A faint scratching sound woke him. As he slowly lifted his heavy eyelids, the sound stopped.
His eyes met Shim Tae-seong’s, who was sitting beside him, holding a sketchbook and pencil in hand. He stared at the sight for a moment before speaking.
“……Are you drawing?”
“Yes. Did I wake you?”
He shook his head. If anything, it had been soothing. There were certain sounds that were said to help with sleep—like rainfall or the tapping of a keyboard. Turns out, the sound of someone sketching wasn’t bad either. That thought drifted hazily through his sleep-fogged mind.
With effort, he moved his stiff, heavy body and turned toward Shim Tae-seong. Tae-seong shifted his things aside and gently gathered him up into his arms. His strong physique held him securely, their bare bodies pressed together with no underwear between them, sharing warmth through skin-to-skin contact.
Soft kisses brushed across his forehead, the corners of his eyes, and his cheeks, tickling his skin. His mind gradually cleared. He reached out and cupped Shim Tae-seong’s cheek.
“I want to see what you drew.”
When he made the quiet request while gazing at him, Tae-seong immediately offered up the sketchbook without hesitation.
The pages were filled with drawings of him—sound asleep.
……Come to think of it, he had always been good at drawing. This was practically photo-realistic. As he turned the pages slowly, he found himself once again impressed by Tae-seong’s remarkable talent.
Then the next page, and the one after that—each sketch captured a slightly different posture, likely drawn as he shifted in his sleep. Just how many did he draw? Did he even sleep? The sheer number of high-quality sketches surprised him as he continued flipping through the pages.
“If I had been more familiar with the details of your form…”
Shim Tae-seong spoke quietly from behind, still holding him in his arms.
“Even after I forgot you, maybe… some part of you lingered in my subconscious. That’s how I might’ve been able to recall you—at least in my drawings.”
To be forgotten meant the total erasure of memory, trace, and existence itself. How could anything be left after that?
Almost as if sensing that thought, Shim Tae-seong continued.
“I always felt as though you were still by my side.”
“…!”
“So I’m sure it was possible.”
……He even hallucinated.
Fuck, how is anyone supposed to endure that kind of sorrow?
He lowered the sketchbook onto his lap and gently wrapped his hand around the back of Shim Tae-seong’s.
As if desperately craving affection, Tae-seong buried his face in the curve of his shoulder. Warm breath colored his exposed skin.
They stayed like that in silence for a while until he broke the stillness first.
“Sometimes I’d dream of people I didn’t know, in places I’d never been.”
He raised one hand and stroked Shim Tae-seong’s hair.
“There was one person who always stood out—a man with short hair and a large build… He was polite and gentle.”
It was a confession—that he’d realized too late that the man in those dreams had been him, that he, too, had thought of him all this time.
Shim Tae-seong lifted his head and looked at him. His eyes had widened.
He turned his own head as well to face Tae-seong, and whispered softly,
“I think I felt sorry… and I missed you.”
“…”
“Every time I thought of you, the pain just… came flooding in.”
His voice trailed off, and at the same time, the arms wrapped around him tightened.
“……Young Master.”
A whirlwind of emotion stirred in Tae-seong’s dark brown eyes. Those eyes, as if trying to speak all the things he couldn’t say aloud, leaned in close enough to touch.
Their lips met—soft but charged with strength. It was different from the little pecks he’d planted on his face earlier. This time, they instinctively pressed deeper into each other, lips parting naturally as tongues met and tangled.
Closing his eyes, he drew the warm flesh deeper into his mouth.
The kiss stretched on, heavy with wordless emotion. Shim Tae-seong turned him in his arms and embraced him from behind. The blanket that had been loosely draped over his lower body slipped away.
Crossing both arms, he wrapped them around Tae-seong’s strong neck, and Tae-seong’s thick tongue, which had been ravenously consuming him just moments ago, now moved with subtle finesse, sliding between the sensitive membranes of his mouth.
The way that tongue moved—gliding over every inch as if melting chocolate—sent a shiver of desire coiling deep in his abdomen.
Shim Tae-seong, whose lust always ran at full throttle, had already gotten hard long ago. He could feel the thick, rigid length pressing against his stomach as he opened his eyes.
“…Mm.”
Shim Tae-seong let out a low, rumbling hum from deep in his throat. Their deeply locked lips finally parted.
His gaze bore down on him—intense, brimming with lust, yet tinged with a hint of awkward hesitation.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
The low, grounded voice asked.
“I think you should eat something first.”
…What the hell.
Despite his dick standing tall and proud for all to see, the man still suggested they eat first with all the patience in the world.
