TTDOTO 6.4

Exactly two days later, the day promised with Jang Han-seong arrived.
To escape fear, Jae-an skipped the tutoring he once craved. Jae-rim left alone without comment, returning very late.
Alone in the vast living room, Jae-an exhausted himself with dark imaginings and fell asleep. Jae-rim woke him, showing a photo on his phone.
A man in a car’s driver seat, mouth grotesquely agape with dried saliva, a syringe stuck in his arm. The bluish face was unmistakably Han-seong’s, yet mannequin-like from the pallor.
“Shock death. Phone destroyed.”
Jae-an turned away from the photo, nodding.
Jae-rim chuckled lowly, pulling Jae-an’s hand to his head, guiding it to stroke himself before tossing the wrist aside. Jae-an knew it was for thanks, but the words wouldn’t come.
‘Someone died because of me.’
Chewing on that, Jae-an uncurled from the sofa corner, standing abruptly.
“I… bathroom…”
As Jae-rim vanished from sight, Jae-an covered his mouth, rushing to the bedroom.
Reaching the toilet, bile surged. Clutching the bowl, he retched. Nothing came—empty all day. Only saliva and stomach acid swirled down. Gasping, he stared at the drain.
Han-seong’s issue was resolved.
No money given, no action taken, photos erased. A life ended for one slap and a forced smile.

The next morning, Jae-rim turned on the TV. News reported a man found dead from overdose in a deserted lot, harshly criticizing Korea’s rampant drug crime. The car behind the police line matched the photo.
Jae-an watched Jae-rim’s profile, viewing the news like a stranger’s affair, then stared at the looping footage. Shaking his legs anxiously, he glared at Han-seong’s car with dead, black eyes.
Good riddance. That’s what you get for living like that. Not my fault. All yours.
“What’d you say?”
Some muttered words had escaped. Jae-an shook his head, hugging his knees. Unlike yesterday, his stomach didn’t churn. It felt… refreshing.Even after Han-seong’s death, Jae-an often recalled his final image. Unwanted, it surfaced while eating, showering with Jae-rim, or during sex. No way to stop it.
Like stomping a cockroach repeatedly to ensure it’s dead, Jae-an’s mind replayed the image as a defense mechanism, confirming Han-seong was gone.
Jae-rim had said intimacy wasn’t payment, but after killing Han-seong, spreading his legs felt easier. When Jae-rim rubbed his morning erection, Jae-an let him. His hand slipped into Jae-an’s pants instantly.
Not resisting, Jae-an was soon naked. Jae-rim diligently loosened his hole with fingers and lips, but the club-like penis tearing raw flesh still hurt. Jae-an clenched the sheets, stifling cries.
“Ah…”
Semen already inside from careless release flowed back with the second thrust, soaking his buttocks and thighs. Relentless pounding numbed his groin. Shaking, Jae-an stared at the ceiling light or wallpaper patterns.
Unable to bear his lukewarm attitude, Jae-rim growled.
“Get hard.”
Direct orders were better. Jae-an gripped his limp penis, rubbing diligently. From physical stimulation, semen soon dribbled weakly.
Jae-rim’s was forceful, flooding inside, but Jae-an’s was thin, trickling powerlessly.
Still a product of arousal, Jae-rim sometimes licked it. Disgusting, low, but no longer strange. No tears or suicidal thoughts meant he’d adapted—pitifully.
Time passed, dull and ordinary days piled up. June passed; summer heat arrived. Blankets thinned, air conditioning used occasionally.
One day, Jae-rim took him to a salon. His overgrown hair, covering his ears, was cut short. Jae-an stared awkwardly at his mirror reflection; Jae-rim laughed, fondling his rounder-looking head.
Another day, they shopped at a department store, buying summer clothes in bulk. Many spring outfits remained unworn, but more piled up. He rarely went out—why so many clothes?
Jae-an concluded haircuts and shopping were Jae-rim’s self-soothing, like applying ointment to wounds he caused. He complied without complaint.
Walking long, trying on clothes was grueling, but chanting payment in his mind, he endured. Saying he loved everything pleased Jae-rim, who bought far more than needed.
Before, Jae-an would’ve grumbled about waste, but now Jae-rim’s mood mattered most.
Leaving menswear, Jae-rim, untired, asked,
“Anything else you want?”
“…Underwear.”
Jae-rim often asked. Jae-an’s automatic reply was always underwear. Today, hoping he’d actually buy, he repeated it.
Unlike usual dismissal, Jae-rim grinned, leading him to an underwear store. Jae-an’s perfect obedience had pleased him.
That day, Jae-an gained twenty pairs of underwear. Wearing them after months bare brought the relief of humanity he’d felt when first allowed clothes.
Arriving home, he put on underwear immediately. The fresh, light cotton tightly hugged his groin and buttocks. After months without, it felt slightly uncomfortable at first, but the snugness brought subtle comfort. He stood before the mirror a long time.
But sensing Jae-rim, Jae-an quickly hid his joy, pulling up his loungewear pants. Jae-rim used liked things as bait to pressure him. If caught cherishing underwear, he’d surely exploit it.
Entering the dressing room, Jae-rim noticed the open underwear boxes.
“Like the underwear? Only tried those, not the clothes.”
“…Just.”
“Should I throw them all out?”
“No… I like them.”
“Looks like it.”
Jae-rim laughed lightly, brushing past. Jae-an’s fondness was already caught.