Haon let out a deep breath as he washed his hands in his bathroom, trying to calm his pounding heart. There had been so much blood coming from Inho’s nose that for a moment, he truly thought the man would pass out right then and there.
But Inho, unfazed, had calmed Haon—who was more shaken than he was—and then headed upstairs. When Haon tried to follow, Inho waved him off with repeated gestures, insisting he was fine as he walked away.
‘Was it because he hadn’t gotten any proper sleep again?’
Seizing the moment, Haon splashed his face with cold water, still worried about Inho. He wasn’t feeling great himself after staying up all night, but seeing Inho’s nosebleed had snapped him fully awake.
Just as Haon stepped out of the bathroom, he heard the sound of Inho’s slippers. He had deliberately left the door wide open to catch any sign of him.
“Are you alright?”
Haon quickly rushed over to Inho, who was already heading toward his room.
“Yeah, I’m totally fine.”
Inho pointed at his nose, where the bleeding had finally stopped, almost as if showing off. It had been bleeding so much that Haon thought it wouldn’t stop anytime soon—thankfully, it had.
“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”
“Don’t worry. It happens sometimes.”
Inho gave a faint smile, then suddenly looked down at Haon’s outfit. Haon was wearing the clothes Inho had bought for him.
Inho smiled gently, as if about to say something, but then stopped himself. He studied Haon’s face for a moment, then smoothly changed the subject.
“Want me to make you some porridge?”
He began listing the different types of porridge he had memorized, telling Haon to just name whatever he wanted. Inho wanted to make sure Haon, who hadn’t been able to eat properly for a while, at least had something soft and nourishing.
“I don’t think I need to eat right now.”
Haon shook his head, politely declining. He wasn’t hungry yet, and all the worry about Inho had completely killed what little appetite he had left.
“No one else is going to come to the house anymore.”
Inho reached out and gently touched the bandage covering Haon’s left cheek. He pulled away a fine strand of hair that had gotten caught under the bandage, meeting Haon’s eyes as he did so.
“Not that it’ll happen, but if someone does come… you don’t have to open the door.”
Even if it’s your mother? Haon asked silently with his eyes, and Inho seemed to understand. He nodded.
“Yeah. Don’t open it for anyone.”
Then, saying he needed to eat something, Inho made his way to the kitchen. After all, the only thing he’d had all day was coffee.
Haon followed him without really thinking, curious to see what Inho would eat. He watched as Inho took out some bowls and opened the fridge.
Considering how Inho always used to prepare at least two or more elaborate dishes, Haon found himself wondering what kind of meal he’d make this time.
“…Is that all you’re going to eat?”
But all Inho took out was some chicken breast and fruit.
Haon stared at the sparse table, clearly unsettled, and began to wonder if Inho’s health was actually worse than he’d thought.
“I’m not that hungry,” Inho said.
“But all you’ve had today is coffee,” Haon pointed out, unable to hide his concern.
At that, Inho shrugged and gave him a cheeky smile.
“I lost my appetite because Haon-ssi wouldn’t eat with me.”
Haon averted his gaze and busied his fingers against the spotless table, unable to come up with a response. He knew it was a joke, but even so, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything back—so he pretended not to hear it at all.
“You’re tired, aren’t you?”
With a piece of banana on his fork, Inho stared hard at Haon’s face. It was Haon—not him—who had even darker circles under his eyes. Even though Inho had gotten far less sleep, Haon looked more worn out.
Unlike Inho, who was used to insomnia, Haon’s energy dropped sharply if he missed even a single night of sleep.
“I’m not tired.”
But Haon ignored the weight in his body and stood up from his seat. He poured a glass of lukewarm water and placed it in front of Inho, telling him to drink slowly. It was something Inho often told him.
“Thanks.”
Inho took a sip of the water and lazily picked at the fruit. His lack of appetite was obvious.
“I wasn’t thinking straight today.”
Just as Haon was glancing anxiously at the barely touched plate, Inho finally spoke.
“I didn’t even ask if it was your style before buying you clothes like that. I’m sorry.”
He put the fork down and offered a sincere apology, adding that he wouldn’t do it again without asking first.
Haon quickly blinked, shaking his head and waving his hands.
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry for being oversensitive.”
Inho didn’t do anything wrong—he had spent a lot of money and gifted something thoughtfully, only to be put in a position where he had to apologize. That made Haon feel even worse.
“I’m sorry… for snapping at you today…”
His voice trailed off, barely audible, weighed down by the promise he’d made not to apologize to Inho. But ignoring it completely made him feel like a shameless jerk.