He barely managed to hold back an expression of pure exasperation. Sure, it was considerate in its own way, and he appreciated the gesture—but was it really something one could just endure that easily? His pride felt slightly bruised. It was… a weirdly frustrating feeling.
Shim Tae-seong gently set him down and quietly left the bedroom. He was really going to prepare a meal.
Even though that massive thing probably wouldn’t calm down anytime soon…
Without letting the emptiness show, he sat up and headed to the bathroom.
His body was still sluggish from the intense sex they’d had. Shim Tae-seong had already cleaned him up afterward, but he still wanted to soak in warm water and ease the tension.
The moment he faced himself in the mirror, he flinched.
He looked like someone had gone wild with a paintbrush—there wasn’t a single untouched spot on his body.
Sleeping with an S-class, huh? Bruises were basically guaranteed.
The worst of it was his nipples.
As expected of Shim Tae-seong, he had absolutely ravaged them. They were still puffy and swollen, the color flushed dark like they were bruised.
Damn… Wearing clothes is going to suck.
After washing up, he put on the clean clothes that had been laid out for him, only to immediately realize his bad feeling had been spot-on.
Every time he took a step, the soft fabric of his top brushed against the sensitive buds underneath, making them tingle with overstimulation.
He could feel himself getting hard again.
Trying not to focus on it, he walked out into the living room. A delicious aroma wafted into his nose, gently stimulating his appetite.
As he approached the dining table, he saw it was packed with dishes.
“Please, have a seat.”
Shim Tae-seong, having just taken off his apron, pulled out the chair for him.
How does he manage to cook this many different dishes all by himself every time?
As he sat down, Tae-seong took the seat across from him.
Every side dish and soup was fresh and flavorful. Knowing that he rarely ate anything too salty, Tae-seong had seasoned everything lightly across the board.
Unlike their past meals, which had been almost stiflingly silent, this time they exchanged light conversation. The topics were trivial and devoid of any emotional weight, which made them easy to digest—like mental palate cleansers.
He, for one, made no attempt to bring up the future. It was as if he refused to think about it at all. No questions, no expectations.
“By the way…”
He hesitated after taking a sip of water, then carefully broached the subject. Tae-seong fixed his eyes on him.
“You don’t have to call me Young Master anymore, do you?”
He wasn’t some noble heir under protection anymore, and Shim Tae-seong wasn’t his bodyguard. Even if their relationship still fundamentally revolved around protecting and being protected—albeit by more coercive means—those roles had shifted.
But Tae-seong didn’t answer right away, as if reluctant to redefine their dynamic.
“Bodyguard?”
He called out to him in confusion, but the moment he did, he also found himself at a loss. What should he call him now? He had no clue.
Tae-seong-ssi? No, that sounded a bit too stiff. Tae-seong-hyung? That could work eventually, but for now, it just felt too unfamiliar.
Hng… maybe it’s fine to just leave it as is for now.
“Do you have a preferred title I should use?”
“No, not really.”
“Then if something comes to mind, please let me know. As for you, Young Master, you may call me however you wish.”
He nodded, deciding to leave it for later.
Since they’d woken up with the sun already high in the sky, this meal was more like lunch. Shim Tae-seong quietly turned on the TV in the living room before heading back to the kitchen to tidy up the remaining ingredients.
Normally, this would be the time of day he sat alone in the living room, dazed and hollow. But it seemed Tae-seong, noticing his slightly loosened mood, had turned on the TV in hopes that it would inject a little more life into him.
Maybe he wanted to give him the kind of ordinary life he never got to have while he was with Joo Cheong-gyeong.
Both his brother and Shim Tae-seong were far too softhearted. Letting someone in isolation stay connected to the outside world, letting them see how life beyond these walls continued…
Unlike a certain someone who had blocked every avenue of information and filled his world with nothing but himself, this felt… better.
—Seo Junho, CEO of the perfume brand Melène and grandson of Chairman Seo Chan-woong of the Sangwon H Group, is reportedly in critical condition.
…Huh?
He blinked, thoughts coming to a halt, and turned to the screen. That name had sounded very familiar.
—…Raising suspicions that there may have been issues with the emergency response. According to a source involved in the ongoing detoxification research…
The face shown on screen beside the news headline matched the name just mentioned.
He looked more mature than he remembered, but there was no doubt—it was Seo Junho.
Seeing an old friend suddenly appear on TV left him momentarily frozen.
“I don’t remember anything from that morning… How is that even possible?!”
The buried memory of Seo Junho on the verge of mental collapse clawed its way out from the depths of his mind.
He recalled the message Junho had sent later on—saying it was a relief he’d survived, that he was sorry, and that he should’ve reached out sooner.
