DAH Ch 17
by soapaSitting on the stone steps, sipping one or two gulps at a time, Jungjoon had already reached his third bottle of soju. With no snacks to accompany it, the smell of alcohol filled his throat and stomach from the relentless pouring.
The wind brushing against his skin was cold, the chill seeping deep into his bones. When had it gotten this cold? The sudden realization of the changing seasons struck him with a pang.
Raising his head, Jungjoon gazed at the empty park. Bare trees and skeletal branches hung bleakly in his field of vision. It was a season that repeated every year, so why did it feel this way? The colorless scenery entering his eyes felt strangely unfamiliar.
Cough…
A cough burst from his body, which had been in contact with the cold ground for too long. Downing the remaining soju straight from the bottle, Jungjoon finally stood, swaying unsteadily.
Staggering forward without balance, his footsteps came to a halt in front of a crosswalk. Hollow eyes, like those of a dead fish, stared at the traffic light. His vacant gaze, unmoving as if his soul had left him, shifted sideways after a moment, as if dropping.
He saw a little boy wearing a cap backward and carrying a red backpack. The child, who looked about four or five years old, was holding his mother’s hand tightly and looking up at Jungjoon.
“…”
When their eyes met, the boy turned his head as if to hide, but Jungjoon’s gaze lingered on him, unable to pull away. No matter how much he tried not to look, his eyes wouldn’t detach.
Noticing his stare, the boy’s mother moved the child to her other side as if shielding him. Only after receiving her wary glance did Jungjoon lower his eyes and rub his face. Knowing full well how unsettling a disheveled, drunken adult male must seem in broad daylight, he turned to the opposite direction.
As he walked, people parted to the sides as if avoiding him. Children, in particular, scurried away from Jungjoon with frightened looks. Memories of his own childhood—dodging the drunk old man sitting at the playground—surfaced, and a self-deprecating laugh escaped him.
Guess I’ve become that guy now.
A pitiful life with no home, no job, no family—nothing.
The thought of becoming a dropout shunned by everyone made him laugh to himself, shoulders shaking. Giggling intermittently like a madman, he trudged toward the officetel. He’d have preferred to sleep out again tonight, but with no money left, he was reluctantly heading back.
When he neared the officetel, his steps paused for a moment. Jungjoon stood still, as if lost in thought. After sorting his mind briefly, he decided he’d rather crash at a PC bang and turned around. It was right then that he collided with someone he hadn’t noticed standing behind him. Nearly falling, Jungjoon was caught by the outstretched hand of the person he’d bumped into.
Being pulled in, a rush of body heat and scent hit him. Clutching the other’s clothes amid dizziness, Jungjoon muttered curses under his breath. It was Yoonhae he’d crashed into. He had no idea how long Yoonhae had been following him. The thought that he might have been with him 24/7 without Jungjoon even noticing sparked a sudden, explosive laugh. Unable to contain the absurdity, he doubled over, snorting and laughing uncontrollably.
“…What’s so funny?”
How could it not be funny? While the whole world avoided him, this one person still clung to him relentlessly.
Ah… It’s not funny—it’s just natural, isn’t it? The one who’d turned him into a failure must be savoring this moment. The realization that his staggering, drunken state was a masterpiece crafted by this monster abruptly halted his fit of laughter.
“…”
Jungjoon brought his face close to the body pressed against him and inhaled deeply. He could see the thick neck muscles in front of him tense up. Unable to suppress a smirk, he chuckled.
“…Smells nice.”
“…”
“Is this the smell of success…?”
It was a clean, subtle scent. The kind you’d only catch from the finest things. If scents had a hierarchy, this would undoubtedly rank at the top. Yet, to Jungjoon, just smelling it made his nerves stand on edge and his stomach churn.
“All I smell like is booze…”
Muttering mockingly, he grabbed Yoonhae’s collar.
“Wanna take a whiff?”
He pulled Yoonhae’s face close to his lips. He hoped the stench of stale alcohol and a body unwashed for a week would reek. But contrary to his expectations, the face inches away didn’t flinch. The neatly swept-back hair revealed a handsome forehead and a high nose bridge. The moment their downcast eyes met, Jungjoon shoved him away in a jolt.
“…”
A sharp yet sticky disgust cut through the drunken haze. Regretting his impulsive act and intending to brush past, his arm was grabbed.
“Let’s go home. It’s cold—why do you keep wandering around like a homeless person?”
“Let go. I am homeless.”
“Is it because it’s my place? Should I put it in your name?”
The absurdly casual remark drew a scoff from him.
“…Now?”
He yanked his captured arm free. A short ha burst out.
“Ah… No, never mind… It wouldn’t have mattered anyway… The outcome would’ve been the same. I’m just a broke loser with no right to raise a kid… A fool who gets toyed with at this age.”
Right? He looked up with a self-mocking smile. As if at a loss for words, Yoonhae stood still, gazing down at Jungjoon. His inscrutable eyes revealed pupils and irises under the sunlight. Are these the eyes of a beast mimicking a human? Overwhelmed by the alien feeling, Jungjoon turned his head as if fleeing.
Trying to pass by once more, a persistent grip latched onto his arm like a tenacious tentacle.
“I won’t force you, so just sleep comfortably tonight.”
The words themselves were nonsense. Yoonhae had already restrained and coerced him multiple times. In truth, his very existence was a horrific form of coercion to Jungjoon.
Yet, after a brief silence, Jungjoon nodded. He’d reflected on the reality that escaping this moment wouldn’t free him from Yoonhae’s sight entirely. Knowing he’d be pursued one way or another, he resigned himself to staying at the officetel for the night.
It was his first return to the space in exactly a week. Stepping inside, Jungjoon headed straight for the master bedroom’s bed. Climbing onto it without washing, he sprawled out heavily. He didn’t care at all about crushing the bed with a body covered in street grime and dust—it was almost shocking how indifferent he felt.
It didn’t matter how filthy he was, how dirty his surroundings were, or even if bugs crawled everywhere. Perhaps it was because he’d already been thoroughly tainted by something worse than insects. The hygiene habits he’d stubbornly maintained for so long had vanished overnight.
He fell into a blackout sleep, as if a connection had snapped. Waking after a few hours, he saw darkness outside the window and smelled food wafting through the house. The heavy fatigue lingered, and his languid body felt glued to the sheets, unwilling to peel away.
“Come eat.”
Yoonhae’s voice reached him. Jungjoon realized he’d opened the bedroom door and was standing there. Buried in the blankets, Jungjoon held his breath quietly. He didn’t want to eat anything. Though reluctant, he eventually dragged himself up after some hesitation. He didn’t want to deal with a hulking man staring at him indefinitely from the doorway.
