TTDOTO 9.1

A week ago, Jae-an had a huge fight with Seo Jae-rim.

Calling it a fight felt embarrassing—fights were something you could only have in an equal relationship—but for Jae-an, who habitually erased his emotions and shrank down in front of Seo Jae-rim, it had still been an unfamiliar kind of back-and-forth. He had even slapped Jae-rim and yelled.

He’d been terrified of how severe the punishment would be this time. Instead, it was Seo Jae-rim who bent first and coaxed him. In the end, he did show his twisted displeasure—forcing a brutal, degrading punishment on him—but considering what he was usually like, it was hardly different from being let off.

How had Jae-an found the nerve to stand up to him like that? He couldn’t do it again even if someone told him to. Still, his reluctance to go to Jeju hadn’t changed.

Fortunately, Seo Jae-rim stopped bringing up Jeju, and so far, he hadn’t left Jae-an behind and gone alone, either.

Jae-an’s mind remained uneasy, but after the fight Seo Jae-rim treated him exactly the same. The warped obsession, of course—but also the suffocating tenderness of mixing honey water and leaving it by the bedside every morning before heading to work, unchanged.

Today, too, Jae-an let out a small groan as the heavy aftertaste of intoxication rose up again. He slowly pushed himself upright and lifted the tray with the honey water. Stirring it with the muddler that sat beside it, he drank, then went to wash in the bathroom.

As expected, his skin was a mess—bruises newly blooming all over. It was because Seo Jae-rim had taken advantage of him after he’d blacked out, letting himself run wild.

His stomach and groin were one thing, but the bite marks on his neck bothered him. They weren’t even fully hidden by clothes. He rubbed at them just in case, but they didn’t disappear.

After drying his wet hair, he walked out into the living room. At the same time, the automatic feeder chimed and Jaegu’s lunch kibble poured into the bowl.

Jaegu, unable to decide, kept looking back and forth between the bowl piled high with food and Jae-an stepping out of the room. He hovered at Jae-an’s side—then suddenly darted to the bowl.

It was cute, the way he wavered while setting his priorities. Jae-an let out a soft laugh and opened the refrigerator.

Inside, breakfasts that only needed reheating were lined up in neat rows—several kinds, all prepared. It was Seo Jae-rim’s way of saying: eat whatever you like when I’m not here. But feeling that daily effort—the careful preparation of things that were easy to eat and would fill him up without hassle—only made Jae-an lose his appetite further.

The hint of a smile faded from his face. He sighed quietly and took the sandwich that looked like the smallest portion.

Unwrapping it, he walked over to Jaegu eating beside the bowl. Impressively, Jaegu’s recovery had been fast. The stitches in his side had come out yesterday, and the wound had closed cleanly enough that it seemed like a bath would be fine today.

On walks, Jae-an often saw dogs with their face fur trimmed into a perfect round shape, or wearing cute seasonal outfits.

He wanted to groom Jaegu nicely, too. Buy him clothes that suited his fur color. He had so many things he wanted to do—but wanting to do them meant going out, and that snagged at him. Jae-an stroked Jaegu’s fur, then drew his brows down.

“I think you met the wrong owner.”

Looking gloomy, he sat at the table. With a dry face, he tore open the packaging and chewed the sandwich mechanically. It was packed with fresh ingredients, but he could hardly taste anything.

After fighting with Seo Jae-rim over Jeju, Jae-an’s heart felt even hollower. The fact that he’d screamed and raged like a lunatic because he couldn’t leave the house even for two nights and three days filled him with self-disgust. And he hated Seo Jae-rim for bringing it up at all—dragging his mind into filth for no reason.

Must be nice, talking like it’s nothing.

While Jae-an was being worn down day by day, Seo Jae-rim seemed not to care at all. Of course he didn’t. Unlike Jae-an, who was losing everything, Seo Jae-rim no longer even had to hide his dirty desire. How comfortable must that be.

Seo Jae-rim kept gripping Jae-an’s hand and pulling him deeper into the sea. The waves rose to just under his chin, as if one wrong breath would force burning seawater up his nose. Yet Seo Jae-rim insisted it still wasn’t deep and dragged him farther out.

