I don't know why I came here.

It wasn't a decision made by considering the outcome and consequences in a normal state of mind. My steps toward this place, which I had visited only once before, were driven by my subconscious.

Like an ant or a moth that instinctively turns toward safety upon sensing the approach of a cruel finger trying to crush it. I walked frantically, desperately, and this is where I ended up.

It hadn't even been two hours since I left the bus stop across from the church, and I only realized he must be fully enjoying his second round with others once I arrived before the heavy, firmly shut gate.

I went under the brick roof above the gate, set my umbrella down in a corner, and hugged myself, brushing my trembling, wet body with my arms. Even though I had carried an umbrella all the way here, my entire body, including my hair, was drenched. I had only instinctively held onto the handle, never once making a proper effort to shield myself from the rain.

I took my phone out of my jeans pocket and made a call. If I were in my right mind, I wouldn't have come to this house in the first place, but even if I had, I wouldn't have dared to call after showing up unannounced.

Yet as I wiped my wet face with my palm, my fingers—the same ones that had dialed the Director's number—held none of their usual hesitation or regard for polite formality. When cornered, people omit courtesy in order to survive, capable of acting completely unlike themselves.

Neither courtesy nor the personality I believed myself to possess was a solid structure or substance that defined me.

That wasn't the only vulnerable or flimsy part of me.

I wanted to brutally mock and curse myself for the social and mental fragility that made me inevitably falter whenever my safety and peace were threatened by outside intervention, no matter how much I pretended to be stoic.

I had mistaken the dry emptiness where nothing happened for peace.

Growing numb was also an entirely different concept from growing strong.

I hadn't known until now.

I had thought I had chosen to be defensive rather than aggressive, but I had only been hiding myself away in a vacuum where aggression couldn't even occur. How could I defend myself if there was no attack?

My daily life was based on a paper-thin, infinitely unstable glass floor that could only be maintained if absolutely nothing happened.

I hadn't changed at all from the sixteen-year-old me who had been left defenseless, exposed to external attacks, and marked by them. The metallic coldness of the heavy iron gate against my back was chilling enough to freeze me to the bone.

I don't know how much time passed. It felt like maybe five minutes, but it also felt like an awfully long time had gone by.

A beam of light, illuminating the rain, approached from down the alleyway that met the main road. Before the car could properly stop in front of the gate, I heard someone hastily jump out of it.

I slowly lifted my head.

Before I could even fully raise my head, a figure jumped under the eaves and immediately draped his jacket over my shoulders. He did this before even asking a question or offering a greeting.

His thin summer jacket covered my wet shoulders, and he pulled me into an embrace without a word.

His presence, undeniably clear and free of any uncertainty, held me. The solidity and warmth of his chest and shoulders, pulling me away from the coldness at my back, spoke of his strength—different from mine, the condensation of his solitary time spent forging himself.

While he opened the garage door with the remote and asked the designated driver to park the car, nestled in his arms, I repeatedly mumbled that I wanted to paint, that I needed his help. Like an unknown actor who enters an audition with only a single line prepared, filled only with desperation and no talent.

He tightened his jacket around me several times, holding me even more securely. His arms, wrapped around my waist and across my back to hold my shoulders, felt like a taut rope cinching around me, preventing me from sinking further into unproductive self-loathing and sentimental self-pity.

He pressed the back of my head down, burying my face against his shoulder, and I felt the torrent of anxiety that had been ready to overflow subside just from the sound of his low, cursing murmur. I squeezed my eyes shut.

He must have been surprised to be called out suddenly when he was already waiting outside my house. He had so many questions, I was sure, but instead of asking anything, he simply used the warmth of his body to drive the coldness out of me.

Still holding me close, he paid the designated driver and pulled me inside the gate, tightening his jacket around me even more securely. I noticed the driver glancing at us with curious eyes, but I didn't care.

The dark garden, battered by the downpour, smelled thick with air and moisture, like a deep forest. It felt like a different place from the garden on that day when I enjoyed a picnic with Yuni nuna and Juhan hyung—a picnic that brought to mind the tea party of the March Hare and the Hatter.

As we walked through the desolate garden, where it felt like a figure in a raincoat might leap out from behind the shadowy bushes at any moment, we stepped inside the front door, where the air instantly felt soft and distinctly different from outside.

He frowned, scrunching his brows with a look of dawning realization, and lightly bit his lip.

"Wait here for a moment."

I thought I understood what he was worried about as he hurried toward the living room. At first, I thought he might be getting a towel, but the look of sheer panic on his face told me otherwise. The painting. He was clearly trying to hide Alienation.

I grabbed the side of his shirt near his waist as he tried to step up into the entryway hall and shook my head.

The painting itself wasn't the problem. My reaction at that moment was entirely due to all the past events that the painting had brought to mind, as I was completely unprepared to confront it.

"It's okay. It really is okay now."

"......"

Even though my whole body was soaked, my voice sounded dry and raspy.

He stopped and looked down at me. Then, with a touch so gentle it seemed cautious, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder again, speaking as if comforting a child.

"Then let's go to the study. It will be warmer in there."

Water was dripping steadily from his t-shirt and jeans, and his wet socks left marks on the clean wooden tiles, but he pulled my shoulder, signaling me not to worry about it.

He went upstairs to the second floor and led me not to the study, but to the bathroom—the one attached to his bedroom, which I had used once before.

Standing stiffly at the bathroom entrance, he spoke to me as I clutched the hem of the jacket he had draped over me. "Warming up is the first priority."

"You don't need to soap up; just soak in the warm water for a bit."

After saying that, he leaned over, lightly stirring the water filling the tub with his fingertips as if testing the temperature, then turned back to me and added,

"Your body temperature dropped and it won't come back up quickly unless you do this."

I didn't want to impose any further, nor did I want to worry him. I nodded.

He poured bath salts with a subtle scent into the tub instead of a bubble bath product, adjusted the dimmer to lower the bathroom lighting, and then carefully removed the jacket I had been gripping as if it were a lifeline from my shoulders.

As his gaze swept over my soaked figure, I couldn't help but notice how my drenched clothes were clinging to my body. When I tugged the front of my t-shirt away from my skin, he let out a small chuckle.

"Make sure your head gets properly warm too," he said, lightly ruffling my wet hair, and then went outside, closing the bathroom door.

I was bewildered, as if a section of my memory had been cut out—I couldn't recall how I ended up standing in his bathroom—but for now, it seemed best to just follow his instructions. I couldn't even begin to imagine solving this situation without help, no matter how much foolish pride I tried to muster.

I awkwardly peeled off my wet clothes and hesitated before stepping into the tub. As my frozen body sank into the lukewarm water, my skin tingled uncomfortably. It was a sensation I usually only felt in the dead of winter.

I scooped up some water with my palm and splashed it onto my face and head. My body was beginning to relax wearily, but it couldn't melt away the rigidity in my mind. As I braced myself against the resurfacing threat and tried to straighten up, there was a brief knock, and the door opened about half a hand's width.

"May I come in?"

The door was set to open toward the shower stall, opposite the bathtub. Only his voice could be heard; his face was not visible.

I was conscious of my nakedness, but I couldn't make a fuss and ask him to leave.

"Yes..."

He entered carrying a change of clothes and a mug. After setting the clothes down on the shelf mounted on the wall next to the door, he approached me. As I awkwardly pulled my knees up to cover myself, he let out a low chuckle from above my head.

"What's the big deal now..."

"......"

Feeling my earlobes heat up at his amused tone, I took the mug he offered. It was warmed milk.

"Drink some. It'll warm you up and help you calm down."

"Thank you..."

I wasn't sure if he had intentionally warmed the mug as well as the milk, but the ceramic surface felt delightfully hot in my hands.

After I wrapped my hands around the mug and took a sip or two of the milk, I looked up at him, as he was still standing his ground.

He stood looking down at me with his hands on his hips, his expression the same as an owner greeting a dog who had run out of the house without permission, causing worry, only to finally return after sunset.

His face looked as if he had been rolling around in the mud, digging through trash heaps, and even fighting with another dog—angry at its filthy, wounded appearance, yet at the same time, filled with such pity that he couldn't bring himself to scold it. If I had to make a comparison, that's what his expression was like.

Feeling like a truant dog who had run away, with no words to defend myself even if I had ten mouths, I instinctively lowered my gaze again. He let out a long sigh.

"Come out when you're warm enough. And change into clean clothes."

My initial negative impressions and harsh judgments of him seemed distant now. Though perhaps not as much as Yuni nuna or Juhan hyung, he had gradually begun to show me kindness too, at some point. I wasn't sure how much our physical intimacy had influenced things, but it was clear that his current kindness wasn't solely because we had slept together.

After taking a long bath until the warmth of the mug had faded to lukewarm, I stepped out of the bathroom clutching the damp towel I had used to dry myself. He was sitting on the armchair in the bedroom, drinking whiskey. The situation felt remarkably similar to the first day I came to this room, and it left me tongue-tied.

He noticed my presence, stood up, and approached me. He rubbed the ends of my wet hair with his fingers and told me I should dry it. I complied meekly, worried he might offer to dry it for me himself if I didn't.

While I sat in front of the mirror by the bathroom entrance drying my hair, he leaned against the wall behind me and watched me through the mirror.

When I thought my hair was completely dry, I set the hairdryer down on the vanity and looked up at him in the mirror. He uncrossed his arms, walked over without a word, turned the hairdryer back on, and meticulously dried my scalp by running his fingers deep into my hair. I must not have done a good enough job for his liking.

After setting the dryer down, he placed his right hand on the crown of my head and gazed at me in the mirror for a moment. When our eyes met, he pressed down on my head once, applying a little pressure with his fingertips, before disappearing from the mirror first.

It was the kind of touch one gives to a wayward puppy that comes back home, acting completely normal as if nothing happened—eating, playing with toys—making you annoyed enough that you can't help but give it a little pinch.

I rubbed the spot on my head where his hand had been, then followed him, standing up from the mirror.

We moved to the study.

Even though it was the height of summer, the floor radiated a faint warmth, as if the boiler had been running. Yet I couldn't feel any warmth in my own body. I had no sense of how long I had been trembling from tension and fear, or what time it was in the early morning.

His study, furnished with heavy mahogany built-in bookshelves and weighty colors and furniture, felt traditional but not imposing. It seemed less like a space solely for reading and intellectual pursuits and more like a small reception room used for enjoying discussions and socializing with acquaintances.

After inviting me to sit in a high-backed, deeply cushioned chair, he walked over to a small bar setup, switched on the kettle to boil water, and poured whiskey and tonic water into glasses.

I sat awkwardly in the chair, staring at the dehumidifier humming with a low, droning sound, and finally mustered the courage to speak toward his back as he stood facing away from me.

"I'm... sorry."

He only turned his head to look back at me.

"For calling you out here so suddenly... You must have been surprised."

He approached me holding a teacup resting on a coaster and a glass of liquor on the rocks. Instead of responding to what I had said, he told me he wouldn't be giving me a drink and handed me the white teacup, from which a pale green tea was subtly steeping.

"I need to talk to you while you're sober."

He added this sternly, with a hint of playful severity, before sitting in the chair opposite me. I had actually wanted a little help from the alcohol, but since I was in the position of a naughty puppy right now, I simply nodded and wrapped my hands around the warmth of the teacup.

After taking a couple of sips as if savoring the drink, he slowly swirled the glass in his hand and spoke in a softer tone.

"I was surprised that you called so suddenly, but deciding to come home after receiving your message was my choice, so you don't need to apologize. If I hadn't wanted to, I would have told you to go back."

The person I was getting to know through direct experience wasn't like that, yet he judged himself to be quite cold-blooded.

