Go Hoon realized instantly that he’d slipped up again. Swearing silently to himself, he rushed to cover it up.
“All the bottles are still full. None of them have been touched.”
Just as he said, every liquor bottle in the display case looked pristine—like no one had ever laid a hand on them.
“That’s true.”
Bae Jung-yoon nodded this time without pressing further. Go Hoon let out a quiet sigh of relief, grateful for the convenient excuse. But then, a delayed answer came.
“Because alcohol’s bad for your health.”
Go Hoon’s expression twisted slightly. So basically, he liked drinking but didn’t because it wasn’t good for him—so he just kept them on display? He hadn’t pegged Jung-yoon as someone who was so health-conscious. Then again, why hadn’t he gone to the hospital when he’d hurt his foot? The whole thing didn’t quite add up.
“I have to have whatever I want.”
Lost in thought, Go Hoon was caught off guard again when Jung-yoon said something unexpected.
He lifted his gaze to meet Jung-yoon’s, just as the other’s eyes began to slowly move. It felt like those pupils were tracing every contour of his face, studying him thoroughly. It was the first time Go Hoon had ever seen him reveal such raw desire—not sexual, but desire in its purest form. The kind that stems from temperament, the kind that stays buried beneath the surface.
As he turned over the words in his head, a documentary he’d watched long ago flashed in his memory. It had been about people suffering from anorexia. One scene showed a woman who couldn’t eat at all, yet her drawers were stuffed with snacks and bread.
Why did that image surface now? Jung-yoon wasn’t someone dealing with an eating disorder.
Furrowing his brows, Go Hoon asked calmly,
“So you buy it, don’t even drink it, and just keep it on display? Because you have to own it, no matter what?”
“I do taste it. Just a sip.”
Jung-yoon’s gaze turned to the liquor cabinet. His eyes moved slowly, carefully taking in each bottle—like he was cataloging them. There was something oddly contradictory in the way he looked—both bored and focused. That strange clash of sensations was oddly disorienting.
“I only kept the ones that matched my taste.”
That made him even more curious. What kind of flavors matched Bae Jung-yoon’s palate? And at the same time, Go Hoon couldn’t help but admire his restraint.
“Doesn’t knowing what it tastes like just make you want it more?”
Isn’t moderation harder than abstinence? Especially when you already know you like the taste. In that sense, Go Hoon was sure—Jung-yoon had impressive self-control.
“Maybe. But there are still so many new flavors out there.”
Go Hoon stared at him blankly. When their eyes met, Jung-yoon gave a lazy smile and said, as if in passing,
“When your body’s fully healed, I’ll let you pick one. Whatever you want. So just hang in there for now.”
By then, I’ll probably be gone from this place.
Go Hoon pressed his lips together, his eyes lingering on the bottles in the cabinet. Something he could never have—he might as well memorize it while he still had the chance.
***
After doing this two or three times, it had started to feel routine.
With Bae Jung-yoon’s help, Go Hoon finished brushing his teeth and washing his face, drying off with a towel as the thought crossed his mind. Now that everything was done, he tried to get up—but Jung-yoon stopped him, a hand landing gently on his shoulder.
“Don’t get up yet.”
Then he crouched down right in front of him. Go Hoon gave him a puzzled look.
“What are you doing?”
“Gonna wash your feet.”
…Feet? Sure, maybe he couldn’t shower, but it made sense to at least wash his feet. That didn’t mean he wanted Jung-yoon to do it for him. Not at all.
“It’s fine. I’ll just rinse them off real quick.”
Panicked, Go Hoon tried to push him away, but that solid body didn’t move an inch.
“Just sit still. I’ll take care of it.”
With a composed face, Jung-yoon reached forward. Long fingers pushed up the hem of Go Hoon’s pants. Before he could react, the fabric was already pulled past his knees.
At the same time, he felt Jung-yoon’s gaze settle—right on the scar that started at his knee. It was the result of surgery, from when Choi Joo-won had kicked him.
Go Hoon flinched, tensing his thigh in an attempt to get up. But before he could, a firm grip locked him in place.