Even if Jae-an tried to say it wasn’t deep for him—that it was already too deep and too dark for Jae-an—his words got swallowed by the sound of the surf.

There was nothing to hold onto but Seo Jae-rim. And even when Jae-an tried to let go—hoping to be swept away by the current because he hated holding on—Seo Jae-rim didn’t allow it.

He waited like a hunter who’d laid a trap, calmly waiting for Jae-an to cling to him through the rough current until he finally sank.

In a life like this, abandoning Seo Jae-rim first and escaping was never going to be possible.

Jae-an pressed a hand to his chest. He resented the heart that kept beating stubbornly. When would this pounding finally quiet down? With a sullen face, he lowered his hand.

As he chewed the sandwich with a sunken expression, a black shape flickered in the corner of the dining room—as if it had been waiting. Jae-an froze without even swallowing.

He lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut. When he closed his eyes, every sense besides sight sharpened too much. The rolling blackness felt like it was wrapping around his ankles like a tongue; it felt like it carried the stench of rotting bodies. In his hand, the sandwich crumpled, sticky sauce seeping into the lines of his palm.

“Uh… ngh…”

He wanted someone—anyone—to tell him there was nothing there. That it was all just a hallucination and he could relax.

Instead, a sneering voice came, as if it had been waiting.

The mockery from that night: How many lives have you ruined? Maybe one of them is holding a grudge.

Jae-an spat out words like a seizure.

“It’s all fake….”

It had to be fake—something his guilt had created. He had to be seeing things because he’d gone mad. If it wasn’t a hallucination, then it was truly terrifying.

“Fake. I said it’s fake.”

His closely clipped nails dug harder into the fabric over his thigh. Even when he scratched, even when he pinched until it bled, the shape didn’t shrink.

In the end he set down the sandwich, crushed like a lump of clay, and slapped his cheek.

The sharp sound made tears sting at his eyes. Enduring the throbbing burn, he opened them—and a clean white wall greeted him.

The breath he’d been holding burst out, ragged. With bloodshot eyes, Jae-an stared hard at where the shape had been, then snatched up the sandwich and chewed it down with irritated force.

His swollen cheek smeared with sauce. With empty eyes, he crammed the rest in and swallowed.

He’d been lying on one side too long; his shoulder hurt. Jae-an rolled over on the rug and watched the garden through the floor-to-ceiling window.

The sky was clear, sunlight pouring through the glass into the living room. It spilled across his body, yet it wasn’t hot. At some point, he hadn’t even touched the air conditioner button. He had to admit summer was over.

It had been a long, exhausting season.

The moment he felt Jaegu licking at his ankle, his meaningless spiraling thoughts snapped. Jae-an forced himself up for Jaegu, who seemed bored.

He played tug-of-war with a yarn doll, then threw a rubber ball. Jaegu was still lively, but Jae-an was the only one panting. With his ankle throbbing, he clutched it and struggled to catch his breath beside Jaegu, who barked insistently for the ball.

Maybe because the ball wasn’t coming fast enough, Jaegu lost interest quickly and flopped down. Jae-an smacked his lips awkwardly and turned on the tablet game.

He’d installed a new block game, but strangely, he couldn’t get past the beginner level. There were plenty of blocks, but he couldn’t decide what to press first; by the time he hesitated, the time limit ran out. Even paid items that extended the timer didn’t change the result.

“This isn’t fun.”

Sighing, Jae-an pushed the tablet away. He turned on the TV and resumed a movie he’d been watching. The highlight scenes flashed brilliantly, but Jae-an’s expression didn’t change. He couldn’t remember why the protagonist was fighting so desperately.

Lately, it was always like this. Even if the synopsis intrigued him and he started watching, he couldn’t really understand what was happening. In those moments, it was easier to rewatch something he’d seen before. Jae-an restarted a movie he’d already watched four times.

He brought over the whiskey and cup Seo Jae-rim had left out and settled in. When Jaegu showed interest in the chocolate balls he’d taken out as a snack, Jae-an tore open a duck-meat chew treat for him instead.

