Chapter 74

Ironically, it was the profound sensation of being perfectly rested that woke him. Blinking with a startlingly clear mind, Gi-hyeon registered the darkness and realized it was still early dawn.

“…What is this?”

Although his throat was raspy from sleep, a deep, pervasive stability he hadn’t felt since arriving in the countryside saturated the bed. Until now, he had attributed his constant fatigue, heavy head, and dizzy spells to simple exhaustion. Only now, with the symptoms entirely eradicated, did he realize just how severely his physical condition had deteriorated.

A languid sigh escaped his lips. He was still hovering on the edge of sleep. Sluggishly, he finally registered a heavy, solid weight draped across his waist. Frowning, he blindly reached down to investigate, instantly swallowing a sharp sigh of exasperation. It was Jo Yeon-oh’s arm.

The events of the previous day flooded back with brutal clarity, culminating in the terrifying conversation in the ER. Just as he prepared to sigh again, the arm slung over him tightened possessively, dragging him backward.

“…Sleep a little more.”

A broad, rock-solid chest pressed flush against his back. With every word Yeon-oh murmured, a low, resonant vibration transferred directly through their skin. Only then did the horrifying realization hit Gi-hyeon: neither of them was wearing a shirt.

Panic spiking, he frantically swept his hand lower, experiencing a wave of profound relief upon confirming he was at least still wearing his underwear. Squeezing his eyes shut, Gi-hyeon let out a ragged breath.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“…”

Yeon-oh didn’t answer. When the silence stretched on, Gi-hyeon attempted to twist around, but the arm clamping his waist instantly turned into a vice grip, immobilizing him. The friction of their bare skin was deeply unnerving.

“Let’s just sleep a little longer. I haven’t even been getting two hours a night,” Yeon-oh mumbled.

The casual, intimate tone implied this was a routine they shared every single night—as if they were actually a legitimate couple. Gi-hyeon wanted to snap, What the fuck does your insomnia have to do with me? but he swallowed the retort. Having witnessed Yeon-oh’s agonizing struggle with insomnia for years, he simply couldn’t bring himself to be that cruel.

Come to think of it, when exactly did his insomnia start…? Gi-hyeon rummaged through his memories, but no specific catalyst surfaced.

Gi-hyeon had always considered himself a fairly large, robust man, so the fact that he fit so perfectly and seamlessly against Yeon-oh’s frame was bizarre. Still, the sensation of skin-on-skin contact remained wildly uncomfortable. He was just about to demand they at least put some clothes on when the steady, rhythmic sound of Yeon-oh’s breathing tickled his neck.

“…”

Gi-hyeon blinked blankly in the dark. Pressing his forehead into the nape of Gi-hyeon’s neck and holding him in a suffocating embrace, Yeon-oh had apparently fallen right back asleep. Thanks to the air conditioner Jisu had considerately installed the day after Gi-hyeon’s arrival, the room was pleasantly cool. Resigned, Gi-hyeon reached down and pulled the thin quilt up, covering them both.

“…When you wake up, go back to Seoul,” Gi-hyeon whispered to the darkness.

“…”

Breathing evenly, Yeon-oh offered no response. He wouldn’t have agreed even if he was awake, Gi-hyeon thought dryly. Contemplating Yeon-oh’s terrifyingly stubborn nature, Gi-hyeon’s own eyelids grew heavy.

The air was saturated with the faintly familiar, comforting scent of flowering trees. It wasn’t overwhelmingly cloying; it was crisp and refreshing, and Gi-hyeon found himself genuinely liking it. Completely unaware that the scent was physically seeping into his pores and fundamentally altering his biology, Gi-hyeon drifted back to sleep.

The world outside the window remained pitch black, the dawn still hours away. The darkness provided the perfect sanctuary for the two men to sleep undisturbed until morning.

He felt like he was still drifting through that peaceful darkness when a sharp, clattering noise pierced his consciousness. Frowning against the sudden, blinding light, Gi-hyeon threw an arm over his eyes. He felt like he had just closed his eyes a second ago, but the room was now flooded with bright, midday sunshine.

Despite being fully awake, his mind felt delightfully hazy, and he was perfectly content to keep his eyes closed. However, a second, louder clatter of dishes forced him to sit up in alarm. A painfully familiar voice immediately began nagging at him, piercing through his bedhead.

