Ha-jin’s mouth formed a perfect circle as he stared at the screen of Tae-seong’s phone. The photo was unbelievable.
Looking at the carefully composed image made him feel embarrassed about the pictures he had taken himself.
The blue sky and green hills were divided on screen with exquisite balance. Beyond the white fence where the two of them had leaned, fluffy clouds and grazing sheep gave the landscape an almost surreal cleanliness. Under such a picturesque background, his own image didn’t even feel like him.
Tae-seong’s graceful hand gently brushing aside his wind-tossed hair, his smile with half-closed eyes, the pink ice cream melting and dripping down—all of it was a masterpiece in color.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Right? They really knew how to take a photo. No wonder—that camera looked expensive.”
What Tae-seong called beautiful was clearly different from how Ha-jin meant it, but he didn’t bother correcting him. Instead, he closed his mouth and turned his full attention to studying Ha-jin’s expression.
“Send me that picture too.”
“Nope. It’s mine.”
Ha-jin blinked, looking genuinely baffled. It wasn’t even a printed photo—just a digital image. Of course he’d send it without a fuss… or so Ha-jin thought.
“If you wanna see it, just ask me each time.”
Tae-seong’s face held a smug satisfaction, as if he were holding the photo hostage. The audacity didn’t even spark irritation—just disbelief. He flashed a dazzling smile, showing off perfect white teeth, and Ha-jin had no doubt he knew. He knew exactly what kind of weapon his face was.
Just as Ha-jin opened his mouth to protest, his phone pinged repeatedly. He pulled it out and saw the photos had already been sent.
“So you were gonna send them anyway…”
Ha-jin snorted in amusement, then narrowed his eyes.
“Still, that picky attitude? Very much like you, CEO”
“You used to say I was sleazy. Now I’m picky? You must be really comfortable around me now, huh, Ha-jin.”
“I’m just saying, stop walking on eggshells around me. There’s nothing to be sorry for, and you don’t need to act like that.”
Tae-seong gave a dry chuckle, obviously caught off guard. Meanwhile, Ha-jin remained glued to his phone, completely absorbed in the photos. He zoomed in with two fingers and stared at the face in the picture like he was licking it with his eyes. Adorable. The real version was sitting right beside him, yet here he was—calling him sleazy, calling him picky—and still, his eyes sparkled as he gazed at the photo.
“Unbelievable…”
When you really looked at him, Ha-jin was remarkably mature. Like he’d been working hard his entire life. Maybe all those years taking care of his brother had dulled him. Or hardened him. Tae-seong felt a pang of pity.
If he were the Omega who’d gotten knotted, he’d probably have panicked, blown up, caused a scene. But Ha-jin, from the outside, looked completely composed—and that only made Tae-seong more anxious.
Quiet people were often the ones who burned hottest when angry. Tae-seong was dying to know what was going on in Ha-jin’s head. What if he felt trapped or resentful just because he was an Omega? What if he thought this was all unfair?
“Three days.”
“What?”
They had been walking side by side, but Ha-jin suddenly turned to face him, walking backward without missing a step. His dark eyes were full of summer light.
“If you go to the hospital within three days, it’s fine. We still have time, so don’t stress too much.”
He said it casually, then stopped to look at his now-sticky hands. If he’d had his usual tote bag with him, he’d have pulled out wet wipes right away—but he had nothing on him. A faint shadow of frustration and discomfort passed over his face.
Tae-seong watched him in silence. Those words, tossed out with a neutral expression, weren’t spoken for the sake of anyone’s heart.
He’d said not to be sorry, that it was something they did together—but he never once asked Tae-seong how he really felt. Not even out of curiosity. Ha-jin didn’t seem to want to reflect on his own feelings either, so why would he care about Tae-seong’s?
He was just following the protocol for what you were supposed to do in this kind of situation, and planned to carry it out accordingly.
And suddenly, Tae-seong understood: Ha-jin was scared.
And he also realized—he hadn’t given Ha-jin any reason to rely on him.
He knew well enough that trust didn’t come from sweet words, expensive gifts, or throwing around money. He knew that trust was harder to earn than any kind of affection.
Even when Ha-jin had agreed to be his partner, it was only after Tae-seong had pushed and begged. Even now, Ha-jin’s feelings for him were far smaller than his own. Not long ago, Tae-seong had been nothing more than just another client.