"I'm glad you want to paint, but... I didn't expect you to show up looking like someone being chased by a ghost and expect me to listen to you surrender like that."

He set the glass down on the small table next to the chair. His gaze, which had been angled toward my shoulder, slowly traced upward until it met my eyes.

"You asked for help, didn't you?"

"......"

"How can I help you? Tell me what kind of assistance you're looking for."

That's what I had clearly said at the front gate. That I wanted to paint, that I needed his help. Though the words had slipped out unconsciously, I knew why I had said them.

He watched me fuss with the teacup and repeatedly purse my lips, unable to open them, and let out a slight sigh.

"I'm no god, but I can probably solve most practical problems that arise in the secular world. Probably. So, tell me, and trust me."

The truth was, I trusted his capabilities even more than he thought. It was an absolute faith, almost like a child's blind belief in an animated hero, so much so that I was surprised myself the moment I recognized it. If I hadn't vaguely believed that there was no practical problem he couldn't solve, I wouldn't have rushed here like a mad person, scrambling through the rain and into this place.

The hesitation stemmed from the fact that I would have to reveal other people's stories, not just my own, in order to ask for his help.

I took a deep breath, exhaled, and began speaking, my voice trembling slightly.

"I'm being chased. I have to stay hidden."

"......"

His eyes flickered, narrowing slowly, as if he hadn't expected me to bring that up.

"To be precise, it's the situation of the hyung and nuna I was living with, not mine."

From what I knew from working together, Manager Han and he, who had been connected since Hong Kong, shared a relationship that was almost like family, something beyond mere business partners. Nevertheless, the two of them never shared details about other people's secrets.

Even when requesting special consideration because I had a somewhat complicated situation while becoming an employee at Phantom, the Director hadn't told him the specifics of that situation, and he, in turn, hadn't demanded an explanation, arguing he couldn't hire me without knowing the detailed background.

Perhaps he wasn't asking about my reaction to Alienation for a similar reason.

It was clear he didn't want to bring up certain difficult topics concerning others, and he wouldn't, even if he held genuine interest, let alone mere shallow curiosity.

If I wanted him to know about myself, if I needed him to, I had to open my mouth myself.

It wasn't easy to speak, like forcing the stiff, rusted spring of a clock that hadn't been wound in a long time.

"I realized today... that everything could just end."

In the dark shadow of the umbrella, the moment I recognized my uncle standing stock-still like a phantom, I intuitively knew that everything up to now had just been child's play on the palm of their hands—at least on Morae nuna's father's.

Morae nuna's prediction was correct.

They already knew where we were staying; they had simply backed off to wait for the right moment.

I had grabbed my uncle's hand and run down the stairs without thinking. He didn't have the money to have someone tail us. It was obvious my uncle was just a messenger bringing word from Morae nuna's father.

When we entered the old skewered meat stall, just two or three minutes from the bus stop, the dim, pale lighting—made even worse by the grimy lampshades—revealed my uncle's face clearly enough for me to realize that the relentless harassment hadn't stopped after we left.

This wasn't unexpected. Though they never said it aloud, Yeehan hyung and Morae nuna were acutely aware that they had made this choice by hurting and sacrificing many people, and they were prepared for the lifetime of guilt that would follow. I anticipated the pressure her family would put on our household after we left, but according to them, they had proceeded with their "selfish choice" while pretending not to know the consequences.

When we took over the boat, our family, like every other household in the village, had taken out a loan from Mr. Lim's household. There had likely been smaller debts piled up even before that. My uncle bit his lip hard as he recounted how the debt collection began about a month after we left, culminating in a final notice received just last week, deepening the lines around his mouth.

"You have one month to repay the debt, or you must bring Seo Yeehan, who ran off with my daughter, to me so he can kneel and apologize."

That was Mr. Lim's demand—no, his order.

Just like me, whose hair was dripping water droplets despite having used an umbrella, a drop of water pooled at the brim of my uncle's pulled-down hat—though he too had an umbrella—and fell heavily onto the table.

My uncle, who had switched his draft beer order for soju, downed two glasses in quick succession before rubbing his wet face with his thick, calloused hands. Those hands, which seemed impenetrable even by nails, looked utterly helpless before the relentless task of sustaining their lives and daily routines.

Or rather, had my grandfather or my uncle ever had the opportunity to truly consider the concept of "life"?

For them, who had clung to merely dragging each day forward, didn't the very word "life"—which required a comprehensive, three-dimensional understanding rather than a partial one—seem like an extravagant philosophy?

My uncle hadn't come to us because he desired to steer his life in a preferred direction; he had come out of sheer necessity just to ensure their minimum daily survival.

"As long as the debt remains, our family cannot be free from his house. And as for being able to live without debt... your uncle's situation is not good."

As he mumbled this while looking down at the third glass he had poured but hadn't dared to touch, I sensed no resentment or anger toward Morae nuna or Yeehan hyung from my uncle. Instead, his face looked pained, as if he had been forced to participate in something he disagreed with. I could easily surmise the tense exchanges he must have had with Morae nuna's father before coming to see us, the hours he spent agonizing over his own helplessness, unable to sleep, and tilting back soju glasses.

Everyone did what they felt they had to do. But since they were all coming from different places, their choices didn't match. Over time, this pushed them apart until the distance between them felt impossible to fix, no matter how much they tried to understand each other.

I told him everything about the situation, except for the fact that Morae nuna was an Alpha.

The stark difference in the circumstances of our two families, leading to opposition and confrontation, pressure and threats, and the extreme choice of rebellion and severance. And then, the repeated pressure and threats because that choice could not be accepted.

That was the simple summation of the history between the two people I love.

I worried that perhaps the only concrete reality of Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung had vanished, leaving only the cliché of a foolish young couple running away for love. My own inadequacy at storytelling, unable to convey the uniqueness of someone's life in just a few minutes of talk, left me resentful.

I fell silent for a moment, feeling as if I had done something terrible to Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung.

"Hmm." He crossed his arms and let out a long breath, his eyes seeming to review the details.

"So, you came here immediately after stopping your uncle from meeting them? Seo Ihyeon-ssi was trying to resolve this without the couple knowing?"

It wasn't a question laced with criticism that what they had done was foolish.

"...Yes."

Driven by some strange nerve, I had promised my uncle that I would definitely find a solution by tomorrow and contact him, begging for just one day without the couple's knowledge, and then rushed straight here as soon as I left him.

"So, you're saying you want to prevent them from returning to the village."

He didn't show surprise at hearing something unexpected, nor did he seem annoyed that he had to listen to such messy, private details just because he was sizing up the situation.

Like the director of a private investigation firm who regularly encounters such stories, he approached the core issue immediately, excluding unnecessary sentiment or curiosity, and I was the one who felt flustered by his demeanor.

But his point was correct. That was the essence of it.

Morae nuna's father had begun to make his move, so the priority was to send the couple away to a safe place as quickly as possible. I felt sorry for my uncle, but securing that extra day ultimately depended on that very situation.

"I don't... want anyone to get hurt."

I rubbed the cooled surface of the teacup, which I had only been holding without taking a sip, with my thumb as I said that.

He picked up the cup he had set down, took a drink, and glanced at me with a smile.

"Why? Do you think I'll solve things by hurting someone?"

"......"

His faintly smiling face seemed to convey that it wasn't that he couldn't do such things, but rather that he chose not to—that he could easily approach the problem that way if he only decided to.

It was the same look he had when he warned me about life with Manager Han, saying, "I hope she can live safely, peacefully, and securely, right? Seo Ihyeon-ssi."

"Well, yes. In any case, money will be needed."

I toyed with his on-the-rocks glass, looking down toward where my feet were, legs crossed at the ankle. Then I mumbled, almost to myself.

"I'm going to paint. Help me. That's what I meant by it."

"......"

My resolution to try painting again had solidified a little earlier than this, but his interpretation of my reasons wasn't entirely off.

The only painting of mine he knew was the single piece I completed several years ago, and I couldn't assert anything definitive about my art right now. For someone in my position to ask for his help through painting, as if my ability held some sort of value... I knew how much of a disadvantage that request must have been for him. But I had no other move left. I couldn't just rely on his kindness for no reason and ask for his help.

He set his glass back down on the table, resting both arms on the armrests and loosely clasping his hands together.

"I'll pay you an advance on the contract fee. Seo Ihyeon-ssi, you are someone I persuaded because I wanted you, and I can certainly offer you that level of special treatment."

It was an answer refreshingly free of hesitation.

I had expected some degree of questioning, deliberation, and the presentation of conditions, so I could only stare blankly at his face in surprise. In response, he asked me how much money was needed to set things straight.

It wouldn't be a fundamental solution, but then again, there was no fundamental solution possible for the current situation anyway. The harsh days for my uncle and grandfather would likely continue a bit longer because of the enraged Mr. Lim, but getting nuna and hyung to flee to a safe place came first. I had to prevent this escape from ending in a half-baked act of rebellion.

His expression subtly contorted when he heard the amount, thirty million won. It was the look of someone doubting their own ears, or perhaps someone who had just heard something deeply unpleasant.

"Are you saying that Seo Ihyeon-ssi's family is being tormented like that because of a thirty-million-won debt?"

"Ah... that's not it."

I explained that the priority was sending nuna and hyung to Bali. I wanted them to be able to leave Korea as soon as possible, within the next few days if possible, because the plan had already been delayed enough because of me.

The light from the floor lamp, positioned between him and me instead of the ceiling fixture, cast a long, distinct shadow of his eyelashes across his cheek. After briefly tapping the rim of his glass in thought, he shifted his gaze to look at me.

"Rather than just that, let's eliminate the root cause entirely. If we pay off Seo Ihyeon-ssi's family's debt, at least the direct cause of the threat will be removed to some extent, won't it?"

"But, even that is too much money...."

To him, sums like seventy million or one hundred million won might not be a large amount. They probably weren't. The very idea that someone's daily life could become miserable and their existence manipulated by others over that amount of money might be incomprehensible to him—and perhaps even infuriating.

But that was the reality for Grandpa, my uncle, and many others. From dawn till dusk, every single day the weather allowed, they were out on boats, never free from the fishy smell clinging to their hands, yet Grandpa and my uncle lived in poverty their entire lives. If they hadn't taken out loans to buy a boat, things would have been even worse. The debt to Mr. Lim wasn't their only burden. Needs for money kept piling up one after another, like pouring water into a bottomless jar, and taking in my father and me as dependents was just one piece of the misfortune that had swarmed in behind the others.

"There is also a way for them to completely escape the influence of that family and start over in an entirely new place. If it's within the country, about three hundred million won; if abroad, five hundred million won should be enough to lay the foundation for a fresh start."

He brought up a topic that went beyond simply repaying the debt.

Three hundred million, five hundred million.... Like when I heard that the Director's apartment was worth at least 1.5 billion won, these were figures that felt completely unreal.

Hyung and Morae nuna would leave Seoul entirely, and Grandfather and Uncle would live somewhere Morae nuna's father's influence couldn't reach... Of course, doing so might solve every problem except for incurring Morae nuna's father's wrath. That was the simple logic. But I shook my head.

"I don't have the confidence to repay an amount like that."

"You can repay it slowly over time. I have no intention of rushing you until Seo Ihyeon-ssi decides to stop painting."

"I truly appreciate your words, but... Grandfather and Uncle probably won't agree to leave that village."

There are countless other places under the sky besides that single village, and perhaps some people would see repaying the debt and moving elsewhere as the solution to the problem. However, not everyone in the world actively tries to solve life's problems in such a proactive way.

Just as mountains don't uproot themselves and move seats because they dislike the bleakness of the scenery or the chill of the approaching wind, some people endure life by quietly holding fast to the very spot where they've always been. They persist not through the assertiveness of fighting back, but through sheer stubborn endurance.

