Chapter 9

“Why would I have any reason to contact Min-hyung privately?” Se-woong replied. “Hyun-woo told me earlier.”

So that was what Yuk Hyun-woo was talking about while pawing at Se-woong’s neck in the parking lot.

Having finished inspecting the console’s specifications, Se-woong was now browsing user reviews on his phone. Apparently nothing caught his interest; his thumb flicked across the screen without a shred of focus.

Setting his beer can down on the table, Shin said, “She’s heading to New York. Overseas assignments usually last about two years, so Min-hyung will probably be there for two years as well. She’s thrilled about it. The company covers her apartment, provides a car, and she’s already ecstatic planning trips to South America on her vacations.”

Though Se-woong’s gaze remained fixed on the phone screen, the casual movement of his fingers abruptly stopped.

After a suffocating hesitation, a low, gravelly rasp escaped Se-woong.

“Does Min-hyung… have someone she’s seeing?”

Shin had wondered what was taking him so long to speak. His handsome brow furrowed into a sharp crease.

“Why do you ask?” Shin demanded, his tone flattening.

The voice that followed sounded colder and more monotone than expected.

“If she isn’t seeing anyone, are you suggesting I should date her?”

How hard could it be to hide what’s inside and put on an affable smile?

Shin let out a sharp, mocking scoff. “Should I ask Min-hyung to marry me before she leaves? No, maybe I should just marry her and head to the States on consignment training[1] alongside her. In two years, we could even come back with a child. Min-hyung is Catholic—why don’t you get baptized and stand as the godfather?”

“Lee Shin,” Se-woong warned tightly.

“Ah, would that be too difficult?” Shin pressed, leaning in closer. “Then again, I hear the Catholic Church won’t even grant absolution in confession for screwing around with the same sex. And if you can’t get confession, you probably can’t be baptized, can you?”

Se-woong looked at him with pleading eyes. “Shin-ah.”

Did it really take this much just to hear him call me Shin-ah? When did it become so hard to hear?

“Cha Se-woong,” Shin called back, his tone dropping low.

Shin’s tone was entirely even. He was even smiling, so anyone observing them from nearby would have assumed without a shred of doubt that they were engaged in an affectionate conversation.

Even so, he could not suppress the sigh rising from within. Shin slowly released a long, heavy breath that he had failed to contain.

There was no way living like this could ever be fine. How could this state be acceptable when Cha Se-woong was right beside him, yet completely out of reach? How much longer could he endure a Cha Se-woong who recoiled in panic at a mere glimpse of his gaunt back and brought up women for him to date?

Shin locked eyes with him and whispered, “Woong-ah, don’t say it if you don’t mean it. If you’re doing this to tear my insides apart, feel free to keep going. The effect is working quite well.”

“Then… what am I supposed to do?” Se-woong breathed.

Turning his body, Se-woong looked up at Shin. Whether from lack of sleep or something else, the rims of his eyes were exceptionally red. His skin was astonishingly pale for a soldier. No matter how much guerrilla warfare training or extreme cold-and-heat survival drills he endured, Se-woong’s skin only flushed crimson without properly tanning. Once the training concluded, a scattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose was all that remained.

Back when they were lovers, Shin had found that trait endlessly endearing, but now that they were reduced to a distance where he couldn’t even touch him, it evoked a very different sentiment. Being forced merely to look at him felt like an agonizing trial testing Shin’s restraint at every single second.

Se-woong’s throat tightened as he spoke, “What else should I do? When I hear you’re going on blind dates, am I supposed to just sit there thinking, ‘Ah, so Lee Shin is meeting prospective brides. Maybe I should wait by the phone to see how it turns out?’ Am I supposed to just do that?”

Ironically, Se-woong was the one failing to conceal his emotions. Shin merely stared at him in silence. He had been waiting all along for any sort of reaction from Cha Se-woong, yet now that it came, it brought him no joy.

Se-woong pressed on without waiting for an answer.

“Can’t I even ask?” Se-woong demanded, his voice trembling. “Rumors about your matchmaking dates are coming at me from every direction. I went up to the rooftop just to escape hearing them, and I heard it there too. Everyone else knows, but I’m kept in the dark. So why shouldn’t I be allowed to ask?”

Maintaining an unyielding gaze, Shin countered, “Then you should have just asked if I went on a date. Why bring up Lee Min-hyung? It’s not as if I don’t know how much you obsess over her.”

Shin wasn’t losing his temper, nor did he raise his voice. Ever since their days at the military academy, Shin had almost never shouted at Se-woong in anger. And right now, he was even more guarded. If he laid his raw emotions bare, Cha Se-woong would not merely push him away—he would flee entirely.

“Back then, you stressed yourself out over misunderstandings about Lee Min-hyung and me until the inside of your mouth was entirely covered in ulcers. Your tongue, your gums, the roof of your mouth—everything. And yet you’re bringing her up to me now…” Shin murmured.

