whacking down snow piled nearly to their shoulders and collapsing it with ease.
If he’d done it alone, it would’ve taken forever, but working with the kids, the snow on the street quickly disappeared.
Though they shrieked about the cold, they moved energetically and helped Rowon with cheerful enthusiasm.
At this point, it was hard to tell if Rowon was taking care of the kids, or if they were the ones looking out for him.
Maybe it was because they’d worked so hard for so long—
The front of the center, once so buried in snow that it was hard to even walk, had cleared enough that the sidewalk tiles were starting to show.
Of course, if it snowed again, all their effort would be buried in an instant, but for now, the sight was rewarding.
If I sprinkle some calcium chloride, maybe it’ll slow down the snow build-up a bit.
As he thought this, wiping cold sweat from his brow with his sleeve, a familiar voice called out from behind him.
“Hey, how the hell did you already clear this much?”
A man staggered out carrying a large sack of calcium chloride with one arm.
Rowon rushed over, worried.
What was he doing pushing himself like that when his leg was already bad?
Even though they’d cleared a lot of snow, the steps and pavement were still slippery.
Even someone with two working legs like Rowon could slip if they weren’t careful.
“I’ll spread it, mister. You should go back inside.”
“It’s fine. It’s not that much. Let’s just do it together.
Anyway, wow—look at all this snow. You could probably make a dozen snowmen with this.”
Young-il laughed as he watched the kids clearing snow.
It looked like the job of sticking insulation sheets to the windows had been finished already, and now some of the other kids had come outside to watch the snow.
Though he referred to them as “kids,” the ones who came out with Young-il were much older than the ones clearing snow.
The kids shoveling were elementary schoolers, but these new ones were from the middle and high school group.
Some were in second year of middle school, others all the way up to third year of high school.
Their builds were big enough that when they stood next to Rowon, they looked around the same age.
“Teacher, let’s have a snowball fight! We’ll throw snow until someone’s head splits open!”
“What kind of nonsense is that? You little punks wouldn’t last five minutes—you’d just slip and start bawling your eyes out.
If you don’t want to see the director grabbing the back of her neck in frustration, then knock it off, alright?”
“Then what about a snowman? Let’s build a snowman! We’ll make one that looks just like you!”
“Oh, that sounds nice. Snowmen are good.
Nobody gets hurt, it’s peaceful enough.”
“Can we smash it after we finish?”
“Look at these little shits and their messed-up ideas. Hey, it’s fine to smash your own snowman, but not someone else’s.”
“It’s more fun to break other people’s snowmen, though.”
“Then do some kind of trade-off. Build each other’s and smash ’em in turns or something. Just don’t bother the little kids.”
“They might be stronger than us, you know?”
“Are you seriously saying that? Aren’t you embarrassed?”
“Well, I’m gonna bite my tongue and die anyway! But if you bite your tongue, do you really die?”
“People don’t die that easily. Even if you stand on a chair and climb up to the ceiling with a rope twice, if you’re meant to live, you live.”
He always thought this, but he really couldn’t tell if they were playing or fighting.
The elementary kids were relatively gentle, but the middle and high schoolers had especially foul mouths.
Rowon didn’t even have the nerve to talk to them.
Young-il, who handled them so casually, seemed almost unbelievable to him.
They might act a little rough, but just leave them be. I think they’re just under too much stress.
Still, I told them not to give you any shit, so don’t worry.
A coping mechanism—each in their own way—for accepting something as extreme as the zombie outbreak.
Wasn’t it said that turning aggression outward is healthier than letting it fester inside?
Even so, they only mouthed off to Young-il, who accepted it without complaint, and never bullied the little kids or picked a fight with Rowon.
To Young-il, that meant their foundation hadn’t gone bad.
Still, Rowon sometimes couldn’t help but wonder if they were keeping their distance just because he and the kids were former infected.
Rumor had it that recent studies showed people who had once been infected had greater strength and endurance than survivors.
Whether those studies were really conducted by credible institutions, or how they even made those comparisons—none of that had been revealed.
It was tabloid stuff, basically.
Still, people believed it more than you’d expect.
Some who liked to exaggerate even went so far as to call the infected monsters—or the next step in human evolution.
Maybe those teenagers…
Rowon decided not to dwell on it.
At least they didn’t seem to be openly discriminating against the infected.
Besides, the middle and high schoolers clearly liked Young-il.
Maybe it was his warm optimism that made people feel at ease.
“For now, I’ll sprinkle some calcium chloride so the paths don’t get slippery. While your teachers are doing that, you all go ahead, help the little ones shovel snow and build snowmen. Like I said earlier—no bullying.”
“Only the teachers are doing it? Can’t we help too?”
“There’s only one sack. No point in having a bunch of people crowding around it. Just the two of us can handle it.”
Honestly, Rowon thought one person was enough.
If it was just boring labor, he’d rather do it himself and let the other guy go enjoy playing with the kids.
But Young-il had already torn open the sack and was scooping out calcium chloride with a small plastic scoop.
He looked motivated enough that it seemed pointless to try and stop him.
And then—
“Hey, don’t be clueless. Give ’em some space. The teachers are obviously dating.”
“What the hell are you brats talking about? Get out of here already!”
The kids burst out laughing and ran off.
Rowon quickly turned his head to hide his flushed face.
Young-il glanced between Rowon and the kids, then chuckled and began spreading the calcium chloride.
Even though he knew the mischievous kids were only teasing, moments like this always left Rowon feeling embarrassed.
Life here was peaceful to a fault.
A fragile child welfare center taking in teenagers who had lost their parents to the zombies and elementary kids who had been infected and only barely cured.
Whatever the reality may be, outwardly, everything seemed fine.
Much like Rowon and Young-il’s relationship.
The world was slowly moving forward.
Maybe they were too.
Lost in thought, Rowon continued sprinkling calcium chloride along the road.
After a whole day of working through the cold, they finally managed to clear a path.
Even after the kids, who had been giggling while building snowmen, gave up against the cold and crawled back inside the building, Young-il continued to shovel snow and spread calcium chloride on the street with Rowon for hours.
Not much conversation passed between them.
The kids, who assumed the teachers were in some grand romance, might have been disappointed if they saw them like this. The two just moved their bodies without saying much.
Just like they had for the past four months.
Walking the same road, hand in hand—or not—but pretending that was all there was.
“Wow, you really cleared the path quickly. Everywhere else was such a mess that we had to get out halfway and carry the supplies on foot.”
“It was tough, for sure. We spent all day shoveling to make a way for the truck to get in… I don’t even know how many days it’s been since the last delivery. Thank you so much for coming all this way.”
Still, it had all been worth it.
By the time the sun began to sink into the horizon, the supply truck—unable to approach for days due to the blizzard—finally pulled up in front of the building.
With food and various supplies running low, there could be no greater relief.
“Mister, just carry this one. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“It’s fine. I can handle this much, no problem.”
