TTDOTO 1.6

The ring Jae-an couldn’t bring himself to discard while sorting his belongings was the last birthday gift from Seo Jae-rim.

This past February, Jae-an couldn’t tear his eyes from the calendar. As his birthday neared, his mood grew strange. A faint hope that this year, growing a year older, might bring something different mingled with a restless dread of facing next year’s birthday in vain, stirring unease in his chest.

The day before his birthday, returning home from work, Jae-an spotted a red postcard envelope in his mailbox and gave a faint smile. Jae-rim had a knack for unexpectedly cute gestures, like the annual birthday invitations he sent.

Jae-rim’s restaurant, Cauchemar, never closed—not once in a year—except for one day: Jae-an’s birthday, when it welcomed no other guests. Closing an entire restaurant for his party felt excessive.

Jae-an’s personality made such gestures feel embarrassingly unfamiliar each year, but knowing Jae-rim, who had no family to celebrate with, likely found joy in this, Jae-an obliged without complaint.

That evening, arriving at the restaurant with its sign unlit, Jae-rim opened the door, beaming. He’d prepared an elegant birthday spread—steak, pasta, gnocchi. The chef’s handcrafted meal already felt like a treat, but after dinner, Jae-rim presented a gift.

“Stop with the gifts already…”

Jae-rim, displeased by the reaction, narrowed his eyes and hissed through his teeth. Jae-an, relenting, said what he knew Jae-rim wanted to hear.

“Thanks.”

With a faint smile, he untied the black ribbon around the small box. Receiving gifts for his birthday felt awkward enough, especially since Jae-rim gave them often, even on ordinary days—socks, underwear, phones, computers, even appliances like refrigerators. The gifts varied in price and kind. Wanting to reciprocate, Jae-an tried giving gifts too, but unable to match Jae-rim’s lavish spending, he settled for treating him to meals or coffee.

Curious, he unwrapped the final layer, revealing a thick ring. His eyes twitched. It was fine jewelry from a luxury brand, recognizable because Jae-rim often wore an identical one. Even now, as he handed over the gift, the same ring gleamed on Jae-rim’s left index finger.

“A ring?”

‘Matching rings for two guys?’ His face must’ve shown unease. Jae-rim’s smile faded slowly, his brows lowering cautiously.

“Don’t like it?”

“No, no, it’s pretty. Pretty.”

“Try it on.”

Mindful of Jae-rim’s effort with the expensive gift, Jae-an quickly softened his expression and took the ring. Thinking such rings were usually worn on the index finger, he tried both hands, but it felt oddly small. Testing different fingers, he found it fit perfectly—absurdly—on his left ring finger. Staring at his hand, he said with a wry smile,

“This ring is for a couple, isn’t it?”

“So what? Wear it where it fits.”

Jae-rim, chin propped, continued in a casual tone.

“Besides, wearing it there means you don’t have to deal with those pathetic requests.”

He was referring to last winter break, when a senior teacher made an awkward request. Early that year, the teacher called with New Year’s greetings, but just as Jae-an was about to hang up, he brought up the real reason: a colleague’s daughter, also a teacher, wanted to meet another teacher for a date and asked Jae-an to join a blind date. Before Jae-an could respond, the teacher pushed, saying a three-year age gap was perfect.

Jae-an, not in a state for relationships, tried to decline with a laugh. Still, the senior persisted, texting and calling relentlessly, describing the woman’s looks, figure, and family background with rude detail.

After Jae-an’s stubborn refusals, the senior admitted he’d already shown her Jae-an’s photo, and she was interested. He begged Jae-an to meet her just once to save his face, even if it led nowhere.

Worn down by his pleading, Jae-an agreed. It seemed the only way to stop the incessant contact. He quickly got the woman’s number and set a time. The day before, a text asking where they’d meet made him realize he hadn’t planned anything. Scrambling, he found no decent restaurants with open evening slots.

The only place he knew with great food and atmosphere was Jae-rim’s restaurant. So, he called Jae-rim and booked a table on short notice. That evening, Jae-rim, arriving late, personally served Jae-an’s table, where he sat with the stranger.

That night, Jae-rim called, asking if Jae-an had a girlfriend. When Jae-an said no, Jae-rim pressed for details—who set it up, how, why. His questions felt like an interrogation, but Jae-an answered honestly.

