Chapter 64

“Is the Director in?”

The house was astonishingly frigid, despite the climate control surely being set to an optimal temperature. Manager Yoo privately reasoned that the chill emanated more from the residence’s sole occupant than the actual thermostat.

When no answer echoed from the interior, not that he had genuinely expected one, Yoo slowly navigated through the darkened living room. Against the wall glowed an enormous, aquamarine fish tank. The aquarium, far larger than the one Yoo remembered, housed only two solitary goldfish gliding through the water. He watched them for a fleeting moment before turning his attention toward the bathroom, where bright light spilled into the hallway.

“Director…”

Resting his hand on the bathroom doorframe, Yoo swallowed his words at the sight within. The rhythmic, grating sound of scrubbing mingled with the pungent, caustic stench of bleach, and he found himself utterly speechless.

Inside the bathroom, Jo Yeon-oh was down on his knees, scrubbing the bathtub. He wore a dress shirt completely unbuttoned, leaving it ambiguous whether he was in the process of dressing or undressing, paired with black dress socks held up by sock garters. Stripped of his trousers, he was clad only in black boxer briefs. Witnessing his superior in this state of ambiguous semi-nudity was jarring, but it hardly warranted panic.

After all, this was a spectacle Yoo encountered almost every time he arrived to assist Yeon-oh’s morning commute over the past few days. The sight of the man kneeling on muscular legs, his thighs flexing sharply with every aggressive swipe of the brush as he obsessively scrubbed an already pristine bathtub, had become routine. During these episodes, Yeon-oh typically wore only an unbuttoned shirt or stripped down entirely to his boxer briefs. It wasn’t that he intentionally dressed this way to clean; rather, upon returning home or preparing to shower, some microscopic imperfection would violently trigger his compulsions, forcing him to abandon undressing and sanitize the space with savage intensity.

Interrupting Yeon-oh during these manic episodes was highly dangerous, dictating absolute silence from the manager. Yoo intended to quietly retreat and cancel the morning meetings. Today, however, proved to be a rare exception. Yeon-oh broke the silence first.

“What’s the status?”

“…I have no excuses, sir.”

The frantic scrubbing resumed instantly. While Yeon-oh hadn’t explicitly erupted in anger over their failure to locate So Gi-hyeon, his displeasure manifested in ways far more terrifying than before. The rhythmic scrape-scrape filled the suffocating silence. As Yoo retreated with a heavy sigh, Yeon-oh stepped into the shower stall and began violently attacking the tiles around the drain. It was the epicenter of his filth, requiring the most vicious sanitization.

Gi-hyeon had invaded his dreams again last night. Wearing an impossibly bright smile that crinkled his eyes, an expression Yeon-oh had never once witnessed in reality, he had straddled Yeon-oh’s hips.

And then he had moved. Every detail burned vividly in Yeon-oh’s mind: the waist that felt impossibly thin in his grip yet appeared sturdy, the firm curve of his ass that looked like risen dough from relentless exercise, the flush creeping up his neck and the tips of his ears, and the breathtaking expression on his face as he rode him, looking down from above.

When the dream felt that agonizingly real, Yeon-oh had no choice but to thrust his hips in response, fully aware it was a hallucination. Every time he pushed up into him, Gi-hyeon’s gaze, challenging him to go deeper, harder, raked across his chest like a physical thrill.

The phantom Gi-hyeon moved, kissed, and laughed with the agonizing familiarity of a lover who knew every inch of Yeon-oh’s body, before finally rising and dissolving into the ether.

And then Yeon-oh would jolt awake, hollow and devastated, feeling as utterly defiled as if he had just ejaculated into a complete stranger. He would carry that vile, suffocating filth with him for the rest of the day.

The most infuriating part was that despite his rational mind knowing it was merely a dream, his physical arousal refused to subside. Normally, he would rely on his icy, waking consciousness to suppress the engorged, throbbing ache in his groin while preparing for work. But today, his lower half proved exceptionally stubborn.

Ultimately, he had been forced to jerk off in the shower. Staring blankly as the physical evidence of his grotesque lust spiraled down the drain, he slammed his head against the tiled wall, a sudden, deranged laugh escaping his lips.

Naturally, the laughter morphed into violent retching. The self-disgust was unbearable. Perhaps it’s only natural, he mused darkly. Would draining every drop of blood from my body and replacing it fix this? But he knew a blood transfusion couldn’t overwrite the pathetic degeneracy hardcoded into his DNA. It seemed every cell in his body was fundamentally incapable of existing without lusting after So Gi-hyeon.