Even if it seemed foolish to someone else, that was the way his grandfather and uncle lived.

He took a few more slow sips of the liquor in his glass, lost in thought, before finally speaking after a long pause.

"What I want is an environment where Seo Ihyeon-ssi can fully concentrate on his art without any further distractions. Moving the family elsewhere might be too much to ask, but at the very least, the debt needs to be settled for that to be possible."

"......"

He couldn't deny it.

"I will arrange for Seo Ihyeon-ssi's hyung and nuna to move to their desired location via an untraceable route within five days. And I will also settle the debt for Seo Ihyeon-ssi's family. One hundred million won. That ties things up nicely."

After saying that, even managing a faint smile, he stood up to refill his empty glass before waiting for my reply.

There was money tied up in the security deposit for the rooftop apartment. His initial plan was to send Morae and Yeehan away first, and once he got that money back, he intended to repay the debt. However, that plan only accounted for Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung. If he could pay off the family's debt as well, it would indeed alleviate some of the worry he felt for the family left behind in Donghae. While the seventy million won debt wasn't the reason Mr. Lim was pressuring them, removing that debt would certainly weaken the immediate pretext for the pressure.

It wasn't an insurmountable amount like three hundred or five hundred million won, which felt overwhelming. If his painting didn't take off, he could return to the moving company, save diligently for three or four years, and eventually manage to pay it off. When calculated that way, it became difficult to refuse the offer.

He returned with two glasses served on the rocks, having promised not to give me any alcohol. He took the now-cold teacup from my hand and handed me a whiskey diluted with a high ratio of tonic water, giving it a lighter color. His own glass was a deep amber.

"If you put it nicely, it's an advance payment, but since it's an amount that needs to be recovered by selling Seo Ihyeon-ssi's artwork, it's practically the same as a loan, isn't it?"

As he sat down across from me again, he leaned back loosely against the armrest. Although there was no tension in his crooked gaze, I straightened my back, gripped by an inexplicable tension.

"I know."

"Are you alright with being so complicatedly entangled with me?"

"Honestly, I'm terrified whether I can actually repay such a large sum... But if it doesn't work out with the paintings, I promise I will repay you by doing other work."

He stared at me blankly for a moment as I spoke. His expression suggested that I had said something harsh, or perhaps that my words had wounded him. But it was only for the briefest instant.

He quickly composed himself, shaking off any disturbance in his gaze, and then, as if remembering something, he picked up a cigarette from the side table and lit it.

"This is an advance for the paintings you're going to create; it's not a loan where I pressure you like a loan shark. So, once this matter is resolved, don't worry about anything else and focus entirely on your art. If you neglect your painting, then Seo Ihyeon-ssi will be seen as failing to meet his obligation."

I nodded with the utmost caution.

He exhaled a long breath and muttered this, then quickly, almost nervously, flicked the ash into the ashtray and glanced over at me.

"May I ask just one thing."

This time, he faced me directly and asked in a flat tone.

"I understand that the two people, your hyung and nuna, are important to Seo Ihyeon-ssi... but still, why is Seo Ihyeon-ssi so afraid that their relationship will be threatened that he would tremble like this and come to me asking for help?"

I thought it would be a question about the information needed to solve the problem, but it was unexpectedly about his personal curiosity. He probably wouldn't press me for an answer even if I didn't give one. Whether I answered or not was entirely up to me.

Across the slowly rising smoke, I looked into his blue-gray eyes, which held a sense of puzzlement as he asked the reason why I was so terrified of this situation—a situation that, strictly speaking, was not a direct threat to me.

Perhaps he simply didn't know the terror of love.

When one of two people who loved each other deeply disappears. When they can no longer be together due to outside interference. The consequences that follow are not limited to mere sentimental sadness or a few days spent weeping while drunk.

Their humanity would be destroyed and corrupted, rendering them incapable of existing as themselves any longer.

I was not strong enough now to endure seeing Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung end up like that. If that experience were to repeat itself one more time, perhaps I, too, would be destroyed beyond recovery. This time, it wouldn't end with simply giving up painting.

I took a large gulp of the alcohol in my hand. The rain continued to batter the window, wailing outside. It felt like a malevolent spirit determined to claim a sacrifice before this night was over.

"The reason I fear those I love is probably because their lives can directly affect me as well. If they start to suffer, then seeing them in that state will cause me pain too."

Even knowing how ridiculous this might sound, I couldn't help but be honest: perhaps for him, love was nothing more than a fleeting feeling that rose briefly to the surface of his emotions before fading away with time.

This was not only the story of my mother and father, Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung, but also my own story as I hesitated before this feeling that had just begun for him.

"So maybe... maybe I'm doing this because I'm afraid of suffering. No... it's probably that."

Perhaps this was a struggle for my own sake rather than for Morae nuna or Yeehan hyung. But regardless of who it was for—whether driven by good intentions or selfish motives—it didn't matter. I was determined not to let their escape be dismissed as the momentary rebellion of an immature young couple, no matter the cost. On that point, I was firm; the strength that allowed me to survive, to take a human form like this, had been given to me by those two, so I wouldn't begrudge paying the price.

He remained silent. Holding the cigarette in his hand, he only looked at me with eyes deep in thought, as if savoring the meaning of my words.

I decided to suppress my desire for special affection from him not just because he was someone beyond my station in many ways. If it weren't for my fear of love itself, I might have allowed myself to be greedy, using my age of twenty-two as an excuse.

But I was afraid.

I was afraid to look at him, knowing he couldn't return my feelings, but I was even more afraid of what would happen when this feeling—still fragile and soft—grew heavy, immense, and solid, taking complete control of me. Compared to the terror of that potential power over me, the fear of the former was nothing.

Because I myself was a work created by, or rather, ruined by, the destructive force of love.

Finally, he withdrew his gaze from me and uncrossed his legs. He took one last deep drag before crushing the cigarette out in the dry ashtray.

"I think I understand."

Having said that, he didn't say any more about it.

"I think I understand." That was an unexpected response.

· · · · ·

The raindrops hammered against the windowpane with a sharp intensity, driven by the strong wind. Intermittently, it sounded as if someone were throwing handfuls of sand against the glass with all their might. The rain seemed ready to burst through the thick soundproof windows and flood the room.

However, the reason I couldn't sleep wasn't the eerie sound of the rain or the unfamiliar bed. I probably wouldn't have been able to sleep tonight no matter where I lay down.

He had readily promised to pay the advance, but he advised that keeping this matter secret from Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung was not a good idea. He suggested it would be better to explain the situation, if only to persuade them to leave sooner.

I had only sent a suspicious message saying I had to leave early today due to an urgent matter, but after talking with him, I messaged the two of them again to set up a meeting. My plan was to meet them first thing in the morning to explain the situation and my plans, and then meet with uncle together.

I had assumed he was the type of person who leaves every choice solely to the individual. I thought he would be extremely cautious about influencing another person's life with that kind of advice.

But his advice was surprisingly serious, and just as surprisingly persuasive. It was different from the common counsel someone might throw out carelessly based on generalities, without taking responsibility. It was a carefully constructed plan, drawing on his own experience, wisdom, and logic, and it coolly filled the gaps in my own reasoning, which had been intermittently riddled with fear and anxiety.

Did I even properly thank him? Tonight alone, I had so many things for which I needed to express my gratitude properly...

I turned over in bed, facing the ceiling, and settled onto my side, pulling the warm duvet up to my shoulders. The guest room on the first floor that he had shown me was located directly beneath his bedroom. I looked over at the other empty single bed and imagined him lying directly above me in the same position.

My body temperature seemed to have returned completely to normal, yet a chill lingered deep within me, making me shiver faintly. I wrapped my arms around myself inside the sufficiently comfortable and warm blankets. I pulled the chest of the loungewear he had given me closer and buried my nose in it. I could only faintly catch the scent of clean fabric softener, unable to smell his particular, distinct fragrance.

I knew how to fall asleep. I knew what my racing, unsettled heart wanted. There was no need to bother with the tedious process of being honest with myself.

I threw off the covers and got out of bed.

Feeling my way through the dark hallway where I could barely make out the faint outline of objects, I traced the wall and climbed the stairs. Barefoot, without even putting on slippers, I slowly approached the bedroom located in the deepest part of the second floor.

The door was not completely closed, as if waiting for me.

Without knocking, I gently pushed the door open with my fingertips.

It was rude, but I had a strong feeling that knocking would be unnecessary. Knocking felt like an overly conspicuous action...

As the door swung wider open, the faint indirect light spilling in from the hallway grew longer across the dark brown wood tiles. Following that light with my gaze, I saw him sitting up against the headboard, looking toward me.

He was wearing only sweatpants, his long legs stretched out, ankles crossed, hands loosely clasped over his thighs. He didn't look like someone who was asleep or about to sleep.

His eyes, fixed on me as if he had been certain I would come, showed no disturbance. His presence felt so expectant that I could only conclude he had been waiting for me, as if my arrival was not my own will but due to some supernatural summons from him.

"......"

"......"

The question of why I was there, the tempting words asking if I wanted to sleep with him—all of it was omitted. Those words felt like accessories that were not even pretty, just cumbersome.

"Can I... sleep here?"

My voice was dry.

As if he had just finished showering, he swept his hair, which now fell smoothly, back, then propped an elbow on a knee he had raised. Still gripping the hair he had just pushed back, he tilted his head slightly askew and looked at me with a somewhat challenging gaze.

"You don't mean that cruelly, as in you only plan to sleep, right?"

In response, meaning no, I took a step into the room.

Strangely, I wasn't afraid of being rejected. It wasn't that I was confident in my own sexual appeal, but perhaps it was because I had slept with him twice before. I could be reasonably sure that he would accept me, or at least wouldn't refuse.

He let go of the hair he had swept back as he watched me approach. The strands floated down slowly, and they were beautiful.

"I'm fine with it..."

"......"

"When I'm with Seo Ihyeon-ssi, I feel like I can't control myself very well."

To signal that it was fine, I closed the door behind me.

In the darkness, he, sitting facing me, looked, strangely enough, as if he were afraid of me, of my approach. But that couldn't be right.

As I walked to the edge of the bed, the familiar scent wafted up. This was it. I had tracked down this room, driven by the desire to be enveloped in this scent and entangled with him. Thinking of myself—crawling up to the second floor in the dark, fumbling around because I wanted sex—a self-deprecating laugh escaped me.

Even though I knew that sex with someone you like could still be hurtful, right now I was desperate just to have sex with that very person I liked.

I was telling myself I needed to extinguish my desire for him, yet here I was, crawling into his bedroom because I couldn't even bear to sleep under the same roof for a single night.

Who on earth was this? It was me, but terrifyingly unfamiliar.

It was moving through my body, yet it felt so alien, as if someone else had moved inside me. Still, it was clearly me, just displaying an unfamiliar side.

I bent over, bringing my face close to his bare shoulder. Because I liked him, it was only natural that I would like his scent too.

The scent was the very first thing that made me recognize him as special. It was the characteristic that clearly distinguished him from everyone else, the first thing that came to mind when Morae nuna asked about him.

He reached up to my face as I kept my head lowered, touching my cheek, and asked.

"Aren't you uncomfortable with having sex with an Alpha?"

"......"

Startled by the unexpected question, I turned my head to face him. I slowly shook my head no. His hand, which had been stroking my cheek, moved deeper and traced my earlobe.

"That you might change because of it."

If that were the case, he had no reason to hesitate. I placed my hand over his large hand, which encompassed my ear and cheek, and shook my head several times.

"I want to change. I want to be changed."

After my murmur, which sounded like a confession or perhaps a self-reproach, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled my body onto the bed.

