PV Ch.6 Part 4

“What…?”

He had no idea how long he’d been asleep. He’d simply collapsed at some point, his body and mind unable to take any more, seeking refuge in unconsciousness. 

He was jolted awake by a loud crash, his head lifting groggily from the pillow. The sheets felt different, unfamiliar. He caught a whiff of a familiar scent, and the realization hit him – he was still in Yoom Bisam’s apartment. 

His eyelids felt heavy, weighed down by the tears he’d shed during their encounter. He forced his eyes open, and the sight that greeted him made his head spin. Furniture was flying through the air, the walls encased in a thick layer of ice. 

“…Song Jaeho?”

Song Jaeho, his face contorted with rage, and Yoon Bisam, his expression cold and impassive, were locked in a battle of powers, the apartment a casualty of their clash. It felt like he’d been dropped into the middle of a disaster movie. 

“Ow…”

He touched his cheek, a sharp stinging sensation making him wince. A stray piece of wood had grazed him, leaving a thin trail of blood against his pale skin. 

“Are you hurt?”

Song Jaeho was suddenly beside him, his gaze frantic as he examined the cut. Bomin’s head was still spinning, trying to make sense of the situation. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice laced with confusion. 

“What do you mean? I told you I’d be back. Why did you leave the Treatment Center so early?” Song Jaeho retorted, gently dabbing at the cut with a corner of the sheet, as if he were Bomin’s personal caretaker. 

“It’s my body, I can do what I want. The Magic Shock was gone, what else was I supposed to do? Sit there and get bored?”

“Are you serious right now…!” 

“…My head hurts, stop yelling.” 

Bomin felt weak and drained, as if he had the worst hangover imaginable. He pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to ease the throbbing pain. Song Jaeho, his anger replaced by concern, gently massaged Bomin’s head, his touch surprisingly skilled. 

“Come on, we need to get that treated.”

Before Bomin could protest, before he could even voice his confusion at being treated with such care, a volley of ice shards shot towards Song Jaeho, stopping him in his tracks. 

The shards hovered inches from Song Jaeho’s neck, their sharp edges glinting menacingly. Bomin could feel the chill emanating from them, a tangible reminder of Yoon Bisam’s power.

“That’s enough. Leave, if you don’t want a hole in your throat,” Yoon Bisam said, his voice as cold as the ice he wielded. 

“You little…!” 

Song Jaeho glared at Yoon Bisam, his jaw clenched, his body tense. His clothes were torn in several places, the wounds still bleeding, a testament to Yoon Bisam’s earlier attack. 

“Just… keep fighting. I’ll leave,” Bomin mumbled, pushing himself up from the bed. 

He winced, a sharp pain shooting through his ass, and he stumbled, his body contorting in a comical display of discomfort as his face slammed into the sheets.

A chuckle reached his ears, and he looked up, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Song Jaeho was standing there, his hand covering his mouth, his eyes crinkled with amusement. The anger that had been directed at Yoon Bisam just moments before was gone, replaced by a lightheartedness that made Bomin’s blood run cold. 

“Don’t… don’t laugh,” he hissed, his voice tight. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Song Jaeho said, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. He held up his hands in surrender, his gaze softening as he took in Bomin’s expression. “Here, let me help you.”

He used his telekinesis to gather the sheet around Bomin, covering his nakedness. Bomin hesitated for a moment, his fingers flexing, testing his strength, before allowing himself to be lifted into Song Jaeho’s arms. It felt as if all the muscles in his body had turned to jelly. 

“Seems like you two are getting along well,” Yoon Bisam commented, his arms crossed over his chest as he observed them. 

They were the same age, and he’d always thought there was a certain camaraderie between them, a shared understanding that went beyond the usual Esper-Guide dynamic. 

But he’d also known, deep down, that Song Jaeho treated Bomin like a prized possession, a delicate toy to be admired and protected, not someone he truly cared for. 