***

The dreams, which had begun haunting him since puberty the moment he first registered his own desires, reached their zenith when he entered high school and re-encountered Gi-hyeon. The catalyst had been laughably mundane: he had accidentally witnessed Gi-hyeon, shirtless and sweaty from playing soccer, laughing uproariously with some other bastards while washing up at the outdoor taps.

In that instant, something inside Yeon-oh violently snapped. I should have discarded him right then, Yeon-oh realized bitterly. Just like he discarded me. Yet his hopelessly pathetic genetics dictated otherwise. Despite having aggressively ignored Gi-hyeon since they enrolled in the same high school, Yeon-oh found himself actively seeking the boy out.

More accurately, he sought him out because the sight of Gi-hyeon joking around with Lee Beom-hee made his blood boil. He couldn’t stand the sight of Beom-hee laughing as she aggressively ruffled Gi-hyeon’s soaking wet hair before tossing him a towel. No, that wasn’t quite it. It was because Yeon-oh desperately wanted to be the one holding the towel.

Thus, despite being the one who had engineered their estrangement, Yeon-oh was the one who stubbornly forced his way back into Gi-hyeon’s orbit.

“Why are you so chummy with Lee Beom-hee?” Yeon-oh had demanded, the question spilling out in a sullen, hostile tone. The resentment felt just as incomprehensible then as it did now.

Watching Gi-hyeon laugh so easily beside Beom-hee, after abandoning Yeon-oh with such infuriating ease, felt like a grotesque injustice.

It was the first time Jo Yeon-oh had ever tasted defeat. He had been born with the world at his feet. Despite his disastrous parents, he had never truly understood the concept of deprivation until the day ten-year-old So Gi-hyeon walked out of his life.

Therefore, witnessing Gi-hyeon holding a perfectly normal conversation with Beom-hee ignited a violent, indecipherable rage within him.

“Uh… we just hang out a lot,” Gi-hyeon had replied. He had grown taller since they last stood side by side. Based on Yeon-oh’s covert observations during the entrance ceremony, Gi-hyeon was roughly the same height as Beom-hee now, yet still noticeably shorter than Yeon-oh himself.

Yeon-oh fought the overwhelming urge to press his chin firmly onto the crown of Gi-hyeon’s perfectly round head. He wanted to be the one snapping Gi-hyeon’s half-wet uniform shirt to cool him down after a match. He wanted to scold him, “You keep losing the ball because you stare at your feet when you dribble.” He desperately wanted to ask if he still preferred Screw Bars over other ice creams. He missed the sound of Gi-hyeon catching him staring at his snacks and asking, “You want some?”

But Yeon-oh forcefully buried those desires. He took his vow of unforgiveness, neatly folded it away, and shoved it under the bed to gather dust.

“Then hang out with me. No, hang out only with me.”

And just like that, he reclaimed his place at Gi-hyeon’s side.

For a while, things were fine. Gi-hyeon was exceptionally athletic and equally sharp academically. One day, complaining that washing his hair was too much of a hassle, Gi-hyeon showed up to school having buzzed his entire head with clippers. It was the first time the teachers’ pet was ever summoned to the faculty office for disciplinary action.

“Are you rebelling? How can you show up with your head shaved like this?”

“Doesn’t it look cute, like Crayon Shin-chan? It’s like a little pebble. Teach, let me off the hook just this once.”

Yeon-oh had stepped in, begging the dean for leniency on Gi-hyeon’s behalf before grabbing his wrist and dragging him out of the office. “Does it really look that weird?” Gi-hyeon had asked. Yeon-oh, refusing to look back, had lied and said no.

“You crazy bastard, why did you shave yours?” Gi-hyeon demanded the next day.

“It looked refreshing on you,” Yeon-oh had replied, flashing a wide grin. Gi-hyeon had simply stared at him before shaking his head in disbelief. For a significant stretch, they had navigated high school as a pair of matching skinheads.

“Hey, are you going to shave it even shorter when you enlist? Does that mean you’re going to live as a bald monk for years?” Gi-hyeon had teased.

“Shut up, fuck off.” Yeon-oh had constantly rubbed the crown of Gi-hyeon’s buzzed head, addicted to the prickly sensation. “If you want to rub a head so badly, go massage your own fucking skull! Why are you harassing me?” Gi-hyeon would snap.