“Your shoes are soaked. If you slip on a misstep, it could be serious. I can carry enough for the both of us, so don’t worry.”
As if it were the most natural thing, Rowon took all of Young-il’s load and climbed the stairs.
That brat’s treating a perfectly capable adult man like a child.
Well—Young-il’s limbs weren’t exactly in perfect shape, but still, it wasn’t like he couldn’t carry that much.
Though to be fair, it wasn’t easy hauling heavy loads with a leg like his, so, well…
“Thanks.”
Young-il threw out the word and picked up a bundle of toilet paper and kitchen towels.
They weren’t heavy, but bulky enough to make him look useful.
As the two entered the building with their arms full, the kids—worn out and hungry—lit up and swarmed around them in an instant.
“Rice!”
“Teacher, did the food come?”
“Are there any snacks? What about chocolate?”
“No snacks this time. But we got kimchi, kimchi! Do you even remember the last time you had that?”
“Over a year ago!”
“Same here, probably. Oh, and we got rice cake slices too—for New Year’s. Let’s make tteokguk when the holiday comes.”
Honestly, aside from the kimchi and rice cakes, the supplies weren’t much different from usual.
But the kids acted like a festival had come, excitedly bouncing around.
What was strange, though, was that they didn’t gather around Rowon, who was carrying the actual food.
Instead, they crowded around Young-il, who was hauling the completely impractical bundles of paper goods.
Rowon walked into the kitchen with a dull expression and dropped the supplies onto the floor.
As he noticed the ambiguous expressions stiffening on the teachers’ faces—who were busy prepping dinner—Young-il quickly moved into action.
“Teacher Da-eun, we’ve got so many supplies this time that we need to move those in first.
We’ll sort and organize later, alright? That okay with you?”
“Uh, w-we’ll take care of sorting the food later! You both must be exhausted from clearing all that snow, so please go eat first…”
“Let’s just move the rest of the supplies in first. We got a backlog of deliveries all at once after a few missed days, and it’s all a bit overwhelming.”
Thanks to Young-il stepping in, the teachers’ stiff expressions eased a little.
Without much of a reaction, Rowon turned to move the rest of the supplies, and Young-il gave a small bow and followed him.
It wasn’t that Rowon was being ostracized at the center.
Though he hadn’t been there long, he’d managed to find his footing fairly well and was treated with a decent level of respect by the other staff.
Still, when the kids or teachers looked at Rowon, there was always a moment of hesitation—probably because of the atmosphere he gave off.
Though it had been a while since he was treated with the cure gas, there was still something cold and lifeless about him, as if he hadn’t fully returned to being human.
Most of the time, he seemed so indifferent it was hard to tell if he felt anything at all.
And yet, if his eyes were to snap, he gave off the impression that he could do something absurd without a second thought.
That was the sort of thing the kids quietly confessed to Young-il with uncertain expressions.
They hadn’t said anything to Rowon directly, but the teachers likely felt the same.
Well, even Young-il had been afraid of Rowon for the same reason when they first met.
So he could understand where they were coming from.
In my opinion, it’s just a kind of defense mechanism…
Lee Rowon gave off a threatening aura precisely because he was in a new and unfamiliar environment.
Just like how the teenagers here tended to act overly aggressive, even when they didn’t need to—almost as if it were something to show off.
Once they let their guard down, their sloppy, impulsive, and naive sides would show through.
But it seemed Rowon hadn’t relaxed enough to reveal that part of himself yet.
“I think that’s all the food supplies. We just need to put the oil and miscellaneous stuff into the storage now.
Mister, could you move the blankets to the sleeping quarters?”
After a few more trips in and out of the building, Young-il and Rowon had nearly finished sorting the supplies.
Of course, it hadn’t been just the two of them.
After stuffing themselves at dinner and lounging around in a daze, some of the kids pitched in to help move boxes as a way to kill time.
Even the director and some of the teachers, who were tired of babysitting the hyper kids, helped here and there.
“Got it. Ugh, my joints… Once I’m done moving these blankets, I need to lie down too. They look really soft.”
“You’re not going to eat?”
“I’m so drained I don’t even have the strength to eat, man. I’ll take a nap first and eat later if I get my energy back.”
The kitchen smelled pretty good, but Young-il shook his head.
He was too tired to even bother eating, and lately, his stomach hadn’t been doing well either.
If he ate something half-heartedly and lay down, it was guaranteed to upset his stomach.
Better to sleep it off and eat later in the night—or maybe even just sleep through until morning and eat then.
Rowon gave him a long look, hard to read whether it was out of concern or disapproval, then nodded lightly.
“Alright. I’ll come up soon, just after I finish moving this last bit.”
“What? You’re not eating dinner either?”
“Hearing you say that made me realize I’m pretty tired too. Not really feeling hungry right now. I think it’s better to sleep first and eat later.”
Rowon said it calmly and went to finish sorting the remaining supplies.
Well, he had been working all day too, so it made sense that he’d be tired…
Thinking it was no big deal, Young-il picked up the blankets to move them, planning to catch a short nap together when they were done—
But then, he heard giggling from somewhere nearby.
“Teacher, you’re going to bed already? At this hour?”
“It’s not what you little punks are thinking, alright?”
Look at them—just a whiff of a chance and they pounce with sparkling eyes.
Even as Young-il scowled in disbelief, the students giggled and whispered to each other.
No doubt they were talking about whatever they imagined was going on with Young-il and Rowon’s bed situation.
I didn’t know kids these days were this open-minded about same-sex or age-gap relationships.
Ever since they’d once been caught lying down together, those brats would start teasing if Young-il so much as stood near Rowon.
The fact that their room was unusually far from the others, or that the top priority when choosing it had been soundproofing, was now just fodder for jokes among the kids.
Thankfully, the kids still seemed a little intimidated by Rowon, so none of the teasing ever went his way.
But the problem was that all their mischief was instead focused entirely on Young-il.
He acted like it didn’t bother him, knocking their heads lightly and brushing it off, but it wasn’t like the embarrassment went away.
Even now, he could already feel his neck getting warm.
“Anyway, I’m going to get some rest, so if anything happens, tell one of the other teachers or the director. Got it?”
“Yeees. Have a good night! We won’t go anywhere near your room, promise!”
The kids’ annoying tone was so purposefully sly that Young-il tried to swat one of them on the head, but they scattered like mice seeing a cat, leaving no trace behind.
With a bitter smile, he staggered up the stairs.
It wasn’t just complaining—he really was exhausted.
Once he put the blankets in each room and made it to the bedroom, he felt like he could just collapse and sleep right there.
Rowon will probably come soon.
He must be pretty tired too.
And then… romance.
That one word the kids had shouted while laughing earlier still clung to the back of his mind.
Not once had a denial ever passed his lips.
But then again, he hadn’t said anything to affirm it either.
It had been four months since they had run away together hand in hand, yet their relationship was still complicated and unclear.
