TTDOTO 9.2

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.

The storm of a dawn passed, and morning came.

All night, Seo Jae-rim lost consciousness and came back to it—over and over. The doctor, too, looked wrecked after finishing the urgent measures: stitches, transfusions.

Rubbing at the dark circles under his eyes, the doctor let out a deep sigh, then gave Jae-an—sitting rigidly with his head bowed—a brief explanation of Seo Jae-rim’s condition. Considering how much blood he’d lost, it was fortunate the wound itself hadn’t been deep. If the stab had gone in farther, there could’ve been internal bleeding, and that would’ve been dangerous. But they’d made it through the worst of the night, and his life shouldn’t be in danger now.

Hearing that, Jae-an thought of a body covered in scars.

He’d never really studied Jae-rim’s bare skin, so he hadn’t noticed—but as the doctor worked, Jae-rim’s body had been laid brutally plain, and it was dotted with small cuts. Along the back of his waist, one wound looked like it had been deep; it had healed into a raised bulge. This hadn’t happened once or twice.

The doctor studied Jae-an’s face—still no response, even after the explanation. Since dawn, Jae-an hadn’t been breathing deeply; he’d only been spilling tears, drop after drop, and his complexion was awful. The doctor started an IV made from a mix of sedative and nutrients. When the doctor said he would be going now, Han Jong-seok offered to see him out, and they left the bedroom together.

Jae-an stared at the spot where gauze had been taped over the stitches. He didn’t know how much blood had poured out from there.

People don’t die easily, Seo Jae-rim had said once—those words clung wetly to Jae-an’s ear.

Jae-an knew what Seo Jae-rim did was wrong, cruel—something that hurt people. But he hadn’t understood that Seo Jae-rim himself could be in danger, too. How often would nightmares like this come, without warning?

“…M-Mr. Jae-an?”

While he was lost in thought, a gentle hand shook his shoulder lightly. Jae-an turned his head quickly. Park Seo-won smiled, eyes crinkling, and whispered in a soft, careful voice.

“The doctor’s left. Secretary Han and I are going to get a little sleep in one of the spare rooms and head out tomorrow. You should lie down and rest too, Mr. Jae-an. If anything happens, call me.”

Nodding, Jae-an brought Jaegu—hunched and trembling in his carrier—into the room. He stroked Jaegu’s back without stopping, and kept quiet watch by Seo Jae-rim’s side. Jae-rim’s face was still pale, but unlike at the entryway, his breathing was even and steady.

Only then did the tension drain out of Jae-an’s body, and sleepiness rolled in. Jaegu seemed the same; he began to purr and snore. Jae-an laid him on the nearby sofa, then leaned over the edge of the mattress with his arms folded beneath him. As he stared at Seo Jae-rim’s chest rising and falling, his eyelids started to open and close more slowly, again and again.

Jae-an sank into deep sleep without even dreaming. When he finally woke, his neck was knotted with stiffness. Yellow light spilled through the bedroom curtains he hadn’t fully closed, scattering across the blanket. Sometime while he dozed, the sun had come up.

Blinking through swollen eyes, Jae-an lifted his head and checked Seo Jae-rim first.

“……”
“……”

Their eyes met.

At some point, Seo Jae-rim had regained consciousness. He was already propped against the headboard, looking straight at Jae-an.

“…Are you okay?”

It meant everything at once—Is your body okay? Can you be sitting up already? Seo Jae-rim’s mouth curved loosely.

“Yes.”

His voice was rough and low, still unmistakably the voice of someone hurt.

“I’ll get you some water.”

As Jae-an moved to push himself up, his eyes twitched. His fingertips were resting across the back of Seo Jae-rim’s hand—where the IV needle was taped in place. He must have touched him in his sleep without realizing it.

When Jae-an pulled his hand away, Seo Jae-rim looked at the spot their fingers had been.

Then, suddenly, Seo Jae-rim burst into laughter. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, laughing openly—then immediately winced, frowning as pain caught him, folding at the waist. Startled, Jae-an grabbed his forearm.