Jae-rim didn’t believe Jae-an had already rejected the woman’s follow-up request. Even after Jae-an sent screenshots of their messages, Jae-rim’s voice stayed cold, likely thinking Jae-an spineless for not firmly refusing the senior’s request.

Referencing that month-old incident, Jae-rim smiled, saying a ring on that finger would help dodge such awkward favors. Unsure if it’d help, but seeing Jae-rim’s mood lift, Jae-an nodded.

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks.”

“It suits you.”

“Don’t wear yours on that finger. People will get the wrong idea.”

He tossed the joke to ease his embarrassment, and Jae-rim laughed, eyes crinkling. Yet he couldn’t stop staring at Jae-an’s hand. They say giving gifts brings as much joy as receiving, but Jae-rim’s bright expression outshone Jae-an’s, and that was enough.

***

Yet that ring, clearly on the scarred, large hand’s ring finger…

An unpleasant sensation, teetering between dream and reality, forced his eyes open. Repeatedly losing and regaining consciousness blurred the line between what was real and what was a dream seeping into his fading mind.

Clinging to his hazy awareness, he slowly realized the happy memory of his last birthday was a dream, and the dizzying reality was now.

With bitter eyes, he focused and scanned his surroundings, recognizing he was in Jae-rim’s room. Back here, again.

Staring blankly at the ceiling in exhaustion, his eyes widened moments later. A vivid memory he’d forgotten surged through his mind. Recalling the ring on Jae-rim’s hand, followed by the image of him slashing a man’s wrist with a sharp knife, Jae-an jolted, flailing to sit up.

“Gasp…!”

Or tried to. Something bound his body, preventing movement. Each twist brought burning pain near his wrists. Turning, he saw his wrists and ankles tightly restrained.

“…What is this?”

Bewildered, he examined the bindings. They weren’t simple rope or tape. Black bands wrapped his wrists and ankles, connected to thick chains like those used at construction sites, anchored to the bed frame, trapping him within its confines. The pain came from the band pressing tightly against his bandaged, ceramic-cut wrist.

Struggling to sit, he tugged at the restraints, but they only clinked, impossible to break by strength alone. Then the door handle turned, and Jae-rim entered.

“Awake?”

Dressed in an ivory knit sweater and gray sweatpants, Jae-rim smiled brightly. The casual attire and warm grin made the horrific memory seem like a mere dream. Jae-an’s brows drooped sadly, his dry voice straining.

“Jae-rim…”

“You need to eat.”

Not hungry at all, Jae-an shook his head silently. Sitting in a chair by the bed, Jae-rim’s brow furrowed slightly.

“Not listening again?”

“Didn’t know you were so disobedient, hyung.”

The voice overlapped with the memory, confirming it was no illusion. His heart felt like it might stop. Clutching the blanket, Jae-rim smoothed his brow and spoke calmly.

“I’ll make something easy to digest. Oatmeal porridge, eggs, veggies, maybe abalone. If porridge is too much, I can blend it into a soup.”

His coaxing tone was tender, like the old days when he fussed over Jae-an’s meals, making it all the more disorienting. Jae-rim waited for a reply with a serene smile.

Hesitating, Jae-an picked the first option. Not out of hunger, but fear of what might follow if he refused. He didn’t know why Jae-rim was acting normal now, but in this insane situation, he felt he had to play along.

“O-Oatmeal.”

“Got it. Wait here.”

Soon, Jae-rim returned with a tray. Expecting his wrists to be freed, Jae-an stared blankly, but Jae-rim, instead of unshackling him, held a plastic cup with a straw to his lips.

Jae-an turned his head.

“What are you doing?”

“Open up.”

“Are you kidding? Untie my hands…”

“Who says I can trust you?”

Jae-rim’s soft voice curved into a pretty smile, but his eyes held no warmth. The image of him wielding a filleting knife flashed, making Jae-an’s shoulders shrink.

“Come on, wet your throat. Open.”

Jae-rim shook the cup, urging him. Reluctantly, Jae-an opened his mouth, letting lukewarm water trickle down his parched throat.

Setting the cup down, Jae-rim scooped oatmeal porridge and brought it to Jae-an’s closed lips. Resigned, Jae-an ate what was offered. As he swallowed, Jae-rim’s neat teeth flashed in a grin.

