TTDOTO 2.2

When alone, his wrists and ankles were always bound.

To use the bathroom, he had to call Jae-rim using the phone on the nightstand.

Only when Jae-rim returned home were the restraints removed.

Meals were taken with Jae-rim, roughly two a day.

These were the rules Jae-an learned during a week of unrelenting confinement. Stripped of freedom as punishment for his suicide attempt, he spent his days lost in thought, his vacant gaze drifting across the bedroom.

The mobiles, picture frames, vases, and glass ornaments that once offered something to look at were gone, leaving only the faint wallpaper patterns to trace. He couldn’t complain—he knew they’d been removed because he’d smashed a ceramic piece to cut his wrist.

“I’m back.”

At the sound of the bedroom door opening, Jae-an, counting curtain folds, slowly turned his head. A yellowish bruise lingered on his forehead, a reddish scab at his lip’s edge. He stared blankly at Jae-rim.

Approaching, Jae-rim entered and unbound his wrists and ankles. Jae-an slowly sat up, leaning against the headboard. His wrists, ankles, forearms, and calves ached from hours of restraint. Under the blanket, he flexed his hands and rotated his ankles.

Noticing the movement, Jae-rim’s lips curled slightly.

“Wait a bit. Food’s almost ready.”

Jae-an’s appetite never recovered, but he forced food down to avoid regurgitation. Meals were limited to breakfast with Jae-rim before work and dinner after he returned—only two a day.

The issue was Jae-rim’s erratic schedule. On days he came home late without warning, Jae-an went hungry until nightfall. One day, starving past eight without Jae-rim’s return, he grabbed the phone. Jae-rim answered before the second ring.

“When are you coming?”

“Why? Need the bathroom?”

Jae-an bit his lip, voice shrinking.

“No… I’m just hungry…”

“Shouldn’t have skipped breakfast.”

Knowing Jae-an couldn’t eat much, Jae-rim’s reply was smug. Angered, Jae-an hung up. That night, Jae-rim returned at 2 a.m., pointedly preparing an elaborate dinner.

By then, sleep dulled his hunger, but fear of missing another meal drove Jae-an to the table, eating as much as he could, like storing food for famine.

Forced meals and constant restraint left no room for digestion. His stomach churned, and nausea lingered all day.

After meals, Jae-rim brewed coffee.

He asked if Jae-an wanted some, but Jae-an shook his head. Coffee meant needing the bathroom later, so he sipped only enough water to quench his thirst and avoided broth.

Still, he needed the bathroom once a day. Calling Jae-rim to say he had to go was humiliating, but he had no choice. The trauma of urine’s sharp smell and soaked underwear lingered.

Thankfully, Jae-rim returned within ten minutes for bathroom requests, sometimes in different clothes from the morning, occasionally reeking of unsettling disinfectant. Jae-an never asked why.

One day, Jae-rim asked if a secretary could come instead. Jae-an refused, preferring to soil the bed. That day, Jae-rim arrived late but came. Twisting his legs, waiting, Jae-an barely held back tears when Jae-rim entered.

Bound to the bed, enduring hunger, dozing, using the bathroom, then staring listlessly at the ceiling—that was his week-long routine.

The only moment his heart stirred was when Jae-rim went to the terrace to smoke after meals.

When Jae-rim opened the terrace door, Jae-an hurried after, swallowing pride to beg for a cigarette.

Jae-rim’s face twisted once, but if Jae-an stood defiantly, he’d hand over a cigarette. Jae-rim smoked two in a row (how he’d hidden his smoking urge before puzzled Jae-an), but Jae-an was allowed only one daily.

Today, after breakfast, he smoked his cigarette to the filter, used the bathroom with effort, and washed thoroughly—a ritual to prepare for being bound.

Finished, Jae-an sat on the bed, stretching his wrists and ankles.

Jae-rim emerged from the dressing room in a shirt and jeans, fastening his watch and glancing at Jae-an.

“I’m heading out.”

“Huh?”

Instead of binding his wrists, Jae-rim walked out. Jae-an, half-standing, chased after him.

Hesitating, he called to Jae-rim’s broad back down the long hallway.

“Jae, Jae-rim…!”

“Yeah?”

Jae-rim turned.

“Uh…”

Asking to be tied felt absurd. Blinking, Jae-an extended his wrists, fingers peeking from oversized sleeves.

“What’s that?”

Frowning faintly, Jae-an held out both wrists—the bandaged one and the uninjured one.

“…Aren’t you going to tie me up?”