A familiar movie was easier to follow, but it got boring quickly. Jae-an fought the drowsiness brought on by the alcohol and eventually lay diagonally on the sofa, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Mm…”

He thought he’d only nodded off briefly, but the sun had already set and the living room was dim. The movie had long ended; the playback bar sat all the way to the right, reflecting only a black screen. His brown eyes landed on the wall clock.

It was past eight, but Seo Jae-rim still hadn’t come home.

After adopting Jaegu, Seo Jae-rim usually returned before dinner. That way they could eat together and walk Jaegu before it got too dark.

Is he busy?

Even telling himself that, Jae-an kept checking the time.

In the past, being late without notice was common. Recently, though, because of Jae-an’s episodes, Seo Jae-rim would either tell him he’d be late or call ahead and say where he could be reached.

Had he gone to Jeju? Or was he late because he was doing something rotten again?

Jae-an didn’t want to wait, but he kept waiting anyway, and it made him angry. With a sharpened expression, he filled the glass and forced it down. Swallowing that much straight made his throat burn, heat streaming out through his nostrils.

Even as his face twisted with discomfort, he filled the glass again and again and emptied it. If he got drunk, time would pass faster. He wanted to borrow the intoxication and fall asleep again.

Even while drinking mechanically, his dry, bloodshot eyes stayed fixed on the clock, and his ears—dulled and stuffed—stayed locked on the entryway.

He yanked open the curtains from the window, hoping to see headlights. He couldn’t actually see the garage beyond the dark garden, but he still kept turning his head, trying to read any movement outside the terrace, pacing near the glass. The feeling of his heart fluttering in tiny, frantic beats was unbearable.

“Why aren’t you coming….”

Slurring, he sank onto the sofa and rubbed his face with both hands. If his swollen cheek didn’t hurt even when he rubbed it, he must be properly drunk—but he hadn’t even noticed, too focused on Seo Jae-rim.

He looked at the clock with red-rimmed eyes. It was already past two in the morning. Still, there was no sign of Seo Jae-rim.

“What is this….”

His thin breathing turned strangely rough.

Maybe he’d fallen asleep without realizing it and they’d missed each other. He searched the nearest bedroom, then the guest room, then the many other rooms, the bathrooms, and the terrace.

Seo Jae-rim was nowhere.

It was ridiculous, but he even lifted the sofa cushions once.

Dropping onto the sofa with a despairing face, Jae-an felt absurd—he’d waited and still couldn’t sleep properly. And if Seo Jae-rim truly hadn’t come back, his heart dropped so hard it physically hurt.

“……!”

Then, beyond the terrace, there was a dull scraping sound—something heavy dragging against a wall. A tearing noise followed, like wheels scraping hard over ground. It sounded like a crash, and Jae-an’s eyes turned outside on their own.

And then, not long after, came the mechanical beep of the front door unlocking. Even Jaegu—curled up asleep on the cushion—jerked awake and ran toward the entryway, as if he couldn’t believe it.

Only then did blood surge belatedly into Jae-an’s head.

Should he ask why he was late? Say he’d been waiting? Or act like he didn’t care, the way he usually did? Being late without calling was a different pattern, and Seo Jae-rim was the type who would be measuring even Jae-an’s reaction.

Jae-an stayed seated and bit his nails, turning over what the “right” reaction was—the one that would avoid punishment.

The front door opened.

Thud.

A sound that didn’t fit followed. It wasn’t the door closing, or shoes coming off, or slippers sliding on, or footsteps toward the living room.

It sounded like something heavy collapsing to the floor.

As if pulled by something unseen, Jae-an rose from the sofa and moved down the hallway on hesitant feet. In the dim entryway—where even the indirect light had gone out—there was a slumped silhouette.

A small sound—hic, hic—came out, like Jae-an’s own hiccups had once been. His brows creased.

Drinking….

Seeing him collapsed like a drunk, Jae-an felt a shameful flicker of relief. Should he leave him there? Drag him to the bedroom?

Honestly, he didn’t want to touch Seo Jae-rim with even a finger after being made miserable all day.

But something felt wrong when the animal-like breath leaking through Seo Jae-rim’s teeth sounded like a moan.

With a sinking feeling, Jae-an stepped closer.

The closer he got to the entryway, the stronger an unpleasant metallic stench became. When Seo Jae-rim let out a sound like he was scraping his throat, Jae-an’s pace quickened, and then—triggered by Jae-an’s presence—the entryway light flicked back on.