The next moment, I was lying between his legs. With me on his stomach, he held my waist and pulled the back of my head, kissing my lips first. The kiss was sweet and desperate, like a reunion after years, even though I had slept with him less than a week ago.

As his kiss began—alternately sucking hard on my lower and upper lips, then biting until it hurt before pulling away sharply as if flicking me—I immediately realized how often I had thought about this kiss, even while busy dealing with gallery work cleanup, and how desperately I had wished to experience it again.

This time was different from the last, when I had closed my eyes in dizziness on the party terrace, unsure what to do. I could now clearly sense the rising pleasure from his strong suction and greedy lunges, and the excitement of knowing that the person I desired was becoming aroused through my body—and I was quickly responding to it.

Matching my breath to the rise and fall of his broad, thick chest beneath mine, I waited and hoped that the overlapping scents surrounding and consuming me would hurry up and swallow me whole.

Leaning half-slanted against the large pillow propped up against the headboard, he pressed his forehead against mine and gazed into my eyes from a distance where only the surfaces of our lips barely brushed. It was a distance so close that it was hard to see clearly.

"Me too," he said.

His breath was mixed with the sharp aftertaste of whiskey.

"I want to change too," he whispered. "To become a completely different being."

It seemed almost unbelievable that someone like him, whom everyone envied, could be gripped by such a defeated mindset, but then again, I was still young.

Just because someone appears perfect and affluent in the eyes of others doesn't mean they lack internal struggles. Still, looking at him, I knew I was clearly just a child because I felt like he could steer everything, even a person's heart, toward whatever direction he desired.

Even with just that small amount of contact—his hand slipping beneath my t-shirt to caress my bare waist—I let out a moan and uselessly clawed at his bare chest, where there was nothing to grip. The moment he let go of the lip he'd been biting down on, his tongue probed the inside of my mouth, trailing along the back of my lip, sending a ticklish sensation that made my shoulders shake.

"Seo Ihyeon-ssi, will you change me?"

His hands, which had been tracing my waist, slipped beneath the waistband of my loungewear, softly gripping and kneading the flesh of my buttocks through the thin fabric of the new underwear he himself had provided.

On top of his stomach, on top of his chest, between his legs, and in his scent. I was already changing.

"How could I..."

The arms encircling my waist tightened their grip, and a hot tongue abruptly thrust into my mouth, cutting off my words. Ugh, mm, uh-huh.... Like someone being held from behind with their mouth covered, I groaned deep in my throat.

He slid his middle finger between my cheeks and vigorously rubbed against my hole. Just as quickly as the wet flesh that had filled my mouth invaded, it suddenly retreated, and he applied a more subtle pressure with his fingertips rubbing against my hole, whispering in an excited voice.

"Right here. It drives me crazy."

Thrusting me up with the strength in his waist while I was prone on his chest, he continued to rub against my hole. The sensation of his long, straight fingers sliding between my cheeks was already suggestive of sex. He was the one driving me crazy. If I wasn't the one who was insane for crawling into his bedroom on my own to do this with someone I wasn't even dating, then what was I?

I wrapped my arms around his neck with the same hands that had been clawing at his chest. It might have been an unconscious response to his demand that I drive him crazy using my backside.

He tilted his head deeper and kissed me. When I parted my lips, a piece of flesh, thoroughly saturated with his scent, pushed deep inside. It felt like an insertion made by a tongue.

I liked his careless kissing. If he had kissed me cautiously, as if handling glass, I might have died of impatience. I liked the way he filled my mouth with his tongue, as if forcing himself upon me, as if choking my throat, making my eyes sting with wetness.

His flexible, wet flesh, thrashing wildly inside me, sweeping, poking, and rubbing against my palate, the roof of my mouth, and the inside of my teeth, seemed like an indicator of how much he wanted me, at least in this moment, showing the depth of his craving.

His long legs became entangled with mine, rubbing against my calves, and he tightened his thighs together, squeezing me. He was unreserved about creating explicit friction by rubbing his erection against mine.

My waist twisted on top of his body from the touch gripping and shaking the flesh of his fullest part. This was different from the first or second time, when I needed more time to be honest about my desire. I, too, wanted him quickly, and deeper, already.

As I followed his tongue, which filled my mouth and then retreated, licking his lips, he bit down lightly with the tip of his tongue. There was intensity in his eyes as he looked down at me. The hand gripping my hips also exerted a strong force, pulling the flesh upward as if tearing at it. Next, he took both my upper and lower lips into his mouth at once, pushing deeply until my head tilted back, tightening and sucking. It felt numb and dizzying, as if I might be swallowed whole.

I wanted this sharp pain. Perhaps since the moment last Sunday when he had last pulled away from my lips.

He released my lips, and with a wet, lewd sound—smack, smack—created by the suction pulling at our saliva-slicked skin, he gently rubbed the surfaces of our lips together and spoke.

"Your lips were quite swollen last time."

"I'm fine."

Unable to meet his gaze, I fiddled with his neck as I answered. He let out a low laugh.

"If anyone saw, they'd know exactly what Seo Ihyeon-ssi did all night. Don't you care?"

"..."

While his lips softly met and parted above, whispering in a low, sweet voice, his hands below—behind me—were circling and rubbing around my hole, sometimes gripping my hips tightly as if he couldn't bear it, explicitly signaling his desire. Because of his actions, I had absolutely no room to think of a witty or suitably sexy response for the situation.

"Tell me. What should I do to your lips? What do you like?"

He moved his hips in circles as if tracing a pattern, stimulating my core with the bulky presence of his erection as he asked, but my body, which had been frozen cold, had completely melted, and all I could do was gasp for breath, acutely aware of the heat rising from below. I couldn't think of anything else.

"Just... whatever you were doing, Director...."

"..."

For a moment, he frowned and his eyes flashed from between his narrowed eyelids.

"Say that again. Who was doing what?"

"...You were, Director."

He firmly gripped both my buttocks, pressing down so our erections were fully flush, and bit my ear. He thrust his hips upward repeatedly, as if he were about to flip me over and drive himself into me right then and there in this very position. My breath hitched with every thrust of his hips. I couldn't fathom the reason for his sudden surge of excitement.

"This is the first time you've called me that while we were in bed... The first time, and the last time too; you omitted any form of address before."

Had I done that?

It seemed I had. Addressing him by any title felt awkward in this situation.

"Anyway, you get me hard over the strangest things."

Muttering to himself, his fingers leisurely pushed my underwear and pants down.

"What exactly do you mean by 'whatever you were doing'? Tell me, Seo Ihyeon-ssi."

Hearing his voice deliberately call my name, laced with a playful desire for something risqué, I began to understand his arousal from the act of calling itself. My senses sharpened further as I was made to recognize, even more distinctly, exactly whom I was tangled up with.

The lower garments that had been pulled down to just below my hips, he now skillfully dragged down the rest of the way using his legs and feet. As the area below me grew bare, my desire only burned hotter. It wasn't the first time I had finally given in and whispered obscenities in his ear.

I closed my eyes at the scent emanating from his lips as he breathed hot, damp breaths close to my ear.

"...A kiss."

"What kind?"

He pulled my lower garments down to my ankles in an instant, gripped the underside of my buttock, and shook it as if teasing the flesh, as he asked.

"Hnngh."

The hand that had been shaking my hips moved between my legs, and at the sensation of his entire palm rubbing against my core, I flinched, scrambling upward to cling tighter to his neck. Our cheeks touched, and his ear was right next to my lips. His own lips pressed close to my ear, and a sharp tongue dug into my ear, separating me from all the sounds of the world.

"Biting, sucking... squeezing until it hurts...."

"You like that kind of kiss?"

He pressed his lips to my cheek and asked, sounding slightly teasing.

Every time, I would open my mouth as if reluctantly yielding to his persistent demands... but I had never once told a lie. What he drew out of me was simply honesty. Each time I was honest, the sense of liberation from societal etiquette and rules only fueled my desire hotter. I couldn't deny it.

Overwhelmed by an excitement like a pillar of fire surging thickly that I couldn't suppress any longer, I arched my lower back. Each time, my cock pressed against his bulging erection, and his balls swung loosely back and forth.

"Anyone would look at you and think you've been kissing all night. You plan to walk around looking like that?"

"......"

"Why are you so lewd, Seo Ihyeon-ssi?"

I shook my head at his mischievousness as he deliberately drew out each syllable while pronouncing my name.

I don't necessarily think being lewd or sexually forward is a bad thing... but perhaps the part of me that is more accustomed to my past self—a self still rather indifferent to sex—wants to deny this current version of myself that craves being kissed hard, my lips and tongue thoroughly ravaged.

However, every action taking place was something I wanted. Whenever I felt my lips, swollen slightly more than usual until the puffiness completely subsided, I was reminded of our encounters, sending a tingling sensation through my body. I wished my lips would always be swollen from kissing him.

I don't know if I'm lewd or sexy... but wishing my lips would always be swollen from kissing him—I suppose that's what being promiscuous is.

He whispered soothingly, pressing his lips against my forehead and eyelids as I lowered my head.

"Look at me. I have to see you for me to kiss you."

While still shaking my hips below.

Even though I had asked for this myself, facing him was still difficult. As I raised my head, feeling almost ashamed, he lunged at my lower lip. The suction that pulled in from the center of my lips quickly blew away any shame or self-loathing I felt for being so forward.

Every time our lips and inner walls rubbed together and saliva mingled, the scent grew stronger, accumulating inside me. The pressure he repeatedly applied to my lips, as if squeezing out unknown fluids from the inside, was accompanied by a sharp sting and a throbbing excitement.

Releasing the arm around his neck, I stroked his bare upper body, slowly twisting against his waist, hips, and legs. My pants and underwear, which had been around my ankles, were completely pulled off, leaving me ridiculously half-naked as I rubbed against the beautiful contours of his body.

"Now, where should I kiss next?"

He cupped my hips with both hands, rubbing them in a circular motion from the outside in, gathering the flesh toward the center... as he gazed at me with eyes that seemed to boil.

"......"

Meeting his gaze, I slowly began to crawl upward. Sensing what I wanted, he smiled slyly and, in the opposite direction from me, slid his body, which had been half-reclining against the pillow, downward.

As our bodies crossed over each other, he pushed his head inside my t-shirt.

"Ugh... ugh."

I bit my lip at the movement of his tongue pushing the gathered tip upward. Until now, I hadn't given my nipples much thought, but the moment he first touched them with his mouth on this bed, they became a part of my body as sexually charged as my cock or lips.

When the nipple he had been twisting around with the tip of his tongue was swallowed into his mouth and compressed until it shriveled inside the warmth of his mouth, I couldn't stop myself from biting my lip and let out a moan that sounded like a sob.

The tingling sensation rising from deep within my body became unbearable. I rocked my hips from side to side, grinding my cock against the defined contours of his abs.

"Hhh, hah."

I writhed as he rapidly flicked his tongue around my nipple held in his mouth, lifting my hips. His two hands wrapped widely around my exposed buttocks, then slid under my t-shirt to stroke my waist and sides.

Though I managed to support my upper body with my elbows braced on his shoulders, I was steadily losing strength as his caresses intensified.

"Ah!"

The moment he bit down on the base of my nipple with his teeth, my chest collapsed onto his face beneath the t-shirt. I tried to sit up from the position where I was tightly embracing him, but he held my waist and wouldn't let go.

He ruthlessly rubbed his lips and cheeks against my flat chest, darting his tongue out to trace lines deeply across my skin, his breath rough with excitement.

I couldn't fathom what about my chest—which was merely slender aside from the thin muscle gained from military service and working at a moving company—was stimulating him, but the lips and tongue alternating between my left and right sides, scraping, licking, and sucking without preference, were openly revealing a fiery lust amidst his uncontrolled, hot breaths.

