Ch 37

Ji-an quickly shook his head at Ideun’s lowered voice as he leaned against the sink.

“I’m not going to a musical with Noh Haneul. There’s no reason for me to spend that kind of time with him. If I were to go, it’d be with my baby. If I’d known this was going to happen, I should’ve gotten tickets in advance, but I could still try to get them now. But… what you need is rest. So, today and tomorrow, I’m going to lounge around the house all day.”

Ji-an tilted his head slightly at the following words.

“Baby.”

“I’m not your baby.”

“Did I ever tell you that I love you?”

Ji-an’s heart plummeted to his feet as he waited for the water to boil, too afraid to meet Ideun’s gaze, though he knew Ideun was looking at him.

At first, Ji-an doubted his ears. Ideun’s tone was as casual as ever as he retrieved a mug filled with freshly brewed coffee and placed a new mug under the capsule machine.

“Baby, do you want coffee?”

Ji-an’s heart, still fallen, refused to find its way back. His trembling fingers clenched into fists as he kept his gaze fixed on the white pot where steam rose in bubbling bursts.

The water had boiled; all he had to do now was add the chicken b**ast and let it simmer. The prepared chicken b**ast was right next to him, but he couldn’t even bring himself to pick it up.

“There’s a decaf capsule.”

Ideun inserted the capsule and pressed the button.

“I bought everything I thought you’d like, but this is all you ate?”

Unaware that his nails were leaving marks in his palms, Ji-an bit his lower lip hard. He swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth, trying to steady his uneven breathing.

Did I mishear him? That must be it, right? There’s no way we’ve built enough emotional history between us for something like this. Is he doing this to torment me? To drag me into h**l with him?

No. Stay away. Don’t come here. I’ll be in h**l alone. I’m used to it anyway, so don’t push me to the very edge of the abyss. Even where I am now is unbearable.

Knowing the worst but also aware that worse could come, Ji-an felt his vision grow faint. Loosening his clenched fists, Ji-an reached for the tongs with deliberate slowness. If he pretended not to have heard, not to have seen, and stayed silent, it would be fine.

“If you’re eating now, we’ll have to push dinner back a little. Since my baby slept in, it’s okay to sleep late tonight, right?”

Ideun’s presence behind Ji-an made him flinch briefly. Unlike Ji-an, who hesitated and deliberated over every action, always choosing the lesser evil, Ideun’s movements were effortless and natural.

Before Ji-an could pick up the tongs, they were already in Ideun’s hand. With his other hand, Ideun wrapped an arm around Ji-an’s waist, his chest pressing lightly against Ji-an’s back. Ideun’s chin rested gently atop Ji-an’s head. The moment the raw chicken b**ast hit the pot, the bubbling water settled into a calm simmer.

“We need to hear the New Year’s bell and watch the fireworks. You can see them pretty well from here. Oh, your temperature’s rising again.”

Ideun’s large hands moved freely over Ji-an’s stiffened body—caressing his cheek, brushing the nape of his neck, and finally covering not just his forehead but also his eyes. With his vision obscured, Ji-an’s other senses heightened instinctively.

“Do you have a sore throat or feel congested?”

Ideun’s tender voice rippled like a gentle breeze in Ji-an’s ear.

“Seo Ji-an, you have to answer.”

But Ji-an felt as though his lips were sealed shut, unable to part.

“If it hurts, nod. If it doesn’t, you can shake your head.”

I don’t know. I don’t know if I have a fever, if my throat hurts, or if my nose is stuffy. My heart isn’t racing because I’m happy, tense, or scared—it’s beating fast because I’m sad. But is this sadness?

A long sigh escaped from above Ji-an’s head, breaking apart like fragments. Instinctively, Ji-an flinched, his body trembling in response. He couldn’t even ask to be liked or loved, yet he crumbled at a single word or sigh from Ideun.

At some point, Ideun, who had been behind him, was now directly in front of him. Since Ji-an had been standing at the sink, Ideun couldn’t have moved in front of him, so it seemed Ji-an himself had shifted. Ideun’s strong arms pulled Ji-an into a tight embrace, his face pressing against Ideun’s chest.

“Shh… It’s okay.”

