Haon clutched the cold toilet and heaved endlessly. Maybe it was because he’d eaten more than usual—no matter how much he vomited, the nausea wouldn’t subside.
“Uugh… urgh.”
Each time he retched, his frail body swayed violently. If it weren’t for the steady hand supporting him, he would’ve collapsed onto the hard bathroom floor long ago. As Haon registered the hand wrapped around his shoulder, he forced out one last wave of pale bile.
There was nothing left to throw up. He coughed wetly, and when he saw a drop of red splatter into the toilet water, he thought for a moment he’d vomited blood. Fortunately, it was just a nosebleed. Though calling that “fortunate” wasn’t exactly right either.
As Haon reached out to flush, the man beside him pressed the lever for him and pulled out a generous wad of toilet paper, handing it over. Then he helped Haon sit back against the wall and went to the sink to fill a cup with water.
“Rinse your mouth.”
Haon couldn’t see his face, but the sharp tone in the man’s voice made it clear he was angry. Wiping his dirty mouth, Haon swallowed again and again to soothe his burning throat. Right now, he couldn’t even bring himself to look up at the man.
“S-sorry…”
He mumbled faintly as he accepted the cup. The guilt burning in his gut was worse than any nausea.
“I’ll clean it all up, I promise.”
The bathroom itself wasn’t too messy. Other than their clothes, there were no visible traces of vomit on the floor. The real problem was the floor outside.
“I’m really sorry…”
The distance from the living room to Haon’s room had been too far. He’d held his breath and sprinted, desperate to make it in time, but all that effort was in vain. The moment he stepped into the room, he’d collapsed. His legs had simply given out.
The impact of his knees hitting the floor had triggered the vomiting instantly. The man who’d followed right behind him ended up getting splattered, too. When Haon panicked, the man had calmly extended his hand and told him to throw up there instead. His voice had been reassuring, telling Haon it was okay—but in trying to push him away, Haon had messed up even worse and vomited on his clothes.
“Haon-ssi, look at me.”
Kneeling in front of the dazed Haon, the man called his name again and again. Haon’s eyes remained fixed on the man’s soiled knit sweater.
“It’s okay. It’s not a big deal.”
To Haon, whose ears were ringing, the man’s voice sounded distant. He didn’t even realize how long his name had been called. That’s how far gone he was—mentally adrift. He’d puked on someone else’s floor. On their clothes, too…
“It’ll wash off. And the floor can be cleaned.”
Even as the man said this, Haon was sure he was angry. He probably regretted even bringing him here in the first place.
“I’m not mad. Not even a little. I don’t regret it either.”
“You’re probably going to tell me to leave…”
“I’m not.”
Whether it was the alcohol or sheer exhaustion, Haon’s inner thoughts spilled out without a filter. Of course, he had no idea he was saying them aloud.
“Haon-ssi, do you think you can stand?”
He nodded reflexively, but his legs had no strength left in them. His arms weren’t any better.
The man looked between Haon and the bathtub before brushing aside Haon’s damp bangs. Deep lines etched themselves into his brow.
“Haon-ssi…” he began, calling his name with a cautious tone. “Do you think you can bathe on your own?”
“……”
“…I want to help, but I figured it’d make you uncomfortable.”
Just then, blood trickled from Haon’s nose. Worn out, he looked up at the man, dazed. The man quietly pulled out more tissue and gently wiped under his nose and lips. Thankfully, the nosebleed stopped quickly.
“I’ll just help you wash, that’s all.”
His eyes met Haon’s with a look that asked for trust.
Locking eyes with the man, Haon gave a faint nod in place of an answer. He didn’t have the strength to stand, let alone resist.
Shhh—
The sound of running water filled the bathroom as the man started filling the tub. He took off his top first. Meanwhile, Haon did his best to rinse his mouth thoroughly. The man had told him to do so, warning that his teeth could be damaged otherwise.
Taking the empty cup from Haon, the man motioned for him to raise his arms. Calmed by the man’s steady expression, Haon followed along obediently. He wasn’t in any shape to think too deeply.
Unlike the man, whose top was the only thing dirtied, Haon had vomit all over his pants. After helping him up, the man swiftly undressed him, peeling off the soiled trousers. Haon flinched when their bare chests brushed, but didn’t pull away. Even when his underwear was taken off along with the pants, he remained still.
Lifting Haon with ease, the man set his frail body down into the tub and gently leaned him back. As his legs soaked in the comfortably warm water, some color returned to Haon’s face.
