By Zephyria 
“Seung-jae, wait a moment…”
Seo Yi-kyung’s voice flowed out plaintively. The shirt he was wearing had been haphazardly rolled up, reaching just beneath his trembling chin. Lying on the work table with his legs stretched out, Seo Yi-kyung struggled. At this rate, it felt as though the wound that had barely healed would tear open.
Besides, hadn’t the attending physician removed the bandages today? When he touched the wound with his hand this morning, he hadn’t felt any pain, but now Han Seung-jae was biting down on the injured area. It might be dangerous.
“Ah.”
Seo Yi-kyung let out a groan and tried to lift his upper body repeatedly, but it was difficult as Han Seung-jae was pressing him down with his lips.
Furthermore, his left arm, which was in a cast, had no strength, making it useless at a time like this. The sight of him pushing Han Seung-jae’s chest with only one hand became increasingly pathetic. He was gripping the dress shirt tightly enough to wrinkle it, but it was unclear whether he was pulling or pushing. However, he had no room to worry about such things right now.
When Han Seung-jae gently nudged the wound with his tongue, it felt so ticklish that his flanks trembled and his fingertips curled, but when intense pain followed, tears welled up in Seo Yi-kyung’s eyes due to the unexpected surges of agony.
“There, ah.”
Han Seung-jae’s leg pressed against Seo Yi-kyung’s perineum. The momentary fading of pain due to the surging erotic sensation was brief. Eventually, Seo Yi-kyung’s face turned pale. He wondered if the wound had opened and was bleeding. No, he even reached the extreme thought that if he bled, Han Seung-jae might stop.
And as Han Seung-jae’s lips, which had been obsessively lingering on his chest, slowly pulled away, Seo Yi-kyung’s pupils wavered.
“…!”
Was the wound really open and bleeding? Despite that, Han Seung-jae’s attitude remained indifferent. His expression was as cold as ever, and his eyes were as chilling as ice. He had always been that kind of person.
Seo Yi-kyung stared intently into Han Seung-jae’s eyes as he looked down from above. He had a gaze that suggested he might bite his neck if he dared to turn his head away.
Han Seung-jae watched him silently, then his head slowly descended. One of Seo Yi-kyung’s eyes crinkled. It was because Han Seung-jae licked the corner of his eye and sucked on the long eyelashes clumped with tears.
Perhaps because the intense pain had overwhelmed him while his chest was being sucked, the tongue touching his eye felt incredibly compassionate. Han Seung-jae’s voice leaked out lowly.
“Are you crying?”
“…I’m not.”
As Seo Yi-kyung parted his lips a beat late, his voice was thick with moisture. A sense of sorrow followed—the thought that anyone would cry if their chest were bitten like that until it bled.
However, Seo Yi-kyung could not put those words into speech.
As Han Seung-jae’s lips pulled away slightly to create a gap, Seo Yi-kyung slowly moved his hand from Han Seung-jae’s waist to the area of his chest. It was to check if the wound had opened.
Whether it should be called a relief or not, there was no blood. Consequently, the tears lingering in his eyes gradually subsided. Seo Yi-kyung pulled down his rolled-up shirt and lifted himself from the work table. Han Seung-jae had helped him up by grabbing his shoulders. He also pulled back his firm leg, which had been spreading Seo Yi-kyung’s thighs wide and pressing against his scrotum.
As Seo Yi-kyung stepped down from the work table, he staggered as if his legs had given out. Han Seung-jae reached out his long arm and embraced Seo Yi-kyung’s waist. Seo Yi-kyung gripped his arm to regain his balance, then stepped back as if escaping from Han Seung-jae’s embrace.
Not much time had passed since Han Seung-jae entered the painting studio, yet when he came to his senses, he found himself lying down without realizing it. Seo Yi-kyung turned his head to look around. He had only been pushed down and then stood up in a short moment, but brushes, oil paints, and tools were scattered all over the floor.
‘It’s become a mess.’
Han Seung-jae walked ahead, opened the door, and looked back. Was this the kind of situation people meant when they said one person makes the mess and another cleans it up? Nevertheless, Seo Yi-kyung stopped trying to tidy the area. He feared it might only result in Butler Do being criticized.
Seo Yi-kyung left the cluttered painting studio. Butler Do, who had been standing in front of the dining room, spotted Han Seung-jae walking through the living room and approached him in one stride, bowing his waist.
“Dinner is ready.”
Butler Do said nothing more. Han Seung-jae walked past Butler Do as if it were nothing. However, Seo Yi-kyung, walking behind him, found it difficult to look at Butler Do.
The person who knocked on the studio door must have been Butler Do. Just thinking that brought the series of events in the studio back to his mind, and heat spread across Seo Yi-kyung’s cheeks.