Forcing himself out, he stood before the table Yoonhae had set. Before he could even sit, he froze in a daze.
The meal on the table wasn’t ordinary home cooking. It was upscale Western cuisine, the kind you’d get at a restaurant. Steak and wine were accompanied by lit candles, setting a mood.
“…”
Jungjoon stared down at the spread, at a loss for words.
“Sit.”
Yoonhae spoke calmly and sat across from him, his face coming into view next. With a fancy meal and atmospheric lighting, he looked pleased. Seeing that cheerful expression, Jungjoon was reminded once again that he was dealing with a lunatic.
A dinner prepared by someone whose sense of normalcy had crumbled stirred a mix of emotions and countless thoughts.
“Why’re you just standing there? Aren’t you hungry?”
His job was gone, he’d fought the lawsuit, seasons had changed in the meantime, and despite doing everything he could, the result was a crushing defeat. It had been a month since his precious child was taken by that man, and a month since Yoonhae—who hadn’t shown a shadow during the lawsuit—started reappearing.
He knew better than anyone that Jungjoon wasn’t in his right mind. Watching him every day, he’d see that. Unable to eat, drinking only alcohol day after day, Jungjoon had become a complete wreck.
“It’ll get cold.”
Rising with a concerned tone, Yoonhae walked around the table toward Jungjoon. Pulling out a chair, he forced the stiff Jungjoon to sit.
“…”
Could it be… a celebration? The thought hit him belatedly. He couldn’t help but notice the deep satisfaction on Yoonhae’s face in front of him.
He couldn’t miss that satisfaction. It resembled the expressions Yoonhae used to make as a child. Though his appearance had changed so much, the distinct aura and the way he moved his facial muscles hadn’t. It was the face he’d shown after Jungjoon gave in to something he’d previously refused, or after kissing him in bed as he wanted. It was the face Yoonhae wore when Jungjoon bent to his will.
“…”
He’d thought refusing marriage was his only rebellion, but now, with Ian gone and just the two of them left, the situation felt oddly poignant. It wasn’t the “marriage” Yoonhae had wanted, yet the outcome—living isolated together like a couple—was strangely similar.
What if marriage hadn’t been his goal from the start?
What if there’d been a more ultimate aim?
Looking back, every choice Jungjoon made benefited Yoonhae. All the threats using Ian as leverage were fights Yoonhae couldn’t lose. Marriage or losing the child—either way, Jungjoon lost, trapped in a struggle with no escape. He’d thought he’d escaped a trap, only to find a bigger one waiting.
His fingertips began to tremble. Yoonhae, with a faint smile, poured wine with leisurely movements.
“Let’s toast.”
Jungjoon remained rigid, but Yoonhae, as if it didn’t matter, raised his dark red wine glass. His eyes rippled with a pleased smile, emotions flowing like water within them.
Ah…
It was laughably obvious.
The simple, childlike intentions.
Overjoyed at being alone together…
A pure, and thus even more terrifying, attachment.
“…”
The elaborately set table heightened the sense of alienation. Yoonhae’s refined demeanor as he sipped wine, staring at Jungjoon, amplified the disconnect. Inside the fully grown adult’s body, Jungjoon saw a child trapped. From head to toe, an eerie coldness washed over him.
“It’s good. Try some.”
Huh? The urging voice, laced with a smile, felt cloying. Like a man on a date with a woman he liked. Even that stirred a bizarre sense of dissonance, making Jungjoon want to gag.
Naturally, he couldn’t drink or eat. While Jungjoon sat frozen, Yoonhae picked up a knife. Slowly slicing the bloody steak, he placed a piece in his mouth.
“…You sent my son away… Are you happy…?”
Watching, Jungjoon forced out a suppressed accusation. Savoring the meat as he chewed and swallowed, Yoonhae rolled out his characteristic low voice.
“Hmm… Yeah, I am.”
Jungjoon’s body began to tremble faintly in front of that seeping smile.
“…You… You planned this from the start, didn’t you?”
Yoonhae focused on his meal as if Jungjoon’s words didn’t reach him. The sequence of cutting and eating seemed thoroughly enjoyable.
“Why’d you go raising someone else’s kid?”
He lifted his wine glass to his lips.
“When someone abandoned him like that.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. A slight smirk crept up. After that, something seemed to snap inside Jungjoon. When he came to, he was hurling whatever he could grab at Yoonhae.
Shattered glass and plate fragments, food rolling on the floor, and Yoonhae’s face calmly watching him amid it all were the last things he remembered. Unable to contain his rage, Jungjoon blacked out, collapsing to the floor like a broken branch, unable to rise.
He awoke about two hours later.
“…”
Opening his eyes, he found himself on the living room sofa. Sitting up, Jungjoon looked around. Yoonhae sat in an armchair at the sofa’s edge. Arms crossed and long legs folded, his posture was largely undisturbed, but a closer look showed he was dozing.
Jungjoon turned to the dining table. The chaos from his memory felt like a dream—the area around the table was spotless, not a speck of debris or mess. A blanket covered his body. Staring at it quietly, he pushed it off with silent movements and slipped off the sofa without a sound.
Before stepping away, he glanced once more at the sleeping Yoonhae. Carefully turning, he entered the bedroom, retrieved money from a drawer, and slipped out. Tiptoeing through the hallway, he passed the inner door, reached the entryway, and stepped into the vestibule. Just as he was about to turn the doorknob and leave, Jungjoon belatedly noticed something odd about the front door.
What the…
Above the original lock, two new ones had been installed. One required a password, the other a key.
“…Ha…”
Had they been added while he was passed out? But that seemed unlikely—they were too meticulous, too permanent. It made more sense that they’d been there since he arrived, and he’d only just noticed.
He stared helplessly at the door, now impossible to unlock from the inside. Was this why he lured me here? Making him lower his guard with talk of resting for a night, only to trap him so he couldn’t leave freely anymore. Sighing in despair, Jungjoon slid down against the wall, clutching his head.
He sat on the cold floor for a long while before returning with nothing gained. In the living room, Yoonhae still sat like an unyielding wax figure. Glancing at him, Jungjoon went to the bedroom, locked the door, and headed to the bed. But not long after curling up, the door rattled. Soon, the locked door opened, and footsteps entered. Jungjoon squeezed his eyes shut, pretending not to notice, but his face crumpled as the blankets were lifted and heat intruded.
“…”
A large body pressed against his back, entwining with him. The hand wrapping around his stomach was thick and broad. His rounded back met a chest, his hips a groin. The expanding organ pressing against him was vividly nauseating.