“Hyung, remember when I was sick, and you fed me porridge?”

“…No.”

“When I was in fourth grade. I got the flu, couldn’t go to school, and you skipped too.”

When Jae-rim was eleven, Jae-an was sixteen. The mention of skipping jogged a faint memory. Jae-rim rarely got sick, but that time, he had a bad flu. Jae-an wanted to tell him to tough it out with medicine, but leaving a feverish kid alone felt wrong, so he skipped school too.

“…Did I?”

“Yeah. You fed me porridge like this.”

Jae-rim’s voice lifted, recounting the memory. Dazed, Jae-an barely followed, until a tilted spoon smeared porridge on his lips.

Jae-rim wiped it with his thumb, licking it without hesitation, then fed him another precise spoonful.

“You cooked the porridge yourself.”

“I… think so.”

“It was god-awful.”

Choking on the porridge, Jae-an coughed. Jae-rim quickly held the water to his lips. Catching his breath, Jae-an said,

“You know I can’t cook.”

“Yeah. I meant it was nice you cared.”

Another spoonful touched his lips. To avoid upsetting Jae-rim, Jae-an opened his mouth, eating everything. Despite saying he wasn’t hungry, the bowl was soon empty.

“Good job.”

Hesitating at the praise, Jae-an said,

“Jae-rim… untie me.”

“No way.”

The firm reply startled him. Sensing this was his only chance to persuade, Jae-an thought fast.

“I want to wash up.”

“Hm…”

A thoughtful hum. Seizing the moment, Jae-an squeezed out a pleading tone.

“I haven’t showered in days. I smell. I’ll be quick.”

Jae-rim set the empty bowl on the console, wrinkling his nose.

“Gotta shower?”

Jae-an frowned, and Jae-rim continued,

“I’m fine with you not showering.”

“No… I feel gross. I need to wash.”

“Alright. I’ll wash you.”

“What?”

“Like when we went to the bathhouse.”

As kids, Jae-an had taken Jae-rim to the bathhouse a few times. That Jae-rim remembered such trivial moments was typical, but now, paired with being bound, it sent chills down his spine.

“You’re washing now, right?”

Rolling up his sweater sleeves, Jae-rim asked. Jae-an’s brows shot up in panic.

“You’re washing me?”

“Don’t like it? Wash yourself.”

“Fine, I’ll wash. I’m too old for someone to bathe me…”

“Then I’ll stay nearby.”

Jae-rim grabbed the chair and strode toward the bathroom. Jae-an shouted at his retreating back.

“Jae-rim!”

“Yeah?”

He turned, holding the chair, looking at Jae-an.

“You’re gonna watch me shower?”

“Obviously. You can’t be alone.”

“Ha…”

It was like talking to a wall. Frustration bubbled, and Jae-an’s brow furrowed.

“You’re really keeping me tied up?”

“Not forever. Just till the CCTVs are up.”

“What about the bathroom?”

“Call me with the phone on the nightstand. I’ll untie you.”

Was he joking or serious? Exasperated, Jae-an snapped,

“What if I need to go urgently?”

“I’ll clean it up nice.”

“Are you kidding?”

Jae-an’s incredulous retort made Jae-rim’s smile vanish instantly.

“You think I’m joking?”

“….”

“Who the fuck jokes about this?”

Tilting his head, golden eyes fixed on Jae-an.

“You think I want to keep you tied up?”

“….”

“If you hadn’t cut your wrist, this wouldn’t be happening.”

His voice was calm, without inflection. His expression suggested he genuinely didn’t understand, asking out of pure confusion. But Jae-an was just as lost. Jae-rim’s actions were undeniably abnormal.

“You’re doing this because you’re scared I’ll die again?”

Jae-rim stood like a mannequin, expressionless. The wall-like conversation fueled Jae-an’s rising anger. He couldn’t filter what to say or not in front of the man who’d saved him.

“Don’t you get that this makes me want to die more?”

“….”

“You think this’ll stop me from dying?”

Even his provocative words didn’t shift Jae-rim’s face. Instead, he dropped the chair with a loud clatter and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“No. You won’t die.”

“What if I bite my tongue?”

