PV Ch.10 Part 2

“Ah… Yes… Harder…”

Bomin had been with countless partners, but Kim Minhyun had clung to the hope that, given time, Bomin would open his heart to him. But he couldn’t bear to watch Bomin self-destruct any longer, and couldn’t stand the endless parade of faceless lovers. He’d left, unable to watch the slow, agonizing process of Bomin breaking himself apart. 

And Bomin had only spiraled further down. 

“Ugh…”

“You like it rough, huh? You’re such a slut.”

Bomin bit back a moan as the man behind him squeezed his c*ck, his grip almost bruising. He clenched his muscles around the man’s intrusion, drawing a crude laugh from his faceless partner. 

The man’s thrusts were relentless, brutal, but Bomin didn’t resist. He welcomed the pain, the feeling of being used, abused, anything to distract himself from the emptiness inside. 

He came with a choked sob, tears streaming down his face as he felt the man’s release flooding him, a hot, sticky reminder of his own emptiness.

* * *

“Bomin-ssi.”

“I told you not to come here.”

Bomin’s carefully constructed life, the one that everyone else deemed pathetic but that he found strangely satisfying, had been disrupted by a persistent pest. 

He rarely brought his one-night stands home. Even his regular partners, the ones he saw more than once, were relegated to their own apartments, motels, or quick hotel rendezvous.

He’d had his fair share of admirers who, enamored with his body and his skills, wanted more than just a casual arrangement. But most of them, after being firmly rebuffed, would eventually give up and move on.

“I missed you. You’ve been ignoring my calls and texts…”

“We saw each other yesterday, remember? And we had quite the… intense session, too.” 

Bomin scowled, his annoyance evident. He’d warned the guy repeatedly, but he kept pushing boundaries. Bomin had indulged him a few times, charmed by his handsome face, his impressive physique, and his… considerable assets. But it was becoming a problem. 

“This isn’t working. We’re done. I told you to back off, but you clearly can’t take a hint.” 

“Bomin-ssi, please…!” 

“Don’t contact me again. If you show up here again, I’ll call the police.” 

He wondered, later, if things would have been different if he’d been a little kinder, a little less dismissive. 

* * *

The sound of metal slicing through flesh echoed in the deserted alleyway. Bomin gasped, clutching at his side, the warmth of blood blooming against his fingers. 

“Ugh… What the…?”

He’d just left the club, after a quick bathroom hookup, and was heading home. It was past two in the morning, and he was a little unsteady on his feet, his vision blurry from the alcohol. 

He was still living in Jeong Hotae’s apartment, the one with the secluded alley leading up to it. It was usually deserted at this hour, most people in this neighborhood preferring to drive rather than walk.

The streetlights, flickering erratically for the past few weeks, had finally succumbed to the darkness. 

He hadn’t seen the figure approaching, hadn’t heard the footsteps behind him. 

He turned, his hand pressed against his bleeding side, his body screaming in protest. A large figure lunged at him, a glint of metal flashing in the darkness. He felt a searing pain in his stomach, then another, and another. 

His white shirt, once pristine, was quickly becoming soaked in crimson. The pain was excruciating, his vision blurring as he felt his life draining away. 

“Who… Who are you…?”

“I didn’t want to do this. I really didn’t.”

He recognized the voice. The one who’d been stalking him, the one who’d suddenly disappeared a few days ago. He’d thought the guy had finally lost interest.

The man was wearing a black baseball cap, his face hidden in the shadows, but Bomin knew it was him. 

“This is your fault, Bomin-ssi. If you hadn’t rejected me, if you weren’t always with someone else… This wouldn’t have happened.”

There was no remorse in the man’s voice, only a twisted sense of righteousness. He held Bomin close, his lips brushing against his ear as he spoke. 

“Fuck you… This… This is murder, you bastard…” 

Strangely, Bomin wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t even sad. He just… wondered if he’d see Jeong Hotae in the afterlife.