“Seo… Jae-rim…?”

And Jae-an dropped to his knees without meaning to.

On the pale marble floor, fresh blood had already pooled into a round, dark puddle.

Seo Jae-rim sat with his back against the shoe cabinet, head bowed like a dead man. Even the occasional sounds had stopped.

“Jae-rim… what—what is this…?”

With trembling hands, Jae-an shook Seo Jae-rim’s shoulder. No response.

He ran to the nearest bathroom and grabbed towels—anything. He didn’t know where the blood was coming from, but he had to stop it.

His hands shook violently as he fumbled, searching for where to press. When he lifted the jacket, he saw the jacket and shirt were soaked through. The shirt was torn; he pressed the towel down onto the raw red skin exposed beneath.

The speed at which blood soaked through the white towel was wrong. Terrifyingly fast.

Seo Jae-rim—how he found the strength, Jae-an didn’t know—suddenly pulled him into a tight embrace. Even that small movement made it feel like the bleeding surged, and Jae-an’s face went pale.

“B-blood… Jae-rim. You’re bleeding. There’s so much….”

“…….”

“Don’t move. Please. Stop.”

Even so, Seo Jae-rim didn’t loosen his arms. He rested his forehead against Jae-an’s neck.

Was he trying to say something? Only hoarse, leaking sounds came out, and Jae-an couldn’t understand him. He bit his lip hard. Jaegu, not understanding, kept whining anxiously—the dog could feel the fear in the air.

That was when Jae-an realized the buzzing vibration that had been going on and on. He hurriedly searched Seo Jae-rim’s pockets. The phone was in the inside pocket of his jacket.

The name on the screen made Jae-an’s brows lift: Han Jong-seok. Seo Jae-rim’s secretary.

He tried to answer, but the phone kept slipping in his bloody hand. He finally connected the call and wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, pressing both hands down on Seo Jae-rim’s abdomen.

[CEO? Where are you?]

“…….”

[Are you okay? Jae-rim?]

Han Jong-seok sounded urgent—unlike himself. Jae-an’s brows pinched hard.

“S-Secretary Han…?”

[Jae-an? Where is the CEO right now?]

“He’s bleeding a lot. Jae-rim is—there’s so much blood from his stomach….”

Jae-an reported the situation in a frantic tangle of words, barely aware of what he was saying.

Even while clearly panicked, Han Jong-seok gave calm instructions: do not call 119. He would send a doctor to the house. Leave the door open. Stay with him and keep him from losing consciousness if possible.

Jae-an asked why—how this had happened. There was a long silence. Then Han Jong-seok answered vaguely that something had happened during a meeting with a Chinese buyer. Jae-an didn’t press.

After saying he’d be there soon, Han Jong-seok ended the call. Jae-an followed instructions, taking a key card from Seo Jae-rim’s wallet and leaving the door open, then pressing a fresh towel to the wound.

There was nothing else he could do.

Only keep calling his name.

“Seo Jae-rim….”

At least, when Jae-an called him, Seo Jae-rim’s eyelids twitched. Terrified that he would sink into sleep forever, Jae-an must have said his name dozens of times.

At first, Seo Jae-rim would open his eyes—faintly. But at some point he stopped lifting his lids at all. Trembling, Jae-an lightly slapped Seo Jae-rim’s cold cheek.

“Seo Jae-rim. Jae-rim?”

When he saw Seo Jae-rim sway limply with every shake, Jae-an felt his sanity snap. His lips twitched as a shaking voice leaked out.

“You… you know you can’t die like this.”

This was the first time Seo Jae-rim hadn’t reacted to his name. Before showing his true nature, he’d clung so close it was exhausting. After, he’d obsessed so intensely it was frightening.

“Seo Jae-rim, this isn’t….”

Leaving like this was unfair.

With eyes red and burning, Jae-an searched Seo Jae-rim’s ashen face desperately. He needed proof of life—something different from his mother’s cold, rigid body. His gaze shook wildly as he tried to find any difference at all.

He touched Seo Jae-rim’s cold fingers, then let them go, doubtful. Seo Jae-rim’s hands were always cold; that didn’t prove anything.