Jungjoon thought to himself: Come to think of it, he’d held off touching me all this time. Puzzling over it, he reached an unsettling conclusion. The time ahead—these moments of just the two of them—must be the source of Yoonhae’s unhurried confidence.
That confidence suddenly struck him as laughable and pathetic, unbearable.
“…Do it.”
Jungjoon said coldly.
“If you want to rape me, go ahead.”
“…”
“That’s why you locked me up, right? Do whatever you want. I don’t care.”
In truth, enduring this stench-ridden body in such an embrace took incredible tolerance. Twisting his lips, Jungjoon sneered openly. If it could disgust Yoonhae, he’d gladly stop washing and let himself rot further.
Even with this self-destructive provocation, Yoonhae remained calm. He simply held Jungjoon, his shameful erection pressed against him.
Jungjoon burned with anger in his chest and chewed regret in his mind. The agonizing self-loathing, like swallowing fire, only fueled his craving for alcohol. He desperately wanted a drink now. Trying to get up for the fridge, Yoonhae pulled him back, thwarting him. Trapped in sturdy arms, Jungjoon swallowed his fury.
He tried not to think of anything. He was relieved he no longer had to regret not marrying Yoonhae for help. Even if he’d posed as an omega or married him, Yoonhae would’ve eventually taken Ian away and sent him to his biological father—Jungjoon knew that now.
From the start, Yoonhae was a child who needed to monopolize affection to be satisfied. Recalling that trait, that musty, mold-like nature, Jungjoon shuddered. Thinking it was the cold, Yoonhae pressed closer, leaving no gaps. Pushing their bodies together until flesh crushed flesh, he held Jungjoon with even greater force.
He fell asleep like that, unaware of when it happened. Exhausted by cascading thoughts and emotions, he woke from a shallow, icy sleep at dawn.
The hand still wrapped around his stomach came into view. Carefully prying it off so the steady breather wouldn’t wake, he rose from the bed. Closing the bedroom door as he stepped into the living room, he sought a momentary separation, a sense of distance.
“…”
The unlit living room was dim. Standing alone, Jungjoon sat on the sofa. Faint light pierced the thin inner curtains, casting a bluish glow over the space. Sitting in the middle of the large, wide living room like someone entranced, a faint sigh slipped from his lips.
The moment he least wanted to recall surged up unbidden. The last time he’d packed Ian’s things and sent him off. The child had cried endlessly, begging not to be abandoned. Promising never to do it again, pleading he’d done nothing wrong. Explaining through swallowed pain that it wasn’t abandonment, that he wasn’t throwing him away, did nothing—Ian wailed and clung to Jungjoon, refusing to let go.
Jumping up, Jungjoon headed for the fridge. Finding a soju bottle, he yanked it out and hurriedly twisted the cap.
Clang, clang, clang-clang-clang…
The cap skittered across the floor with a loud clatter. The quiet dawn amplified every sound. Glancing at the closed bedroom door, Jungjoon sighed and set the bottle on the table. Bending down, he fumbled under the fridge where the cap had rolled. When his hand brushed something rough, he pulled it out absentmindedly.
It was a familiar toy.
“Daddy, where’s my plane?”
“Daddy, my plane! My plane’s gone!”
The child’s frantic voice echoed. It felt as vivid as if he were speaking right beside him.
“…Hng…”
Something inside him cracked and tore. Reflexively clutching the tiny plane, he curled up. As his body seemed to crumble, sobs erupted like vomit. Unable to stop himself, he wailed, the pain like his guts were ripping apart.
Howling like an animal, he crawled across the living room, hunched over. The agony made him wonder if something in him had broken. It hurt so much he wanted to die right there. Nothing made sense—why Ian wasn’t by his side, why everything he loved always left him.
Soon, Yoonhae emerged and tried to hold and calm him. The overwhelming grief turned to rage in an instant. Eyes wild, Jungjoon lunged at him.
“Why’d you show up, why—! Why’d you come into my life, why—!”
The more his attacking hands were restrained, the more frenzied and furious he became.
“If it weren’t for you, if you didn’t exist…! You ruined everything! Because of you, I—! Because of you…!”
Die, you monster, just die—! Screaming, he threw himself at Yoonhae with all his strength. Even without proper food for days, murderous intent lent him uncanny power. Clinging tenaciously, choking him, landing a few unsatisfying blows, his rage finally subsided. Yoonhae, after minimal defense, released the limp Jungjoon. As he went to fetch water, Jungjoon stared at his back with unfocused eyes and muttered darkly.
“…You should’ve died.”
“…”
“Why’d I help you back then…?”
It was a heartfelt lament steeped in regret.
“That time… at the orphanage… Remember? The day the older kids dragged you to the storage room and beat you… I helped you. Stole bread for you too…”
A weak pfft of laughter broke out.
“I regret it so much…”
Yoonhae, standing by the fridge, turned to face him. His expression somehow looked different from before.
“I shouldn’t have…”
I should’ve left you alone…
“No… I should’ve stepped in and crushed you… Killed you back then…”
Slap! A loud crack rang out as his face whipped to the side. Yoonhae had crossed the distance in an instant and struck Jungjoon’s cheek. Before the heat could spread, fury flared in Jungjoon’s eyes. Springing up in reflex, he spat at Yoonhae’s face with a ptooey.
The spit landed squarely on his cheek. Yoonhae lowered his eyes, locating it, then wiped it with his hand—or so it seemed—before sliding it into his mouth. Jungjoon stared in disbelief as the white foam vanished into his tongue.
“…What a waste.”
His large Adam’s apple, proportional to his frame, bobbed.
“Next time, spit in my mouth.”
So I can eat it all. The added voice was so low it almost sounded like a hallucination.
“…”
Jungjoon, pale with shock, swung his fist the moment he broke his stare. With a heavy thud, Yoonhae’s head turned, his upper body swaying. From then on, their bodies clashed fiercely. Yoonhae’s hands, growing violent, were no longer defensive. His attacks on Jungjoon carried blatant intent.
Jungjoon fought back with bloodshot eyes. In moments, his shirt was torn, his underwear and pants ripped from his body. A rough, calloused hand—perfect for violating tender flesh—dug inside. It probed, rubbed, and shook a place that wouldn’t yield. The brutality matched Yoonhae’s savage nature—a perfect rape.
Yes. This is it. This is you. This is your true self. The sneer didn’t last, evaporating into the gut-wrenching pain tearing through him.
“Ugh…!”
The engorged member ravaged his insides. Biting his lip against the blinding pain, Jungjoon felt a twisted relief amid the disgust. This raw violation felt more honest than the pretense of setting a mood and starting anew. Better they tear each other apart until one died.