“Hey—don’t laugh….”

“Ah… It’s because what you’re doing is cute.”

When Jae-an loosened his hold, Seo Jae-rim caught his hand as if snatching it before it could retreat, and gently rocked it once or twice.

“I’m the one who got hurt… so why do you look so drawn after just one day, hyung?”

Instead of answering, Jae-an tried to push his hand down and free it. Seo Jae-rim’s hand—already usually cold—was icy now. Jae-an swallowed his irritation and replied.

“It wasn’t a minor injury. Of course I couldn’t sleep.”

“You cried because you were worried about me, didn’t you? That’s a face that’s been crying.”

Jae-an sighed and pulled his hand out.

“The doctor left, and Park Seo-won and the secretary stayed the night in a spare room. I’ll go bring them.”

Seo Jae-rim couldn’t stop smiling as he watched Jae-an leave while giving an answer that had nothing to do with what was said.

In Seo Jae-rim’s mind, Jae-an’s voice—begging him not to die, breaking into sobs—remained painfully vivid. Unfortunately, he couldn’t remember Jae-an’s crying face at all.

It must have been beautiful.

His hazy, flickering consciousness was the only thing he could resent.

After bringing Seo Jae-rim water, Jae-an carried Jaegu—still half-asleep—out into the living room. Han Jong-seok and Park Seo-won went into the bedroom like they were handing off a baton, and the door stayed closed for a long time.

It was still early—barely after sunrise. Setting Jaegu down, Jae-an looked around the house.

“…….”

Yesterday’s horror was still there, untouched.

Jae-an grabbed wet towels from the bathroom, knelt, and began wiping—slowly—from the bedroom entrance down the hallway. Part of it was so Jaegu wouldn’t step in blood. But he also didn’t want anyone else cleaning it up. Before he knew it, he’d made it to the entryway.

The entryway was so bad it made him nauseated just looking at it. One towel wasn’t even close to enough. Dried blood didn’t come off easily, no matter how many times he scrubbed.

When he was done, he hand-washed the filthy towels in water so cold his fingertips turned red and numb. He showered in the nearby bathroom, too, and washed every piece of clothing he’d been wearing. His hands—his face—his clothes—everything had been smeared with blood.

Even after washing carefully and changing into fresh loungewear, he still felt as if a metallic smell lingered beneath his nose. He pressed his face into a sleeve that smelled of fabric softener, then slowly shook his head.

Jaegu must have been exhausted, too. He’d wandered around Jae-an while he cleaned, then fallen asleep—only to wake at the automatic feeder’s chime. To soothe him after a fright that must’ve shaken him as badly as it had shaken Jae-an, Jae-an gave him treats and played fetch. His body felt heavy with accumulated stress, but he kept moving. If he stopped, the anxiety would catch him.

That was when the bedroom door opened and the two men walked out.

Jae-an rose awkwardly. Standing in front of him, they gave a quick update on Seo Jae-rim.

“He fell asleep again. He acts like he’s fine, but I guess he’s exhausted.”

“In the afternoon, someone will come by to prepare meals. If the CEO is sleeping, just open the door for them.”

Both of them looked more rumpled than usual, their darkened faces showing the fatigue they’d been carrying. Watching them step into rooms to gather their things, Jae-an moved quickly—then, as Park Seo-won opened a door, he followed him in without thinking.

Park Seo-won, about to close it, flinched at the sensation of something caught. Turning, he saw Jae-an rubbing the forearm that had been pinned by the door.

“You startled me. What is it?”

“Ah… sorry. I just—there’s something I want to ask.”

“Oh. Sure. Go ahead.”

Jae-an worried at his lip, then shut the door. When he finally spoke, the question he’d been holding all night came out in a small, hoarse voice.

“What Seo Jae-rim does… is it really that dangerous?”

“Come on. You can ask him directly.”