Jae-an tilted his head and pressed an ear to Seo Jae-rim’s chest. His own heartbeat was so loud he couldn’t hear anything else. He cursed himself for being too stupid to understand something obvious.

He sat back and stared at Seo Jae-rim’s colorless face, and his brows crumpled.

“You made me into this idiot… and you’re the only one who gets to slip away….”

He couldn’t finish. A sob spilled out.

Seo Jae-rim’s face was too pale. There was too much blood—enough to soak towels and still pool on the floor. Jae-an couldn’t bring himself to say anything cruel.

“Jae-rim… say something….”

“…….”

“Please. Don’t die.”

A truth he didn’t want to admit burst out of him. His vision warped with tears.

“Seo Jae-rim. Don’t die.”

He still hated him. He still resented him. But the thought of him dying brought up something unbearable.

No matter how much the old tenderness had been an act, Seo Jae-rim was still Jae-an’s only family and friend—the closest person he’d had since he was ten.

Even if Seo Jae-rim had changed, those memories hadn’t vanished. If anything, those memories were exactly what kept Jae-an confused.

The moments that had soothed his loneliness at Seo Jae-rim’s side for eighteen years were still vivid.

He knew it was pathetic, but every time he saw the honey water Seo Jae-rim mixed and the carefully prepared meals, he was dragged back to the past. Even with all the pretense stripped away, tenderness still clung to Seo Jae-rim like habit—so Jae-an felt suffocated and sick of it, yet couldn’t stop longing for what had been.

If those eighteen years of kindness hadn’t existed, it would have been easier. He could have hated Seo Jae-rim cleanly, without confusion.

But Jae-an couldn’t erase those memories—not even if he went mad.

If this Seo Jae-rim left, then the only warmth ever given to him would leave too. In the end, Jae-an couldn’t let go of the cold hand.

“Jae-rim. Jae-rim. Don’t die.”

“…….”

“If you die, then I… what do I do? Why does everyone leave me….”

His father, his mother—everyone close to him met the same ending. If Seo Jae-rim met the same end too, wasn’t there something wrong with him?

He could see it: Seo Jae-rim dead, and himself alone in an empty house—slapping his cheeks and pinching his thighs until the visions faded, then on days when he regained a bit of reason, cursing himself as he wavered endlessly between living and dying.

“If you die… I’ll die too. You hate it when I die. So you have to live, Seo Jae-rim.”

“…….”

“Please—open your eyes…!”

Jae-an’s face was soaked with sweat and tears. Panic and fear surged until his vision spun. He pressed his forehead to Seo Jae-rim’s chest and sobbed, too cold and too terrified to endure it.

Then he heard movement outside.

“Jae-an!”

“Hah….”

A doctor carrying blood packs rushed into the entryway, followed by Han Jong-seok, then Park Seo-won a moment later. With their help, Seo Jae-rim was moved to the bed. Drops of blood dotted the floor from the entryway to the bedroom.

Jae-an, wary of the sudden strangers, put Jaegu—barking loudly—into the carrier. Seeing Jaegu’s eyes shake with anxiety, Jae-an stroked his forehead and spoke in the most reassuring voice he could manage.

It’ll be okay. Nothing will happen.

He repeated it because Jaegu needed to hear it.

And because he did, too.

“Playing games.”

[Doing well?]

“Just….”

[I’ll be there in 10 minutes, so get ready.]

“Huh? You’re coming home?”

[Yes. We need to pick up Baekgu.]

“Oh, right.”

[It’s chilly, so wear long sleeves.]

“Okay.”

Jae-an went to the dressing room and pulled out clothes. His ankle throbbed from hurrying anxiously. Rubbing the sharp ankle bone, Jae-an waited at the entrance holding the dog carrier.

Soon the front door opened and Seo Jae-rim entered. Upon spotting Jae-an standing at the entrance, Seo Jae-rim snickered.

“Can’t tell who the puppy is.”

Instead of answering, Jae-an put on his shoes and held the door open so Seo Jae-rim wouldn’t close it before stepping outside. At the hospital, they completed Baekgu’s discharge paperwork. A nurse brought Baekgu out in her arms, and the small puppy, frightened by the unfamiliar hospital, had buried its head deeply into the nurse’s forearm.