“Yeah… I’ll die by your side…”
Yoonhae’s excited breaths brushed his ear as he thrust.
“…I’ll die more painfully than anyone…”
Rubbing and clawing at a chest that wouldn’t yield, he whispered. So keep doing it.
“Keep… cursing me like that…”
Moaning, he drove himself into ecstasy alone.
⟡˖ ࣪
Days of sleeping over half the time continued. No phone, no clock—just gauging the sun’s rise and fall beyond closed curtains.
Evenings, Yoonhae returned and woke Jungjoon. Setting the table with takeout, he forced him to eat. Even if Jungjoon didn’t, he had to sit across from him. Otherwise, Yoonhae skipped eating and went straight to that.
After forcing down a bite or two and sitting like a shadow, Yoonhae ate cheerfully. He’d recount his day or ask Jungjoon what he’d done. The superficial chatter felt like a clumsy soap opera script.
Nights dragged on with the TV on, unseen. Around midnight, when Yoonhae pressed the power button on the remote, it signaled the start. Dragged to the bedroom, Jungjoon could only endure. After torturous sex, Yoonhae held him in satisfaction and slept.
When Yoonhae dozed off, Jungjoon slipped out to shower. Realizing Yoonhae didn’t care how filthy he was, he showered twice daily without fail. Seeing him bury his nose in smelly spots or lick with care made Jungjoon wash more obsessively than before.
At dawn, sleeplessness struck. He needed alcohol. His mind, consumed by thoughts of drink, drove him to odd behaviors when he snapped out of it.
“Eat, and I’ll give you some.”
Yoonhae’s compromise forced Jungjoon to eat properly—for the sole purpose of drinking. But he couldn’t drink every day. On sober days, he couldn’t bear his clear mind and frayed nerves. The torment led to violence—slapping Yoonhae, trashing the house. Exhausted by rampages and ensuing sex, he’d sleep.
Time and dates faded. Everything blurred. He could barely stand straight, as if he’d lost his sense of direction.
“…It’s suffocating…”
He could do nothing. Just sit, thinking of alcohol. In a daze, he felt bugs crawling over him. Itching, he scratched wherever he touched. Soon, his forearms and legs were covered in fresh scratches. Yoonhae tried to stop him, then gave up. Instead, he started taking Jungjoon outside for walks.
The outdoor air felt foreign in his nose after so long. Shocked by how quickly fatigue set in—perhaps from muscle loss—he found crowded places unsettling.
“…”
It was evening, and commuters stood out. How do they live so normally? Seeing people mesh like gears or run like a hamster wheel sparked a sudden question. That he’d been part of it not long ago felt unbelievable.
Waking early for work, meeting people, returning to care for Ian, eating, doing chores, spending weekends with him… A 24-hour day had never been enough for that whirlwind routine—it now felt like a distant past.
Jungjoon watched a woman holding a child’s hand, then an old man leaving a shop with chicken, his eyes following absently. High schoolers heading home, couples hand-in-hand—all walked with purpose. Even the cars on the road moved busily, eager to get home.
“What’re you thinking?”
Turning at the voice, he saw an expressionless face looking down at him, having approached unnoticed. Unable to find words, Jungjoon kept walking.
It was strange—he’d felt so trapped, yet barely out, he wanted back in that prison. A vague self-question flitted through his mind: What do I want to do now? Part of him wanted to leave everything behind, another to give up and collapse. No—long ago, he’d run out of energy to try or think deeply. With no desires or drive, he was just slipping, day by day, into something less human.
For days after, he slept like a sick man again. He let Yoonhae climb atop him or not, craving only sleep. He didn’t want to think. Occasionally, a pleasant dream made him cling to sleep longer.
He became aware of his state days later, rising to relieve himself, eating a bento Yoonhae had left to quell a near-death hunger.
“…”
Passing the hallway to the bathroom, his legs stopped abruptly. Turning his head thoughtlessly, his body stiffened. At first, he jolted, thinking a stranger stood there. But staring closer, it was his reflection in a mirror.
A hopeless wreck stood like a living corpse. Unkempt beard, long hair, gaunt cheeks, pale complexion, lifeless eyes devoid of focus. The self he’d avoided in the mirror while washing was now starkly exposed.
Carrying unease and shock, he went to the bathroom. Stripping, he stepped into the shower. Groping his muscle-wasted limbs, he was relieved the scratches had healed since he’d stopped recently. Looking down at his bony, frail body, he covered his face with wet hands. That something still clung to this pitiful shell felt newly revolting.
He stood under the pouring water for a while before stepping out. Finding no towel, he opened a bathroom drawer and froze at an unexpected sight. Tucked in a corner was a painfully familiar object—a rubber duck Ian loved floating in the tub.
“…”
Another trace of Ian, overlooked in the rush to pack, overwhelmed Jungjoon with indescribable loss. Tears he’d thought were spent streamed down his cheeks. Is he looking for this now? He pictured Ian searching for it in a strange house. Would they have one there? If not, could that timid boy even ask? Worry flooded in.
Coming to, he was sprawled on the bathroom floor, sobbing with guttural cries. Later, hoarse groans leaked from his drained throat. Only after crying himself empty did he stumble out.
Crossing the silent living room, he sat on the needlessly large multi-person sofa. Staring blankly as if possessed, he fumbled for his phone. Opening it after ages, he went straight to the photo album.
“…”
It was his first look since sending Ian away. Countless thumbnails were almost all Ian’s face. From months before parting to the day he was born, Jungjoon scrolled through, watching him shrink.
Playing a video to hear his voice, tears burst uncontrollably. I should’ve recorded more. Regret gnawed—every day, every 24-hour shift in his changing form, he should’ve captured it all.
He replayed Ian’s face and voice endlessly. Watching every saved clip without shifting, he hadn’t had time or need to view them before. He never imagined viewing these habitual records with this heart.
Grumpy Ian, excited Ian, dancing Ian, crying Ian, sleep-talking Ian… Unknowingly, he laughed a few times, and by repeating, his tears dried. Wiping his damp face, Jungjoon looked out at the dawning sky, rubbing stinging eyes.
An indescribable, subtle feeling arose. His despairing heart shifted strangely in a new direction. Like a never-before-seen harbinger of hope, it slowly illuminated him. After Ian left, a small, vivid spark rekindled in his pitch-black, dead soul.
I have to bring Ian back.
The moment he thought it, an uncanny optimism surged—that he could, somehow. Strange certainty and vague hope swelled massively in an instant. A voice within preached fiercely: it wasn’t over, he could reclaim Ian, and to do so, he had to pull himself together now.
He couldn’t collapse like this. He couldn’t abandon everything and become a wreck. He was Ian’s father—he couldn’t break down, for Ian’s sake.