“You studied kinesiology, and you still shoot straight up out of bed the second you wake up?”

“…”

Wordlessly, Gi-hyeon stared toward the kitchen. Because it was a 1.5-room layout, a sliding glass door separated the bedroom from the kitchenette. Looking entirely too massive for the doorway, Yeon-oh was hunched over the stove, meticulously cooking something.

He was still completely shirtless, haphazardly wearing an apron to block the splattering oil. He was wearing a pair of loungewear pants that definitely weren’t Gi-hyeon’s—God knows where he found them—and the sight of him cooking half-naked in an apron was absolutely surreal. He used to pull this exact same ridiculous stunt when he made ramen at my place in high school, Gi-hyeon recalled faintly.

Gi-hyeon opened his mouth to speak but quickly shut it again. He honestly didn’t even know where to begin interrogating him. A second later, the savory, deeply familiar aroma drifting from the kitchen finally registered. It was beef and radish soup.

“…What are you doing?”

“Making radish soup.”

He had asked out of pure, baffled exasperation, only to receive a literal menu update. Frowning deeply, Gi-hyeon clarified.

“I’m asking why the hell you’re still here instead of leaving.”

Holding a grease-splattered spatula, Yeon-oh answered with infuriating nonchalance.

“I’m going to live here.”

“What?”

Gi-hyeon’s jaw literally dropped. Why the fuck would you live here? Who said you could? How did you even find this place? A dozen frantic questions collided in his throat until one finally managed to escape.

“…Why are you doing this to me? Why are you torturing me like this?”

The movement of the spatula, which had been delicately rolling a tamagoyaki omelet, abruptly froze. Yeon-oh didn’t answer immediately. He tried to resume rolling the egg, but when the half-set omelet instantly tore in half, he violently hurled the spatula into the metal sink. The deafening, metallic CLANG shattered the fragile peace between them.

“Who is torturing who?” Yeon-oh demanded.

“Are you asking because you genuinely don’t know?”

Yeon-oh’s face contorted, a thick vein pulsing on his forehead as he practically spat the words out, looking like a man barely suppressing the urge to commit murder. Gi-hyeon matched his energy, staring back with an entirely blank, deadpan expression. The air grew instantly heavy; Gi-hyeon intuitively recognized the suffocating wave as Alpha pheromones.

He was far too furious in the moment to realize his own body was reacting to the pheromones with profound, biological relief.

“Yeah. I honestly have absolutely no fucking idea. Tell me. Who is torturing who?” Yeon-oh challenged.

“You’re torturing me.”

Letting out a sharp, incredulous scoff, Yeon-oh whipped around, returning to the stove. He killed the gas and aggressively transferred the mangled omelet from the pan to a plate. His chest heaved as he audibly struggled to regulate his breathing and swallow his rage. The attempt spectacularly failed. Gripping the handle of the empty frying pan like a weapon, he began violently smashing it against the edge of the sink.

BANG, CRASH—. 

The noise was deafening, exponentially louder than the spatula incident, rattling the tiny apartment. Gi-hyeon didn’t even flinch, maintaining his stone-cold expression. This wasn’t the first time he had weathered one of Yeon-oh’s explosive, destructive tantrums.

The frying pan was a cheap, 4,000-won piece of garbage he had picked up from the local hardware store. Its structural integrity immediately compromised under the assault, the handle snapping clean off while the circular pan plummeted to the floor with a loud clatter. As Gi-hyeon stared blankly at the metal disk spinning on the linoleum like a discarded coin, Yeon-oh spoke, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm register.

“So let me get this straight, you piece of shit. The bastards who permanently crippled your ankle were just ‘hanging out’ with you, but me—the guy who tore this country apart trying to find your vanished ass—I’m the one torturing you?”

…I never thought about it like that, Gi-hyeon realized, but he didn’t bother denying it. Attempting to defend his logic now would only make him look pathetic.

But that wasn’t the core issue Gi-hyeon wanted to address. He desperately wanted to tell Yeon-oh they needed to stop invading each other’s lives. I apologize for comfortably leeching off your territory and then running away without a word, so please, just stop this and go back to Seoul, he wanted to say.

If he let this ambiguous situation drag on, they would inevitably end up sharing a bed and sleeping in each other’s arms again, just like last night. As time bled on, Gi-hyeon knew he would lose the willpower to reject Yeon-oh. He might even start welcoming the physical contact.