"Ngh, hah... hhh."

When he sucked my small nipple in just with the pressure of his lips, my shoulders twitched as I pictured the volume of my chest jutting forward, even though I couldn't see it.

A body that had shed its usual form and adopted a different shape and purpose.

If I couldn't break free from the restraints—the rules and customs of dressing, having proper conversations, and being unconsciously self-limiting under the gaze of others and society—the act of sex felt meaningless.

Kissing with lips meant only for eating and speaking, bringing out and erecting the cock shrunken away inside the underwear, sucking the hole—something we never even mentioned as if it didn't exist—being sucked by a mouth and used to arouse the cock; nipples, which are nothing, being sucked and licked to become aroused...

In all his actions that transformed and inverted the original me, I felt a sense of liberation.

As I groaned, holding his head as he repeatedly pulled and released my nipples into points, he licked my already sensitive, swollen nipples deeply before sliding further down.

"Ah, ah..."

I lowered my head and looked down at him with anxious eyes. Peeking through the neckline of the t-shirt hanging low, he was moving past my lower abdomen toward my cock.

He cupped my buttocks with both hands, turning my body back into place as I instinctively tried to pull away, and then he immediately took my tip into his mouth.

"Haaah, hhh... gulp."

With my body face down on the pillow and his face between my legs, I couldn't lift myself up. He met the weight of my body pressing down and exerted pressure on the head of me. The strong suction, as if he were eating an ice cream bar, twisting and sucking until my head was bent back, forced me to pound the pillow beneath me.

His style, which felt like he was devouring me even during a kiss, was the same with oral sex.

After holding and swirling it as if melting it slowly, the sudden pressure—sucking me in as if to swallow me past his throat—made my eyes fly open and my mouth fall agape. Just a few sucks applied to my sensitive cock, which had no tolerance for stimulation, sent the feeling of climax surging up. Each time, he skillfully released the suction and eased the pressure at just the right moment.

Each time I struggled and reacted, his breath against the base of my erection grew hotter, and I buried my face in the pillow, moaning almost to the point of sobbing.

The sensation of the wet, slick inner walls pressing in tightly, then relaxing and pulling away, completely scrambled my thoughts. The scent flooded my breath, and I choked.

"Lift your hips up," he said.

He pushed up against my chest as he spoke.

I cautiously raised my upper body, glancing around nervously. To steady myself, I grabbed the headboard, which was made slightly higher than a typical bed. It was covered in black leather upholstery with cushioning.

I realized I must have been crying without knowing it because my eyes and the skin around them were damp. They weren't emotional tears brought on by sadness or pain, but physiological secretion, and I didn't want him to find out the foolish truth that I was crying because of the stimulation.

Wiping the moisture away haphazardly with my palm and straightening my torso, I found myself sitting directly on his chest. More specifically, my groin was right beneath his jaw. It was not exactly a comfortable position for looking down at him.

As he looked up at me, stroking my hip, his features were so clearly defined even in the darkness that they seemed sharp. Because he was lying on his back, his hair was swept back, fully exposing his face, which was so unnaturally handsome it looked unreal. Against that face, thrusting my erect cock forward felt comparatively vulgar and base.

Yet, my own length, glistening and wet with saliva, was what he had been stimulating with his mouth just moments before.

"Sit on my face," he requested.

I needed a moment to process exactly what he was asking.

"That's..."

While keeping his gaze fixed on my face, which was stiffening in embarrassment, he slipped his hand in from behind, between my buttocks. Then, with his fingertips, he pressed hard and kneaded the soft, tender skin between my hole and balls, circling it. It felt as if he were about to carve out another new opening there and plunge right in.

"Sit, and grind against it, hard. Okay?"

"Hhh, nng... B-but still...."

"I want it. Then it's fine, isn't it?"

I didn't know how to accept his demand to be humiliated by having my groin pressed against his face. He looked up at me with pleading eyes, rubbing his cheek and the bridge of his nose against my shaft. His tongue, extended long from between his lips, licked up the hot skin.

"I want to smell it, wet it... and be buried deep in it."

How could he make a voice so desperate?

Pretending to be weak, pretending to be impatient and restless, like a sweet, gentle, and lovely being. Just hearing his voice—whispering in a small voice as if begging for the thing he wanted most in the world—honestly made me feel like I was melting down below.

His eyes, drunk with lust, were still fixed on me, and the stimulation from his fingertips circling my perineum continued. My hips jumped at the caress as he stroked me with his whole palm, as if wiping me clean.

"Until I can't breathe... crush me here. Hurry."

I hesitated several times while looking down at his tempting lips urging me on, then gripped the headboard and slowly lowered my hips into an awkward, leaning-back position.

To be honest, the moment I heard his proposal, I too felt a wicked curiosity, and the thrill of just imagining it had already sent me ahead. It wasn't a matter of refusal or acceptance; it was only a matter of time.

The tip of his high nose touched my perineum first. A tremor more thrilling than I had imagined sent shivers through my whole body. And yet, it was just a spot, nothing like my cock.

"...Ugh, hngh!"

As his nose was crushed and somewhat buried in my soft flesh, he grabbed my waist and pulled me forcefully down.

In a position where I was completely seated upon his face, I had to squeeze the headboard and bite my own arm. He opened his nose and mouth, greedily inhaling deeply between my legs. Shame and excitement raged inside me simultaneously.

Looking down while biting my arm, I could see his eyes emerging from between my legs, gazing up at me with my erect cock between us. I couldn't tear my gaze away from those bluish eyes that transmitted raw desire.

Even the hem of the t-shirt draped over my erection emphasized the obscenity of the moment. My throbbing cock bobbed with the slightest movement, brushing against his forehead. Everything that met my eyes became a caress, a prelude.

The visual stimulation alone was already at its limit. As I bit down harder on my arm, I exhaled sharply through my nose.

His hands, which had been gripping my waist, moved from the outside to wrap around my thighs and pull inward. His fingertips rubbed against my pubic hair and poked at my balls, making my cock vibrate. My whole body trembled violently, forcing me to bite my arm even harder.

During this time, his broad tongue stroked my perineum, and the slightly round flesh between my balls and hole became damp with his saliva. Every time the firm tip of his tongue pressed deeply into one spot, a heavy sensation, almost like the need to urinate, stimulated my lower abdomen.

The world of pleasure he showed me was endless. He knew my body better than I did. I felt like I was going insane.

"Stop... stop..."

Even as I mumbled that, I found myself, contrary to my words, clutching the hem of my t-shirt to get a better view of his face beneath my erect cock.

He was no longer pulling me down with his arms, and I began rocking my hips on my own, grinding the space between my legs over his face—so that his lips and tongue could reach the spot I desired, so his nose could press against the area I wanted, so he could be ground against where I wished. Pleasure spread from the skin touching him, as if heat rash were blooming all over my body.

I was terrified that I would start bucking wildly on his face. Even though what we were doing was already shocking enough, I could still barely, barely hold myself back from going all the way.

I let go of the arm I had been biting down on and collapsed my upper body, bowing my head closer to his face.

I wasn't sure if I had said I could control myself, but perhaps my muscles had given way along with my loosening mind, because saliva I couldn't quite catch pooled from the lips that had been biting my arm. Without the presence of mind to wipe it away with my hand, I just turned my head and rubbed my mouth against my arm, on the cotton of my t-shirt.

With slack muscles and unfocused eyes, I panted while looking down at him.

"Stop... Please stop this... Hhng, Ngh!"

In response to the plea to stop, he instead targeted the area behind my balls. Following the movement of his jaw, which was biting and chewing with his mouth, my cock bobbed up and down.

My erect cock pressed against his perfectly beautiful, flawless face seemed to be destroying the highest value with the basest desire, making me entertain the grand delusion that I was rebelling against social norms through this act.

I had no idea what nonsense I was spouting while sitting on someone's face and getting an erection... but... perhaps it was because my mind was thrown off track by the intense stimulation of having my balls sucked—all while my lower body was thoroughly soaked.

Clear fluid streamed down from the tip of my cock due to the skillful caress that sucked on my balls with enough force to make my lower abdomen feel satisfyingly full. It was the largest amount of pre-come yet, almost making me think I had finished.

The sensation pulling sharply in my lower abdomen reached a point I could no longer endure. I pulled his hands away from my thighs, and my hips slammed back down once more.

"Stop... I think I'm going to... come!"

As soon as I released his hands, I lost my balance and tumbled sideways onto the mattress.

While I lay curled onto my side, trembling and panting, he sat up, pulled my shoulders, and turned me to lie flat on my back.

Because of the saliva he had smeared haphazardly over my groin, his face looked slick as I looked up at him. After positioning me flat on my back and settling tightly between my legs, he leaned down and wiped his chin with the edge of my t-shirt.

Though his expression was glazed, I could tell by his tightly pressed lips—tighter than usual—and the bulging muscles in his shoulders and chest that he was completely absorbed in this moment, in my body.

After casually wiping away the mess from my lower body, he pressed his torso closer and gave me a deep kiss. It was a kiss that gently swept the inside of my mouth and held my tongue, as if soothing and praising the me who had struggled to hold back moments before.

His right hand dug down between our pressed lower abdomens, probing the thoroughly soaked space between my legs. My core was completely damp, more so than if I had produced that much fluid myself, and I felt unusually sensitive. Every time his fingertips pressed down as if scooping up cream, my muscles twitched and contracted.

After lightly pulling away, his lips hovered just in front of mine. He rubbed his nose and the surface of my lips together a few times, pressed firmly on my perineum with his fingertips, and then spoke.

"You don't know what kind of smell is coming from Seo Ihyeon-ssi's lips, and from here, do you?"

Gently nibbling my upper lip, he enveloped my perineum with his entire palm.

"Hh-ah, h-hah..."

I had showered with cleanser after getting out of the tub, so it was probably that scent. It was definitely a better scent than usual. However, his tone, the sound of his voice asking the question, and the way he looked down at me from up close carried a strange nuance, as if he were talking about something like the secretions I had released due to sexual arousal, rather than any artificial, external fragrance.

This was even more true because every time he rubbed, I could feel the slickness of saliva between his palm and my groin.

"It's the kind of smell I want to bury my face in all day."

"Hh... hhhh."

He didn't just rub; he began to mimic the rhythm of penetration, thrusting upward from below. When he added pressure, as if trying to perfectly fit something between my softened thighs, my core throbbed again.

I sighed, realizing that I craved the insertion of his cock—which I'd only felt once—along with the violent pounding of his hips and the uncontrolled, frantic pace that made me lose all reason. It was driving me mad.

This wasn't what I meant when I confessed I wanted to change; yet, I was adapting shockingly fast in this regard. To think I had such a knack for this—should I be happy about discovering this unknown talent?

"Ugh... uh..."

As I flinched away, following the movement of his arm as he traced around my entrance with his fingertips, sliding slowly down to the very top of my hole, he used the arm he had braced beside my shoulder to turn my head back toward him, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes were sharp enough to pierce, yet full of lust.

"Is my smell like that too?"

"......"

I felt as if he had seen right through me. It wasn't a profound statement, but for a moment, I couldn't breathe. It felt like he had discovered every dirty thought I had about his scent.

"When I smell it, my cock twitches, and right here..."

"Hngh. Hhng."

His finger plunged a full knuckle-length inside my hole. Since the foreplay had been long, there was almost no resistance to the penetration. When the sensation I had been waiting for arrived, I tensed my entire body and gripped his shoulders tightly.

He slid his fingers deep inside, then curled the tips to gently brush against the walls as he continued speaking.

"Does it feel itchy in here? Right here inside? Huh? Does it?"

Gasping for breath like a hungry beast before its prey, I nodded my head frantically.