“Oh…”

As if he hadn’t considered it, Jae-rim let out a short exclamation, then slowly spoke.

“I don’t want you unable to talk… You gonna do that?”

It took a moment to grasp that he meant cutting out his tongue. Jae-an froze, forgetting to breathe. Seeing his terrified face, Jae-rim softened his stiff lips, gently patting his shoulder.

“Understand, hyung. I haven’t set up the CCTVs yet.”

“….”

“They say it takes dozens to cover blind spots. That’ll take a week. Just till then. I can’t lock you in a studio apartment—you hate feeling trapped…”

His warm tone and gentle expression tried to lighten the mood, but the content was shocking. Wait quietly for cameras to blanket the house, or be monitored in a studio now—neither was normal.

Jae-an stared blankly at Jae-rim. Was this really him? In all the years from ten to twenty-eight, Jae-rim had never given this impression. Jae-an couldn’t imagine his own expression. A hoarse voice slipped through his frozen lips.

“One question.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you?”

“Jae-rim.”

“Damn it…”

“Okay, that was a joke.”

Waving his palms, Jae-rim soothed Jae-an’s scowl, his eyes curving like crescents, lashes casting shadows on his pale cheeks. The angelic smile clashed with the Jae-rim who’d severed a man’s wrist.

Hesitating, Jae-an finally voiced the memory he’d tried to ignore.

“Cutting that wrist… it wasn’t a dream, was it?”

Jae-rim only smiled, saying nothing. His silence, not asking what horror Jae-an meant, spoke volumes. His refusal to answer likely stemmed from that insane fear of being hated.

Exhaling shakily, Jae-an licked his dry lips. After a brief silence, he narrowed his brows, his voice small.

“That’s a crime. If you get caught—”

“No way I’ll get caught.”

His immediate reply held no worry, as if comforting Jae-an’s anxiety.

Jae-an reached for Jae-rim’s hand to snap him out of it, but the chains stopped him. Their clinking mocked him to come to his senses. Dropping his hand, he asked,

“What about the restaurant?”

“It runs fine without me.”

“You’re really running a restaurant?”

“You’ve seen me work hard at it for years.”

“Then why yesterday…”

Jae-rim didn’t answer. Jae-an’s racing heart pounded in his ears. Swallowing nausea, he asked again.

“What the hell are you?”

But Jae-rim just kept smiling. Facing someone so desperate with only playful deflection drained Jae-an. His voice sank, angry.

“Not gonna talk?”

“Promise you won’t hate me.”

“Fine, I won’t.”

Suddenly, Jae-rim closed the distance, pulling Jae-an into a tight embrace. Startled, Jae-an flinched, chains rattling.

The suffocating hug, crushing his lungs, ended just as his breath hitched. As Jae-rim’s arms released, Jae-an gasped, the familiar floral cologne—now Jae-rim’s signature scent—overwhelming his senses.

“Good… Let’s wash up and talk.”

Jae-rim whispered, brushing Jae-an’s cheek with his palm.

***

Jae-rim really carried the discarded chair into the bathroom. Jae-an, avoiding the bathtub, stepped into the shower stall. He couldn’t soak under Jae-rim’s piercing gaze.

To hide his nakedness, he stood awkwardly, unable to wash thoroughly due to the bandage on one wrist. Showering this uncomfortably was a first.

Emerging with a grimace, he dried off and walked to the mirror where lotion sat. Catching his reflection, he froze in shock. Vivid bruises marked his face and stomach—exactly where Jae-rim had struck him yesterday. As he carefully applied lotion to avoid the tender spots, Jae-rim, watching, asked,

“Did it hurt?”

“It’s fine.”

Not expecting an apology, Jae-an wasn’t surprised when Jae-rim offered none, merely uncrossing his legs.

Standing, Jae-rim handed over clean clothes—Jae-an’s tracksuit, left behind from his last visit to Jae-rim’s place, neatly washed and ironed. Holding it, Jae-an belatedly mulled over Jae-rim’s words.

“You made me watch you nearly die twice. You owe me an apology.”

It was Jae-an who’d demanded Jae-rim move out, ending their thirteen years of cohabitation. Yet even after Jae-rim’s independence, they frequented each other’s homes—for a meal, a movie, or gaming. The reasons varied, and Jae-an, missing Jae-rim’s familiar presence, often visited out of habit.