They were long past being unrelated strangers, and since they shared a room and a bed, you could at least call them housemates—but anything beyond that was still a line neither of them had fully crossed.
It wasn’t as though there was nothing between them.
Young-il was fully aware of the feelings Rowon had for him.
The fact that he knew and still chose to stay by Rowon’s side meant it wasn’t a completely hopeless situation.
But as for what Young-il felt toward Rowon, he hadn’t quite figured that out yet.
It wasn’t unpleasant, knowing that Rowon liked him.
It wasn’t scary or uncomfortable, either.
But accepting it… that raised all kinds of questions and doubts.
I mean, well… I guess…
Feeling stuck in his thoughts, he chose to move instead.
He brought winter blankets to the rooms used by the other teachers and kids, and laid one over the bed he shared with Rowon.
Adding one more layer of blanket wouldn’t change this cold and snowy season, but it was better than nothing.
By the time he finished, he was so tired that he only brushed his teeth and washed his face half-heartedly before crawling under the covers and closing his eyes.
Just as he’d expected, sleep hit him the moment his head touched the pillow.
Later, the sound of the door unlocking and the familiar warmth slipping under the blanket barely registered—certainly not enough to wake him.
In fact, that familiar presence only made sleep come more easily.
As he pulled Rowon close, wrapping an arm around his waist and giving in to the warmth, Young-il quickly fell into a deep sleep.
Even in relatively peaceful days, small nightmares often hid beneath the surface.
Maybe it was the hunger messing with his rest—Rowon tossed in and out of shallow sleep, dreaming one thing after another.
Most of the dreams were meaningless nonsense, but a few of them were unpleasant enough to qualify as nightmares.
All kinds of people appeared in those dreams.
His brother was there, the nameless biker Rowon had killed was there, and so was Baek Seonghyeon.
If there was one thing they had in common, it was that they had all been harmed by Rowon.
Baek Seonghyeon was especially frightening because he felt real.
Even though he had seemed to let Rowon go in the end, there was no guarantee he had truly given up on revenge.
Rowon sometimes dreamed of Baek Seonghyeon and the bikers showing up with jerry cans of gasoline to burn the welfare center to the ground.
Whenever he had one of those dreams, he found it especially hard to face the kids or the center director the next day.
Of course, the biker gangs had lost their power lately and weren’t nearly what they used to be, and this welfare center was far away from wherever Baek Seonghyeon was.
What a petty nightmare. It’s not even guilt—just fear…
More than the guilt over the people he’d killed, it was the fear that someone might come after him in reality that weighed heavier.
No matter what, he could never become some virtuous or upright person.
He’d forget what didn’t threaten him, and only fear what posed a danger.
That was the kind of coward he would always be.
And when that thought crossed his mind, Rowon often felt a little hollow.
But even so.
But even so, if there’s a reason I have to stay alive…
As he flailed in a half-baked dream, Rowon’s ears caught a familiar yet strange sound.
The moment he heard it, the heaviness vanished, and he was instantly alert.
Hunger wasn’t the only reason he couldn’t sleep deeply.
Over the past few months, Rowon had started avoiding deep sleep on purpose.
He used to sleep like a log—you could carry him away and he wouldn’t notice—but people adapt. With a reason, even sleep could be controlled.
As soon as he opened his eyes, he turned on the lantern on the table.
He’d already guessed what was happening, but light made dealing with it a little easier.
“Snf… hhngh…”
“…Mister.”
“Ah… ahh… urgh…”
It was an animal-like cry.
His lips kept moving, like he was muttering something, but if you listened closely, most of it didn’t even form words, let alone sentences.
Just the scattered remnants of shattered nightmares, messily stitched together.
Instinctively, Rowon reached out and touched his face.
As always, it was damp.
He was crying so hard it seemed like he could barely breathe, his sobs mixed with choking gasps.
Rowon gave his back a firm slap, and the man finally sucked in a breath with a rasping sound, as if a blocked airway had just cleared.
Still, he didn’t wake up.
“Snf… khh… hhgh… hah…!”
“Mister, breathe. Breathe, okay?”
He unrolled some tissues from the bedside and began wiping his face.
It might seem pointless to wipe away tears that kept pouring down, but from experience, Rowon knew—when his face was wet, this man struggled even more to breathe.
Whether it was sweat or tears, it didn’t matter.
Rowon brought the tissue to his nose, and the man blew into it out of habit.
Sometimes there was blood mixed in, but thankfully, this time there was nothing—no trace of that dark, rusty color.
Maybe his health really had improved after staying at the center.
Back when they were drifting and sleeping on the streets, they had both been in terrible shape.
Still, it seemed the nightmares hadn’t left him. But that couldn’t be helped.
A stable place to rest doesn’t banish nightmares.
All they could do was curl up in the quietest, most soundproof room, keeping the bad dreams from spilling outside.
Though even then, the beast-like cries probably leaked out faintly.
Maybe that was okay—people probably thought those sounds were coming from Rowon’s nightmares instead.
With one hand, Rowon continued wiping his face.
With the other arm, he pulled the man into a tight embrace.
He had to hold him with his whole weight, practically pressing down on him, for it to have any effect.
The man squirmed and groaned under the pressure, like it was suffocating—but maybe because he was focused on that discomfort, his crying began to quiet down.
“Mister, it’s okay. Really, it’s okay. Just calm down…”
“Snf… hck… h-hah… haaah… hoo…”
As Rowon kept whispering into his ear to draw his attention, the man’s body, stiffened from tension, began to loosen slightly.
The sobs turned into labored, uneven breathing.
He didn’t seem fully at ease yet, but he looked much better than before.
By now, it was just part of daily life—nothing particularly shocking.
This man, as always, was haunted by regular nightmares that left him thrashing in agony.
And it was always Rowon, waking from his sleep, who had to calm him down.
He didn’t know exactly what kind of nightmares they were.
He had once assumed they were about his daughter and wife, but when he asked afterward, Young-il said that wasn’t always the case.
He said he had witnessed countless deaths besides his family’s.
Some were murdered by others, and some had died by his own hand.
Even if those deaths weren’t as traumatic as his family’s, surely each one left deep scratches on his heart.
Young-il also said he still sometimes dreamt of the moment he ran from Baek Seonghyeon.
That the dream always ended with a burning building.
From the sound of it, he seemed to carry guilt over whether someone might’ve died or gotten hurt because of the fire he started.
I’m afraid those people will come here and set fire to this place.
That’s the difference between us.
Even if our hearts bear the same scars, we interpret them completely differently.
Thinking of it that way—of how they find balance without being buried in each other’s pain—made it a little easier to breathe.
“Haaah… huff… mmm.”
Maybe he had finally started to calm down.
Young-il exhaled slowly and wrapped his arms around Rowon.
His thick arm slid around Rowon’s waist, and his chest and hips, which had already been pressed close, now rested more softly against him.
It was no longer a desperate grip, but a gentle, intimate kind of contact.