Looking down at me with eyes equally starved, he pulled down the waistband of his training pants and freed his erection from within. Perhaps because it was an area of strong body odor, the scent that had been layering itself around him seemed to intensify.

As it had been from the beginning, it wasn't the kind of smell that most people generally recognize as a "fragrance," like something fragrant or sweet.

Rather, it was a scent that blurred and clouded the mind, grating on the nerves. It wasn't unpleasant or foul-smelling. It didn't scratch the nerves in that way; instead, it constantly prodded and stimulated, making it impossible to ignore.

It was hazy, as if floating, yet languid, as if weighed down and sinking. It paralyzed reason while sharply awakening the senses. A tension lingered in the scent, as if something was about to snatch the nape of my neck at any moment after rendering me defenseless. I knew it was contradictory and abstract, but I couldn't describe it any other way... it was a heavy, aggressive, and dominating scent.

Even in the dim light, I could clearly make out his cock, fully erect and thick. I swallowed dryly, looking down at the glistening tip slick with transparent pre-come—a look so shameless that I couldn't deny it even if I were teased for being lewd.

I didn't realize I was doing it, but perhaps he noticed, because he wrapped an arm around the back of my neck, pulled me close, and laughed softly with his cheek pressed against mine. It was a sweet sound that felt like it was melting my hearing. That chuckle, which seemed to find my youthful sexual curiosity endearing, soon turned into excited, panting breaths, followed by an invitation I knew I couldn't refuse.

"Want to smell my scent, too?"

As if he already knew I wouldn't refuse, he wrapped his arms around my back and pulled me up before I could answer. Then, he leaned back against a large pillow, sitting me on top of his stomach. I placed my hands on his chest and hesitated for a moment, about to move down, but he pulled me back, gripping my waist.

"No, put your hips over here."

"......"

Though I hesitated, it was only for a moment. Dazed by the vibrating scent, I swayed as if I had lost my sense of direction and shifted my position on his stomach, just as he told me to.

Right before my eyes was his cock, still half-covered by his sweatpants, yet impossibly long and thick even in that state, bobbing slightly. The hardness of his length was as remarkable as its size. It stood at a dizzying angle even when erect, so rigid that it seemed impossible for it to be mere physical expansion. It felt solid enough to support me without budging even if I were to sit fully on top of it.

Because of that hardness, the very firm shaft rose up, nearly pushing the band of his pants aside. I bent over and pushed the soft-textured fabric down toward his knees. As the thick hair became more widely exposed beneath his taut abs, his cock sprang up as if springing forth.

I gently held the base of it with my hand, as if handling a precious treasure. As my hips shifted further back from bending over, his chin pressed into the valley between them.

"Ugh. Hngh."

And in the next moment, our hips were pulled together, and I was seated on his face again. I knew what people called this. The act of burying one's face between the other person's legs and using one's mouth. 69.

"You can't perform a proper blowjob... anyway. I'm satisfied just with you touching me with your tongue and lips."

It seemed like the words "so hurry up" were left unsaid.

His statement that proper oral sex was impossible wasn't a bluff or an exaggeration. I found it hard to believe that something like this had aggressively entered his tightly closed hole, and yet it hadn't torn or ruptured, ending only in a dull, throbbing ache.

Although I managed to swallow down to the tip, that alone filled my mouth, leaving almost no room to move back and forth, in and out. At best, I could just sweep my tongue across the groove of the head and then slip it into my mouth, enveloping it as if with the inner walls inside my lips.

Yet, even with that clumsy fondling, he released pre-come. For an Alpha, especially a Golden Alpha, the volume of pre-come was immense, not just semen. Rumors circulated online that a high-ranking Golden Alpha could even cause pregnancy with just his pre-come.

I didn't know about other Golden Alphas, but the sheer volume of pre-come he produced during intercourse easily surpassed the semen of average men, making even the baseless rumors online seem strangely persuasive.

As I repeatedly swallowed and pushed out his tip, I had to let the copious amount of pre-come—which poured out into my mouth like a rising sob—flow down his shaft.

It wasn't just that my mouth wasn't very large, but the fact that an adult man's cock was too big to swallow past the head... My lower jaw was already aching before we could even properly start anything.

The intense desire that had been piqued by having his length right in front of me failed to gain traction against the real, physical barriers.

"There's no need to push yourself. Just licking it with your tongue is good enough."

I turned back to him as he stroked my buttocks broadly with his wide-open palm, soothing me like that. His face was mostly hidden by my body.

"Mmm. Haa...."

Instead, his excited breath, drawn in and let out deeply as if savoring it, clung hotly to my perineum and hole, which were damp with saliva. My hole twitched involuntarily, and I could easily picture the contraction that must be spread nakedly before his eyes. I wanted to hide it out of embarrassment, yet I also wanted to expose it wider out of excitement.

"Hh. Haaah...."

The next stimulation followed immediately, without any need to deliberate which impulse to follow. When I was with him in bed, I didn't have to think about anything. I wasn't even given the chance to think.

He bent his suspended cock downward and swallowed the head.

I collapsed forward as if begging, burying my nose at the base of his length. Flailing my hands, unsure what to do with them, I ended up scratching his firm thighs. An unbearable urge to climax rushed urgently toward the tip of my cock.

He skillfully maneuvered his long legs until he was completely naked below the waist right before my eyes. Then, as if demanding to be licked, he widened his stance at the knees, thrust his pelvis upward, and rubbed his cock against my face.

His heavily erect length brushed against my cheek, grazed my lips, and struck my nose bridge. The waves created by his throbbing cock right in front of me were powerful. Desire was stoked, my lips parted, and my breath grew short... Like someone trying to snatch a treat dangling upside down on a string without using their hands, I stuck out my tongue and chased after him.

It was an embarrassing sight, to say the least, but it was also a sight that even he, who was currently burying his face near my lower body, could not witness.

His hip thrusts, reminiscent of intercourse, were a purely sexual message. Lying on my stomach, looking up at his explicit thrusting—clearly indicating what he wanted—made the act feel even more extraordinary, intensifying the thrill.

With every upward thrust of his hips, I wrapped my hand around his cock—which was bobbing at an increasingly wider angle—and licked upward from the base. Its throbbing veins made it look like a hazardous object on the verge of bursting.

Its thickness, length, color, and smell. No matter how I looked at it, it never appeared safe.

But I hadn't come to this room to protect myself anyway. Just before climbing onto the bed, hadn't I told him I wanted to "change"?

I immersed myself in savoring every part of his shaft with a devotion beyond what I had felt for sweet ice cream in childhood. Just as when I kissed him and swallowed his saliva, I felt that his pre-come, which lubricated and dripped from his cock, was mixed with an essence that condensed his very scent. It didn't matter if it was just a feeling. This sensation alone, like swallowing the pure extract of his fragrance, was enough.

When I licked his cock all the way up and rubbed my tongue widely over the exposed head... my head went dizzy, as if I had chugged an icy cold drink all at once. When I breathed, it felt like his scent, not oxygen, was filling my lungs.

"Hah, hhh... haah... haa...."

My breathing had completely lost its steady rhythm and become ragged. Clinging to his cock, exhaling gasps that resembled sobs, I felt like an addict drawing breath.

Unlike me, who could barely swallow his tip, he repeatedly lifted and tilted his head, his suction tightening around my cock. Before I knew it, I too was lifting my hips. It no longer felt like a shameful act, but rather a natural flow.

I wrapped my arms around his raised thighs, tracing the outline of his hard muscle, while with my other hand, I repeatedly pushed his cock upward from below, enveloping the thick head with my lips. I tilted my head as if giving him a passionate kiss, brushing the inner walls on the back of my lips across the head.

Like a bird that buries its head in the bushes, convinced it is perfectly hidden, I became bold because he couldn't see my face, even though my cock and hole were completely exposed right in front of his nose.

In the dim light filtering through the sheer curtain covering the window—intended only to soften the intensity of the light—we indulged in each other in the most primal positions.

The rhythm of his thrusting hips and the rhythm of my hips bucking against him meshed like a seesaw, and the bedroom grew thick with the sound of wet skin slapping against the mattress as it sprang up.

I didn't even have time to push him away, crying out that I was close. The tightening that pulled him deep into my throat, to the back of my throat, turned my vision white, and with a choked sound that couldn't quite become a scream, I came.

It was a different feeling from the last time, when I had felt pleasure in my hole.

The pleasure of climaxing while enveloped by the warm, wet pressure against my cock made my knees weak, even while sitting. No matter how much I tried to shake him off by wriggling my hips and arching my back, he held my lower back fast, his arms wrapped around my thighs, refusing to budge while maintaining the sucking pressure of his mouth.

"Haa, hah, ahh, hah... Ha-ah!"

Shaking my head and arching my upper body on top of him, I spilled my load wildly, drawn in by the force of his sucking. It felt like my cock was about to be pulled right down his throat.

Each time I came, he skillfully regulated the pressure on the head of me while swallowing everything. Unlike me, who couldn't swallow all of his pre-come, even though there was a difference in volume, he swallowed everything.

I struggled like someone trying everything to free one foot stuck in quicksand, and only after I had nothing left to squeeze from the tip of my cock was I finally released from him.

I crawled forward instinctively, nearly trembling. I was like a beast escaping the sharp fangs of a natural predator just before its life was extinguished. I couldn't even tell if what was dripping from my mouth was saliva or the pre-come I had held in my mouth while sucking him.

However, before I could even crawl down to his ankles, he had already sat up and swiftly flipped my body over.

"Where are you going?"

His eyes, when we finally met face-to-face after a while, were half-lidded. Gripping my waist, he pulled me sharply down, pressing my perineum flush against his groin, then inserted his hand between my legs, rotating his fingers inside as if checking the condition of my hole, tracing the walls.

"Ahhh... Hah...."

I flinched and twisted the sheets gripped in my hands at the sudden intrusion, but he paid no mind, pulling his fingers out and sucking them clean, as if he'd dipped the tips in honey.

"It'll be much more comfortable than last time. It's perfectly melted away now."

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and temples with his right arm, then lifted my left leg over his right shoulder. His crimson tongue, licking intensely from the inside of my calf up to my ankle, shone slickly in the darkness.

"Your legs are beautiful."

He turned his hips, grinding suggestively against what was pressed tight against my groin, and spoke in a low, tight voice. His breath was ragged, but his tone lacked any pretense of trying to create sexual tension; it was even calm.

The fact that he spoke in such an everyday tone in this situation paradoxically showed that he was currently riding an irrational trajectory.

His large hand, which had been tracing lightly down from my ankle draped over his shoulder to my thigh, now caressed my cock, which was sensitively swollen immediately after coming. He paused the kisses raining down on my calf, shifting only his gaze to look down at the sex in his hand.

"Right. Everything about you is beautiful."

He stacked my right leg alongside my left, draping both over his shoulder, and mumbled as he rubbed the head of him against the cleft of my gathered buttocks.

He looked down at me with eyes that had lost their blue tint, looking somewhat drunk. I, too, gazed up at him with a hazy, scattered gaze, and suddenly thought of Shushu in my muddled mind.

Even if the word "beautiful" expanded its scope to encompass everything, there was no way I could look beautiful to him, especially with someone like Shushu kept close by.

"Why? Do you think I'm lying?"

He bit down on my right ankle, circled the head of him around the entrance to my hole, further clouding my already disrupted mind, and then smirked, pulling up one corner of his mouth. It felt like a question that saw right through my thoughts.

"Ah... uh, ugh..."

The head, which had only been pressing and circling around the entrance, suddenly pushed down, exerting force as if to open the hole. Because my legs were pressed together and lifted in the air, it was impossible to resist or push back.

"Believe me. If you weren't beautiful..."

He looked down at me, squinting his eyes as if trying to focus on something far away.