Every time, laughter would bubble up in Yeon-oh’s chest. He still occasionally dreamed of those moments. In those dreams, Gi-hyeon would simply appear, laugh, brush a hand down Yeon-oh’s forearm, and casually pat his thigh twice. On those nights, Yeon-oh would wake in the dead of night, forced to clean up the sticky aftermath of his subconscious betrayal. The routine was inescapable, and the self-disgust was absolute.

“…Why do you hang out with me anyway?” Gi-hyeon had asked once.

“You’re the one who demanded we hang out, you crazy bastard.” They had hit up an internet cafe for the first time in ages, and Yeon-oh was aggressively rubbing Gi-hyeon’s head as the other boy played KartRider like an elementary schooler. His hair had grown out significantly, losing that addictive, chestnut-burr texture. The loss only made Yeon-oh rub harder.

Gi-hyeon would bark in annoyance, swatting his hand away perhaps one out of every three attempts, but mostly he just let Yeon-oh do what he wanted. Yeon-oh was profoundly grateful for that tolerance. Despite Yeon-oh committing grotesque, filthy acts against his image every night, Gi-hyeon consistently treated him with unwavering, genuine friendship.

Around that time, a dangerous spark of hope ignited within him. Yeon-oh began to believe he could spend the rest of his life by Gi-hyeon’s side. If they remained best friends, they could be inseparable forever. If Gi-hyeon’s future wife occupied the right side of his grave, Yeon-oh would gladly take the left. Sharing the same burial plot became his twisted, ultimate ambition.

“Hey, you want to visit my family’s ancestral burial grounds later?”

“Where the hell is that?”

“Naju.”

“What a load of bullshit.” Gi-hyeon had laughed, completely dismissing the offer, yet he hadn’t explicitly said no. That alone was enough for Yeon-oh. He rationalized that harboring these pathetic fantasies was harmless, provided Gi-hyeon never discovered them.

And how could he? Gi-hyeon was remarkably oblivious to Yeon-oh’s internal state. As long as Yeon-oh actively concealed it, the truth would remain safely buried.

Thus Yeon-oh trapped himself in an agonizing cycle of duplicity. He would violently curse the wet dreams at dawn, only to arrive at school, immediately gravitate toward Gi-hyeon, aggressively rub the back of his head, and pull him into a rough, one-armed embrace. He justified the exhausting charade; he had to fiercely protect the fragile bond blooming atop his mountain of lies and deceit.

If you just stay by my side like this, I’ll make sure none of that filth ever touches you. So stay with me, So Gi-hyeon. Channeling those desperate thoughts, he rested his chin on the desk and poked the cheek of the boy who was innocently solving a workbook.

“Do you really want to die?” Gi-hyeon hissed.

“Is there anyone who actually wants to die?” Yeon-oh shot back.

He laughed as Gi-hyeon sighed in exasperation, clearly signaling he was done engaging. The serious scowl on Gi-hyeon’s face as he scolded, “Be quiet, people are trying to study,” was undeniably endearing. Yeon-oh nodded agreeably before leaning in to whisper, “Let’s go to your place and make ramen later.” He modulated his voice perfectly, quiet enough to satisfy Gi-hyeon, ensuring they didn’t disturb the other bastards currently grinding over their textbooks. Gi-hyeon stared at him for a long moment before finally nodding.

Yes. This is all I need, Yeon-oh had resolved, cementing his decision.

However, entering their third year, Gi-hyeon began actively avoiding him. Assuming the grueling preparation for the Military Academy entrance exams was taking its toll, Yeon-oh had covertly approached Gi-hyeon’s notoriously doting mother and supplied expensive herbal tonics.

It wasn’t until much later that Yeon-oh discovered Gi-hyeon’s father had physically hurled the entire box of medicine into the trash right in front of his son. Yeon-oh had spent days plotting precisely how to murder the man before ultimately granting him a pardon, purely out of respect for his title as Gi-hyeon’s father. After all, the man must love his son. It was fundamentally impossible for anyone not to love So Gi-hyeon.

Despite the initial rocky start to their freshman year, clinging to Gi-hyeon for two and a half solid years had made life tolerable. The moment they turned twenty, they hit the bars in Sinchon. Ditching Beom-hee mid-celebration, they retreated to Gi-hyeon’s place and drank until dawn.