Starting tomorrow, I’ll exercise. If he couldn’t go to a gym, he’d build strength at home. Kneading his frail body, he renewed his resolve.
Entering the smaller room instead of the master where Yoonhae slept, he lay down, seeking sleep with hope. Tears welled at the long-absent feeling of drifting off with optimism.
“…I want to go out… alone.”
He spoke that afternoon. Yoonhae looked at him with surprise. A man who’d slept for days rising while the sun was up was unexpected enough, but making a request he’d never made before was startling.
As the staring continued, an uneasy feeling crept in. Before long, Yoonhae stood up from his seat, gathering his belongings and outerwear, and asked,
“Is there somewhere you want to go?”
Those words clearly meant he wouldn’t let Jungjoon go alone. For a man in his thirties to need permission to step outside was, in itself, a humiliating fact… Perhaps it was because the prolonged confinement had dulled his normal sense of perception. Jungjoon found himself feeling relieved just at the prospect of being able to go out.
“…Just…”
He tried to brush it off, but the pressure of that gaze pushed him to answer.
“Just… I want to wash up after a long time. At a bathhouse.”
Yoonhae detached his steady stare and put on his coat. With a nonchalant “Alright…” as his final response, he walked ahead down the hallway.
“Let’s go. Wherever you want. I can drive you if you’d like.”
Stepping outside, Yoonhae handed the lead to Jungjoon. When he offered a ride, Jungjoon shook his head in refusal. As Jungjoon took the lead, Yoonhae followed silently behind. The presence trailing him like a shadow was uncomfortable, but it quickly faded from his mind. The air, sunlight, sounds, and people—all the external stimuli he hadn’t felt in so long—amplified his senses several times over.
For Jungjoon, who had lived with the curtains drawn in his room, the afternoon sunlight was blinding. Was sunlight always this bright? The thought struck him anew.
The bathhouse, visited after such a long time, didn’t feel unfamiliar despite being a new place. It stirred familiar emotions and scents. The vast tubs, the humid and warm air, the ubiquitous smell of soap… Aside from a few middle-aged and elderly men, the near absence of other visitors put him at ease.
Thinking he should take his time and use the sauna too, he settled into an empty spot. After finishing the shave he’d put off, he started washing his hair when an abrupt presence interrupted him. Someone approached and pulled up a stool beside him, the sound echoing in the space. In a mostly empty bathhouse, it felt odd for someone to sit right next to him. Opening his eyes, he saw a large foot.
Following the unusually long legs upward, he wasn’t surprised to find Yoonhae sitting there—the same Yoonhae he’d thought they’d parted ways with outside the bathhouse. Jungjoon turned his head, pretending not to notice, and focused on washing his hair.
“Let me do it. I’ll wash it for you.”
After rinsing the foam from his hair, Yoonhae, whom Jungjoon had hoped would stay still, finally intervened. Insisting on washing him, he took the towel. Jungjoon’s refusals were useless. Yoonhae poured water over his back without permission and began lathering soap. A hand forcibly fitted with a small scrubber moved not just over his back but boldly down to his armpits, chest, stomach, and even lower.
“Stand up.”
“…What are you doing…!”
Pushing him away in a fluster, Yoonhae laughed as if it were absurd—acting like Jungjoon was overreacting needlessly.
“I said I’d do it…!”
Lowering his voice but still scolding, Jungjoon was met with Yoonhae’s amused stare, as if watching a spectacle. His nonchalant attitude made Jungjoon, with his flushed face and rising temper, feel foolish. Yoonhae, who’d been silently watching, turned on the water stream. With the scrubber off, he rubbed Jungjoon’s shoulders and back with his bare hands. Following the suds downward, he casually brushed over Jungjoon’s chest and nipples. Flustered, Jungjoon raised his tensed arms, exposing his armpits, and Yoonhae sprayed water there. Over his chest, navel, groin—he sprayed water while laughing.
“Never thought I’d see a day like this. Back when we were kids, you used to do this for me.”
Jungjoon glanced around. Beyond a single partition serving as a wall was the tub, where people were soaking. If someone entering the sauna room turned to look, they’d be visible.
“The suds are gone, so now I’ll scrub you.”
Speaking gently, he forcibly turned Jungjoon around. Scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub…—he worked lightly over Jungjoon’s back. The touch wasn’t as rough or painful as expected. Jungjoon thought there wouldn’t be much dead skin, but surprisingly, a lot came off. Look at this dirt, Yoonhae’s admiring voice echoed through the bathhouse.
“Stop it… That’s enough…!”
Jungjoon snatched the scrubber away. He pushed against Yoonhae’s muscular, rugged arm. Ignoring him, he diligently lathered his entire body. After washing every nook and cranny, he stood up—just as Yoonhae, who’d been watching closely from the side, rose too.
“Let’s soak in the tub.”
Grabbing Jungjoon’s forearm, he pulled him along. At some point, people’s eyes had started to turn toward them. The middle-aged men who’d been sneaking glances cleared their throats and looked away. As Yoonhae walked toward the tub, the scattered gazes converged again. They silently fixated on the swaying object between his legs. The blatant scene left Jungjoon, not Yoonhae, cloaked in shame.
Thus, abandoning the leisurely rest he’d planned, Jungjoon left the bathhouse. As he dried off and changed, Yoonhae emerged from the tub, following him.
“Why’re you leaving already? You could’ve soaked and relaxed.”
Feeling no need to respond, Jungjoon brushed past. While drying his hair, he saw Yoonhae approach from behind in the mirror. Taking some body lotion onto his palm, Yoonhae slipped his hand under Jungjoon’s T-shirt. He rubbed it meticulously over Jungjoon’s upper and lower body, then did the same to his freshly shaved face.
After it absorbed, he lightly tapped Jungjoon’s lips with his fingertips, as one might a baby. An old man sitting on a wide bench watching TV glanced at them through the mirror. His sly, lingering look suggested he’d been doing so for a while. Jungjoon turned his head and sighed. Irritation flared, then gave way to a resigned whatever. He had no energy left to get angry.
Yoonhae stepped away, standing before the mirror to apply skincare. His grooming figure drew the eyes of those scattered around the changing room. A body with evenly developed muscles—an objectively balanced, sensual physique worth staring at absentmindedly. But knowing who he was, to Jungjoon, it just looked like the bulk of a common thug. With tired eyes, he set the hairdryer down.
Leaving the bathhouse, he began aimlessly walking the streets under the bright afternoon sun. Perhaps because he’d bathed, even briefly, his body felt warm. Having adjusted, the glaring sun no longer seemed so blinding.