"I never asked you to sit on me like this."

As he leaned his upper body back fluidly, his lower body pressed in even tighter in response. With a slow, unmistakable thrust as the head pushed deeper, my back arched.

Just as he said, the feeling of penetration was much smoother than last time. I could barely feel any resistance, just a slight push now and then. Perhaps it was because I, too, was not in my right mind.

As penetration began, my body was still thrumming with the lingering, faint excitement from having come inside his mouth earlier, and this time I focused intently on his every movement, fueled by tension and anticipation.

Knees spread and sitting with his heels up, he chewed on my calf while already beginning to thrust his hips with only the head inserted. His gaze, clouded with a frown as if judging something, swept over my reclining upper body.

"You have long, slender legs... I bet lingerie would look good on you."

Because of his expressionless face, calm tone, and glazed-over eyes, it sounded like the nonsensical rambling of someone high on anesthetic.

Confirming with his probing hand that the head was fully swallowed, he pulled me into a hug, wrapping his arms around my thighs in front of his chest, and smiled faintly.

"When you're ready, will you try wearing some?"

Following the movement of his hips turning as if performing a suggestive dance, what had been pushed back—his erection—repeatedly curved back toward me, and each time the head burrowed deeper inside. As I gasped at the feeling of his forearm pushing into my abdomen, forcing me to stretch beyond my limit, the speed of his hip rotation began to quicken.

The sensation of thick, hard heat expanding my inner walls was undeniable, yet the pain was strangely dull, as if an anesthetic ointment had been applied inside. Considering the overwhelming size of his cock, the situation made no sense.

It must have been because of his thorough foreplay, which turned my whole body into a melting puddle before penetration even began. Or perhaps it was due to the excessive adrenaline from intense arousal. Regardless, the lack of pain was not the issue; the quick reversal of pain into pleasure was not a major concern. Though it was strange, even that soon disappeared entirely from my consciousness.

"Ugh, yes, ugh...."

I felt him enter me, letting out a moan that sounded as if it were dragging along the floor. The pre-come flowing out ceaselessly was even more abundant than during our last encounter, and the head of him was paving a path for itself internally without the aid of lubricant.

I could feel a sensation, like something tearing open—thud-thud—as if forcing a massive body into clothes that didn't fit, but that was just the resistance of my inner walls being forcibly parted; it didn't escalate into unbearable agony.

He held me tightly, my legs thrown over his shoulders, binding me in place. As he focused on driving deeper with a thrust of his hips, he scrutinized my expression with eyes that seemed intent on swallowing me whole. Pain and pleasure. He sensed the razor-thin boundary between them through the slightest changes in my face, adjusting his rhythm by pulling back and then driving deeper in response.

As my insides grew tight, my breath became ragged. He released one of the arms holding my thighs and stroked my lower abdomen soothingly. I placed my hand over his. I felt the need to hold onto something.

He guided my hand to my now semi-flaccid cock after a climax and encouraged me to caress it. As our hands joined and I stroked it, my breathing finally settled into a slightly more stable rhythm.

As if to praise me for doing well, he relaxed the tension in his brow, looked down at me, and smiled.

"You're a model student."

"......"

I soon understood the reason for his sudden remark. Before I knew it, the coarse hair of his pubic mound was brushing against the entrance of my hole.

"Hh... Uh, ah."

As if to confirm with his body that I had swallowed him whole, he twisted his hips side to side, ensuring he was fully seated inside. Every time his lower body twisted, the sensation of the hot mass filling my insides pulsed, and I rubbed my head against the pillow, losing my grip on my cock.

As if trying to push all my organs upward, as if trying to block my throat, he readjusted his hold on my thighs and began thrusting in short, sharp movements while still deep inside.

"Hhhnnnggg... Hh... Uuugh, yes."

The vibrations his body created by shaking me were clearly stimulating his cock in return. Feeling the friction, the heat, and the slickness of the pre-come overflowing from the head of him lubricating my walls, he began to move his hips forward and backward this time.

With a dull, throbbing pain, the cock that had withdrawn slid back in, shallowly, in several quick strokes. Each time his hips snapped in short bursts—slap, slap—I felt an odd itch deep inside. My body had opened enough to withstand more violent thrusting.

"Mmm... Ugh, hhh...."

He seemed like someone who could sense the slightest shift in my moans. The instant my groan, which had barely managed to endure the pressure, mixed with a hint of pleasure, he followed it with thrusts of greater intensity than before.

"Ugh-ngh, yes... Hah!"

He pulled back several times boldly before plunging back in, the viscous pre-come he had released lubricating the penetration, and his pace gradually quickened. Squish, squish, the sound of friction crushing against the thick, pooled fluid squelched in our joined area. Whenever his grip loosened as sweat broke out and his arms around my thighs relaxed, he would readjust his hold several times.

I had only been embarrassed by the position where my legs were spread wide, but I hadn't expected to feel such a strange sensation even when my thighs were pressed tightly together, almost touching. Even though his cock was clearly parting my hole, the feeling was that even the gap between my thighs, where no direct friction was occurring, was being pleasured, due to the sensation that his large head might suddenly pop out from between my tightly closed thighs and push against my balls at any moment.

His cock, filling me to the maximum extent as if stretching my inner walls, inevitably pressed against and scraped the sensitive areas deep inside my delicate walls with every thrust, even without any specific intention. Each time, a sharp pull resonated in my lower abdomen, and a feeling of orgasm—distinct from ejaculation—bubbled up inside me like carbonation.

"Ngh!"

Slowly, then very fast, a little faster, shallowly, deeply. After taking his time to probe and forge a path inside me with varying speed and depth, he suddenly shifted his posture, holding my thighs while balancing on his knees. My hips lifted along with him.

As if I weighed nothing, he began to thrust rapidly in that position, stimulating me inside. Thump, thump. His thick, broad head felt as if it were rising all the way to my heart and stabbing my pulse points. My chest pounded, my breath caught, and the feeling of climax intensified.

"Haaah, ha... Hah. Hah..."

My throat ached as if I had been screaming for a long time, even though I was only breathing. My mouth, hanging open and panting, was completely dry.

His brow and the bridge of his nose tightly furrowed, he grabbed his pants lying in the corner of the bed and shoved them into his mouth. Then, like a roaring beast, he gnawed and tore at the fabric while letting out muffled cries from inside his mouth.

It was as if he were unnaturally and forcibly trying to block an encroaching power from beyond a line he had never seen before. He looked like a man trying to lift a car using only the strength of his arms.

Intuitively, I realized he was trying to suppress the knotting. I couldn't understand the intention behind trying to prevent the knotting so desperately.

However, even that bewilderment soon faded hazily out of my awareness. What poured inside me was like having a hose shoved into my gut while someone turned the water on full blast.

"Hah, haah, ah.... Haa...."

I opened my eyes wide and just gasped for breath.

As the convulsions began, he spat out the pants he had been biting, hugged my legs tighter, and started racing toward the peak of climax. I was gripping the sheets, trembling with whimpers from the force of his shaking, and eventually ended up biting my own hand. It felt like being on a violent, dangerous amusement park ride—my body shaken wildly, feeling like it was slamming hard into something. Yet, I wasn't thrown off, nor did my body break. On a ride, impact doesn't turn into an accident.

He placed my legs down, resting them against his left side. As my lower body twisted, I felt the cock inside press even tighter. It was stimulating for both him and me.

He lay down next to me without withdrawing. Lying on his side, he pulled my chest toward him, and I too ended up lying sideways, overlapping him. Releasing the hand I had been biting, he instead let me bite the back of his hand.

"Haa, ugh!"

I tried not to bite, but the stimulation as we changed positions and began rubbing against each other cut off my thoughts, and I clamped down on the neat back of his hand, where bluish veins stood out.

The closeness of our bodies made my senses even sharper. While frantically rubbing his arm, which was wrapped around my chest over my tattered t-shirt, I slightly lowered my hips and rocked my backside to match the rhythm of him thrusting up from below.

His knee dug in between my legs and lifted my thigh. My groin parted, leaving us in a primal position—lying sideways with one leg raised—as he pierced, ground against, and shook me. The force with which he began thrusting quickly, as if determined, relentlessly scraped against my prostate.

"Haa, ugh... ahh... Ngh. Ugh."

It felt like the bubbles that had been boiling inside my core finally burst and overflowed outward.

Having reached orgasm without ejaculating, I gripped the arm that was holding my chest, twisting it as if I were tearing at it, and could only gag with my mouth wide open.

His hand, which he had let me bite, grasped my jaw and turned my head back. Before our lips could even meet, a kiss that plunged his tongue deep inside enveloped me. His cock was still filling me from behind, and even though I hadn't come yet, I had reached some destination. His tongue ruthlessly tore through my quickening pulse and shallow breaths.

His convulsing hips pulled back. As his cock withdrew, dragging his distinctly outlined, sensual head across the inner walls, semen flowed out of my hole like a corked water bottle tipped on its side.

It wasn't just the sensation of him pushing in and filling me... the feeling of the liquid spilling out and draining away felt just as lewd.

Shivering, I instinctively brought both hands between my legs. I plugged the opening with my hands and arched my back. My body, having just experienced ejaculation in the front and an orgasm in the back in quick succession, was so hypersensitive that even the breath on my skin made me moan.

I could feel the thick fluid gushing and sloshing out between my fingers. I had to groan while covering myself, like someone unsure what to do about the sudden urge to urinate.

"Haa, n-no... This... something keeps coming out...."

My vision blurred as I looked back at him, pleading for him to do something about it. It was because of the tears welling up in my eyes.

He pressed his lips firmly against my teary, damp eyes, while placing his hand over mine that was still covering below, rubbing forcefully.

"It's okay, just a moment... I'll put it back in soon."

He pushed my shoulders, making me lie prone, and immediately climbed onto my back. Then he pulled my body up by holding my waist. I ended up kneeling on all fours on the mattress, propped up by my knees and hands.

Bracing one hand beside mine, he covered my back with his chest, and used his other hand to turn my chin so our lips met. I had to give him my tongue and lips while keeping my head turned as far back as if I was trying to look at something foreign stuck to my shoulder.

"Mmm, um... um."

His cock, grinding against my crack, was still hot and hard. I felt him shift his body axis from our four-legged stance and raise one leg into an L-shape.

He used the head of him to trace up his own semen that had flowed out from my hole and dripped down my inner thigh, then pushed the wet head into the opening that was still not completely closed.

I didn't even have the presence of mind to wonder how I was accepting his cock as it thrust in strongly all at once, unlike before.

He slapped his sticky palm against my behind, grabbing and twisting the flesh as if it couldn't bear it any longer. As I groaned with my head bowed while prone like a child being punished, a deep, heavy groan came from behind me.

He laid his chest over my back again.

In this position on all fours, one body fused with the other, we swayed wildly with the thrusting motion, like beasts. It was a position where his strength was transmitted directly, completely, and without waste.

Because of the semen pooled inside, the sound of our joining was especially slick every time he pushed in.

"Hngh, ah... Haah."

My cock, hanging down, pulsed and shook wildly, and I felt like I was going crazy from the shivery sensation of being stimulated both front and back simultaneously. I felt like I would collapse from the force of his thrust the moment I took my hands off the mattress, so I couldn't even reach out to grab him.

I felt like I was riding a bumper car, cornered and continuously attacked. Strong impacts kept coming, shaking me relentlessly without allowing me to try anything else; my whole body was trembling.

He seemed to be no longer holding back anything, rubbing his entire cock against me as he thrust in and out, rocking his hips. His waist moved so fast that, covering my entire back, he looked like a beast sprinting on all fours. I, too, was not much different, pulled along by his sprint as I moaned as if I would cry.