Only then did Ji-an realize he was crying, feeling the warmth of Ideun’s hands soothingly stroking his back. He couldn’t stop the tears once they started.

Even before he was thrown into this book’s world, Ji-an had never grown up in a warm or abundant environment. Since arriving here, every day had been a struggle for survival. He couldn’t remember anyone holding him or comforting him like this.

Like a dam breaking, Ji-an clung to Ideun’s shirt, crying his heart out. He never knew crying could be this exhausting. At some point, the endless stream of tears stopped. His throat felt tight, and his trembling shoulders stilled. Ji-an sank into a sense of emptiness, as though everything had collapsed.

No thoughts. No feelings. Ji-an, utterly drained, gazed blankly at the sky outside, a deep indigo tinged with violet. He felt Ideun stroking his hair and wiping his tear-streaked face, but he remained motionless, like a doll.

He had been standing by the sink and was now nestled on Ideun’s lap on the couch, wrapped in a cozy blanket. It wasn’t until he noticed the blanket draped over his shoulders that Ji-an slowly closed his eyes.

One day, when his tangled feelings for Ideun faded, dulled, and wore away to nothing, Ji-an knew he would still remember this man until the day he died. He was sure of it. He was born to choose the lesser evil over the best, it seemed. But still, at least it wasn’t the worst.

The worst would be forgetting this man entirely. Not just forgetting, but erasing every trace of him, as though they had never met.

Ah, Seo Ji-an. There’s no bigger mess than you.

One moment, he asked Ideun to go to h**l with him, then tried to sleep with him, only to push him away, saying he couldn’t handle it. He cried and threw a tantrum, back and forth like a madman. If Ideun regretted saying he loved Ji-an earlier, that would probably be for the best.

“Now, should we take some medicine? Your fever hasn’t gone down.”

How nice he makes it sound—like he’s politely telling the fever it’s time to go away. Ji-an, who had been about to brush Ideun’s large hand away from his face, accidentally swatted it harshly, making a sharp sound as their hands parted.

Pulling himself away from Ideun, Ji-an created some distance, then rubbed his damp face with his hands before clearing his throat.

“Uh… um… well…”

He struggled to find the right words. Should he apologize for losing control? Explain that he occasionally acted this way but would try to stop if it made Ideun uncomfortable? Or maybe, if Ideun couldn’t stand it, he’d promise to leave once he found a place to stay. Ji-an couldn’t decide how to package the sentiment, so his words trailed off.

“Oh, my baby looks like a steamed bun now. Should I call you Bun instead of Baby? How does a skinny kid end up with such round cheeks and a plump backside?”

Before Ji-an could even collect his thoughts, Ideun cupped his face in both hands, causing Ji-an’s pupils to tremble. Suddenly, a bun? Within Ideun’s grasp, Ji-an’s cheeks were squished, and his flushed lips popped out slightly. Then, Ideun’s lips pressed down lightly on Ji-an’s lips several times.

“Ah, hey… what are you…”

Because his face was still held firmly in Ideun’s hands, Ji-an’s words came out muffled through his lips.

“Take your medicine, watch a movie, eat dinner, listen to the New Year’s Eve bell, watch the fireworks, and then sleep. That should work, right? Or is there anything else you’d like to do?”

“Ahjusshi, I…”

“Seo Ji-an, you’re not going anywhere. Trying to escape?”

Huh? But that’s literally the biggest item on my current life plan.

“If I leave you alone for even a moment, you’ll start thinking strange thoughts. That’s no good. What did I say earlier?”

I have no idea what you’re saying right now. Ji-an, whose emotions had just reset to zero after crying, found them spinning chaotically once again. Surprise? No, not that. Embarrassment? Maybe. No, that doesn’t feel quite right either. Bewilderment? Absurdity. That’s probably it.

“What did you saaaay…?”

“You told me not to like you, so I thought about it. If I’m going to listen to you, there’s only one thing left to do: love you. I already confessed my love, so running away isn’t an option. Let’s see. You’ve already met the old woman, so that’s settled. And our little one? Hmm. Once you’re feeling better, let’s go visit your family.”

I didn’t even input a command, so why is the output like this? Clearly, there’s been some horrific error in the processing sequence. Let’s open up this program and debug it.