For some reason, Jungjoon’s steps felt lighter, his mood fresher than before. He had no destination but kept walking. Scanning his surroundings, he stopped abruptly when he caught his reflection in a shop window.
“…”
Yoonhae’s figure walking beside him was reflected too. The two side-by-side stood in stark contrast at a glance. Though he’d shaved, Jungjoon’s uncut hair was overly long. Compared to Yoonhae, with his neatly swept-back forehead, Jungjoon looked far more unkempt.
The thought of getting a haircut crossed his mind, and he instinctively looked around. A hair salon caught his eye nearby, but its flashy vibe—unlike his usual place—made him hesitate. Noticing his indecision, Yoonhae grabbed his arm and led him forward. Before Jungjoon could protest with an “Uh…”, Yoonhae wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pushed open the glass door.
“Welcome! Is this your first time here?”
A young male employee approached with a greeting. Jungjoon awkwardly confirmed it was, and the employee gestured toward the waiting area inside. Telling him to sit and wait a moment, he left.
The wait wasn’t long. Sitting with Yoonhae, sipping offered tea, Jungjoon was soon guided to an empty chair. The assigned stylist was the same young man who’d greeted him earlier.
“How would you like it cut? Did you see something you liked, or do you have a specific style in mind?”
“No, nothing like that… Just cut it neatly, please. It’s too long…”
As long as it looked tidier than now, he didn’t care. Telling the stylist he had no particular preference, the man offered a few suggestions, and Jungjoon nodded that anything was fine.
“But the guy you came with—is he a friend?”
The stylist met Jungjoon’s eyes through the mirror as he asked.
“Oh… yeah… A junior from my hometown.”
Even as he said it, a bitter self-mockery stirred inside. A junior from my hometown, huh.
“He’s really good-looking. He’s not in the entertainment industry or anything, is he?”
“…He’s a businessman.”
Yoonhae certainly stood out, it seemed. Hiding his discomfort at prolonging the conversation, Jungjoon replied curtly.
“Ohh, I see… He’s got this refined vibe, or maybe it’s presence? Not the flashy celebrity kind, but this intense aura. Anyway, it makes sense now that I know his job. Businessmen have that strong energy, don’t they? In a good way.”
“…Yeah.”
He’d freak out if I told him what he really does. Jungjoon gave an awkward smile and shut his mouth. Just then, Yoonhae’s reflection appeared in the mirror, watching him. Had he noticed they were talking about him? The moment their eyes seemed to meet, Yoonhae stood and approached.
“What did you decide on?”
He asked, looking at Jungjoon through the mirror. Before Jungjoon could answer, the stylist, delighted by his interest, jumped in. Bringing a tablet, he showed Yoonhae photos, suggesting this style or that one.
“Looks a bit like a bar host. Don’t you have anything classier?”
“Oh, then how about this… or this style?”
Even at Yoonhae’s blunt comment, the stylist flipped through more photos without a hint of displeasure.
“That one’s better. Neat and suits his image.”
“Since the client has a slim face and a masculine jawline, the style you mentioned should suit him well. It’s a popular cut these days—actor Kim Hyuk wore it in a drama.”
The stylist showed Jungjoon the photo Yoonhae picked, adding an explanation.
“…Okay, then that one…”
“Don’t shave the back too much. Leave it moderate—it suits him.”
“Oh, this part here? Should we do it like this, then?”
The stylist sought Yoonhae’s approval again with another photo. The petty nitpicking—trends, lengths, this and that—felt exhausting, and Jungjoon lowered his eyes. He’d said he didn’t care, yet a third party was fussing over it, making him feel embarrassed.
“Alright, we’ll fix it like that and start cutting—”
“…Okay.”
He genuinely didn’t care. As long as they cut it and he could leave soon. Yoonhae returned to his seat but kept staring at Jungjoon throughout the haircut. Unable to decipher the meaning behind the gaze, Jungjoon grew restless. He worried the stylist might notice the burning stare.
“Sir, it’d be great if you dyed it too after the cut.”
Jungjoon, distracted elsewhere, looked up.
“Huh?”
“How about dyeing it while you’re at it? You’ve got a few gray hairs—not many—and we’re having a discount event on dye right now. It’s cheaper if you do it with the cut.”
“Oh…”
Jungjoon hesitated, unsure how to decline. He’d always struggled to say no to upselling—it never felt like someone else’s problem.
“It might take too long…”
“It won’t take that long. It’d really freshen you up.”
“…Then… please do it.”
As expected, he couldn’t refuse this time either. Since he was here to change, he also wanted to fully shed his current mess.
After the cut, the stylist approached Yoonhae, who’d been sitting. Informing him of Jungjoon’s dye decision, he showed color samples. Realizing it was to defer to Yoonhae again, Jungjoon felt odd—like a child with a guardian, the opposite of when he took Ian for haircuts.
As if it were natural, Yoonhae revealed his taste and picked a color.
“Something soft, bright rather than dull. His natural hair and pale skin suit that.”
“Oh, how about this color?”
“That’ll do.”
Yoonhae chose a brown neither too dark nor overly light. The decision was made without Jungjoon getting a word in, the atmosphere assuming he’d follow.
“…”
Jungjoon studied the stylist’s expression as he applied the dye. What does he think of me and Yoonhae? Is he misunderstanding something? He searched for clues, but nothing stood out. Maybe this was more common than he thought. Regardless, the stylist’s consistent, calm demeanor from start to finish reassured him.
About two hours later, the haircut was complete.
“Wow, it suits you so well. You look totally refreshed! What do you think—do you like it?”
The stylist, pleased with his work, smiled brightly.
“Oh… yeah. I like it.”
The new style and lighter color, unlike anything he’d tried before, looked better than expected. Bashfully touching his hair, he turned his head side to side.
“…Thank you. You did a great job.”
The stylist repeated how well it suited him, showing the back with a spare mirror. Watching him, Jungjoon suddenly realized how long it’d been since he’d had such an exchange—stepping outside, meeting people’s eyes, talking.
For the first time, the tense Jungjoon smiled at the stylist. He was genuinely grateful to the man who’d painstakingly tidied his long-neglected hair.
“Oh, don’t people say you look like a celebrity? Now that I see it, you resemble actor Kang Hee-jae.”
It was while Jungjoon smiled awkwardly at the customer-service line.
“Let’s go.”
Yoonhae, who’d approached unnoticed, spoke to Jungjoon. His commanding tone and gesture to stand felt somewhat overbearing.
Jungjoon tried to pay with his card, but it was already settled. Yoonhae, as if suddenly pressed for time, urged Jungjoon toward the exit with an odd pressure.
“Oh, sir, if you write down your birthday and phone number, we send discount event info and a birthday coupon.”
