UR Chapter 90

Chapter 90

“…”

In front of the spotless dresser outside the pristine dressing room, a neatly folded set of pajamas was laid out.

“Uh… this is…”

I-bom’s face turned red as he pointed toward the clothes. Sitting there, perfectly arranged, was a plain beige set of pajamas. The crisp, new cotton fabric carried the soft scent of fabric softener.

“What… is this for?”

Not knowing the situation, he cautiously picked them up, blinking. His restless eyes darted between the clothes and the man. Whether or not Beom-ho knew what kinds of thoughts were running through I-bom’s head, he replied casually.

“They’re my pajamas. They’re freshly washed, so they’re clean.”

“…Your pajamas? Why?”

“There’s nothing here for you to wear. And I can’t just let you stay in those wet clothes, can I?”

“Oh.”

Now he understood. I-bom nodded, trying to control his expression, embarrassed that his mind had gone in a different direction earlier when told to take off his clothes. The other man, meanwhile, seemed completely unfazed.

“…They’ll probably still be big on you, but… hmm.”

Beom-ho let out a thoughtful hum, trailing his words, then nodded as if coming to a decision. He reached into the dressing room and switched on the light.

“These were a gift, but they’re a bit small for me, so I never wore them. I think they’ll fit you loosely. Just fold the sleeves and pant legs a bit, and you’ll be fine. Don’t bother holding onto your wet clothes—just take them to the laundry room, and I’ll have them washed.”

“…Ah, okay.”

I-bom nodded and held the beige pajama sleeve against his own arm for comparison. The sleeve was far longer than his own arm; he’d need to fold it over at least twice. It made him realize just how much bigger the other man was compared to him.

“By the way, I-bom.”

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Uh… maybe a little?”

He’d been so busy all day that he hadn’t noticed, but now that it was mentioned, his stomach did feel a bit empty. Having grown used to skipping meals while working part-time jobs, hunger was something I-bom was accustomed to enduring. It was a habit learned from necessity, so he hadn’t even thought about it.

When he glanced down at his flat stomach, it let out a small, rumbling growl as if on cue. His pupils trembled at the sound, but Beom-ho only nodded knowingly.

“While you change and get settled, I’ll make something to eat. Is there anything you want, or something you like?”

“Something… I like?”

It was the first time anyone had ever asked him that. He froze, unsure of what expression to make or how to answer.

“If you can’t think of anything, I’ll just make something myself.”

“You… can cook?”

For a moment, the ends of Beom-ho’s long eyebrows lifted slightly before lowering again. Whether it was because he found the question amusing or because he was genuinely confident, I-bom couldn’t tell.

“Do I look like someone who can’t cook?”

He asked lightly, in a teasing tone. The corners of his lips curled smoothly upward. To I-bom, he was unmistakably a cheerful, positive person—someone who smiled easily, even without prompting. Seeing that bright smile, I-bom gave a small nod, a silent yes laced with a bit of guilt.

“…Sorry. To be honest… yes. But only because you seem so busy all the time.”

“I cook better than you think. Korean, Japanese, Chinese, Western… I’ve been living on my own since I was seventeen. If you’re going to live alone, cooking is essential for survival. Luckily, I seem to have some talent—I can usually recreate a dish pretty closely after tasting it once.”

He smiled with quiet pride, his teeth flashing between his lips. I-bom nodded as if convinced, almost mesmerized. With a smile that bright and a tone so confident, even the idea of him making pasta out of rice seemed believable.

“…So just say the word. I’ll make whatever you want.”

“…Uh, but… I don’t really have anything I particularly like.”

Gulping, I-bom hesitated before answering softly.

“Anything’s fine… I even eat plain kibble with water.”

He knew that “anything’s fine” was the worst possible answer, but receiving things wasn’t something he was used to, and the words didn’t come easily. To know what he liked or disliked, he’d have to try many things and make mistakes along the way—but unfortunately, he’d never had that kind of environment. If the man thought he was pathetic or pitiful for his answer, I-bom wouldn’t be able to argue.

“Kibble, huh… not great nutritionally. I’ll just make something simple right now. I’m sure you’ll like it.”

But Beom-ho didn’t show the slightest hint of displeasure—he agreed without hesitation. Then he pointed toward the far side of the room.

“While I cook, go change and take a shower. I’ll bring you a cup of tea to warm you up. The shower’s next to the dressing room. There are towels in the drawer above the sink.”

Tap.

He lightly guided I-bom toward where the shower was in view.

* * *

I-bom calmed his racing heart and escaped into the dressing room.

How could someone be so kind and attentive? From the moment he stepped into the man’s home, it had been a continuous stream of dangerous excitement and misleading thoughts.

Every corner of the dressing room carried the man’s scent. It was like the smell of rain-soaked earth, or the fresh greenness of warm wood. And woven faintly between those was a deep, sensual undertone.

Even though he was alone, it felt as if the man was right there beside him. It was dangerously close to making him feel as though he were on the verge of a heat he had never experienced before.

At this rate, maybe the name “Guhochæ” should belong to this house. Guhochæ—“the tiger’s mouth.” He had walked straight into the tiger’s jaws of his own accord.

“…I should just take a shower.”

If he let his imagination run any further, he was sure the heat below his waist would start to rise, so he decided to stop.

“Hoo…”

He hesitated, then looked at the full-length mirror tucked inside the dressing room. A man with damp brown hair, soaked from the rain, stared blankly back at him.

He hadn’t noticed when looking at his reflection in the car window, but the thin sky-blue hoodie clung wetly to his body, exposing the stark outline of his already skinny frame. In short, he looked pitiful—like a wet dog.

‘…This is so embarrassing.’

Still staring at his reflection, I-bom took off his clothes.

* * *

Tok, tok, tok.

When he came out of the dressing room after showering, the light, rhythmic sound of a knife hitting a cutting board greeted him, along with a savory aroma drifting warmly through the air. Drawn as if hypnotized, he followed the scent.

“…”

The man’s back came into view. Below his broad shoulders, the apron’s ribbon was neatly tied at his waist. He moved quickly, tending to several pans at once, like he was filming a cooking show. It felt strange—someone with the image of a pampered young master who wouldn’t even touch an apron was instead handling everything himself. It was… unexpectedly, heart-poundingly attractive.

“Um… should I help you?”

Drying his damp hair with a towel, I-bom spoke cautiously. The hot water had been satisfying enough, but the fragrant body wash—unlike anything he’d used before—and the thick, fluffy towel were also to his liking. Wiping away the water from his hair, he stepped forward carefully.

“All done? How’s the pajama fit—does it suit you?”

The man set down his knife and turned his shoulders toward him. His gaze, looking down at I-bom, carried unmistakable warmth and affection.

“Ah, yes. It’s a little big, but…”

I-bom lifted his wrist toward him, as if shyly showing off, almost like a puppy wagging its tail for praise.

The soft cotton sleeve slid down past his pale, thin wrist. The pajama shirt, folded at the cuffs twice, was so large it covered half his thighs.

“Still, like you said, folding the sleeves makes it wearable.”

He tugged at the pajama waistband and gave a bashful smile.

“…I see.”

The man turned fully, leaning against the island counter with his back to it. His tall frame bent slightly so their eyes could meet, his expression relaxed as he slowly blinked and let his gaze drift leisurely down I-bom’s figure.