As if sensing the unusual tension in the living room air, the two goldfish in the tank hovered side by side in neutral buoyancy, perfectly still. Even such tiny creatures understood, yet Cha Se-woong remained the only one blind to it.

Quite literally, Se-woong had been conscious of Min-hyung for a long time. Shin understood it. If Se-woong had possessed a similar friend, Shin would have been just as hyper-aware—and frankly, given his temperament, he would have severed the connection entirely.

At first, Shin had enjoyed the fact that Se-woong was conscious of Min-hyung, so he had simply let it be. Deep down, he had even wished Se-woong would care even more.

By nature, Se-woong rarely revealed what lay inside, making it difficult to discern his feelings unless one watched closely; but during those moments, his emotions had been vividly apparent. Until then, jealousy had seemed like nothing more than a tiresome nuisance, but from the moment Se-woong’s jealousy became visible, Shin had found it endlessly intoxicating.

Whenever Shin returned from meeting Min-hyung, Se-woong grew visibly subdued, and at times he even lost his appetite. In an attempt to tease him, Shin had once mentioned that his father was fond of Min-hyung. That was when it happened—the time Se-woong had suffered so severely from heartache that the inside of his mouth had broken out in painful ulcers.

After that, Shin never teased Se-woong about Min-hyung again.

Because their affection was something that could never be displayed in the light of day, Shin had realized that moments like that filled Se-woong with deep insecurity.

“Se-woong-ah,” Shin began, his composure fraying. “I gave you what you wanted. You asked me to break up, so I broke up with you. But now you want me to marry someone else? Because you want me to? With Lee Min-hyung? Just what on earth…”

Se-woong’s face twisted in anguish, whereas Shin erased all expression from his features.

“Enough. Let’s drop it,” Shin muttered coldly.

Se-woong reached out a trembling hand. “Shin-ah, I…”

Cutting him off, Shin pleaded, “Woong-ah, stop. Please?”

Shin curled the corners of his lips into a smile. His dark irises, already obsidian, deepened into an unfathomable abyss.

* * *

It was a pitch-black room where not a single sliver of light could penetrate. With blackout curtains sealing away every crack of daylight, the bedroom felt like the safest fortress on a battlefield. Or perhaps like a cradle.

With nothing visible to the eye, it was impossible to tell what time it was or whether the sun had risen outside. In a room where nothing could be seen or heard, the only thing Se-woong could feel was the warmth pressed against his back.

He had intended to slip away quietly once he saw Shin fall asleep, yet he had no idea when sleep had claimed him as well. Listening to Shin’s deep breathing, he had lingered, thinking just a little longer, just a little more, until things ended up like this.

The weight of the arm wrapped around his waist was painfully familiar. In moments like this, there was no way to get up without waking Shin. How could he slip away so Shin could sleep soundly without disturbance? Nothing suitable came to mind. Shin was acutely sensitive to presence and an exceptionally light sleeper, meaning the slightest movement would pull his consciousness straight out of deep slumber.

Remaining in that exact position, Se-woong quietly regulated his breathing.

I gave you what you wanted. You asked me to break up, so I broke up with you.

Shin’s claim that he had agreed to break up was entirely true.

If Se-woong hadn’t made the decision, they would still be together as lovers even now, carrying the precarious anxiety of not knowing when the end might arrive.

If so, how long would that relationship have lasted? Until this season drew to a close? Or would they have managed to stay together through the end of the year?

Even without his second older brother’s marriage, his relationship with Shin was one destined to end sooner or later.

As anticipated, Shin was advancing rapidly through the ranks, and his father had long been pressuring him to marry. The higher Shin climbed, the less marriage could remain a casual remark tossed into conversation.

Furthermore, their families now knew each other. A long-standing, intimate bond was not something that could be hidden simply because one tried, and every day would have felt like walking on thin ice, terrified that someone sharp and perceptive might catch on.

It was far better than having Shin’s father discover everything, or being backed into a corner and forced to break up on the eve of Shin’s wedding. Rather than dragging it out to the bitter end and exposing their ugliness, it was right to end things now, while he could still ask—even as empty words—whether Min-hyung had someone she was seeing.

I don’t regret breaking up.

Se-woong pressed his fist firmly against the center of his solar plexus.

The room was so quiet that the thumping of his pulse beat deafeningly loud in his ears. He thought tinnitus would set in soon, and just as expected, a sharp, ringing drone—like the screech of an old electronic device malfunctioning—overwhelmed the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Unable to bear it any longer, Se-woong carefully peeled back the duvet and slipped out of bed.

As the door opened and a brief wash of light spilled into the room, Shin’s eyes flashed in the dark. There was not a single trace of drowsiness in them.