“Oh… really?”
Pausing mid-exit, Jungjoon glanced at Yoonhae. Turning slightly away from the still Yoonhae, he looked down at the offered paper. But a firm voice cut in.
“No need. We won’t be back.”
“Oh… uh, we just stopped by by chance…”
As Jungjoon tried to smooth it over, the stylist handed him a business card.
“Then if you’re ever around again, feel free to drop by—”
His unwavering smile and pleasant attitude touched Jungjoon. Feeling grateful as he reached for it, Yoonhae’s hand shot out. Snatching the card, he glanced at it briefly before placing it back on the counter.
“We don’t need it.”
With a hand on Jungjoon’s shoulder, he left the same way they’d entered.
“…What’s wrong with you?”
After a few steps, Jungjoon stopped and asked. Shrugging off the clinging hand from his shoulder.
“What?”
Yoonhae, stopping too, looked down at him. Seeing those unreadable eyes—unlikely to respond to reason—Jungjoon suddenly lost the will to argue. Turning his head back, he stepped forward.
But within a few steps, his arm was grabbed, and his body twisted around. The unpredictable force made Jungjoon’s heart pound. Yet, betraying that tension, Yoonhae only brushed his cheek lightly with his fingertips.
“…There was hair on your face.”
Muttering, he released Jungjoon’s arm and walked ahead.
“…”
His heart still thumped unpleasantly. Staring at the broad back, Jungjoon slowly followed.
Yoonhae, several paces ahead, didn’t glance back once. Unlike earlier, Jungjoon was now trailing him. Matching his relentless stride, Jungjoon belatedly felt hunger.
“Hey…”
His small voice could’ve been lost in the crowd. Remarkably, Yoonhae caught the faint sound and turned. Without delay, he approached Jungjoon.
“…Aren’t you hungry?”
Facing the suddenly close Yoonhae, Jungjoon hesitated with a suggestion. Yoonhae, eyeing him oddly, asked back,
“Want to eat something?”
Jungjoon hadn’t thought that far, but for some reason, gukbap popped into his mind. Maybe the chilly wind made his body crave warm broth.
“Wanna get gukbap?”
At the question, Yoonhae agreed with a simple “Sure,” no hesitation.
Having blurted it out, the menu was abruptly decided, and Jungjoon followed Yoonhae, who now led confidently, weaving through alleys.
They arrived at a typical pork gukbap joint, common everywhere. Tucked in an alley, the place was busy despite the odd hour. The bustling chaos suggested it was a good spot.
Soon after ordering, steaming gukbap arrived in earthen pots. Feeling hungry, Jungjoon scooped a spoonful of broth before mixing rice. The warm stock slid down his throat, loosening his stiff body. Perhaps because it’d been a while, even the slight gaminess tasted good.
“…Does it suit your taste?”
Jungjoon glanced across and asked. Yoonhae, who’d been staring at him without intent to eat, finally took a spoonful of the pale broth. “It’s good,” he added carelessly.
After tasting, Jungjoon added seasoning per tradition and mixed in rice. Maybe from moving a lot today, his appetite surged after a long absence. Mixing thoroughly, he slurped it down noisily. The simmered bone broth coursed through his throat, seeping into every corner of his body, every grain and drop turning into blood and flesh.
Finishing heartily enough to sweat, he stood. An employee clearing the table chided Yoonhae.
“Goodness, a big guy like you can’t finish this?”
Jungjoon laughed and looked up as if demanding an explanation, meeting Yoonhae’s eyes. Unable to read the piercing stare, he turned away.
“Didn’t like it? Too fishy?”
He offered a mint from the counter as they left.
“…Just full.”
Muttering, Yoonhae stared at Jungjoon’s hand before taking it. Popping the sharp mint in his mouth, the cool flavor spread. Rolling it across his cheeks, he glanced up absently and caught Yoonhae staring at his mouth. With the mint in, Yoonhae mimicked him, rolling it side to side.
“Why’re you copying me?”
A grown man acting childish. The silly behavior, mismatched with his lanky frame, made Jungjoon burst out laughing.
“…”
Realizing it was a pure, untainted laugh and startling himself, he lowered his eyes. Before he could revert the odd silence, he found himself dragged somewhere by Yoonhae.
Pulled roughly as if something urgent arose, they reached a dim, narrow space beside a rundown building, blocked by a wall. Before he could grasp why or what was happening, his mouth was covered.
“Mmph…!”
A rough kiss jolted his eyes open. His cheeks were gripped, lips parting as tongues met. The mint was shoved out, falling to the ground, as a wet tongue probed deeper, eagerly.
“Hngh…, mmph…!”
It didn’t feel like kissing. It was like being suffocated to death. The mint-scented tongue was sucked hard, as if to uproot it.
A hand slipped under his coat, groping his chest and sliding lower. It rubbed his full, protruding stomach and dipped into his pants. Feeling two fingers trace his crease and push inside, Jungjoon froze as if doused in cold water.
“S-Stop…!”
His knees trembled in shock. What the hell is this? Struggling to think, he shouted in a hushed voice.
“Please, stop…!”
But Yoonhae, lost in a daze, sucked Jungjoon’s jaw.
“W-Wait… Not here, let’s… let’s do it properly at home…”
Please, he begged pathetically, clutching Yoonhae’s shoulders.
“O-Or a motel… somewhere nearby…!”
Spouting anything, Yoonhae finally paused. Pulling his lips away, he straightened and looked down at Jungjoon. Meeting his drugged, unhinged eyes, Jungjoon pleaded.
“Let’s go to a motel… okay? Right now.”
“…Motel?”
The damp voice echoed as Jungjoon nodded frantically.
“Yeah, motel. Let’s do it there. You can’t do it properly here.”
Yoonhae’s hot breath settled on Jungjoon’s upper lip.
“…Motel… just us?”
Heat laced his question.
“…Yeah…”
“For sex?”
“…”
“To a motel…? For sex…?”
He pressed their chests close, repeating himself. To a motel, just us, for sex—his crude repetition made him seem dim-witted. Enduring the foul breath, Jungjoon forced his stiff jaw to nod. He felt he might vomit the food he’d just eaten.
Satisfied, Yoonhae finally pulled away. He fixed Jungjoon’s disheveled clothes and helped the weakened man stand. Holding hands, they exited the cramped alley.
“…”
Walking the streets, Jungjoon trembled with shame. Even using his legs, he barely knew how he moved, his state a wreck.
Yoonhae led him to their destination without hesitation. Staring at his back—heading to a motel in broad daylight in a lustful frenzy—Jungjoon lowered his head. Passersby’s stares were palpable. Two grown men holding hands naturally drew attention.