With his head lowered, Haon cautiously glanced up at Inho. Inho, who had fallen silent for a moment, was watching him intently. A subtle question flickered in those deep eyes.
“Haon-ssi… you snapped at me?”
‘When?’
Propping his chin on one hand, Inho asked with genuine curiosity. He replayed their earlier conversation in his mind but couldn’t pinpoint when Haon had supposedly gotten angry.
“Well… I was late putting on the seatbelt… and you gave me that gift, and I said I didn’t need it…”
Haon’s voice grew even smaller, thick with guilt.
As he mumbled, Inho silently parted his lips, then picked his fork back up.
“So that’s what you call getting mad.”
His tone wasn’t teasing—he sounded genuinely surprised. After stuffing his mouth with a random bite and chewing slowly, he finally nodded.
“I guess I’ll have to be extra careful not to make Haon-ssi upset from now on.”
“I—I’ll be the one to be more careful.”
As expected, Haon’s expression sank. He realized just how overly sensitive he’d been.
It was the first time he had ever gotten angry at someone, and he couldn’t even remember what kind of face he’d made in front of Inho. Judging by what Inho had said, it must’ve looked worse than he thought.
“Go on and get some sleep. I’m done eating.”
After watching Haon sulk for a while, Inho got up with the barely half-finished plate in his hands.
Haon tried to take the plate from him, but Inho refused. Still, Haon didn’t go back to his room. Instead, he hovered nearby, watching as Inho placed the fork and dish into the dishwasher.
“Are you going to sleep now?”
Haon asked out of curiosity, wondering what Inho planned to do next.
It was already late, and both of them were severely sleep-deprived. They should’ve gone to bed right away, but neither seemed willing to return to their room.
“I was going to watch a bit of TV first.”
“Oh… and maybe drink?”
“Yeah, just a little.”
Inho had planned to drink once Haon went to bed. For him, alcohol was practically a substitute for sleeping pills.
Now that it was out in the open, he reached for the whiskey glass in Haon’s presence. Because Haon was staring so intently, he only filled the glass halfway—less than he usually would—then set the bottle down.
“That’s all you’re having?”
Haon asked again, a trace of curiosity in his tone. Whether he was genuinely curious or just wanted to keep talking, Inho couldn’t tell.
Inho found it endearing either way and casually picked the bottle back up, planning to leave it by his side as he drank.
“The wine you gave me that time…”
Haon began quietly, almost to himself, brushing a finger along the bandage on his cheek.
“It was good. It tasted like juice.”
“I’m glad.”
Inho paused mid-step toward the living room and stood in the middle of the kitchen, waiting for what would come next. He purposely stayed quiet so Haon would have to say it himself.
“It was better than the beer I had before.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Haon nodded enthusiastically, looking up at Inho. Those round eyes were practically begging for a drink, but Inho feigned ignorance. He was waiting for Haon to say the words aloud.
“…Then, good night.”
Haon glanced between the wine cellar and Inho, then finally gave a small bow and turned to leave. His face practically screamed I want to try that wine again, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“Haon-ssi.”
In the end, it was Inho who gave in again.
He gently caught Haon by the wrist just as he was about to leave, a quiet chuckle slipping from his lips like a sigh.
“You want to drink?”
Haon nodded without a second of hesitation.
“Say it out loud. Tell me you want to.”
Inho gently held Haon’s thin wrist, all bone and barely any flesh, while reaching for a fresh glass with his other hand.
“If you’re not honest with me, it just confuses me.”
He gave a light laugh, as if joking, then let go of Haon’s wrist.
He found himself wondering—how long would it take for that wrist to fill out again with a bit of healthy weight? Just as much, he wondered when Haon would be able to easily say what he wanted or ask for something without fear.
Inho’s desire to grow closer to Haon stretched another inch today. But the more he longed for it, the farther away it somehow felt. At this pace, even after another year and a half, it seemed Haon might still treat him like someone difficult to approach.
“Can I really drink all that…?”
A timid voice stepped closer behind him just as Inho reached for the wine bottle. Haon eyed the bottle in Inho’s hand and swallowed hard.
“I can’t sleep…”
He said it because he remembered what Inho had told him before—alcohol helps me fall asleep. He didn’t want to get drunk, but tonight, he needed the warmth of a slight buzz.
“I want to drink.”
So he finally spoke up, honestly. Summoning the courage Inho had helped him find.
