Chapter 39

The bridal suite had been prepared in a guest room of the very hotel where they held their wedding. Insisting that even if the ceremony took place in a modern hall, the bridal chamber must observe traditional decorum, the elders of both families had arranged a set of lavish bedding embroidered with mandarin ducks. The silk quilts had been a personal gift from the Princess Consort, leaving Myeong-joo feeling utterly unworthy.

Myeong-hui was already nodding off in her sister’s arms, and Myeong-in looked thoroughly exhausted after running countless errands on his behalf all day. Myeong-joo had intended to ask the front desk to call a taxi for them, but Lee Seol-heon stepped in, declaring that since they were now family, she would drive them home herself. Relieved not to send two young girls unescorted into the night, Myeong-joo felt a tremendous weight lift from his shoulders.

When Myeong-in asked where he was going if they were not taking a honeymoon, he had been at an awkward loss for words. Adult though she might be legally, she was still an innocent girl in his eyes; he could hardly explain that her brother was remaining at the hotel tonight to consummate his marriage.

Having entrusted his sisters to Seol-heon, Myeong-joo returned to where Lee Yi-tan waited in the corridor. Yi-tan was just receiving a heavy brass key from Ahn Hee-wan, the metal dangling with a soft jingle.

Sensing Myeong-joo’s gaze, Yi-tan turned and offered a faint smile. Yet he said nothing, and until the elevator ascended to the top floor, not a single word passed between them. While Myeong-joo was too overwhelmed by his hammering heart to speak, he had no inkling why Yi-tan chose to remain so quiet.

With a crisp chime, the elevator deposited them into the carpeted hallway. Striding forward with familiar ease, Yi-tan stopped before the suite door. The sight of him inserting the key seemed to stretch out like pulled taffy, impossibly slow, yet the distinct click of the lock turning sounded like a crack of thunder.

“Shall we enter?” Yi-tan invited softly, his voice dropping into a husky register.

Managing a nod, Myeong-joo moved toward the threshold. Yi-tan held the heavy door open, waiting patiently until Myeong-joo crossed into the room. The older man could not tell whether his own boots were moving fast or slow.

His heart battered his ribs with such frantic violence that brushing past Yi-tan felt almost scandalous. An Aberrant was endowed with supernatural hearing; there was no guarantee the man could not hear the wild pulse hammering in Myeong-joo’s ears. Heat surged into his cheeks as the heavy oak door latched shut behind them.

Yi-tan slipped past him into the living room, trailing a faint, crisp fragrance of cologne. Standing frozen by the foyer like a frog on a spit, Myeong-joo watched him shrug off his tuxedo jacket. Filtered through the suite’s soft lamps, the crisp white dress shirt and leather suspenders cast sharp, severe contours across the powerful breadth of Yi-tan’s back.

“I will bathe first,” Yi-tan announced.

Myeong-joo cleared his throat to steady a voice that threatened to waver. “Ah… yes, please do.”

Expecting Yi-tan to head straight for the bath, Myeong-joo watched him set something down on the mahogany table before glancing back. Meeting his eyes, Myeong-joo consciously stiffened to conceal his trembling. Without breaking the look, Yi-tan slid a crystal ashtray forward and tapped the rim with an index finger.

“If you grow bored while waiting.”

With that, Yi-tan unfastened his bow tie and disappeared into the bathroom. The moment the door clicked shut, Myeong-joo finally exhaled a long breath, feeling like a man released from paralysis.

A faint trace of cologne lingered in the room. Inhaling sharply, Myeong-joo caught the scent and quickly switched to breathing through his mouth. The object Yi-tan had left on the table was a fresh pack of Arirang cigarettes. After a moment’s hesitation, Myeong-joo crossed the deep carpet to accept the offer.

Everything from the low coffee table to the mini-bar cabinet was crafted from dark mahogany, its polished lacquer daunting in its luxury. Clenching and unclenching his shaking hands, Myeong-joo sank onto the sofa, picked up the pack, and drew out a cigarette.

Just then, the faint hiss of running water drifted through the door. Yi-tan was standing beneath the shower.

“…Haah.”

