NHL 29

“Oh my, I should have worn underwear. I tried too hard because I wanted to show off for you, but I can’t take any more of this. The rink isn’t this cold, usually. Let’s go inside and have some warm soup or something. How about that?”

Only then did Joeon release the tension throughout his entire body.

“…That sounds good.”

“That’s really hard to hear, you know.”

Dylan, having stood up first, exclaimed in a vigorous voice.

“Let’s go!”

Joeon stood up to follow Dylan without thinking, then stumbled again. It was a stark warning, as if his wretched body—which could not even begin to compare to the athleticism of a professional player—was reminding him that he had forgotten he was still on the ice. Dylan nimbly caught Joeon and pushed him onto the ground.

The distance that had felt like nothing when they headed down to the lakeside felt agonizingly far as they tried to return to the mansion. Dylan used Joeon’s wobbling as an excuse to offer his hand. He simply added, “After all, if you just fall over and get hurt, it’s my responsibility.”

Walking a half-step ahead, Dylan fanned himself with his uniform, even in the sub-zero weather. His hand was like a hot heating pad.

“I’ve sweated a lot, so I should take a shower first.”

Joeon glanced at Dylan’s neck, which was fresh and dry, far from sweaty. He doubted that the amount of skating Joeon had done today even amounted to a quarter of Dylan’s usual workout volume.

“Do you want to join me?”

“What?”

Joeon, who had suddenly come to his senses, stopped walking and frowned a beat late. Dylan smiled, showing a calm face as if asking what the matter was.

“For cooking.”

“Ah…”

Joeon quickly softened the corners of his eyes and lowered his gaze to the floor. The rubber-carpeted path led all the way to the mansion, allowing them to move back and forth without slipping even in skates.

“I’m sorry, that was a mischievous joke.”

“…”

“I’ll do the cooking, obviously. Joeon, you’re the guest, so just make yourself comfortable. Once you wash up and come out, I’ll give you some warm, fuzzy pajamas. You can put those on, sit in front of the fireplace, drink a glass of wine, and lie down comfortably. Then, it will be heaven on earth. Does that sound okay?”

“…”

“Do you hate it? Is the fireplace not your thing, after all?”

Joeon, who had been lost in thought, lifted his head and smiled vaguely.

“No. It’s not that, but…”

Although he hadn’t suggested it directly, Dylan was speaking under the assumption that Joeon would be staying the night. It wasn’t a bad thing, but the boundary-crossing contact from moments ago was on his mind, and his heart felt cluttered.

“Let’s go inside. The sun is starting to set. It’s going to get much colder.”

The moment he opened the back door and entered the foyer, the warm air inside melted his body, unlike the chilly outdoor breeze that had accompanied the sunset. His leg muscles, which had been tightly contracted and hunched up, relaxed with a tingly sensation.

“Do you want to sit here for a moment?”

Dylan, having taken a seat first on the long bench in front of the foyer, wiped the ice clumped on the skate blades with a towel. It was a habitual, effortless gesture. Joeon kept some distance and perched his hips on the opposite edge of the bench.

As he began to undo the laces that were suffocatingly tight across his instep, Dylan—who had changed his skates for slippers in an instant—sat down in front of Joeon’s feet and began to help him with quick, nimble movements.

“I can do this much by myself.”

“I’m faster at taking them off, so just stay still.”

Joeon’s lips moved soundlessly as he looked down at the blonde hair, disheveled by the winter wind. He needed to say thank you, but his voice wouldn’t come out properly.

His whisper, which sounded similar to the sound of escaping air, was buried by the clattering noise of undoing the laces and was not properly conveyed. Given Dylan’s lack of reaction, it was clear he hadn’t heard it.

Joeon lowered his gaze and slowly scanned Dylan, from his straight nose bridge down to his red lips. He still couldn’t believe it, but his lips had definitely touched those. They had exchanged breaths and saliva. Furthermore, he had even rubbed his own area, which had reacted hotly by reflex. That was definitely the foreplay process for intercourse.

But why?

Joeon had never felt lust for a man. In fact, it was the same for women. Joeon’s childhood had been too arduous to harbor the luxurious emotion of liking someone in his heart.

Among the people he had brushed past until now, there must have been some with whom he had shared an attraction. At least to the extent of awkwardly exchanging faint feelings.

However, there had never been a definitive lover with whom he had given and received enough love to fill the deficiencies in his life. He had never given it unilaterally, nor had he received it. Joeon had always kept an appropriate distance from people and run away.

Even from Maya and her family, who had kindly cared for him on behalf of his birth parents—who had sent him abroad for studies after the divorce because they didn’t want the burden of raising him.

He had suspected that their affection was merely a result of the financial compensation he had received. After all, he had already witnessed the ugly true nature that adults reveal in the pursuit of their own desires.

The suspicion was only replaced by trust after he left Maya’s house. It was only when Maya continued to reach out, treating him like an adopted son, even though she would no longer receive payment from Joeon’s parents.

Still, that didn’t mean the mold-like distrust spread throughout Joeon’s heart had completely disappeared. Within human relationships as thin and light as tissue paper, Joeon had always isolated himself on a deserted island. People would flow toward him on the tides, only to quickly flow back out.

There was no one who stayed by his side.

In a way, it was a natural result. The peers he had studied with had started to build their own families one by one, and friends who were devoted to their families had gradually drifted away from Joeon.

Of course, even among friends, there were some who possessed a bond as tight as family, but it was rare to find a place reserved for Joeon. There was no room to wedge himself in anywhere.

Joeon had, in effect, learned to give up, following repeated disconnection and loss. And he didn’t have much of a complaint about that, either.

Because he truly believed that, in any case, most people just live their lives by making do with what they’ve been given.

That is why Dylan’s unpredictable approach is difficult. He kept shrinking back, somewhere between discomfort and fear. If it were a transparent villain like Sergio, it would have been easier to define him as such and ignore him.

Perhaps because he had received an unwelcome message for the first time in a while, he ended up thinking of people he didn’t even need to recall. As he tried to erase the unpleasant memories from his mind, Dylan, who had stopped his busy hands and was holding Joeon’s ankles, came into his field of vision.

“Joeon.”

With his head still bowed, he was stroking the colorful pattern of Joeon’s socks with his thumb. When his fingertips pressed firmly against his ankle bone over the sock, Joeon’s toes twitched. Dylan asked in a low voice, without stopping his movement.

“Did I happen to make you uncomfortable?”

His voice, devoid of the artificial cheerfulness he had used to soothe the surprised Joeon, was completely drained of energy, as if he were a person who had used up all his strength. Joeon, who had been lost in thought, processed his words a beat late.

“You were so quiet earlier…”

Dylan wasn’t talking about stroking his ankle; he was talking about something much earlier. Joeon, who had finally regained his senses, carefully chose his words. The breath he had quietly drawn in at the unexpected question remained near his chest, painfully pressing against his ribs.

When the sound of the front door rattling in the wind had passed a couple of times, Joeon finally gave a difficult answer. Shaking his head and placing his hand on Dylan’s shoulder, he said:

“…No.”

Even if he was a coward, he decided not to lie. Honestly, he felt no resistance to Dylan’s touch—to the point where he was confused about whether an identity he hadn’t even known existed had truly been there all along.

“That’s not it.”