Clothes worn casually at Jae-rim’s were always washed and folded by the time he returned. Jae-an did the same, hoping the other would feel at ease next visit. He understood the care behind Jae-rim laundering this tracksuit.

His last words to Jae-rim had been, “See you.” Jae-rim likely washed and folded these clothes, expecting that inevitable “next time.”

With a heavy expression, Jae-an changed and followed Jae-rim to the living room, sitting at the table they often used for talks.

Jae-rim brewed drip coffee for himself and set a glass of warm water before Jae-an, who had no desire to drink. Taking a sip from a white mug, Jae-rim set it down.

“The restaurant’s legit.”

A belated answer to Jae-an’s question about his identity. Relief flickered—Jae-rim really ran a restaurant. Noticing the calm in Jae-an’s eyes, Jae-rim watched with interest, continuing.

“I sell other things too.”

Organs? The chilling thought made Jae-an’s eyes waver. Trying to stay composed, he couldn’t hide his unease. Jae-rim’s lips softened, curling into a smile.

“Drugs.”

“Drugs?”

“I sell drugs.”

“…What?”

“No need to know details. It won’t help your life.”

Drugs. Better than organ trafficking? Jae-an pondered briefly but stopped—it was like choosing between filth and diarrhea. Shaking his head, he reached out, gripping Jae-rim’s hand, his brows drooping.

“…H-How did this happen?”

Clasping Jae-rim’s hand, Jae-an pressed on, his ragged breaths breaking between words. Jae-rim’s lazy gaze lingered on their joined hands before meeting Jae-an’s panting face.

“Is someone threatening you? Hurting you? Let’s report it… I’ll help.”

At the desperate plea, Jae-rim raised one brow.

“Haha!”

Laughter burst from his tightly shut lips, blooming beautifully. Covering his mouth with his free hand, Jae-rim laughed uncontrollably, his shoulders shaking.

The boyish, carefree laugh sent chills up Jae-an’s thighs. Had he said something funny? Unable to comprehend, he stared blankly. Still chuckling, Jae-rim asked,

“Did I look threatened yesterday?”

The men bowing to Jae-rim, his effortless dominance—it was unrecognizable from the Jae-rim Jae-an knew. That commanding presence merged with the radiant face laughing now.

“Guess I still look like a kid to you.”

Desperate to deny reality, Jae-an faced that innocent smile and admitted it: the Jae-rim he’d known wasn’t Jae-rim.

“….”

Overwhelmed by unease and shock, he slowly released Jae-rim’s hand. As it fell toward the table, Jae-rim caught it, pulling it back.

“You said you wouldn’t hate me.”

Jae-an stared blankly. Jae-rim shook the held hand, prompting again.

“Right?”

The grip tightened. Jae-an’s lips moved faintly.

“…Y-Yeah, I won’t.”

He answered softly, unable to look away from the hand. Yesterday, that same hand had gripped another’s and sliced it with a honed filleting knife without flinching.

“Then why that face?”

Whether intentional or not, Jae-rim’s grip pressed near the bandage. As Jae-an hesitated, the pressure grew, creasing his eyes with pain. The spot cut by the vase throbbed dully.

“Like I’m some bug.”

Unable to bear the intensifying pain, Jae-an pushed Jae-rim’s hand away.

“Don’t press like that. It hurts…”

“Let’s disinfect.”

Snorting, Jae-rim released him and fetched a medical tray. Unwrapping the bandage, he skillfully disinfected the still-stitched wound.

Red antiseptic seeped into the rough, barely healed gash. Jae-rim didn’t ask if it hurt, and Jae-an, enduring the stinging pain, clutched his shirt hem under the table.

A fresh bandage meticulously covered the grotesquely stitched scar. But no matter how tightly it was wrapped, both knew the ugly mark beneath. Jae-an, who attempted suicide, and Jae-rim, whose true nature surfaced—were no longer the same to each other.

Taping the bandage neatly, Jae-rim pulled a ring from his pocket.

“The swelling’s gone down a lot.”

In a soft voice, he slid the ring onto Jae-an’s ring finger. With a radiant smile, he noted it finally fit, his eyes gleaming with a madness no words could pierce.