A groan slipped from his throat. Forgetting the cigarette between his fingers, Myeong-joo propped his elbows on his knees, buried his face in his hands, and wrapped both palms around the back of his neck. Huddled like a bird ducking into brush to escape a hawk, he stayed that way for a long time, but the sound of rushing water never faded.

Taking a ragged breath, Myeong-joo sat up abruptly and reached for the jade-inlaid lighter on the table. Flicking the wheel repeatedly until the flint caught, he bowed his head over the flame, struggling to steady the trembling paper tip. When it finally caught, he drew a deep drag until his cheeks hollowed, letting the harsh smoke scour the depths of his lungs.

“…”

Only after the nicotine began coursing through his veins did Myeong-joo realize he had risen to his feet. He sank back into the sofa cushions. The shower continued to hiss through the wood, and having finished the first cigarette in frantic haste, he placed a second between his lips.

The suite telephone chirped with a sharp ring.

Startled, he hurried to the console and lifted the receiver. It was the front desk; Ahn Hee-wan had requested to be connected to the Lieutenant. Unable to bring himself to tell the clerk that Yi-tan was naked in the shower, Myeong-joo managed a tight, polite response.

“…Yes, I will relay the message shortly.”

“Thank you, sir. Please enjoy your evening.”

The clerk’s smooth, professional courtesy rang hollow in his head. Enjoy your evening—a pleasantry entirely unfit for the dread churning in his gut.

Placing the receiver back on its cradle, Myeong-joo released a heavy sigh. The second cigarette was still unlit. Keeping it clamped between his lips, he moved toward the window and pushed the casement open.

The instant the frosty night air brushed his cheeks, all desire to light the tobacco evaporated. Leaning against the wooden frame, Myeong-joo gazed out over the lights of Seowon. Ten minutes from now—or perhaps sooner, or later—an immediate reality awaited him that he could not begin to picture.

To share a bed with Lee Yi-tan, of all people. It defied reason. He had no concept of how two men were supposed to engage in physical intimacy. At his age, he understood how relations between a man and a woman unfolded, but intimacy between two men was an impenetrable mystery.

He had never even pressed his bare skin against a woman, so experience with another man was out of the question. No matter how deeply he loved Yi-tan, he had exerted every ounce of his will over the years to extinguish any carnal impulse to consummate that affection.

…Then what about Yi-tan? For the sake of harmonization, had he shared a bed with someone before? Had he exchanged such deep resonance since his early cadet days? Though mature and impeccably gentlemanly on the surface, Aberrants were notorious throughout the military for their aggressive physical appetites. Perhaps Yi-tan viewed the act with clinical indifference.

The bathroom door opened with a soft click.

Flinching, Myeong-joo whipped around. The young officer stood framed in the doorway, wrapped in a plush white bathrobe, drying his dark hair with a towel.

“Were you smoking?” Yi-tan asked casually.

Having left the pack on the table himself, he posed the question with complete nonchalance. Opening a parched throat, Myeong-joo barely managed a reply.

“…I borrowed one of yours.”

Whether his voice sounded steady or quavered like a ruin, the blood roared too loudly in his ears to tell. Looking away in embarrassment, Myeong-joo blurted the first thought that came to mind. “The front desk called for you.”

“For me?”

“Well, that is… Sergeant Ahn asked that you connect with her through the operator when possible…”

Why do I keep stammering like a recruit?

Even though Myeong-joo trailed off, Yi-tan merely nodded, crossed to the console, and picked up the receiver. Under the soft chandelier, the white terrycloth draped over broad shoulders made him look like a marble sculpture. Myeong-joo found it impossible to look away, yet unable to bear watching him, he quietly slipped into the bathroom.

He regretted the decision the moment the door shut. He should have waited for the steam to clear. The dense mist clinging to the tiles, saturated with unfamiliar cologne and scented soap, instantly brought to mind the shameful brother-in-law who had locked himself in his room to masturbate to that very scent.

His lower abdomen tightened with an abrasive friction—as though a single match struck against his skin would cause him to erupt into blazing heat.

“Mmph…”

A low groan tore from his throat. Appalled at his own physical betrayal, his face contorted in bitter self-disgust. Wiping a wet hand down his face, he forced his trembling fingers to strip off the rented tuxedo, striving desperately not to dwell on the fact that the man he had secretly loved for years stood just beyond the wood.