“Getting along my ass,” Sonf Jaeho grumbled under his breath, but he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as he adjusted his grip on Bomin. He liked the way they looked together, the way Bomin seemed to fit perfectly against his chest. He’d already forgotten about their earlier confrontation with Yoon Bisam. 

“I’ll be taking Lee Bomin now. And don’t let him sleep in your room again, Hyung. Do things the way we used to,” Song Jaeho said, his voice regaining its usual arrogance as he turned to leave. 

“Now that you mention it, I think I will keep him in my room,” Yoon Bisam replied coolly. 

Song Jaeho stopped dead in his tracks, his smile vanishing. His mood swings were legendary, and Bomin couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. 

“Hey, I’m hungry. If you two are gonna fight again, just put me down. I’ll crawl to the cafeteria if I have to,” he said, his voice weak.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a proper meal. Even Song Jaeho, with his enhanced hearing, must have heard the growl of his stomach. 

“See you around, Lee Bomin. Maybe next time we can make it a longer night,” Yoon Bisam said, his voice laced with a dark amusement that sent a shiver down Bomin’s spine. 

Bomin, resisting the urge to call Yoon Bisam a psycho, closed his eyes and leaned against Song Jaeho’s chest. All he wanted right now was food and sleep, preferably in that order. 

He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, he was sitting in a bustling cafeteria, surrounded by the comforting aroma of food. 

“…Food. Now,” he mumbled, his voice raspy.

“What do you want to eat?” Song Jaeho asked, his voice gentle. 

“Everything. I don’t care what it is, just… order a lot.”

He didn’t even have the energy to look at the menu. Song Jaeho, sensing his exhaustion, flagged down a waiter and rattled off a list of the restaurant’s best dishes. The food arrived quickly, steaming plates piled high on their table. 

“Let go, I need to eat,” Bomin said, trying to wriggle free from Song Jaeho’s embrace. 

Song Jaeho simply tightened his hold, adjusting his grip on Bomin.

“Just stay put. You don’t even look like you have the energy to hold a fork.” 

“Are you going to feed me?” Bomin asked, his voice laced with amusement. 

“Yes.” 

Song Jaeho used his telekinesis, expertly manipulating a fork and knife with each hand. He cut up the food into bite-sized pieces, his movements precise and efficient. 

“Just open your mouth. I’ll keep feeding you until you explode.” 

Bomin opened his mouth obediently, like a baby bird awaiting its mother’s feeding. The fluffy pancakes, drenched in maple syrup, melted in his mouth, the sweetness spreading through him, bringing a touch of color back to his pale cheeks.

“Does it hurt here?” Song Jaeho asked, his fingers gently tracing the edge of the cut on Bomin’s cheek. 

“No, not really.” 

It stung a little when he moved his face, but it was nothing compared to the pain Jaeho had inflicted with his c*ck back in the hospital room. 

“It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as when you fucked me back in the hospital,” Bomin said, smiling sweetly up at Song Jaeho. The way Song Jaeho’s expression darkened at his words filled him with a strange sense of satisfaction.

Song Jaeho was putty in his hands, and Bomin knew it. It emboldened him, made him reckless. He opened his mouth again, his gaze fixed on Song Jaeho’s, a silent demand for more. He’d devoured an entire pancake already, but his stomach still growled with hunger. 

Song Jaeho, without a word, continued to feed him until every plate was empty. 

“I’m full,” Bomin finally declared, patting his stomach with a contented sigh. 

“Let’s go then,” Song Jaeho said, using his telekinesis to return the empty plates to the counter. 

He lifted Bomin into his arms, and Bomin protested weakly. 

“Where are we going? I want to go back to my room.”

“We need to get that treated.”

Song Jaeho was such a contradiction. Back in the hospital room, he’d been a ruthless beast, leaving Bomin bleeding and bruised. And yet, here he was, fussing over a scratch on his cheek. 