The next morning, Yeon-oh had his chauffeur deliver dried pollack soup to cure their hangovers, finally witnessing firsthand exactly how severely Gi-hyeon’s face puffed up after a night of heavy drinking.

Once Gi-hyeon enrolled in the Military Academy, their meetings became painfully infrequent, prompting Yeon-oh to enlist himself. After Seong-heon’s drug-fueled atrocities, Yeon-oh occasionally relied on psychiatric medication, technically granting him a medical exemption. He had fully intended to leverage his family’s immense power to secure a cushy public service assignment, but surprisingly, he passed the physical for active duty.

When his grandfather and mother hysterically demanded why he would voluntarily enlist, he coolly reminded them that military draft evasion scandals irreparably damaged a conglomerate’s public image these days, and promptly shipped off to boot camp.

He was deployed to a base in Cheorwon. Throughout his entire service, he saw Gi-hyeon exactly once. Gi-hyeon had visited him in full dress uniform, bearing gifts of fried chicken and pizza. He had looked so incredibly striking that Yeon-oh desperately wanted a photo, but the strict prohibition on cell phones at the time thwarted the attempt.

Following his discharge, Yeon-oh dedicated himself to university life. Around that time, his grandfather began aggressively pitting the cousins against one another. The patriarch would fiercely threaten Yeon-oh, warning him not to assume the succession was guaranteed, yet the overpowering pride practically radiating from his face, silently screaming, You are my only true grandson, made the entire charade hilarious. However, since their relationship wasn’t terrible, Yeon-oh played along, viewing it as his own twisted brand of filial piety.

After finalizing his employment paperwork, he began an internship at Haeseong Logistics. Coinciding with this milestone, Gi-hyeon graduated.

Attending the commissioning ceremony was non-negotiable. Anticipating the sheer, visceral disgust that would contort Gi-hyeon’s face, Yeon-oh deliberately commissioned an obnoxiously extravagant bouquet, garnishing the lavish flowers with Swarovski crystals.

And then he heard the words that shattered his world.

“Is that really all you have to say?” Yeon-oh had demanded, unable to process the confession.

Gi-hyeon simply clamped his lips shut like a clam. Those soft-looking lips remained stubbornly pressed together, refusing to yield another syllable.

The biting March wind painted Gi-hyeon’s pale cheeks a stark, vibrant red. Yeon-oh didn’t delude himself into interpreting it as a blush of affection directed at him. The agonizing truth lay in the freezing detachment in Gi-hyeon’s eyes.

Gi-hyeon fully intended to abandon him again, leaving behind nothing but the collateral damage of his selfish confession. That realization struck Yeon-oh far harder than the actual declaration of love.

“You out-of-your-mind bastard. Did you forget you’re a Beta?”

How could you say that to me? You know exactly how much I despise that. …Yes, that was the core tragedy. Gi-hyeon knew. He was confessing despite knowing exactly how deeply Yeon-oh loathed the very concept of a Beta lover. It was an intentional sabotage. He delivered the confession as if Yeon-oh’s rejection was the desired outcome, as if giving Yeon-oh the perfect excuse to banish him forever was the entire objective.

As the curse tore from his lips, a violent wave of nausea surged in his throat. But the most grotesque, unforgivable betrayal came from his own body: Alpha Jo Yeon-oh instantly hardened at the realization that Beta So Gi-hyeon loved him.

Wow, fucking perfect, Yeon-oh marveled internally, his mind fracturing.

You win, Seong-heon. He felt the deranged urge to applaud his garbage father. Yet, simultaneously, his mouth moved on its own.

“Fine.”

“…”

“Let’s date.”

You selfish, unbelievable piece of shit, Yeon-oh cursed Gi-hyeon with every fiber of his being.

I wanted to give you something better than this. Not this filthy, corrupted dynamic. I wanted to handpick only the purest, most beautiful things, carefully brush off the dust, dry them in the warm sun, and wrap them perfectly just for you. And you’re the one who rejected it. No, you’re the one who dragged it straight into the fucking gutter.

But Gi-hyeon, how the hell am I supposed to love you like this?

I told you, I only wanted to give you the best. Not the rot, not the garbage. Only the bright, beautiful things.

So Gi-hyeon had discarded Jo Yeon-oh yet again.

And Yeon-oh was entirely powerless to stop him.

***