Once it reached this stage, it was usually safe to let down one’s guard.
Sometimes, if his condition was poor, he’d jolt awake and fall into another nightmare, but tonight his body was relaxed and his health seemed fine.
Unless something unusual happened, he would likely settle down and fall asleep.
But honestly, for Rowon, this was the most worrying part.
A hug could be a natural response to seeking comfort—but that was from Young-il’s perspective.
Wait a minute… this really is…
For Rowon, this moment when things loosened just enough was actually the most dangerous.
He knew Young-il still needed someone to lean on and couldn’t push him away, but staying like this any longer was too much for his body to handle.
If Young-il showed physical responses like stiffening during his nightmares, then Rowon, in situations like this…
“Um… Mister?”
“……”
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
“……”
“I really think I need to step out for a second…”
Maybe the man had relaxed, but Rowon was on high alert for an entirely different reason.
Now that the urgency of soothing him had passed, another, deeper desire started to swell from within.
With their bodies pressed so closely, there was no way to ignore it.
His painfully swollen groin was firmly pressed against the man’s thigh.
Every breath filled Rowon’s lungs with the man’s scent.
When he tried to pull away, the half-asleep man groaned and held him even tighter around the waist.
That only made things worse.
It’s not like Rowon didn’t know how to deal with this.
The best thing to do was wait until the man fell into a deeper sleep.
Eventually, the strength in his arms would fade, and then Rowon could sneak out and take care of it himself—
He’d done that more than a few times before.
To say it wasn’t miserable would be a lie.
Waiting in near panic for the man to fall asleep, holding back rapid breaths, and then sneaking out like a fugitive to handle the urges by hand—none of it could be called pleasant.
Still, he had no choice.
There was no way he could act on such obvious desire while the other person was asleep and unaware…
“Why do you keep squirming?”
“……!”
With a mumbling whisper, the man’s arm relaxed slightly.
Though not enough for Rowon to escape entirely, it was looser now.
He still kept one arm wrapped around Rowon’s waist, while the other hand began patting his back.
To an outsider, it would’ve looked like the man was comforting Rowon through a nightmare.
So much for that rumor about infected people having enhanced strength.
If that were true, there’s no way he’d be groaning just from this.
Well—this wasn’t about muscle strength anyway.
It was more like his body had frozen up.
His brain knew he needed to get away, but his body wasn’t listening.
The warmth clinging to him was too comforting, and he almost wanted to stay like this just a little longer, even though he knew he shouldn’t.
Besides, at this point… isn’t it Young-il who’s the problem?
With this much physical contact, he had to have felt what was pressed against his thigh.
And yet he wasn’t pushing Rowon away—he was holding him tighter.
It made Rowon wonder if maybe Young-il wasn’t even fully awake.
Maybe that whisper had been just sleep talk, and he was still drifting in his dream.
But then—
“Is it that bad? Want me to take care of it?”
The moment that whisper brushed against his ear, Rowon wondered if he was the one dreaming.
His face and lower body flushed all at once.
Half of it came from sleepiness.
The other half from impulse.
Even though it came from his own mouth, Young-il ended up more surprised than anyone.
The truth was, he had known for quite some time that Rowon occasionally got hard against him.
Especially when things got a little too physical while Young-il was calming him down.
Still, bringing up that he had noticed wasn’t a great idea.
Their relationship was still too ambiguous, and if he acknowledged Rowon’s desire and let it surface, they’d be forced to define something about it.
Young-il had always thought he wasn’t ready for that.
I thought I wasn’t ready.
So how did I end up saying something like that?
At my age, saying something impulsively like a kid—what good does that do?
Maybe… maybe it was because of the dream.
Some of those voices still echoed in his ears—full of resentment, of curses…
“Just, um, let me go.”
As Young-il was about to fall back into the nightmare he’d barely escaped, Rowon’s quiet mumble came back.
He was saying to stop, sure, but his furious lower half told a different story.
When Young-il lightly brushed him, he felt something firm and heavy twitch in response.
Rowon groaned and let out a stifled breath.
“Don’t do that.”
“What time is it?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“We crashed around six, so even if we slept a long time, it can’t be past midnight yet. My guess is it’s around nine. And at this time, even the elementary kids are still awake.”
“……”
“If you go to the bathroom now and get caught, you’re not going to be able to show your face around here for a while.”
“You’re weirdly attentive about the dumbest things, you know that, mister?”
Rowon grumbled, clearly displeased, but Young-il pretended not to hear.
They were already getting teased non-stop about being a couple, about dating or whatever else.
If one of the kids happened to catch this guy sneaking off with a hard-on, there’d be no saving them.
And if you exaggerate a little, it might even end with a kid bursting into tears.
Actually, to be honest, this guy probably wouldn’t even care if the kids saw him like that.
More likely, it would be the kids—still growing up—who’d be so traumatized they’d run away crying.
Well… maybe not, maybe I’m just imagining things.
The truth is, none of this really matters to that kid.
And maybe, half of what I said was just my own way of escaping reality…
Sometimes, when you’re still reeling from a nightmare, you want to distract yourself however you can—even with something trivial.
Maybe steering the conversation into something ridiculous on purpose had helped, because the lingering whispers of the dream had faded considerably.
Trying his best to act like nothing was wrong, Young-il studied Rowon’s face.
His cheeks were burning red.
If Young-il really tried to “take care” of things, it looked like he’d end up leaking from both ends.
Crude as it sounded, that’s what came to mind.
“But still, how could you say something like that? That you’d… take care of it.”
“Then should I leave you alone?”
“Are you sure you can handle it?”
“…Mmm.”
“Honestly, I didn’t expect you to be the one to bring it up, Mister. Considering how we first met.”
Rowon mumbled with a slight pout.
He wasn’t wrong.
Even now, after getting somewhat used to physical contact with this guy, the memory of that first time still made his skin crawl and his body tense up on reflex.
It definitely wasn’t a good beginning.
It was more vile than outright violence, and there wasn’t even a shred of pretense—he hadn’t felt a thing during the act.
The memory brought back nothing but pain.
But still…
“We’ve been traveling together for four months now.”
“……”
“That first encounter really was fucked up, yeah. But since then, you’ve been acting like a dog with its tail between its legs for over a hundred days straight… I mean, come on.”
If there was any reason Rowon didn’t sit heavy in his resentment, it was because not once since that day had Young-il made any moves or suggestions in that direction.
Not in the apartment, and not during the time they spent wandering from place to place afterward.
Whenever he had urges, Rowon took care of them himself—never once trying to touch Young-il.
Even during the physical contact that came from comforting him during nightmares, it was the same.
A temperament almost pitiful in its devotion to endurance and avoidance.
If it seemed impossible, he’d pretend not to notice.
And if ignoring wasn’t an option because reality pressed in, he’d forcibly suppress it.
Rowon was naturally patient—he could hold back, hide it so well you wouldn’t even know he was enduring anything unless you were watching closely.
