By Zephyria 
The man’s large hand roughly covered the back of Yoo Jiha’s hand, gripping and shaking it all at once. The thickness, which was almost too much to hold in one hand, scraped against the skin of his palm, and bulging veins rubbed harshly as if crushing his delicate palm lines. Jiha hadn’t known he could perceive things so vividly through touch alone.
Even in the darkness where only dim shapes were visible, the man’s penis—the way it repeatedly and rapidly struck his palm, its shape, and its burn-like heat—felt vivid in his hand. Although it was clearly only his hand touching the man’s member, the weight pressing down on his body and the rough breaths falling over his head made his chest heave as if they were actually having sex.
“Hngh, Jiha…”
Though the pressure on his member was clearly coming from the man’s hand, he seemed aroused by Jiha’s clumsy way of wrapping around him. His left eye, shimmering with the glint of a beast, obsessively followed him, licking over Yoo Jiha’s face, which had turned a deep red in his confusion.
The ejaculation was long. Thick semen flowed stickily between his fingers, as if the man hadn’t done it in a very long time. Jiha, who had been panting breathlessly in a daze, barely regained his senses. As he looked around for a tissue, he suddenly had to stiffen his back. Jeil Heon, while still breathing heavily, had leaned down and pressed his tongue against Jiha’s hand.
In the dim bedroom, only the sound of a tongue licking skin echoed quietly. Unable to even breathe loudly, Jiha stared only at the crown of Jeil Heon’s head as he licked his palm. The obscene act of licking semen was performed with such devotion, as if he couldn’t leave a single speck of filth behind.
Jiha felt, however vaguely, the reason for the contradiction of a man who was this aroused by him yet insisted they must not have sex.
Only after cleaning his hand did Jeil Heon finally let go, groaning low as he pulled him into an embrace. Because a thick forearm gripped his abdomen tightly from behind, Jiha could still feel the man’s heat against his buttocks. However, Jeil Heon only rubbed his lips against the nape of his neck, showing no sign of wanting to do anything more. The sound of Jeil Heon’s breathing, as he traced the skin and inhaled his scent, gradually subsided.
Until then, Jiha had remained stiffly curled up, unable to move a finger, waiting for Jeil Heon’s next move. With a lingering hope, he called out cautiously.
“Um, Mister…?”
“…”
“Are you asleep?”
“…”
“Are you really asleep? Really? Really? Really-really-really?!”
Only the sound of breathing, not an answer, came from behind, and Jiha felt like he was about to cry. He really fell asleep alone. Alone! Leaving him out!
‘He should let me off too…! Is my cock not even a cock?!’
He could understand the part about not being able to have sex, if he conceded a hundred times. But if one person receives a handjob, isn’t it the courtesy of sex for the other to return the favor? The heat from the man’s member rapidly brushing against his palm still lingered fervently, and that heat had clearly spread to his own lower half, yet it had stopped so ambiguously that he couldn’t believe it.
Jiha groaned and tried to subtly move his hand downward, but he had to pull it back. Masturbating alone while someone was sleeping behind him felt too perverted. One pervert—the human who received a handjob and fell asleep—was enough.
‘How can he fall asleep so refreshed, leaving only me out!’
The fact that the damn man was out of his mind from intoxication was the only thing that kept Jiha in check. Otherwise, he would have pushed the spiteful, sleeping man right off the bed.
It was a painful night, with a dull heat pooling in his lower abdomen that he could neither release nor soothe.
* * *
The problem with Jeil Heon’s drinking habit wasn’t that he became a pushover. It was that he didn’t black out. Once he sobered up, the “dark history” he accumulated while being a pushover caused him immense agony. Thanks to that, there was once a time he caught a scammer who had run off with his personal seal the very next day.
Today was no different. Waking up with a hangover, Jeil Heon questioned if he was still half-asleep when he felt a small, round back of a head pressing against his forearm, but soon the memories of last night rushed back like a tsunami. The memory of drinking to soothe his troubled mind—which was already agitated by the lust surging because of Yoo Jiha—only to end up completely wasted.
Jeil Heon felt like biting his tongue and dying.