In Jungjoon’s view, his hand lay trapped in Yoonhae’s large, firm grip. Gazing at it with bloodshot eyes, he felt a self-destructive urge to explode the contact. If he had that power, his hand might’ve burst into a gory spectacle.
The cruel image grew more violent. Like a broken control, vile scenes unfolded in his mind. When the suppressed emotions reached an unmeasurable peak, Jungjoon felt his mind snap.
Coming to, he’d already wrenched his hand free. Forgetting to breathe, he bolted into the crowd.
It wasn’t a planned move but an explosive instinct he couldn’t resist. Running, he felt his tingling hand and a heart pounding fiercely. Thump, thump, thump…—his organs pumped with newfound vigor.
He thought he heard a call from behind—or maybe not. Following his escape instinct, he charged ahead blindly. In primal tension, forgetting to breathe, he sought only gaps in the crowd.
Amid the frantic sprint, he oddly recalled childhood. The pure thrill of running forward, forgetting everything, coursed down his spine. Perhaps due to weight loss, his lightened body stretched out like it did back then.
But that fleeting thrill couldn’t sustain him long. Fear wormed in—What if I’m caught?—and his balance crumbled. Consumed by belated terror, he glanced back unwittingly. Through the crowd, he saw Yoonhae’s full figure approaching.
Ah…
His muscles tensed, strength surging into his legs. Just seeing him chase sparked despair. Pushing through people, Yoonhae’s form struck visceral fear, a stark reminder of his true nature.
No.
No.
No.
Sweat or tears—liquid streamed endlessly. No matter how far he ran, he couldn’t feel safe. Stopped by a traffic light, he looked back again. Spotting him, Yoonhae’s eyes widened. Eyes of a demon determined to drag him to hell, brimming with desperate malice to kill, choked Jungjoon’s breath.
Rather than be caught, he’d die alone—he leapt into traffic. Simultaneously, a booming voice calling him reverberated everywhere.
“Seo Jungjoon―!!!!!!”
Blended with blaring horns, it sounded hallucinatory. Stumbling, crossing chaotically, he looked back again.
There stood Yoonhae, exuding a murderous aura. Even from afar, his menacing glare pinned Jungjoon, mid-escape.
“Stay there…”
His distant mutter sounded eerily close, like a whisper. Watching him time the crossing amid frantic cars, dread hit Jungjoon—He’ll catch me. Turning hastily, he stretched his legs to flee anywhere.
And then—
BLAAAM―――!!!!
A harsh horn blared, followed by screeching brakes. The sharp friction of tires on pavement jolted his shoulders as he turned. Screams—“Kyaa!”—rang out, and Yoonhae’s body rolled onto a car’s hood with a thud.
All noise vanished as if erased. Facing the unbelievable, his pupils dilated, body rigid. He couldn’t believe it. More unbelievable was Yoonhae standing right after, limping toward him.
Muttering incoherently through the tangled cars, blood dripped from his forehead and hands. Jungjoon’s eyes locked onto his intense figure, unblinking.
“…I won’t lose you again…”
Never again…
His murmurs persisted even after grabbing Jungjoon.
“I won’t let go, even if I die…”
Even after death…
Obsessively, endlessly muttering, he gripped Jungjoon and walked. Oncoming people flinched and parted. Jungjoon winced—the grip hurt. But he had no strength to break free or ask for release.
Yoonhae no longer limped as he had post-collision. Only the blood from his torn hand pooled endlessly into their clasped hands.
A nightmare.
A nightmare he’d never forget until death.
⟡˖ ࣪
Early morning, Jungjoon opened his eyes. Blinking heavy lids, he stared at the ceiling briefly.
“…”
It was so quiet his ears felt deafened. In the silence where even his breath seemed audible, he groped to sit up.
About to get out of bed, he froze. The moment his feet touched the floor, an odd unease hit him. Lifting his head, he spotted something that wasn’t there last night.
Eyes watched him from the corner. Between the dimness, a large, dark silhouette stared, and Jungjoon swallowed hard.
“…”
His voice wouldn’t come, as if blocked. What’re you doing? How long have you been there? What’s wrong? Questions surfaced, but that was all.
Unable to speak first, stiffening, Yoonhae stood. Glancing at Jungjoon sidelong, he opened the door and left without a word.
“Haah…”
A shallow, long sigh escaped Jungjoon. Lowering his head, he rested his arms on his thighs and rubbed his eyes. The day’s start already drained him. These sudden appearances or covert watchings sapped his vitality.
This strange life had reached its sixth day. So had being dragged to an unfamiliar region and place.
No matter how grand and beautiful the villa, confinement remained unchanged. How long this stifling life and Yoonhae’s subtle protests would persist was unknowable.
A wordless existence went beyond stifling—it was nerve-wracking. Yoonhae’s selective silence tightened Jungjoon’s chest. It wasn’t just conversation—everything did. Since that day he fled, Yoonhae’s every action set Jungjoon on edge.
The obsessive daily sex had stopped overnight, but its unpredictability sharpened his nerves. Physically, he was freer, yet the mental strain surpassed before. Though he didn’t touch directly, Yoonhae still tormented with sexual acts.
Days ago, Jungjoon woke to a bizarre new harassment. Roused by violent shaking, he realized Yoonhae was atop him, masturbating.
Too aggressive for mere self-pleasure, Jungjoon couldn’t move during it. As semen burst—especially as Yoonhae aimed persistently at his face—Jungjoon held his breath.
He felt the fervent rage pouring out with the semen. The fishy smell, heat, and sticky viscosity from cheek to chin were vivid. Fearing he’d provoke that explosive, unstable temper, Jungjoon lay corpse-like, breathless.
Every morning, dried semen remained on his face. Even on days he didn’t notice, he realized it happened without fail.
Yet, despite registering the horror, sleep came most nights, and mornings brought long rests. Oddly, though uneasy since arriving, his body adapted.
Was it the resolve and habits regained thinking of Ian? Or the toll of running for his life just before coming here? Whatever the reason, he no longer craved alcohol like an addict, didn’t sink into escapist sleep all day, and rebuilt stamina with daily strength exercises.
Washing off the inevitable semen, Jungjoon approached the window. Pulling the curtains, he gazed at the scenery outside. A quiet morning—clouds hinted at imminent rain. Everything in sight seemed a few shades duller.
The locked window wouldn’t open. But through the glass, he could see misty mountain ridges. Amid the peaceful view, his cluttered mind settled. Even trapped, nature’s daily shifts remained beautiful.
Descending the stairs, he saw Yoonhae on the living room sofa. He sat leisurely, a book open on his knees, sipping coffee.