The nurse handed Baekgu to Jae-an. As he carefully picked him up, Baekgu immediately nestled its warm body against him.

Whether Baekgu recognized him or not, the fact that he wagged his tail at the right moment made Jae-an’s chest flutter. Compared to when he’d last seen him, his condition had clearly improved. Watching the small creature overcome its pain seemed remarkable.

The stitches would be removed in about ten days. Baekgu was wearing gauze on his side, and they said that after the gauze naturally fell off, he’d need to wear an Elizabethan collar so he wouldn’t lick the wound. After hearing all the precautions, Jae-an headed home.

When he opened the carrier, Baekgu showed no response. Looking down, he found the puppy had tightly closed his eyes and curled up inside. Not wanting to wake the sleeping pup, Jae-an gently set him down in a spot with good sunlight. Seo Jae-rim crouched down, touching Jae-an’s hair lightly as he examined the sleeping face.

“Oh, that’s right. Baekgu is such a common name, don’t you think? If you can think of a good one, keep it in mind.”

“Really? Baekgu seems fine though.”

“The dog in the next bed over was also named Baekgu.”

“Ah…. Okay, I’ll think about it.”

It had been such a hastily given name that it was indeed common and childish. Watching the small, troubled face, Seo Jae-rim withdrew his hand and said goodbye.

“I’ll head back to work.”

Left alone in the house, Jae-an mulled over a new name for Baekgu even while playing games and snacking from the refrigerator. Looking at his fluffy fur, clouds came to mind. His round, small shape resembled a hotteok¹ or injeolmi tteok.² Jae-an, pondering various names, dozed off sitting diagonally on the sofa.

“……!”

Startling awake, Baekgu also jumped in surprise at the sudden movement. Jae-an apologized and reached out his hand. His fingertips were already wet with saliva. While he’d slept, his arm had hung off the sofa, and the puppy had been licking his fingers the whole time.

As Jae-an pushed himself up, Baekgu clung closer and barked, making a perfect O with his mouth.

“Hmm. Hungry?”

Hurriedly, Jae-an poured kibble into a bowl. He also refilled the half-empty water bowl, and Baekgu immediately buried his face in the food dish. The urgent smacking sounds indicated real hunger.

“Eat slowly.”

For some reason, he was reminded of a ten-year-old child frantically eating a Swiss roll cake. Jae-an crouched beside him and watched Baekgu empty the bowl.

In the blink of an eye, Baekgu had eaten everything and fussed around Jae-an’s side. Jae-an stroked his forehead and chin.

Baekgu, melting into increasingly comfortable positions, soon fell asleep on the rug. The saying that young puppies sleep a lot seemed true, given how he slept at all hours. Regretting that the purchased cushion wasn’t being used, Jae-an carefully laid Baekgu on the dog bed. As the sun began to set, golden sunlight streamed into the house.

Fascinated by the sleeping form, Jae-an crossed his arms at his sides and watched. Baekgu was mixed-breed, they’d said. He looked like several types of dogs combined, and they couldn’t say how big he’d grow. Whether small or large, Baekgu seemed like he’d be cute either way.

“Your eyelashes are white too. Do you have double eyelids?”

As Jae-an murmured, Baekgu’s ears twitched, and Jae-an, startled, closed his mouth. Then he suddenly realized he’d been speaking so naturally to something other than Seo Jae-rim. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a normal conversation with anyone but Jae-rim. Baekgu couldn’t answer or ask questions back—that’s probably why it felt easier.

Listening to the soft snoring, he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. His eyes drifted to the light fixture hanging from the high white ceiling. In that drowsy state, his body felt heavy, but then something faint in a corner of the wall began to take shape.

“Ha….”

Biting his lip, he covered his eyes with his forearm. Despite seeing nothing, his mind conjured concrete images—his mother’s resentful gaze, Jang Han-seong’s corpse gone white with foam at his lips, the unknown foreigner with a severed wrist. All monsters born from his trauma and guilt.

Jae-an shook his head and then pounded his thighs forcefully. Hitting his cheeks would alert Seo Jae-rim, so his thighs—hidden by clothes—were his only safe target.