Ji-an, who was flapping his lips like a goldfish, froze as Ideun’s lips pressed against his again, soft and warm. Ji-an’s eyes widened in shock.

“You’re so cute, even when you cry. What do I do? This is serious.”

It seemed like Ji-an’s brain, which had overloaded, needed a significant amount of time to reboot and function properly. Even though his legs were injured, they were more than strong enough to let him walk around the house. However, Ji-an instinctively clung to Ideun’s neck when Ideun lifted him off the ground.

Fearful of falling, Ji-an reflexively wrapped his legs around Ideun’s waist. Ideun carried him effortlessly to the island table, where Ji-an’s bottom briefly came to rest. A thermometer appeared in front of him, pills were placed in his hand, and the pills slid down his throat with water.

“Perfectly cooked. Bobo, here you go.”

At some point, Ji-an found himself blankly watching Ideun shred the perfectly cooked chicken b**ast into small pieces and place them in Bobo’s food bowl.

While the little cat happily munched on its meal, Ji-an watched Ideun fuss around with a few other things before turning his attention back to him. With both arms propped on the table beside him, Ideun leaned forward, trapping Ji-an in the space between.

“So, what’s our little one’s favorite movie genre?”

A gumiho… No, wait. A gumiho could totally be male, couldn’t it?

Suddenly snapping out of his spiraling thoughts, Ji-an realized he was now reclining against Ideun on the expansive couch, his body leaning heavily into the other man’s as they watched a movie. Vibrant car chases and explosive sound effects filled the room, making Ji-an’s ears hum.

Bobo, perched nearby, chattered and pawed at Ideun’s dangling fingers draped over the armrest of the couch.

“No thinking allowed.”

Ideun’s large hand gently guided Ji-an’s head to face forward. Ji-an followed the motion and stared blankly at the giant TV screen in front of him.

Despite the dazzling action and deafening sound effects of the movie, Ji-an’s gaze continuously drifted toward Ideun. Whenever Ji-an felt something—whether amusement, boredom, or excitement—he couldn’t help but glance at Ideun, as if to gauge his reaction.

“It’s not about me. What matters is if you’re enjoying it. Are you?”

Ideun, sipping beer and keeping his eyes on the screen, casually spoke without looking at Ji-an. Ji-an instinctively snapped his gaze back to the TV.

He hadn’t even realized it, but Ji-an understood something about himself in that moment.

He had been watching Ideun’s reactions.

This wasn’t even Ji-an’s movie of choice—it was one Ideun had picked. And yet, Ji-an had been checking Ideun’s mood the entire time. When Ji-an found something entertaining, he would glance at Ideun, and if Ideun’s lips curled slightly, Ji-an would think, Oh, he finds it funny too. If Ideun seemed indifferent, Ji-an would tell himself, I guess this part’s a little dull after all. Ji-an constantly sought validation for his feelings from Ideun.

When did I become like this? Even if I try to convince myself it’s nothing, that it’s not a big deal, the truth is, every fiber of my being is focused on him.

From the sound of his legs shifting, to the creak of the sofa when he moved, to the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he drank beer. Even the way he scolded Bobo with a soft, “Stop that. Bring the ball here.” Everything about Ideun captured Ji-an’s attention more than the movie itself.

“Seo Ji-an.”

Startled, Ji-an blinked. Ideun’s voice calling his name didn’t even register immediately.

“I put on a loud, distracting movie so you wouldn’t think too much, but you’re still lost in thought. If you can’t focus, then what are you thinking about? Will you tell me?”

Ideun set down his beer can and turned his body toward Ji-an, meeting his gaze directly. Ji-an’s breath hitched. His heart began pounding erratically, his breathing grew shallow, and his eyes burned.

Unable to respond, Ji-an raised his hands and covered his face.

Even though he had just cried so much earlier, tears welled up again. He bit down hard on his trembling lower lip, but his lips quivered relentlessly. His shoulders began to shake uncontrollably.

I told you not to like me.

I told you not to be kind or gentle with me.

You shouldn’t have said you love me, let alone that you love me more than anything.

If only this was just about physical desire.

I could handle all the pain and hardship myself. All I need is for you to stay as you are, while I catch my breath.

But you shouldn’t have stirred up my emotions like this.

This is truly your fault.