And with all that bottled up, he had spent four entire months watching over Young-il’s nights, soothing his nightmares.
That kind of thing didn’t come from half-hearted feelings.
Whether it was patience or affection, it was serious.
“…Don’t overdo it just because I seem pitiful, okay? Really.”
“It’s not just because of that… What do you think I am?”
“You say it’s not just that reason, but it is part of it, right? Just looking at how you are with the kids, it’s obvious how soft you are.”
Touchy about all the wrong things.
Young-il wanted to throw Rowon’s earlier words right back at him.
Well, this wasn’t the kind of thing you should decide just because you felt sorry for someone.
Rowon had his own thoughts and feelings.
He wasn’t the type to be happy if you accepted him out of pity—more likely, he’d end up hurt.
Or maybe he wouldn’t even get hurt at all?
He’d gotten into the habit of giving up on things too quickly.
Maybe he’d just resign himself before he even had the chance to feel pain.
“I’m not expecting much anyway. There are too many reasons for you not to like me—it’s hard to even count them.”
“…Let’s hear what those reasons are, then.”
“Well, first off, you’re not into guys.”
“Pretty bold of you to say that. Have you ever actually asked me?”
“Didn’t you say you and your wife had a love marriage? That means you liked women, right?”
“Just because I like women doesn’t mean I can’t like men too.”
“Okay, let’s say you’re bi. Even so, there’s more.”
“What reasons?”
“There’s a pretty big age gap, you know. Are you really getting it up for a kid over twenty years younger than you?”
“Isn’t that the kind of thing I should be asking you instead?”
“Do you really need to ask to know?”
“I mean, yeah, I can see your dick is clearly up right now! But usually, when there’s an age gap, isn’t it the younger one who gets the short end of the stick? That’s the angle I’m coming from!”
It sounded like a joke, the way they were tossing it back and forth, but when you actually listened, it all made a weird kind of sense.
If Rowon ever begged for love, Young-il could practically throw those exact lines back at him and call it even.
Maybe Rowon had already run through all the simulations in his head.
I like you. I really do.
The moment he said it, he’d already imagined every kind of rejection that might come, played it over and over again to dull the blow when it finally arrived.
Maybe, in that process of preparing, he decided not to count the hurt he took on the way.
The more he saw it, the more pitiful it seemed.
Even knowing it in his head, Young-il couldn’t help but want to reach out and just accept him.
Zombies roamed the world and snowstorms swallowed everything.
What did things like gender or age matter anymore?
They had no one to rely on but each other now.
They were close enough that they could feel each other’s breath without even having to move.
The world was still a mess, so maybe it wasn’t so wrong to turn a blind eye to the little things that didn’t fit into old ideas of right and wrong.
Twisted logic, sure.
But it moved his heart anyway.
Still, there was a fundamental problem.
“Are you going to keep picking apart my words? I mean, you had… a wife and a kid. That’s just a fact. It already ended back there—what’s the point of going any further?”
“…I had them.”
The moment he said that, something surged up inside him, like a pot boiling over.
I had them.
A child, a wife—people I killed with my own hands.
Because they existed…
That’s why this relationship is wrong.
The nightmare he had barely held back by clinging to warm skin suddenly swelled and lifted its head again.
- Are you happy, now?
His stomach churned.
Even the smallest trigger could make a nightmare claw into a person’s mind and eat away at their gut.
A voice he thought he had forgotten clung to his eardrums like an echo.
Believing he could ever forget it in the first place had been the true delusion.
– You killed all of us and lived on alone, only to cling to some young boy who adores you, leeching off him just to survive each day. And you call this happiness?
Was it his wife’s voice? His daughter’s?
Or the voices of all the zombies he had killed up to now?
It was familiar in every way, yet too many voices were layered together for him to tell who was who.
– So that’s how shamelessly a person can live. If I had known, I should have killed you myself and survived instead.
Laughter—mocking, jeering—rang in his head.
Shameless. Truly shameless.
He tried to dismiss it as just a dream, but reality was harder to deny.
Even when he was awake, when he thought through things clearly, the nightmare was still terrifying.
“Mister… your face just went pale…”
“They’re gone now, but yes. I had them. You were right. That alone makes this wrong.”
When he finally forced the words out, he felt it—how disgraceful his life truly was.
He had crushed countless people, even the family he loved, with his own hands, and now he lived on top of those deaths.
And yet he dared to like someone? It was absurd.
Even if he rejected Rowon, it didn’t change much.
He would still be leeching off the boy’s devotion, hiding behind excuses.
He claimed he was afraid because their first encounter had been forceful.
He claimed he was relieved that Rowon never touched him that way again.
And yet, every time he had a nightmare, he buried himself in the boy’s arms and let him soothe the pain.
How many nights would he have ended his own life, if not for Rowon’s presence?
“Why are you suddenly saying that? Are you okay? Did that dream come back to you?”
“Was that a dream? I don’t even know anymore. I mean—it was a dream, but… Why are you worrying about me now? Look at me. I’m the one who’s pathetic.”
He told himself it was because he still had a wife and child in his memories, so he had no choice but to reject Rowon.
He told himself Rowon relied on him, that leaving him would break him, so he couldn’t choose death either.
He built excuses in both directions, crafted shields on both sides, decided nothing, and drifted through life clinging to whatever balance hurt least.
Cunning bastard. No—garbage.
The voices of the dead sneered in his ear.
No intention to die, no intention to love—just take, take, take, and call it living.
But Young-il had his own retort, at least in his mind.
He had tried to die, but failed.
He was alive, but had given up on wanting anything.
He was trying, in his own way, to maintain balance—to live without daring to seek happiness, knowing his hands were stained.
“…What are you talking about? Why am I the pathetic one?”
“It’s too late to follow them now. But just because I survived doesn’t mean I get to live freely. So I cling to you, shamelessly, drifting through each day.”
“…Shameless? Don’t tell me you mean…”
“I chose it. Both sides. I chose both outcomes. So I can’t forget and I can’t ignore it. You understand me, don’t you, Rowon? You’d get what I mean, wouldn’t you?”
Of course Rowon was someone who could forget and ignore things easily, but even he understood this much.
Someone who had killed so many, who had lost everything by his own hands—how could that person dare to hold something precious again?
In that case, better to be dead.
“…”
“You were right. It’s better if I don’t like you. Even if it leaves you miserable, that’s still—”
That was why Rowon could never win.
Even if Rowon found countless reasonable arguments for why they could be together, even if every reason sounded valid and tempting, nothing could overcome Young-il’s guilt.
And Rowon, ironically, kept building more reasons for Young-il to reject him, stacking them one after another.
At this rate, they would never be together. Not in this lifetime.
Rowon would pour out his devotion forever, never rewarded for it.
Young-il would keep pretending not to see and keep leaning on him.
Unless some kind of decisive change tore their situation open…
But the problem was—
That “change” arrived much sooner than expected.