Beneath his shirt, he still had the illusion that Han Seung-jae was pressing his lips against his chest, rolling his tongue, and sucking.
After Butler Do walked quickly to prepare Han Seung-jae’s seat, he pulled out a chair for the slowly approaching Seo Yi-kyung. Once he sat, Butler Do skillfully arranged the food in front of the two men.
Seo Yi-kyung averted his gaze from the plates placed in front of him and picked up a glass of water. He felt a thirst as if his throat were burning. He drank the water as if to cool the heat spreading across his face. The area around his eyes where Han Seung-jae’s tongue had touched felt stinging, and his jaw and Adam’s apple were burning. And the lips that had touched were still hot.
As Seo Yi-kyung glanced opposite, his eyes locked with Han Seung-jae’s. There was no way to know how long those cold eyes had been watching him. It didn’t feel right to simply turn his head and avoid the gaze.
“Please let me know if you need anything.”
Butler Do poured more water into the glass Seo Yi-kyung had emptied and then left the dining room. Seo Yi-kyung gripped the chopsticks in front of him.
Throughout the time he spent staring at the landscape painting of a winter mountain in the painting studio, he had been preoccupied with one thought. His desire to leave this house where Min Ra-hyeon resided, even with Jin Seon-yu’s help, had been sincere. However, now that Min Ra-hyeon was gone, he felt a desire to stay here.
When his thoughts reached that point, while looking at Han Seung-jae entering the painting studio, Seo Yi-kyung could no longer find the answer to the chain of questions.
Now that he had regained some stability, watching Han Seung-jae, it felt as though a single question had slipped out like a thread—and it wasn’t an illusion.
In the original work, the person who died in this household was ‘Seo Yi-kyung,’ and the one who stayed by Han Seung-jae’s side until the end was Min Ra-hyeon.
Yet Min Ra-hyeon had left, and he remained. How was he supposed to accept that fact?
* * *
Returning to the second-floor bedroom, Seo Yi-kyung headed to the bathroom. He was so distracted that he couldn’t remember if he had eaten dinner with his mouth or his nose. He only recalled that he seemed to have chewed his lips, pushed by Han Seung-jae’s gaze. Regardless of his complicated emotions, the chef’s skill was superb.
Watching him head toward the bedroom, Han Seung-jae walked toward the study. He likely intended to work. Normally, it wouldn’t have been strange if he had gone to the study sooner. It seemed he was allocating an unusually large amount of time to him.
“He came home early today, too.”
Han Seung-jae used to usually arrive late at night and leave early in the morning.
Having finished washing his face with one hand, Seo Yi-kyung bit his lower lip while drying his wet face with a towel. Every time he moved and the shirt brushed against his chest, it stung.
Seo Yi-kyung placed the towel he was holding on the sink. Then, while carefully staring into the mirror, he slowly lifted his shirt. His eyes narrowed slightly. Just the slight touch of his fingertips as he rolled up the shirt made his chest ache.
“Ha.”
Looking at the area around his chest reflected in the mirror, Seo Yi-kyung let out a short, hollow breath. He had felt that it hurt a bit, but even he hadn’t expected it to be this bad. The fact that it wasn’t bleeding wasn’t the issue.
As if blood had pooled in one place, the skin was all dyed red. The flat area of his chest was mottled with red and purple.
At first, Han Seung-jae seemed to have touched the wound with his hand and nudged it with his tongue, but at some point, he had used his teeth to bite the same spot repeatedly. Accordingly, even tooth marks were visible along the wound.
Seo Yi-kyung’s eyebrows sank gloomily in the mirror. It was just as he was about to let go of the shirt. The door opened, and Han Seung-jae entered the bathroom. The dress shirt draped over his broad shoulders was pristine. It was a stark contrast to Seo Yi-kyung’s disheveled appearance.
Seo Yi-kyung quickly pulled down his shirt. Han Seung-jae approached, seemingly noticing what Seo Yi-kyung had been doing in front of the mirror until a moment ago. He reached out his long arm and grabbed Seo Yi-kyung’s shirt.
“Let me see.”
“It’s fine. I’ve checked it all.”
Seo Yi-kyung pulled the shirt out of Han Seung-jae’s grip and stubbornly resisted, pulling the bottom down. But was Han Seung-jae a man to be easily swayed?
Han Seung-jae embraced Seo Yi-kyung’s waist and took a step forward. Seo Yi-kyung’s eyes widened instantly as his legs were forced to move. Han Seung-jae was heading toward the bathtub.
“The door is that way…”
There was no way Han Seung-jae didn’t know that. Nevertheless, Han Seung-jae’s steps did not stop. Instead, as if answering Seo Yi-kyung’s words, Han Seung-jae’s clear yet low voice echoed above his head.
“Because I’m not confident I can exercise patience in the bed.”