Mumbling, he stood with wrists outstretched. Jae-rim let out a low laugh, approaching slowly. Grasping both hands lightly, he pressed his lips to the back of one. The warm, soft touch made Jae-an grimace.

“What are you…”

Startled by the sudden act, Jae-an tried to pull away, but Jae-rim gripped tightly, pressing exactly on the wound. Jae-an groaned softly.

“Installing CCTV today.”

Jae-an recalled Jae-rim saying the restraints were only until the cameras were set up. With full surveillance, there was no need to tie him anymore. Unsure whether to feel relief or dread, Jae-an held his breath.

The intercom buzzed. Checking the visitor on the camera, Jae-rim unlocked the door. A middle-aged man and eight workers in coveralls entered.

“Hello.”

The man approached, bowing to Jae-rim and Jae-an. Jae-rim stood still; Jae-an, flustered, bowed back reflexively.

“I’m Han Jong-seok, the CEO’s secretary. I’ll stay until the CCTV is installed.”

“Then I’m off.”

Jae-rim released Jae-an’s wrist and left. Standing dazed in the hallway, Jae-an watched workers invade the house.

Following Han Jong-seok’s orders, they drilled holes and set up equipment. After nearly ten days confined, Jae-an felt like a stranger, staring at their bustling with alien eyes.

Hesitating, he moved. Unbound, he didn’t know where to go.

The study?

The bathroom?

Some unknown room?

The dressing room?

The dining room?

The living room?

The bedroom?

Rolling his eyes, Jae-an wiggled his toes in his slippers and shuffled back to the bedroom. After over a week bound to the bed, it felt like a nest.

Sitting with knees drawn up, he watched workers move in and out, their talk of wires and connections noisy.

He stared at the crumpled blanket’s shadows. His limbs were free, but his mind remained chained to the bed frame. The shackles were gone, yet nothing felt different.

Two hours later, the workers cleared scattered boxes and debris. Han Jong-seok checked each room’s CCTV, finally entering the bedroom.

Jae-an looked up at the door’s sound.

“Lee Jae-an.”

His pale eyes flickered with unease. Of course, this man knew his name. Jae-an wondered what Jae-rim had told those around him.

He was a pitiful creature, confined and watched by CCTV. The lack of reaction to his bruised face suggested they knew he’d be struck if he misbehaved.

Clearing his throat, Han Jong-seok explained the CCTV.

“Nine monitors, each displaying four camera feeds, are set up in the study. Identical monitors are in the CEO’s office.”

“…”

“The CEO can check all 36 cameras on his phone, with audio and zoom.”

Humiliation sank in, but Han Jong-seok remained calm. Jae-an wondered if everyone but him was normal, and he alone was the fool.

“Sorry, but there are no blind spots.”

Jae-an turned away silently, his pale face a mix of disgust and resignation.

“Rest well.”

Leaving the greeting, Han Jong-seok exited. Rest well, with 36 cameras watching? Chewing on the irony, Jae-an buried his forehead in his knees.

After thirty minutes, he rose and stepped off the bed.

He began inspecting the house’s CCTV. As claimed, each space had at least two cameras—no blind spots.

“Even with all this watching, it took him at least ten minutes to get here…”

Staring at the black cameras, a thought struck, his breath catching faintly.

Recalling bathroom calls, Jae-rim always took around ten minutes to arrive. So, right after the cameras were installed, with surveillance still settling, if he fled now and got far enough in ten minutes…

His light brown eyes darted. The mere possibility dried his mouth, lips bitten hard.

Initially, Jae-rim had found him attempting suicide in a car, hours from Seoul, in an obscure lot, before he could die. Likely, he’d tracked Jae-an’s phone. Without it, Jae-rim couldn’t find him.

Once the idea of escape took hold, it consumed him.

Jae-rim wasn’t a police officer; he couldn’t monitor every alley or street CCTV in real time. Using backstreets to gain distance was feasible. First, he had to escape while unbound, before Jae-rim returned.

Maintaining a casual expression, Jae-an left the bedroom. Ignoring the cameras’ black pupils, he crossed the living room naturally, quickening toward the entrance.

Jae-rim might already sense something. Jae-an stepped onto the entrance floor in his slippers. No turning back now.

‘If he locked the door from outside, I’m screwed.’

It was a gamble. Betting on an unlocked door, Jae-an flung it open, exhaling as light poured in.

Then, he ran like mad. Crossing the garden in a flash, he tore the ring from his ring finger and hurled it onto the asphalt. That damned Jae-rim might’ve hidden a tracker in it.

“…Fuck.”

Amused by his courage without Jae-rim, Jae-an cursed to himself and ran again. It was a race against time.