He sounded warm, but Jae-an could feel the defensive stance—how Park was dodging the answer. Expecting something gentler, Jae-an hesitated and stumbled over his words.

“He… doesn’t really tell me.”

“True. Up until recently, you only thought Jae-rim ran a restaurant, right?”

When Jae-an nodded, Park Seo-won smiled.

“I don’t think I can tell you what Seo Jae-rim chooses not to say. Sorry I can’t help.”

So Park Seo-won was on Seo Jae-rim’s side, too.

Hiding his disappointment, Jae-an bowed his head. He reached for the doorknob to leave, but Park Seo-won suddenly asked—

“Are you worried about Seo Jae-rim?”

It was hard to answer, so Jae-an only held his gaze. Park tilted his head and smiled faintly.

“It’s just surprising to see you worry about him.”

“…….”

“If Seo Jae-rim dies… doesn’t this… ‘life’ end for you?”

As he stretched out the words—choosing the vague phrase this life—his dark eyes slid over Jae-an’s neck. He was clearly looking at the bite marks.

Jae-an wanted to cover them, but worried it would look even more self-conscious, so he only drew his shoulders in, awkwardly.

Even when he touched at his stinging thigh, no words came. He didn’t know how to explain feelings he couldn’t even understand himself. What would be the point of grabbing someone who knew nothing and trying to explain how kind and dependable Seo Jae-rim had once been, what he’d meant to Jae-an?

Either way, he’d only look like a fool—someone being hurt but still unable to run from an open pen.

Resigned, Jae-an asked back in a tired voice.

“If he dies… will everything end?”

“…….”

“…I don’t think it will.”

Jae-an let his hand fall away from his thigh and gave a hollow, empty laugh.

“…I guess I really am strange.”

“…….”

“Honestly… I’m fine.”

Park Seo-won looked startled by the words, and strangely, that made Jae-an feel calmer. Maybe he was broken past the point of repair—pretending to be normal felt harder than simply showing the bottom.

“If I just… put up with the pain and let him do what he wants… he cooks good food, buys me whatever I want. So if he dies… he can’t.”

Answering as if he “enjoyed” this life made Park Seo-won’s eyes shake instead, like he’d glimpsed a rotting abyss. Then, realizing he’d let his expression slip, he forced a smile.

“If I overstepped, I’m sorry.”

He tried to smooth things over, but Jae-an didn’t care how Park Seo-won saw him. As Jae-an turned to leave, Park Seo-won spoke again behind him.

“Anyway… you want Seo Jae-rim to be safe, right?”

Jae-an stopped. After a long moment, he nodded.

“That’s too much to ask for.”

The answer was razor-sharp. Jae-an slowly raised his head. Park Seo-won stepped closer, narrowing the distance between them.

“Yes, we do dangerous work. Not just dangerous—dirty and ugly, too. But we make a lot of money. That’s why Jae-rim and I keep doing it, even if it’s risky.”

He lifted one corner of his mouth, as if it were some kind of hazard pay. If you did enough bad things, did your nerves really dull like that? Even now, the way he smiled was nauseatingly similar to Seo Jae-rim.

Park Seo-won kept going, eyes fixed on Jae-an.

“Seo Jae-rim makes money doing illegal things, and he uses violence to cover up his sins. Every time, he has to deal with thugs who pull knives the second things don’t go their way—people they call ‘buyers.’ And the so-called VIP customers are the worst kind: no money, just endless greed.”

“…….”

“You really think no one’s ever wanted to hurt him?”

The low whisper made Jae-an’s hand twitch. Park Seo-won set a hand on Jae-an’s shoulder and patted gently.

“So instead of spending your time worrying about Seo Jae-rim, I’d rather you look after yourself.”

“…….”

“There’s no guarantee that blade will miss you.”

His tone was soft, almost soothing—but every word lodged like a nail. Wanting Seo Jae-rim—who harmed people for money—not to get hurt was greed, he said. Stop digging a deeper hole. Wake up.