Without saying a word, Jung-yoon’s hand moved. His fingers lightly traced over the scarred skin, clearly marked by surgical stitches. Like a blind man reading Braille—like he was trying to decipher some hidden story buried beneath the skin.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
Go Hoon intentionally made his voice sound annoyed. He wanted Jung-yoon off him. But he didn’t move.
His hand continued tracing the scar with quiet persistence.
By now, the pants had ridden up so far that Go Hoon’s tense, muscular thigh was fully exposed. He froze in place, holding his breath in silent tension.
The hand that traced the long scar, from knee to thigh, was slow and deliberate—and unbearably ticklish. Without realizing, he swallowed hard.
“What kind of scar is this?”
After a long pause, Bae Jung-yoon finally spoke—but his voice was barely audible.
Go Hoon steadied his breathing. It was the kind of question he could’ve brushed off without a second thought under normal circumstances. But in front of Bae Jung-yoon, even simple questions felt impossible to ignore.
“…It happened a long time ago.”
“How?”
“I fell. Playing soccer.”
He didn’t want to lie—but there was no way he could tell the truth, either.
Jung-yoon lifted his head and stared at him, gaze unwavering. Those eyes—silent, unreadable—somehow made guilt rise in Go Hoon’s chest.
“You said you were gonna wash my feet. Should I just get up instead?”
So he chose to shift the mood. He just wanted to get out of there—before things got any heavier.
Jung-yoon sat there a moment, staring silently, then reached out and grabbed the showerhead.
Shhhhhh.
A stream of warm water splashed over the top of Go Hoon’s foot.
Then the water stopped, and a slick, soapy hand made contact.
It tickled.
He tried to focus on something else—anything else—but it didn’t help. It should’ve been over in seconds, but Jung-yoon was moving deliberately, dragging it out like he had all the time in the world.
It felt too careful. His fingers slipped between Go Hoon’s toes, rubbing every crevice with exaggerated precision. The strange sensation made his foot want to curl, so he tensed his toes to resist.
But his composure didn’t last.
When Jung-yoon’s palm pressed firmly into the sole of his foot—like a massage—Go Hoon felt a jolt, tension flaring in his lower abdomen.
Startled by the sudden, involuntary reaction, he instinctively kicked, knocking Jung-yoon’s hand away.
Thwack!
…
The dull impact echoed, and the bathroom went still.
A cold sweat ran down Go Hoon’s spine. What had he just done?
His eyes widened as he parted his lips, stunned, but Jung-yoon didn’t move. Head bowed, he stayed frozen.
Go Hoon slowly exhaled, his whole body tight with tension. His eyes locked on Jung-yoon, wary.
He was being cautious—for good reason. He couldn’t shake the thought that Jung-yoon might suddenly change. Just like Choi Joo-won. Just like Park Ki-cheol. Maybe one day, that switch would flip, and he would be the target.
Sweat gathered in his palms.
Then, breaking the silence, came a soft, breathy laugh.
Go Hoon wondered if he’d imagined it. But then Jung-yoon lifted his head, and the curve of his mouth said otherwise.
He was smiling—genuinely.
His reaction was nothing like what Go Hoon had feared. Despite getting kicked, Jung-yoon showed no sign of anger or annoyance. Instead, he let out a carefree laugh.
And that, honestly, made Go Hoon even more nervous.
What the hell… Why is this crazy bastard laughing? It’s making me uneasy…
“Hey… are you okay?”
Go Hoon furrowed his brows and leaned down to check Jung-yoon’s hand. The spot where his foot had landed was already red.
“Yeah, not really.”
Jung-yoon muttered, and Go Hoon hurried to apologize.
“Sorry. It tickled—I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s fine. Didn’t really hurt.”
That’s not true. I kicked him pretty hard…
He eyed him doubtfully, but Jung-yoon just kept going like nothing had happened. He calmly resumed washing Go Hoon’s feet, then picked up a towel and dried them off.
The soft brush of fabric across the tops and soles of his feet made his skin twitch. Go Hoon glanced around, his eyes shifting restlessly. His hands, gripping the edge of the tub, tensed again, knuckles tightening involuntarily.