‘F-first, I’ll wa-wash up…’
Feeling that he needed to splash some cold water on himself to gather his thoughts before performing a formal apology and cleaning up the situation, he slowly began to withdraw the arm he had used as a pillow.
“Mmm…”
And of all days, Yoo Jiha—who usually wouldn’t wake up even if shaken once he fell into a deep sleep—tossed and turned at that moment and rubbed his eyes.
“Ugh… Mister?”
“…!”
The sleepy voice that followed felt like a jab. Jeil Heon bolted upright, and in his fluster, he braced his arm incorrectly in the air and tumbled backward.
Thump! Crash!
The loud noise of him hitting the nightstand and rolling onto the floor woke Jiha up completely.
“Mister! Mister! Are you okay?!”
“I-I’m okay…”
Jeil Heon stumbled out of the room, uncharacteristically flustered. There was even blood on the corner of the nightstand; was he really okay? Jiha became worried, but he soon regained his composure. If the man was fine after having his eyeballs plucked out, a cracked back of the head would heal quickly.
The two faced each other again after Jeil Heon had washed and changed his clothes. To Yoo Jiha, who saw Jeil Heon sitting on his knees for some reason, he asked the thing he was most curious about.
“Mister, do you not die even if your head is cut off?”
“…Huh?”
“I was curious because you seemed fine even though you cracked the back of your head just now.”
“Uh… I’ve never had my head cut off, but since my biological functions stop much slower than a normal person’s, if you attached it back, probably?”
“I see. If your head ever gets cut off, I’ll hold it carefully until it’s attached.”
“Right… thanks…”
In front of Jeil Heon, whose eyes had become somewhat vacant, Jiha swallowed hard. Now he had to bring up the main point, but the problem was that he wasn’t entirely innocent himself. Wasn’t he the one who provided the cause by pushing his cheek against a man who was trying to sleep peacefully?
As he hesitated, chewing his lip because the words wouldn’t come easily, Jeil Heon opened his mouth with a sigh.
“I’m sorry about last night. I was drunk—no, being drunk is just an excuse. As an adult, I should have kept a firmer grip on my senses. I’m ashamed.”
The thing he really needed to apologize for wasn’t that an ‘adult’ made a mistake, was it? Jiha’s voice grew a bit sharper.
“What is the reason why you can’t sleep with me?”
“…You’re young.”
Ugh. He had expected it, but hearing it directly made heat surge up from inside him.
“I’m not young.”
“You are. You still have baby fat on your cheeks.”
“It’s just fat.”
“It’s baby fat.”
“…”
He often thought this, but it seemed a firm character interpretation—one that even the original creator (Yoo Jiha) would ignore—was rooted in Jeil Heon’s brain. Who on earth is the Yoo Jiha in that man’s head, someone who is just young and has chubby baby fat?
“If you’re just going to keep backing away because I’m young, then why on earth are you dating me? It’s true that I’m younger than you, but I’m strictly an adult, a college student, and I even go to a company! You’re the only person who calls me a child!”
“…Jiha.”
“If you like children that much, go date the four-year-old in your head!”
Jeil Heon tried to stop him, but Jiha slammed the door shut and stormed out. Right, people say they fight all the time when they’re dating; it was strange that they hadn’t fought once until now.
He wouldn’t even look at him until that damn brain was overhauled. He would make sure to show him just how fierce a cute and pretty younger lover could become when angry. Jiha vowed, huffing with indignation.
Exactly 2 hours and 4 minutes later, the two faced each other in the same space.
“…Good morning.”
“…Hello, Team leader.”
Today was a workday.
Jiha realized with a shudder the problems of office romance. Being in the same office all day with a boyfriend he was in a cold war with made even breathing feel awkward.
To be precise, it wasn’t a cold war, but rather that Jiha was unilaterally ignoring Jeil Heon whenever the latter tried to find an opening to apologize. What was the point of apologizing a hundred times with words? It was obvious that a tiny, pretty, young Yoo Jiha still resided in his brain. It was out of the question until that brain was washed with bleach.
As a proper member of society, he tried his best not to show his personal feelings during work, but it seemed he couldn’t hide them completely. As soon as Jeil Heon disappeared into the smoking room after lunch, Jiha realized the complacency of thinking he had handled the situation perfectly.