“I see. So that’s how you are.”
Right after that whisper, something sealed his lips.
Something soft pressed against his tongue.
In that moment, Rowon finally understood what this man had been thinking all this time, why he kept turning away from him.
Of course, the man hadn’t exactly been good at explaining it. To be honest, what he had just said was kind of a mess. Who exactly was it that he couldn’t follow? Why couldn’t he live a whole life? What did he mean by Rowon becoming miserable? None of it lined up, and if someone heard it without context, they wouldn’t understand a thing.
It wasn’t even half of his true feelings—just fragments of emotion barely put into words. But Rowon had been gathering those fragments for the past four months. Every time the man had a nightmare, every time he woke from a tormented dream and rambled in confusion, Rowon had listened closely and endured the long nights.
And now, it felt like the puzzle had finally come together.
“Hnngh, mmph…!”
He pulled the trembling man into his arms, sealing their lips together to keep the whimper from escaping. Their mouths met tightly, tongues tangling in no particular rhythm, still tinged with a faint salty taste.
Now that he thought about it—didn’t their first kiss also taste kind of salty?
Back then, it was because the man had bitten his tongue and bled.
Still, at least he didn’t get bitten this time, which was a relief. The man was stiff and tense, but he didn’t try to push Rowon away. As Rowon gently sucked on his lips and tongue, gave him space to breathe, stroked his hair, and patted his back, the man acted like someone who had completely forgotten how to resist.
However, once Rowon stopped soothing him and began undressing him, the man started to squirm bit by bit.
“Hngh, huh…?!”
Rowon unfastened the belt buckle and pulled down the underwear all at once. It went smoothly up to a point, but then it got trickier—because the startled man began twisting and struggling in protest. He must have been starting to come to his senses, or maybe he realized what Rowon was trying to do.
After breaking the kiss, Rowon more deliberately began pulling the clothes off. When he yanked the pants—already pushed down to the thighs—all the way off, the man flailed in panic, but that only made it easier for Rowon to strip them down completely.
“Wait, hey, hey…?!”
Hearing a clear, alert voice was actually a good sign. Earlier, the man’s rambling had looked pretty worrying. Rowon then hastily took off his own pants and underwear, tossing them aside, before pulling up the man’s loose sweater and burying his face in his chest.
Young-il tried his best to hold on to the sweater, but Rowon didn’t care—he took one of his nipples into his mouth.
Nibbling and sucking as he licked it, the man let out a stream of strange moans.
“W‑wait, hngh—have you gone insane all of a sudden, you little…?!”
“Yeah, that works. Just assume I’ve gone crazy. That way, none of this ends up being your fault.”
Rowon replied without much sincerity, then returned to sucking on his chest again.
The sweater that hadn’t been fully taken off still covered Rowon’s head, so he couldn’t see the man’s face, but judging by the trembling voice and the jolts running through his body, the stimulation wasn’t entirely unwelcome.
When Rowon pressed his swollen penis against the man’s groin, the man’s body jerked violently once more.
The man’s own penis, not yet fully aroused, was still soft, but even that sensation against him wasn’t bad. If he didn’t get greedy, even this much contact was satisfying enough. Their most intimate parts were already touching, after all.
But it couldn’t end here. Not because of lust or pace, but because if it stopped now, the man would never accept or understand what was happening.
“So you think this isn’t your fault—how does that—”
“It really isn’t your fault. I just… got angry after hearing what you said. It felt like you were playing with me, and it pissed me off, so I’m doing this. The logic isn’t that hard to follow, right?”
With every movement between them, the man’s penis gradually swelled, but Rowon pretended not to notice. He didn’t want to see the man drown in self‑loathing again. Instead, he bit down on his nipple until marks would be left, then sank his teeth into his chest and the nape of his neck—forcing his attention toward pain that was small and manageable.
“Stop—wait, ngh, ah…!”
For someone insisting he didn’t want it, there was a trace of relief in his voice. It was contradictory, but Rowon understood why. All of this man’s strange reactions were rooted in the same thing from beginning to end—self‑hatred.
Acting like he was opening his heart, only to pull away at the critical moment.
Feeling relief only when pleasure was buried under pain.
‘I don’t know how to rid you of your guilt. I don’t even know if such a method exists.’
There was no point in denying wrongdoing. Neither of them could claim clean hands. No matter how much they washed or dressed up their memories, it only backfired.
Failing to save the ones they loved—or killing them with their own hands—then daring to live happily with a new lover? There was no justification for a life like that. Rowon couldn’t think of one, no matter how he tried.
But if he left things as they were, this man would surely rot from the inside out.
Rowon could shove his guilt away, bury it somewhere unseen, or simply forget, but this man couldn’t do that. If he could have, he wouldn’t have been tormented by nightmares for months on end.
“You know… I still have so many reasons… haah… why I shouldn’t love you.”
“Ngh—ah, hurts, ngh…!”
“But… I think I’ve found one reason that’s more important than all the reasons not to. A reason I have to love you…”
Rowon lifted his mouth from the man’s chest and pulled his head out from under the sweater. He yanked the half‑removed sweater all the way off, revealing nipples slick with saliva and a chest mottled with red and purple marks.
When he pushed the man’s legs wide apart, the slightly damp, slickened groin—wet with both of their fluids—was exposed. Now completely naked, the man stared at Rowon with bewildered eyes, as if he couldn’t understand any of this.
Fine. Sometimes, it wasn’t so bad to be dragged along without understanding anything.
If you don’t understand, you don’t have to take responsibility.
If you have no control, you have no sin either. In a way, that could be a strangely easy place to exist.
If you can’t choose to love me, then I’ll just choose for both of us.
If he couldn’t return Rowon’s feelings, then Rowon would simply give double.
He knew this could be considered a kind of violence, a sin against the man. But he decided to forget that much.
He was already good at forgetting, at pretending not to know. He was already used to being the bad one.
“What—where are you—ah, ngh…!”
“It’s okay. This time, I won’t hurt you. Just relax…”
Even if this was something he was doing by force, Rowon had no intention of hurting him unnecessarily.
He scooped up a generous amount of lotion from the bedside and slid his fingers inside.
The man twisted in discomfort, his body shuddering, but even then, he didn’t push Rowon away.
He carefully loosened the man’s rear with his fingers before taking his cock into his mouth. At first, he wasn’t used to it and couldn’t suck properly, but he still teased around the tip gently, stroking and licking—and the reaction was immediate. It must’ve felt good enough to cancel out the discomfort of being stretched from behind.
“S-stop, ngh, ah, no… not there….”
Of course, the man was still speaking like that, making it painfully clear this wasn’t consensual. He was rejecting it all the way, and Rowon was the one forcing this to happen. That was the only way the balance of this twisted relationship could hold—and the only way the weight of guilt could be pushed onto him, not Rowon.
Once he finally felt the inside loosen just a little, Rowon let the cock slip from his mouth and lifted himself up, pressing his own length against the stretched opening. His cock was swollen, aching, desperate to shove inside immediately—but he couldn’t rush. Not yet.