Yet Yi-tan’s presence was so overwhelming that a single pane of cedar could hardly contain it. Undoing his belt and sliding off his shirt felt uncomfortably like undressing under the man’s direct gaze, raising goosebumps across his arms.

No, this is all my own neurotic foolishness. Straining his ears for any rustle from the bedroom was entirely his own failing.

Sweeping his damp hair back, Myeong-joo exhaled a shuddering breath. In the mirror framed by decorative tile, a pale, haunted man stared back at him. Through the whirlwind of the day he had appeared passably lively, but with the arrival of night, his illness showed plainly: dark hollows shadowed his eyes, and his skin was as bloodless as a corpse’s. His frame retained the wiry muscle of a man who had hauled heavy cylinders for a living, yet his complexion was wretched.

Despite despising the reflection, he could not step away from the glass. Prominent collarbones, sturdy shoulders, and a broad chest declared him unmistakably male. This was the body that was meant to lie beneath Lee Yi-tan tonight. While the thought made his own pulse race to the point of agony, it belatedly struck him that for Lee Yi-tan, this entire ordeal might be nothing more than an uncomfortable duty.

Turning away from the mirror, he stepped beneath the shower. He had no heart to admire the cream-colored marble bath. Twisting the chrome teardrop valve, he let the warm water cascade down his back. Far removed from his rented hovel where water had to be boiled on a kerosene burner and hauled by the bucket, bathing here was effortless. Staring at the soap lathering between his palms, Myeong-joo concentrated on emptying his mind.

Perhaps Yi-tan felt an awkward strangeness at wedding his former mentor as well. Yet whatever Yi-tan felt could hardly match the torrential pounding in Myeong-joo’s chest. That unbridgeable chasm refused to wash away under the spray, clinging fast to every thought.

By the time he shut off the water, Myeong-joo felt more exhausted than usual. Rising at dawn for the ceremony had taken its toll, compounded by the violent struggle with that beast earlier.

Drying himself off, Myeong-joo paused before stepping out. What was he supposed to wear? Putting the formal suit back on would look ridiculous when they were confined to the room. While donning a bathrobe like Yi-tan made sense, whether to wear underwear beneath it left him completely paralyzed. After agonizing back and forth, he pulled on his cotton undergarments, slipped on the robe, knotted the sash securely, and stepped out.

The living room was deathly quiet.

Glancing around self-consciously, Myeong-joo walked slowly forward.

From the bedroom, a warm, milky glow spilled across the carpet. The thought of crossing that threshold made the back of his knees stiffen, drawing out an involuntary sigh.

“You have finished,” Yi-tan noted from within.

He sat perched on the edge of the mattress, still clad in his white robe, holding a small glass vial containing a clear liquid. The relaxed posture drove home the reality that only the two of them occupied this vast suite. So tense his skin prickled, Myeong-joo avoided his eyes.

“We will not be imprinting tonight,” Yi-tan said, as if sensing the dread.

Myeong-joo looked up reflexively, then gave a slow nod. In truth, he had no idea what imprinting entailed, but sheer nerves kept him from asking. Knowing it was off the table for tonight was enough.

Watching Myeong-joo nod without a word, Yi-tan let out a quiet chuckle. “You are far too rigid. There is no need to be so tense.”

The soothing, gently encouraging tone—like an adult coaxing a hesitant child—abruptly melted Myeong-joo’s tension away. It was not because the words brought comfort; rather, realizing that this whole ordeal was nothing out of the ordinary for Yi-tan drained all the fight from him. Refusing to look like a pathetic fool agonizing all on his own, Myeong-joo forced his stiff facial muscles into a semblance of a smile.

“I… I suppose I am somewhat nervous,” Myeong-joo admitted, feigning candidness. “This is my first time, after all.”

He had no desire to reveal his innermost heart to a man who had no inkling of why he was truly so anxious. Letting Yi-tan believe he was merely flustered by an unfamiliar situation was far better. An awkward smile plastered over his waxen face would make him appear merely inexperienced, nothing more.

“That is only natural. Come over here, Instructor.”