The searing pain, almost burning, made his mind clearer. Frantically scratching and hitting his thighs, he felt something warm touch his hand. Jae-an’s shoulders trembled as he opened tear-filled eyes.

“Huh?”

Baekgu had pushed Jae-an’s hand with his head. When Jae-an, bewildered, withdrew his hand, the puppy licked over his loungewear. More precisely, over the thighs where blood was seeping through. Realizing the situation belatedly, Jae-an let out a small sigh.

“Sorry for waking you up.”

Baekgu licked his thigh, then opened his mouth wide in a huge yawn before flopping down. Since Baekgu’s head was resting on his thigh, Jae-an couldn’t move. Listening to the puppy’s steady breathing, Jae-an blinked his dry eyes and looked back up at the ceiling. Fortunately, the dark shape had disappeared.

He woke with a sinking sensation in his body. Darkness had fallen, and not a single light entered the living room. Jae-an blinked his dry eyes and wiped his cheeks.

It had become habit to close his eyes whenever something touched his head; now he could sleep well even on a hard floor rather than a bed. Not being able to sleep properly without sleeping pills felt like a past life.

Seo Jae-rim seemed to have draped the blanket over him. Jae-an gathered the blanket as he slowly pushed himself up. He checked the cushion, but Baekgu, who’d been sleeping soundly, was gone. Jae-an rose and headed toward the dining room where delicious smells wafted. The sound of something frying in a pan was loud.

Seo Jae-rim was busy preparing dinner. Around his bustling figure, Baekgu also seemed busy—biting at the slippers Seo Jae-rim wore and fussing about. Seo Jae-rim crossed the kitchen with long strides, narrowly avoiding the puppy. Jae-an felt nervous about Jae-rim’s careless footsteps—what if he accidentally touched the wound?

“Here.”

Just then, Seo Jae-rim cut the root of the cabbage he was stir-frying and tossed it to Baekgu. The puppy frantically chewed the piece of cabbage. Apparently pleased, he quickly tilted his head back and clung to Seo Jae-rim’s leg, his short legs demanding more. Finding the small creature’s brave requests amusing, Seo Jae-rim tossed another cabbage piece and turned his head toward Jae-an.

“You’re awake?”

“Yeah.”

At Jae-an’s voice, Baekgu immediately ran over. Jae-an carefully picked up the puppy bounding over on short legs.

The kitchen was still an active cooking space—potentially dangerous for a pup still bearing stitches. Seo Jae-rim looked at Jae-an and the puppy in his arms before turning his head sharply.

“It’ll be ready soon, so sit.”

Jae-an portioned out Baekgu’s evening kibble into a bowl and set the puppy down in front of it. With no one competing for his food, Baekgu still ate urgently. Jae-an pulled out a chair and sat at the table.

Tonight was Chinese cuisine. There were many meat dishes and oily preparations, but near Jae-an’s seat sat watercress soup, egg drop soup, and crab meat congee. Apparently, considering how Jae-an would get indigestion from anything too rich or salty, Seo Jae-rim had prepared additional dishes.

Just counting the number of dishes made Jae-an uncomfortable; he rubbed his stomach in a circle. Though he’d become insensitive to this lifestyle, his gut still instinctively rejected food.

Emotions festering inside often surfaced as unexplained fevers or poor digestion. For the past eighteen years, Seo Jae-rim’s food had always tasted genuinely delicious. Perhaps because it so plainly revealed how much their relationship had changed, Seo Jae-rim would visibly pout and click his tongue irritably when Jae-an struggled to eat.

Since Seo Jae-rim tested his jealousy, Jae-an had felt abandonment anxiety acutely and resolved to do his best with what he could control: eating, not getting sick. Neither was easy, but he didn’t want to further upset Seo Jae-rim.

He scooped a spoonful of congee made with crab meat and ate it. Appropriately warm and soft, it was easy to swallow. Seo Jae-rim ate fried meat with salad. As they quietly emptied their bowls, Seo Jae-rim posed a question.

“Did you think of a new name for Baekgu?”

“Oh, yeah. I did think about it.”

Jae-an, fiddling with his spoon, recited the names he’d mulled over all day.