Caught in something selfish and shameful, Jae-an couldn’t answer. He pulled Park Seo-won’s hand off his shoulder and fled the room.

As if it had been waiting for that moment, a black hallucination bloomed along the corridor wall, swelling larger.

With a blank face, Jae-an slapped his own cheek and hurried out of the hallway.

˚˚˚

Seo Jae-rim spent an entire day bedridden, but from the next day on, he handled most of his daily life on his own. Sometimes the wound pulled and he’d grimace or pause—but his recovery was almost startling.

Still, though, even once he was stable enough, he didn’t go to the office. Occasionally Park Seo-won would call, and Seo Jae-rim would take the call briefly in the study—but he spent most of his time beside Jae-an.

It had been a long time since they’d been together all day like this. Despite having a hole torn into his abdomen, Seo Jae-rim would use any gap in the day to force unwanted intimacy on Jae-an. And the more it happened, the more Jae-an reached for alcohol—because if he was completely drunk, the pleasure didn’t feel as humiliating.

A powerless routine repeated like a wheel: drink, endure Seo Jae-rim, repeat.

One morning, as Jae-an lay stretched out on the sofa after eating, Seo Jae-rim walked up to him.

“Hyung. I need my gauze changed.”

Among the daily repetitions was disinfecting Seo Jae-rim’s wound.

Even though Seo Jae-rim would obviously be more practiced at it, he always left it to Jae-an. The entire time Jae-an’s clumsy hands dabbed antiseptic and changed the gauze, Seo Jae-rim never took his eyes off him.

Today, too, Seo Jae-rim brought the medical kit, and Jae-an carefully lifted his top.

Jae-an’s gaze lingered on the black stitches, and his brow tightened faintly. Every time he saw the wound, he remembered the moment blood had gushed out from there. Just like Park Seo-won warned—there was no way something like this would never happen again. And then, really—

“If you die…”

What he’d been repeating only in his head slipped out loud. Jae-an flinched, clamped his mouth shut, and pressed fresh gauze over the wound.

“If I die, what?”

Seo Jae-rim had heard him. The question came with a hint of amusement—and a sticky, clinging stare—but Jae-an kept his eyes down, taping the gauze in place.

Seeing Jae-an shrink as if guilty, Seo Jae-rim’s gaze tilted sharp.

“You want me to die?”

“…….”

“If you don’t answer, I’m going to get the wrong idea, hyung.”

“No….”

“You weren’t thinking it’s a shame I didn’t die, right?”

“I wasn’t thinking that. I just….”

He hadn’t been thinking anything that cruel. He was only wondering—when this miserable, degrading life built for Seo Jae-rim’s satisfaction finally ended, where would Jae-an be thrown away to?

He’d already been stripped of both the courage to die and the means to live. He didn’t have an “enemy” out in the world. He didn’t have a normal way to survive, either. When he pictured a future where even Seo Jae-rim was dead and yet he still couldn’t escape this life, his breath choked in his throat.

But he couldn’t say any of that.

So Jae-an mashed his words into something vague.

“…I was worried. That you might die.”

Even to his own ears, the answer came far too late. Whether Seo Jae-rim believed that patchwork excuse or not, his expression—rummaging through the medicine box—was as smooth and unreadable as ever. He pulled out a tube of ointment.

“Now it’s your turn.”

A large hand tugged down the loose waistband of Jae-an’s loungewear pants. His thighs were covered in red nail marks and bruises from pinching. Long, handsome fingers spread the ointment evenly over the skin.

Even with ointment every day, Jae-an’s thighs stayed ugly with wounds. As soon as one healed, another scratch would appear beside it.

Unlike usual, Seo Jae-rim’s fingertips carried force. It was probably because of what Jae-an had said earlier. All through the application, his hand pressed down on the tender injuries without much care, and Jae-an could barely endure the stinging.

From the outside, it might have looked like a tender little ritual—taking care of each other’s wounds every day.

But the irony was unbearable: one wound was from a blade, and the other was from Jae-an tearing at his own skin.