But if he surrendered to that comfort, the agonizing resolve he had forged on the hospital rooftop—the vow to finally leave Jo Yeon-oh behind forever—would be rendered utterly, pathetically meaningless.

Gi-hyeon desperately wanted to stop destroying himself. Shouldn’t I cherish myself at least a little bit? he thought bitterly.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Gi-hyeon clamped his mouth shut. Despite the veins still bulging dangerously on his forehead, Yeon-oh took a few deep, ragged breaths before speaking in an impossibly soft, quiet tone.

“My pheromones are infinitely better for you than those garbage supplements. You know that. I need you to make one of those highly rational, calculated decisions you’re so damn good at.”

Unlike his earlier explosions, the tone was entirely persuasive, practically pleading. Yet, the throbbing veins in his neck and the lingering tension in his posture clearly indicated he was merely playing a role, violently suppressing his true rage.

Gi-hyeon suddenly realized Yeon-oh was desperately, agonizingly trying to force a specific outcome. If he wasn’t, why would a man with such a notoriously explosive temper swallow his pride to speak so gently? Exhaling sharply, Gi-hyeon finally broke the silence.

“Stop playing these bullshit games and just say what you really want to say. You’re just going to keep throwing tantrums like this until you spit it out anyway, right?”

“…You know me too well,” Yeon-oh replied, the words thick and heavy as he forced them past the lump in his throat.

For a fleeting second, Gi-hyeon found Yeon-oh’s expression completely unreadable, though it looked suspiciously like profound bitterness. But why would he be bitter? Gi-hyeon dismissed the thought, assuming he had misread the cue. Just as he was about to brush it off, Yeon-oh dropped the bomb.

“I’m going to take responsibility for it.”

Gi-hyeon couldn’t stop his face from contorting into an expression of utter bewilderment. Take responsibility for what? He stared at Yeon-oh like the man had just started speaking in tongues. Seeing the utter confusion on Gi-hyeon’s face, Yeon-oh rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, looking incredibly relieved to finally have the words out in the open. He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue and let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh.

“Fuck, I feel so much better now. I should have just said it from the start. I should have told you this right before I drove that nail into that bastard’s ankle yesterday.”

“…What?”

“You understood exactly what I meant, so stop asking stupid questions and eat your food.”

Bending down to retrieve the broken frying pan, Yeon-oh muttered, “Fuck, that’s hot,” but instead of running his hand under cold water, he immediately started serving the rice. Because Gi-hyeon had only bought a single rice bowl out of sheer laziness, Yeon-oh piled a massive, heaping mound of rice onto a small side plate for him and finished setting the table.

Watching the bizarrely fluid, domestic routine unfold in front of him, Gi-hyeon frowned deeply, his frustration peaking.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘take responsibility’?”

“It means I’m taking responsibility for that kid. No, wait, let me use the correct terminology. It means I’m going to take responsibility for the bloodline of whatever random fucking bastard is currently growing inside your belly.”

Gi-hyeon was momentarily paralyzed, unable to decide which issue to tackle first: screaming, ‘That random fucking bastard is YOU, you crazy psycho,’ pointing out that his attempt at ‘correct terminology’ was actually infinitely more offensive, or demanding further clarification on exactly how he intended to ‘take responsibility.’ Struggling to unfold the legs of the cheap folding table he had bought, Gi-hyeon finally lost his patience and delivered a vicious kick to Yeon-oh’s shin.

“I told you to stop with the bullshit. And stop trying to manipulate me with your smooth talking.”

He felt deeply irritated, acutely aware he was being dragged precisely into Yeon-oh’s tempo. Rubbing his bruised shin, Yeon-oh groaned, “Fuck, Gi-hyeon. You should have played soccer,” but he never once took his eyes off the mechanics of the folding table. Finally figuring out the locking mechanism, he secured the legs, arranged the side dishes on top, and carried the entire spread over, placing it directly in front of Gi-hyeon.

“Eat first, talk later.”

Gi-hyeon was just about to tell him he didn’t want the food and beg him to leave when Yeon-oh shoved a spoon into his hand and delivered a chilling ultimatum.

“If you don’t shove this food in your mouth right now, I’m calling the cops and reporting that illegal greenhouse immediately. Your choice.”

“…You’ve completely lost your fucking mind.”

“I’m shocked you didn’t realize that sooner.”