Rowon looked down between the man’s widely spread thighs, then slowly lifted his gaze to study the man’s face. If he was going to stop, this was the moment. The man’s arms weren’t tied, his legs weren’t being held down; with just a twist of his body, he could easily slip away. If he truly wanted to refuse—if he really wasn’t ready, and Rowon had simply been too impatient…
But the man merely closed his eyes.
Rowon immediately understood: the most the man could do was cover part of his face with one arm. That was all the resistance he had left.
Even with all the prep work, the moment that thick thing pushed inside, it still hurt like hell.
“Kh… ngh—!”
Thrust. His penis slammed deep into his guts without hesitation. That forceful, relentless drive—there was no real difference from before. Maybe it didn’t tear anything, thanks to the generous amount of lotion Rowon had poured in to loosen him up, but that didn’t mean it was painless.
He bit down on his forearm, instinctively muffling the sounds. If anything slipped out, someone might hear. Of course, Young-il often shouted in his sleep from nightmares, so even if someone did hear, they’d probably just think it was more of the same.
Still, the fact that he was even worried about someone coming—it meant something had already gone off track. That wasn’t the problem right now…
“If you’re going to bite,” he gasped, “then bite me instead.”
“Ah—!”
Rowon forcefully pulled his forearm away. His blurred vision, hazy with tears, cleared again. He roughly wiped away Young-il’s tears, then brought his fingers to the man’s lips.
Don’t—
The words never made it out. Before he could speak, his body jolted violently. The pain was blinding. As his mouth fell open with a gasp, fingers slipped between his lips, pressing down on his tongue and probing deep inside. He bit down reflexively, but the younger man didn’t even flinch.
“Ugh, ngh, mmph, kuh—!”
If anything, it was Young-il who showed more pain. Squish. Thrust. Each time that heavy, solid flesh stirred him up from the inside, his vision flickered and fresh tears streamed down. No matter how hard he shook his head or panted for breath, the cock only pulled out slightly before driving right back in.
When a salty taste spread in his mouth—not from tears—he lost the nerve to bite again. He finally spat out the fingers and swallowed down his ragged breaths. Instead, he gripped the bedsheet so tightly that the bones in his hand stood out white. He couldn’t take it. The thick intrusion grinding against his insides was too much, too painful—it felt like being strangled might be kinder.
And yet, even now, he couldn’t bring himself to push the other man away.
Admitting the strange sense of fullness blooming in his belly… that seemed easier than rejecting it.
“Does it hurt?”
“Ahh… ngh, hah….”
“It’s supposed to hurt… ngh… I’m making it hurt. Because you talked like that. I got mad. So this is… just me venting.”
The lie slipped out in a soft, gentle voice—as if he were comforting someone, not hurting them. The pain was real, but the anger he pretended to feel was ridiculous. Young‑il couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh or cry; his throat kept tingling, tight with confusion.
“Your leg—put it on my shoulder. No, not that one. The other side… you’ll be uncomfortable.”
With trembling effort, he lifted his weakened leg and settled it onto Rowon’s shoulder. The angle shifted, and the penetration sank even deeper. Rowon slammed upward with a lewd schlk sound, and Young‑il’s hips jerked, his toes curling hard. It hurts. It hurts so much. He panted, repeating the words in his head like a habit.
As if that mantra was the only way to hold himself together.
“Nnh—haah—ugh…!”
But was it really pain? Or more like a raw, stinging burn? Each time that heavy thickness dragged against his inner walls, heat began to rise instead. It didn’t feel like pain, but hot—like the familiar warmth he clung to after every nightmare. No… even hotter than that.
Sometimes it felt like something that shouldn’t be touched was being struck over and over. When that spot was pounded, sharp heat shot up his spine, crashing through his mind with a dizzying, electric shock. The sensation was terrifying—like shooting up into the sky only to plummet, breathless and weightless. He trembled, whispering without meaning to: I don’t want it, I don’t want it…
“You don’t want it?”
“…ngh, ahh…”
“With this… you’ll just have one more reason, hah… not to like me. Every time I try to trust you, I end up doing something like this.”
So it’s fine.
That breathless, pleasure‑blurred voice murmured as if nothing were wrong. Young‑il wanted to snap back—What part of this is fine?—but in a way, the boy wasn’t entirely wrong. If Rowon said it was fine, then maybe it could be. After all, some lives were built on deception, and still managed to keep moving forward.
All the while, the heat kept rising, blanching his thoughts white. The penis grinding inside him clung to his walls like it had always belonged there. With every wet, slick thrust, the sound echoed and overlapped, making tears spill and his thighs dampen. He didn’t need to look to know—just from being taken from behind like this, he was fully hard and leaking, wetness dripping down.
Even so, Young‑il let the sensations sweep him away, pretending not to notice anything else. There was no need to fear the way his body heated up whenever the cock pulled out, nor the full‑body tremor that struck the moment it slammed back in. As long as it was him—as long as he was with that boy…
“Ah—! Haa—!”
When the heavy penis pressed hard against that sensitive spot, stabbing right into it, Young‑il couldn’t hold back anymore—he came. His release spurted out violently, splattering a messy trail across his own stomach. Lost in the unbearable aftershocks of pleasure, something he could no longer deny, he gasped for breath, shaking.
Rowon watched him quietly for a moment, then shifted positions without breaking their connection. He propped Young‑il up so his back rested against the wall, leaving him half‑seated, face‑to‑face. Embarrassed, Young‑il tried to turn his head away—but Rowon leaned in first.
Chup.
A soft kiss, lips gently sucking at his own, steadied his frantic heart. The taste of tears—he couldn’t tell whose—tingled faintly across his tongue. As his ragged breathing slowly evened out, Rowon pulled back and looked at him. That clear, earnest gaze was mortifying, but it was already too late to turn away now.
“…Still,” Rowon asked quietly, “did it feel good?”
“I… I….”
“It’s okay. What was it called…? Do you know this? There’s something called Stockholm syndrome. A condition where, because of the instinct to survive, you start to like the person who mistreats you.”
Why would he say something like that with a face that looked on the verge of crying? Young‑il took a deep, shaky breath, trying to swallow down the hot lump rising in his throat, but Rowon pretended not to notice and reached out. When Rowon’s hand stroked down his chest and the side of his neck, the spot that had been bitten earlier stung faintly. His nipples, which had been sucked and played with for so long, threatened to tighten again—but he forced himself to ignore it.
“It’s basically an excuse,” Rowon continued. “But excuses are allowed, aren’t they? It’s not like it means I really like it.”
“……”
“I make excuses too, all the time. I must have killed countless people when I was a zombie. And even after regaining my mind, I killed someone. I’m trash. But still… I keep living every day under the excuse that I want to save you. Pathetic, right? Using someone else as an excuse like that.”