He’d spent over two years by Ha-jin’s side and had come to realize he didn’t want to lose him. But did Ha-jin know that? Tae-seong had imprinted. Emotionally, he was miles ahead.
Right now, Ha-jin was drawing a line. Saying his body was his own, that he’d take care of it himself, that Tae-seong had no business interfering—and shouldn’t even try. That he didn’t need his worry or his guilt.
Just stay as the fun boyfriend. Was that what this meant?
But the real reason they weren’t fighting or confronting anything was because they were both afraid. It was terrifying to try and bridge the distance between two hearts without any foundation of trust. Of course Ha-jin couldn’t risk that.
This was a fragile new feeling. One fight could break it beyond repair—and they didn’t even know how to fix it if it did. Tae-seong suddenly resented how fast everything had happened. But then again… it was all his fault.
He knew that. And still—he couldn’t stop the bitterness from welling up.
Even the care Ha-jin showed him hurt. His eyes grew sharp, his voice colder.
It was, in its own way, a childish tantrum.
“And what exactly do you think I’m worried about?”
“Well, obviously—”
“You seem to know my heart better than I do, Ha-jin.”
The truth was, Tae-seong knew this wasn’t the time to be throwing a fit.
He looked away from Ha-jin’s wide-eyed stare, feeling suddenly embarrassed by his own immaturity.
Then—swoooosh—a powerful gust of wind blew through the field, flattening the grass with a loud rustle. A moment later, thick raindrops began to fall, splashing across their hands and faces.
Caught in the sudden downpour, they turned around and started heading back the way they’d come. The rain grew heavier within a few steps, and they had to run. Puddles quickly formed in the dirt path, water splashing underfoot with each stride.
About a hundred meters before reaching the ranch entrance, they stopped at a spot styled like an old bus stop. A small roof stretched overhead, shaded by thick tree branches. A dry wooden bench sat underneath. Tae-seong guided Ha-jin to sit and pulled out his phone, likely to call a staff member.
But then Ha-jin reached out and gently took Tae-seong’s hand. The warmth of his wet skin startled Tae-seong, and before he could react, Ha-jin pulled him down beside him.
Tae-seong sat down awkwardly and their eyes locked.
Their eyelashes, soaked with rain, framed a silence thick enough to choke on. Tae-seong, who had imprinted, felt it even more clearly—Ha-jin was just as lost as he was.
“I didn’t say all that because I knew. I actually don’t know anything.”
SHAAAAAAA. The rain poured down so hard it was hard to see. It felt like a curtain of water had fallen right in front of their faces.
They were trapped in a space barely the size of two pyeong (about 7 square meters). In the cold, damp air, their scents mingled softly.
Tae-seong reached out and cupped Ha-jin’s cheek.
Ha-jin tilted his head slightly, resting into the warm palm. That tiny weight sent a dull ache through Tae-seong’s arm.
“Ha-jin.”
Maybe it was the serious tone, but Ha-jin’s eyes sharpened, focusing on him.
“You really don’t trust me at all, do you?”
“……”
“I mean it.”
The rain roared like thunder, but Tae-seong’s voice cut through it.
“I can give you anything. All you have to do is say the word.”
Maybe going to the hospital and “taking care of it” was really what Ha-jin wanted. Tae-seong wasn’t trying to deny that choice. He just needed to make one thing absolutely clear.
“I know. You’ve already done more than enough. It’s just… I’m not comfortable.”
“I’m not talking about the usual safe routes, Ha-jin. I’m not talking about the compromises you’ve made, or the fallback choices you’ve always accepted as your limit.”
Tae-seong believed this: even if he didn’t have the right to make choices here, he did have a responsibility to understand Ha-jin’s real heart. Because if they got this wrong now, there’d be no fixing it later. That much he was sure of.
“I wish you’d just get mad at me, Ha-jin.”
“……I’m not angry. Really.”
Ha-jin bit his lip hard as he spoke, his voice barely audible. He knew it was a vague answer. He wasn’t angry, but it’s not like he was happy, either.
Maybe it was the high of their budding romance making everything feel surreal. Maybe the gravity of pregnancy hadn’t sunk in yet.
It was all so unfamiliar. These feelings—this body, this experience as an Omega. He told himself he was just clumsy because he didn’t know any better.
Suddenly, Tae-seong’s phone rang loudly in his pocket, breaking the fragile silence like shattering glass.
It was probably one of the staff members, searching for them in the sudden rain—but as he answered, his face instantly fell.
Cheon Soo-young had woken up.