“Because it’s so round like white rice cake, I thought of injeolmi tteok, and similar in feel were tofu and hotteok, which also seemed nice. Since his fur’s white, clouds, milk, and winter also seemed good. Somsom… I thought about Somsom too. You know, because it’s cotton?³ The cotton in quilts…. Oh, and if I named him in English, it might be a bit more refined? I thought about that too—names like Leo or Louis.”

Seo Jae-rim listened silently as Jae-an spoke without pause for breath, then nodded. Jae-an touched his neck and asked hesitantly.

“Too many, right? What do you think sounds good?”

“Hmm.”

Seo Jae-rim, placing fried meat on a side plate with chopsticks, answered.

“Jaegu.”

Jae-an’s eyebrows rose.

“Huh? Jaegu?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t see that coming….”

While Seo Jae-rim chewed the fried meat thoroughly, he made eye contact.

“I thought Jaegu would be nice.”

“Ah, ah. Sure…. Yeah. Your opinion matters too.”

Jae-an nodded in agreement.

“So what should we pick?”

“I think Jaegu would be nice.”

“Ah. I think Milk suits him a bit better….”

“I prefer Jaegu. Since we’re raising him together, using a shared character would be nice.”

The feeling was so different from what Jae-an had considered that he scratched the back of his head. Jaegu wasn’t uncommon, so it wasn’t bad, but he’d expected a different feeling once they changed from Baekgu.

Honestly, having already distanced himself from the name Baekgu, it seemed somehow tacky, but he didn’t voice it. Seo Jae-rim’s expression was serious—being honest would hurt him.

Sensing Jae-an’s hesitation, Seo Jae-rim offered a compromise.

“How about we do it this way? Whoever wins at a game gets to name him.”

He seemed to mean the console games they played after meals. Jae-an nodded. His win rate in console games was one hundred percent. Since Seo Jae-rim would let him win anyway, he’d just playfully played along.

After eating a few more spoonfuls of crab congee, Jae-an set down his spoon. Seo Jae-rim glanced at the remaining congee.

“I promised to eat well to raise Jaegu.”

“Oh, right.”

The way Seo Jae-rim already called him Jaegu bothered Jae-an a little, but he obediently picked up the spoon. Swallowing the urge to leave some, he filled his mouth with congee. While he struggled, Seo Jae-rim placed fried meat on the empty spoon. The meat required more chewing, which was taxing, but he mechanically moved his jaw. He didn’t want to hear threats about Jaegu.

Having finished eating earlier, Seo Jae-rim waited for Jae-an to finish before clearing the dishes. The two walked from the dining room and, as if by agreement, sat on the sofa and picked up controllers.

The sound of button presses was more passionate than conversation. After a fierce match, a long-haired princess character bounced joyfully across the screen. A character boasting a massive build squeezed out tears in a corner.

Seo Jae-rim set down his controller with a satisfied smile.

“Jaegu wants to get on the sofa.”

Baekgu—or rather, Jaegu—had his front paws on the sofa, panting. Jae-an, still not accepting the result, only blinked at the now-switched-to-standby screen.

“I… lost…?”

“You lost, hyung.”

For the first time. Jae-an, unable to easily accept his first defeat, faintly furrowed his brow.

“Why…?”

“You lose sometimes when gaming. Pick Jaegu up. He’s whining.”

With a bewildered expression, Jae-an picked up Jaegu. Once on the sofa, Jaegu eagerly sniffed at Jae-an and Seo Jae-rim before settling midway through with a soft thud. A slightly more refined name occurred to Jae-an. He spoke carefully.

“If we really have to use a shared character…. How about Jaeri?”

“We decided on Jaegu.”

Seo Jae-rim answered flatly, and the moment he called out “Jaegu,” the puppy lifted his small head and rushed to Seo Jae-rim. Noticing Jae-an’s expression wasn’t bright, Seo Jae-rim scratched the back of Jaegu’s neck and asked.

“Want a rematch if you’re that upset?”

“…Never mind.”

Jae-an didn’t want another confirmation of how much Seo Jae-rim had been letting him win. Ironically, Jaegu seemed perfectly comfortable in Seo Jae-rim’s arms. Jae-an fiddled with the controller and shut off the game.