His breath hitched, his vision fading. He welcomed the darkness, the oblivion, a small smile playing on his lips.

* * *

“So… I died.”

The first time he’d woken up in the novel, he hadn’t remembered what had happened before. He’d assumed he’d gotten blackout drunk, his memories lost in an alcoholic haze. 

He touched his side gingerly. There were no scars, no marks, just smooth, unblemished skin. But he could still feel it, the phantom sensation of the blade piercing his flesh, sinking deep into his abdomen. 

He closed his eyes, tears welling up. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful that he wasn’t in hell, or terrified that he was trapped in this fictional world. 

“You’re obsessed. Thinking about Jeong Hotae even as you die…”

He laughed, a hollow sound that echoed in the empty room. Maybe some higher power had decided to punish him for his unhealthy attachment to Jeong Hotae. 

He felt a cold emptiness inside him, a void that threatened to swallow him whole. He wiped away a stray tear, his smile wavering.

“All I saw were his eyes. I wish I’d gotten a good look at his face.”

But then, a thought occurred to him. It didn’t matter what happened in this ridiculous story. He wouldn’t leave. Not if Jeong Hotae was here. 

He pushed himself off the bed, his body trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and adrenaline. He was still naked, the discarded sheet lying crumpled on the floor near the door. 

The memories were coming back now, the pain of his death vivid and unsettling. He felt feverish, his body shivering despite the heat radiating from his skin.

“I don’t like the way they treat the Guides here…”

He was a member of the Association, and Jeong Hotae, judging by the way that other guy, the one who’d tried to rape him, had called him “Leader”… he was clearly high-ranking in this… organization, whatever it was. 

And the way he’d effortlessly subdued that S-rank Esper… it was disturbing. The Jeong Hotae he knew, the one who’d rescued him from that mugging, had been a good man, a kind man, a man with a strong sense of justice.

But this Jeong Hotae… He was clearly aware of the atrocities being committed against the Guides, and yet, he did nothing to stop it.

“This is so messed up…”

He couldn’t shake the image of those Guides, chained and abused, forced to provide guiding against their will. 

He stood up, wrapping the discarded sheet around his body. He was too tired to walk all the way back to the bed, so he simply collapsed on the floor near the door, curling up in the sheet. 

“I bet Jaeho will come looking for me…”

He’d grown attached to the characters in this story, to Song Jaeho, to the others. He couldn’t bear the thought of them fighting, of Jeong Hotae and Song Jaeho, of all people, becoming enemies.

“I’m too tired to think about this right now. I’ll deal with it later.”

He closed his eyes, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The fever was getting worse, pulling him down into a restless sleep. 

He was completely unaware of the hidden camera, its lens zoomed in on his face, capturing every detail of his slumber. 

The door slid open silently, and a large figure stepped into the room. He stood there for a long moment, his gaze fixed on Bomin’s sleeping form, then he knelt down beside him. 

“Finally… You’re mine.” 

He reached out a hand, his touch possessive, his fingers trailing across Bomin’s tear-stained cheek. He gently pulled the sheet away, revealing Bomin’s naked body. 

His hand lingered on Bomin’s waist, his touch lingering, possessive, as if trying to memorize every curve, every imperfection. 

“Nnng…”

Bomin whimpered in his sleep, his body instinctively curling away from the touch. 

“He’s burning up.”

The man’s hand slid up Bomin’s back, his touch surprisingly gentle as he wrapped his fingers around Bomin’s slender throat. He felt the rapid pulse beneath his fingertips, a flutter of life against his skin. A smile, cold and predatory, touched his lips. 

Bomin’s skin was flushed, feverish, the sight of it, so vulnerable, so inviting, sent a thrill of anticipation through him. 

“Even bruised, you’re beautiful… so much so that I want to preserve you.” 

His gaze, dark and hungry, lingered on Bomin’s body, drinking in the sight of his beauty. 

* * *