The dizziness in his gut began to settle. And more than anything, he felt less embarrassed thanks to the thick bubbles that filled the tub and hid his bare body. When the man had started filling the water, he must’ve added something—probably poured in an entire bottle of body wash.
“It’s a bath bomb,” the man said, squeezing real body wash onto a shower puff as he spoke.
True to his word, the bubbles from the body wash and those covering the surface of the tub looked different. The man only washed Haon’s upper body, carefully avoiding everything below his stomach.
Even though the man hadn’t touched his legs, Haon kept his gaze lowered and brought his knees together. Every time the puff, soft with lather, moved along his arms and back, he couldn’t help but tense his thighs. It felt oddly like the man’s hand was brushing somewhere far more intimate, and his whole body stiffened in response.
***
Wrapped in a bathrobe, Haon was carried out of the bathroom in the man’s arms. At some point, he must’ve grown accustomed to the comfort of his embrace, because he made no attempt to walk on his own. Instead, he stretched out his arms and leaned into him without resistance.
The man laid Haon down on the bed. The room smelled nicer than usual—noticeably so. While he’d stepped away to fetch a robe earlier, he must’ve also cleaned up the floor.
“Are you really sure we don’t need to go to the hospital?”
Tucking the blanket over Haon, the man asked with clear concern on his face. He had suggested going to the hospital to get at least an IV drip, saying it looked like a severe case of indigestion, but Haon firmly refused.
“I don’t need to. I’ll feel better after I sleep.”
Letting out a short sigh at Haon’s stubbornness, the man pressed a hand to his forehead. There was no fever, and he looked relieved—but the worry in his expression didn’t lessen.
“You’re really not in pain?”
“Yes.”
Perching at the head of the bed, the man studied Haon’s face closely. Satisfied it wasn’t a lie, he backed off—for now.
“Still, if you start feeling sick, tell me immediately.”
Haon nodded right away. He was just about to say thank you when the man stood up, saying he’d bring him some digestive medicine. But before he could walk away, Haon grabbed his wrist.
“I… I can’t take medication.”
He confessed to having drug allergies, not wanting the man to trouble himself fetching something he couldn’t even take. Symptoms varied from person to person, and in Haon’s case, most medications triggered hives. Suppressants were out of the question.
“So that’s why…”
The man sat back down on the bed and murmured quietly. When Haon looked up at him, puzzled, he added,
“You kept spitting out the suppressant. I gave it to you when you were in heat.”
Haon hadn’t realized that. In fact, of all the people he’d met, this was the first time anyone had ever given him expensive omega-specific suppressants.
“That could’ve ended really badly… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have forced you to take it.”
“No, no—it’s okay. You did it to help me.”
“Are there any other allergies? Or foods you can’t eat?”
Haon opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to speak easily. Should he mention the heat symptoms? Was there even a need to? He’d be leaving this place soon anyway—there was no reason they’d meet again after this.
“Actually… I have trouble eating solid food.”
After a short internal debate, Haon only said what he felt obligated to. He was starting to regret agreeing to the man’s request.
He explained that for a few days after a heat cycle, he could only consume liquids. At this, the man’s lips parted in silence. It was the reaction Haon had expected.
“But today’s meal was really, really good.”
Even if he’d thrown it all up, he’d genuinely enjoyed the food. He hadn’t forced himself to eat just to be polite—he really had wanted to eat. So much so that he’d been surprised by how well it went down. That’s why he’d let his guard down and eaten double his usual amount. Originally, he’d just planned to nibble a bit.
“Why are you only telling me this now…”
The man trailed off, briefly averting his gaze before nodding to himself, as if he’d reached a quiet understanding.
“For now, just get some rest.”
The man, now back on his feet, looked down at Haon lying in bed. When he asked if Haon needed anything and got a no in response, he looked around the room like someone trying to find an excuse to stay. But when he couldn’t come up with a reason, he slowly started walking toward the door.
“Um…”
“Yes?”
Just as he reached for the doorknob, the man heard Haon call out to him and returned to the bed in a single stride. Embarrassed, Haon offered his thanks in a hoarse, quiet voice.
“Really… thank you. For everything.”
He looked up at the man with a sincere gaze, hoping his gratitude came through. The man answered with a gentle smile and told him to call anytime if he needed anything.
“Good night.”
Leaving only those warm words behind, the man quietly shut the door behind him. Haon lay still, listening closely to the sound of it clicking shut, and furrowed his brows slightly. A faint sense of unease crept in—like he’d forgotten something.
Did I forget again?
He was sure there was something he meant to ask…
What was it?