That’s not an excuse. In fact, Young‑il sometimes wondered if that was Rowon’s one and only reason to go on living. He grumbled inwardly, but he still understood what the boy was trying to say.
Right now, Rowon was teaching him how to pretend not to notice. Something Young‑il had never once been able to do—not even at the cost of his life.
“So, please… use me as your excuse too.”
“……”
“If you don’t love me, I might just die. So you have to love me—because you have no choice. Even if you have too many regrets, even if there are too many reasons you shouldn’t, you just… can’t help it.”
He spoke at Young‑il’s eye level, as if guiding him gently by the hand. If you can’t forget me, then at least make me your excuse. Use him, blame him, cling to him—anything was fine. That was the message.
When Young‑il frowned, a soft hand reached up and slowly traced his face. The bite marks on Rowon’s fingers were still visible, and a pang of guilt stabbed through Young‑il. He should put a bandage on it later, he thought—but that rational thought never fully formed before his body moved first.
He leaned forward and ran the tip of his tongue over the teeth marks. Rowon winced at the sting, but at the same time, his mouth twisted into a strange expression—somewhere between a laugh and a sob. A face that didn’t know whether it wanted to smile or break down.
…Is it really okay?
Like a dog licking the hand that feeds it, Young‑il slowly traced the injured fingers with his tongue, staring quietly at Rowon. Wouldn’t this hurt him more? If Young‑il, a man full of fear, leaned on him like this—would Rowon be forced to bear too heavy a burden as the price of loving a broken person?
But Rowon’s eyes seemed to say, It’s okay. Just that clear gaze was enough. It told him: even a lacking human being can become better by leaning on someone. You once saved me—now it’s my turn to come to you.
“…Fine. I guess there’s no helping it.”
When Young‑il murmured those words, Rowon’s face lit up. Really, there was no helping it anymore. He’d always run away, always tried to forget—but now, finally, that boy had faced his feelings head‑on and reached out.
“How the hell could I not love you?”
Before the words were even finished, Young‑il’s body swayed forward. Wet fingers, still slick with saliva, gripped his hair, and Rowon’s lips crashed into his in a desperate kiss. At the same time, the cock that had been waiting between them drove in deep, all at once, as if pouring his entire weight into the act. Young‑il gasped, breath caught in his throat.
“Ngh—hah…!”
Fireworks sparked again behind his eyes. His trembling body couldn’t hold up on its own, and he clung to Rowon in a panic. His back slammed into the cold wall, goosebumps rising across his skin—but Rowon’s burning body pressing against him chased the chill away. Young‑il’s own cock, hard again and leaking, twitched each time Rowon thrust into him.
Biting down on fingers or clenching the bedsheets didn’t compare to the feeling of sucking on Rowon’s tongue. Every time their lips parted for air, breathy moans slipped out like sighs. It’s good… it feels good… No matter how many times he whispered it, it would be okay—with him, it was always okay.
“Feels good… ngh… I love you…”
Rowon whispered the words back, over and over, even as he kept thrusting deeper, harder. As Young‑il shook with pleasure, taking in every inch of him, the thick flesh buried inside finally spilled its heat deep into him. Rowon rested his forehead against Young‑il’s shoulder, panting harshly.
“…Me too.”
But Young‑il’s reply was swallowed whole by another kiss, wet with tears. A whisper of his shameful truth—hidden behind the lies they both clung to.
He had no idea how many hours they spent clinging to each other like animals.
Young-il no longer resisted Rowon, nor did he suppress his pleasure. Every time that spot was hit or rubbed just right, he made sounds Rowon had never heard before. Embarrassed by the noises, he’d groan and squirm, and Rowon would kiss him to calm him down. Honestly, Young-il was far more skilled at kissing than he was—just the way their tongues tangled made Rowon feel like he could finish from that alone.
At some point, the cock between Young-il’s legs, already having spilled several times, began releasing a clear, watery fluid—spraying out in little spurts. Rowon wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but watching Young-il get so flustered over it was honestly kind of adorable.
The one who surrendered first was Young-il. Bent over like a dog, he hit his final climax and, moments later, started to whimper quietly, muttering about how cold it was or how much his legs hurt. Rowon chuckled, sat up, and turned on the heater beside the bed. It wouldn’t help much, but it was better than nothing.
He grabbed some wet wipes and gently cleaned Young-il’s body. His belly was sticky with sweat and fluids. Rowon carefully spread the swollen opening and wiped away the cum inside, and Young-il groaned and covered his face.
“A condom would’ve been nice,” Rowon muttered. “Maybe we could request it in the next supply shipment?”
“Who the hell would use it besides us? And anyway, how am I ever supposed to show my face tomorrow? Even if this room is tucked away, there’s no way no one heard us… The kids, the teachers, the center director—God, how do I even look at them?”
“Then don’t go out tomorrow. Just stay in bed. If you sleep like the dead for a day, they’ll get the message. I’ll tell them you’re sick.”
“Well, I guess I’ll survive… but you—no, actually, you’ve always been shameless enough. You’ll be fine.”
“You don’t have to flatter me that much.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
Young-il was clearly embarrassed, worried that their noises had leaked out, but Rowon didn’t seem to care. Honestly, it’d probably be fine. When someone acts completely shameless, people tend to just give up and look the other way.
Maybe if they just said, “We’re dating now,” and promised to be more discreet next time, people would let it slide. They were already being teased about being a couple anyway.
“…Still, thank you.”
As Rowon finished wiping him down and helped him dress, Young-il murmured it with a faint, bittersweet smile. There was no reason to look that grateful just because someone cleaned you up a bit.
Rowon suspected he meant to say sorry—but chose thank you instead. He didn’t press.
“Someday,” Rowon said.
“…”
“Someday, there’ll be a time when I won’t have to run away. When you’ll be able to forget everything.”
It was half a lie. Maybe that day would never come. Disasters kept hitting the world like waves, and the peace of this shelter might vanish like a mirage at any moment.
But still—
“You once told me that the way people rely on each other—that’s when they’re at their most real.”
“…You still remember that?”
“How could I forget? Anyway… if you ever lose your balance, I’ll be the one to hold you up. Just like you once did for me.”
“…”
“We’re both a mess. Broken in so many ways. But if we’re together… maybe we can be just a little bit happier.”
Young-il smiled with a pained expression, almost like he was crying, and then pulled Rowon into a tight hug. They lay together on the bed, still smelling of sweat and cum. Once the blanket was pulled over them and they curled up beneath it, even the freezing night felt a little warmer.
Even if their hands were stained with blood. Even if they could never forget the ones they lost. As long as they had someone to lean on, they could make it through the night—and the days, one after another, would pass beneath their feet. Just as this broken world continued, no matter how battered, so would they.
If nights like this could happen, even just once in a while… maybe life really was worth living.
And so, in the long, long winter night, the two of them closed their eyes.
– 4 Months, Two Hearts. End.
4 Days a Stranger (외전), Complete.