“Why do you even care about this scratch? It’s not like we’re… you know… a thing,” Bomin said, his words tumbling out before he could stop them. 

He was more comfortable with Song Jaeho than with the others, more at ease. It made him reckless, made him say things he normally wouldn’t. 

“Or… do you like it, like Yoon Bisam? The way I… the way my ass takes your c*ck, even though I can’t Guide you anymore…?” 

“Stop it.” 

Song Jaeho pulled a section of the sheet up, covering Bomin’s mouth. He’d spent the entire time he was away trying to come up with an answer to Bomin’s question, the one he’d left hanging in the air back in the hospital room.

But the answer wouldn’t come, not on its own. He needed to talk to Bomin, needed to see his face, to hear his voice. He’d rushed back to the Treatment Center, only to be met with an empty bed and a furious Jin Harin. She’d refused to tell him where Bomin had gone, had demanded that he leave. 

“Let’s go somewhere quiet and talk,” he said, his voice firm. 

He focused his power on his legs, his speed increasing until the world blurred around them. Bomin, his head spinning, buried his face against Song Jaeho’s chest. 

Song Jaeho carried him into his apartment, closing the door behind them before gently setting him down on the couch. He retrieved a healing potion from his first aid kit and dabbed it onto the cut on Bomin’s cheek. Bomin winced, his eyes narrowing. 

“These potions are amazing,” he murmured, watching as the cut disappeared, leaving behind smooth, unblemished skin.

This world, the world of the novel, was filled with wonders, and the healing potion was one of them. They were expensive though, and Bomin had never bought one himself. Song Jaeho, as an S-rank Esper, probably didn’t even think twice about the cost. It was probably like buying a cup of coffee for him. 

“Use this if you get hurt again. I’ll get you more when you run out.” 

Bomin stared at the potion, a small, delicate bottle filled with a liquid that held the power to heal. Song Jaeho placed it in his hand, his touch lingering for a moment. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Bomin asked, his voice soft, his gaze searching Song Jaeho’s face. 

The sheet that had been wrapped around him had loosened, but he was still nestled in Song Jaeho’s arms. The light in the room was dim, making Song Jaeho’s eyes seem even darker, more intense than usual. 

“I don’t know.”

“What?” 

“I’ve been thinking about it… and I don’t know. Why I can’t stop thinking about you, why I want to see you, even when you can’t Guide me.”

Bomin’s expression softened. His heart, once so tightly guarded, felt a flicker of warmth. He hadn’t expected honesty from Song Jaeho, not this raw, unguarded kind of honesty. And for some reason, it didn’t repel him. 

“Do you… do you still need me, even if I can’t Guide you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. 

Song Jaeho’s gaze met his, his pupils dilated, his eyes filled with an emotion Bomin couldn’t quite place. They were so close, their bodies almost touching, their breaths mingling. It was a question that hung heavy in the air, a challenge, a plea for something more than their purely physical connection. 

This time, Bomin didn’t push for an immediate answer. He let the silence stretch, a silent dare. He was giving Song Jaeho a chance to choose – to define their relationship, to break free from the confines of their roles as Esper and Guide. 

If Song Jaeho answered with silence like last time, Bomin decided he would treat him like a living d*ldo, just as he felt like he was being treated like a fleshlight. 

“…Yes. I need you.”

Time seemed to stand still as they held each other’s gaze, their bodies frozen, their hearts pounding in unison. Bomin’s neck ached from holding the same position, but he didn’t move. 

“Good. That’s all I needed to hear.”

Bomin gently stroked Song Jaeho’s hair, as if praising him. He felt more energized than when he had come to his senses in Yoon Bisam’s bed after a very satisfying meal. 

It was strange to see Song Jaeho so subdued, like a hunting dog waiting patiently with his leash held tight, awaiting his master’s command. It was an oddly exciting time.

(To be continued in Volume 2)