"You wanted this with me... that much? Enough to climb onto the bed first?"

"Ha, ha-ah, ah...."

Feeling his chin press down on my shoulder, I nodded. As he repeatedly thrust inside me by jerking his hips, he slipped one hand beneath my loose t-shirt and squeezed my nipple.

"How could you? How could you do that without thinking... what kind of... thing I am...."

Before he could finish speaking, he pulled his hand away from my nipple, lifted my chin, and turned my face toward him. Our lips met instantly. The force with which he was moving me caused our mouths to keep misaligning and bumping, which only made the kiss—his lips—feel more desperate.

Keeping my loosely lowered eyes fixed on his mouth, I confessed plainly between my trembling breaths.

"I, I wanted to..."

He stared at me with eyes that looked as if they were burning bright red. Whenever a scent wafted from his completely broken, panting breaths, I immediately lunged forward and greedily inhaled it.

"Not just today, all along... it's been like that."

He frowned as if he had heard something terribly repulsive and swallowed my lips. It was a kiss as if he were consuming his prey, caught after a full sprint—literally, as if he meant to chew and swallow the flesh of my mouth.

Although I was feverish on the bed, it wasn't a lie intended to heighten the mood with manufactured passion. Even if he didn't know it, I knew it was a confession of truth, which made my own boldness even more astonishing.

Gradually, sex was becoming my liberation.

Although it was a decadent liberation that amounted only to temporary escape rather than fundamental freedom, it was clear that while my bare skin was pressed against his, I could forget everything and focus solely on my own senses, allowing myself to be honest.

For years, I hadn't experienced a sensation that struck and resonated with my existence so vividly. I had felt as if acknowledging any feeling would only lead to my own injury.

Yet, contact with him held a vividness that allowed me to face, touch, and sense myself as a living being. Even if I had to endure the bitter taste of self-reproach after it was all over, at least this was irresistibly attractive to someone like me because it was an act that harmed or endangered no one else.

I only had to bear the bitterness and the vacant sense of loss that followed the act.

"If you want something, just say it. Just tell me you want me, and I'll give it to you anytime..."

He pulled his lips away from where he had been biting them, then nudged his nose against my ear, whispering words that could not have been more fragrant yet simultaneously more cruel.

This act wasn't about possessing him, nor could repeating it any number of times achieve any real meaning. Even knowing that... if I could just possess his body, even for a moment, I would probably keep doing this.

I wanted to ask if he meant it. If he would do this for me anytime, anywhere, just like now, whenever I wanted.

My thighs, stretched taut, trembled, but I gripped the sheets, determined not to let go of him thrusting inside me.

"Hngh, uhh... gasp...."

His gaze reacting to every detail of my expression, my breath, and the twitching inside my walls; his sensual lips, which loved to move roughly; the supple yet powerful movements of his muscles; the heat of his cock and the way he ground against me inside. The suffocatingly rich scent. Every sensation he gave me stood in stark contrast to my former, faint world.

My mind blurred hazily, yet conversely, every one of my senses grew chillingly sharp.

I liked being exposed to that clarity, letting myself fall apart. Only he and I were here. Privacy was something else. Whether we indulged in some pleasure or enjoyed some debauched act together on the bed, as long as that one person consented, it wasn't a sin.

I was free. Even if it was an illusion of indulgence and depravity, at least in this moment, that's how I felt.

Even this position—kneeling on all fours, trembling with the force of his thrusts, turning my head to exchange filthy kisses—felt free now, rather than shameful. Even that twisted pleasure that came from boldly doing what I was forbidden to do, what I shouldn't do, was part of the sex.

"I want it..."

Just as he said, I spoke only what I wanted. My voice, split obscenely, wasn't quite clear.

"You already have it, right now."

Slowing the pace of his thrusts, he instead pushed his cock deep, all the way in. Without pulling back even slightly in that position, he began to rock his hips violently.

I shuddered at the feeling of his cock throbbing inside me, shaking my head wildly, saying no, that wasn't it.

"What you did last time..."

"......"

"Do that for me. Knotting... do that again."

What in the world was I saying?

He grabbed my hair and yanked it back hard. Biting his own swollen lip, he spat out words in rapid English, accented more strongly than usual, cursing my depravity that was driving him mad.

Everything about the way he treated me became rougher. The man who used to resist outside forces trying to invade him was gone, replaced by someone tearing at his own sweatpants.

He grabbed both my wrists and yanked me backward as if pulling me behind him. He pulled me up until I was standing and then crushed me against his chest. My chest and both arms were bound by his hold, leaving me completely immobile. A powerful force squeezed me, feeling as if every bone in my upper body would shatter. Blue veins bulged in his arms, and the outline of his muscles became more distinct.

He buried his face into my neck, above the neckline of my t-shirt, which had stretched down so that one shoulder was completely exposed. The force with which he dug his teeth into the spot where my neck met my shoulder was too intense to be considered play or even heavy petting. As if he wanted to tear off a chunk of flesh and swallow it, he bit my skin and shook his head violently.

"Ugh, uh... hhhng!"

Without releasing the grip that held me tightly, he pulled his hips back, leaving only the head inside, then thrust forward with enough force to make a loud fwop, causing the flesh of my buttocks to tremble.

His cock, which burrowed deep enough to mash himself against my buttock, then withdrew halfway, scraping against my inner walls as it went... It felt like it was rubbing not just my core, but my entire body. It was a sex where he seemed determined to pour every part of himself into me, trying to transform me into himself.

As the feeling of climax, which had repeatedly surged to the tip of my cock only to retreat, raced through my body once more, I felt a taut fullness swelling in my lower abdomen and buttocks.

It was like inserting a hose into my hole, sealing the opening, and then turning the water on to its maximum setting, inflating me. Thump, thump, thump—my pulse hammered as if striking down from above my head, and I felt all the blood in my body rushing through my veins at several times its normal speed.

"Haaah, h-this... this..."

I ejaculated onto the sheets, my eyes wide open toward the ceiling as if I had witnessed something astonishing. Even while watching me come, he didn't slow down his thrusting at all.

There is no brake for him while he is knotting. At this moment when the reproductive capabilities of the Golden Alpha are maximized for procreation, he exists only to impregnate me, whom he holds in his arms.

It felt as if my whole body was being tightly bound with ropes that were gradually tightening their hold. It was a pleasure akin to a severe full-body ache that pressed into my skin, as if he were crushing every part of me.

"Yes, it's knotting.... Do you like it? Do you like it that much?"

Biting all over my neck as if he hated me, he pounded into me with his engorged cock, which seemed ready to burst me open. His length, which choked my throat and made me gasp for air, shook me as if it could rearrange all my internal organs without him even needing to move his hips loudly. That was knotting.

"You said you were a Beta. You insisted you weren't an Omega. So why are you looking for knotting? Do you want to get pregnant? Huh?"

I'm going crazy.

Listening to his voice, which scolded me as if threatening me, for a fleeting moment, there was a part of me wondering if our relationship might change if pregnancy became possible. Even though it was just a thought that lasted only an instant, the cowardly and petty direction of that thought—something I could never have imagined before—felt frightening and chilling.

"Why, why do you..."

He mumbled, as if surrendering or collapsing, and then ejaculated with his forehead buried in my shoulder. It was a hot, fierce ejaculation, as if boiling water had been poured inside me. At first, it shot out like a stream from a showerhead, but then it churned out repeatedly, soaking me thoroughly inside.

The massive amount of semen immediately began to leak down between my legs, squeezing through the perfectly sealed gap between his knotting cock and my inner walls as soon as he poured it inside me. If it hadn't leaked out like that, my internal organs might actually have been damaged. And, although this was only relevant if I had been an Omega, it was enough volume to cause pregnancy even if some of it still seeped out.

I turned my head toward him. The eyes that looked up at me as he lifted his face from my neck were, just like last time, completely unhinged.

His unfocused gaze, which seemed to look at me but not through me, might have been frightening to some, but to me, it was simply sexy. Thinking that all this wildness and irrationality was directed at me made me greedy enough to want to clutch him in my hands.

When I kissed his languidly drooping eyelids, he instantly sprang to life, attacking me roughly and snatching my lips. At the same time, still holding me, he fell onto the sheets and climbed onto my stomach.

My lips, tongue, neck, ears, chest, armpits, pubic hair, the back of my balls, and even my hole. His ministrations were thorough, searching every inch. He greedily inhaled my scent wherever his lips and nose touched, showing a desire for me that rivaled my own greed for him.

"Whatever happens... just come to me like you did today. You don't have to worry about anything."

Even if it was just lip service, meaningless words poured out in the heat of the bed, like the whispered "I love yous" from one-night stands I'd just met that day, it was the perfect sustenance for my ravenous heart aching for him.

I closed my eyes while clutching the back of his head as he repeatedly kissed my intensely swollen, reddened nipples after pushing up my t-shirt.

Unlike last time, when he had awkwardly stopped things after ejaculating with knotting and frantically tried to scrape the semen out of me, this time he changed positions and came inside me one more time.

It felt as if my entire body was reeking of his scent, not mine—not just the interior of my inner walls, which had been thoroughly slicked with his semen three times—but everywhere. Something had definitely changed.

· · · · ·

The small table next to the single-person sofa, which held a vase with a few simple flowers and a couple of books, was actually a small wooden refrigerator. He retrieved a bottle of water from it and gently lifted my shoulders, as I was too limp to even bother covering myself.

"Drink some water."

My lips, and even the inside of my mouth, were bone dry, but I didn't even have the strength to lift the small water bottle. I felt completely exhausted and worn out, as if I'd been dragged around for ages, tied to a spirited horse with unflagging, taut muscles.

My left shoulder rested against his right chest. He sat me down beside him and put his arm around my shoulder, propping me up from behind with his knees bent. I tried to support myself by placing my hands on the mattress, but I couldn't even hold up my upper body without leaning on him more than halfway.

Seeing my arm and hand tremble as I tried to grab the water bottle, he took a mouthful of water for me. Then, he pressed his lips to mine and let the water flow in.

At first, I flinched and recoiled slightly in surprise. It was partly because the cool sensation touching my heated body felt unfamiliar, and partly because I hadn't expected him to go that far for me.

Even though we had just been tangled up in every sort of embarrassing position, it wasn't as if we were in a relationship where we had to be responsible for delicate kindnesses after sex, no matter how messy our encounters were during sex.

My muscles wouldn't obey, and about half the water he poured in wouldn't go down; it dribbled out around my mouth, down my neck, and soaked the chest and lower stomach hidden beneath my t-shirt. He patiently made sure I drank enough water over several attempts.

Only after confirming that my eyes had regained some semblance of life did he quench his own thirst with the remaining water. The cool, large hand that had been holding the water bottle then brushed the damp hair stuck to my forehead aside.

I was completely spent, but he was not. The muscles throughout his body were still engorged, ready to sprint at any moment, and the gaze he fixed on me still shimmered with heat.

That heat traced a path downward. It was the path the water had followed.

While still holding me close, he dragged his lips and tongue along the trail the water had made. Every time his lips brushed against my skin, I shook violently, as if having a seizure. The feeling of his mouth sucking at my nipples through the wet t-shirt was cold and alien, causing my toes to tense up.

Even after coming three times, the erection pressed against my side was still rock hard. It was as fresh as a cock aroused after more than a week of abstinence.

Yet, he seemed to accept the cessation of sex with a composed attitude. He appeared accustomed to situations where he couldn't have sex for as long as he desired.

Satisfying the relentless libido of a Golden Alpha might be impossible unless one were a Golden Omega. That's what I assumed, anyway.

Having tasted the juice flowing from the threads of pleasure, I wanted to satisfy him too, but not a single sliver of energy remained within me to induce sexual arousal. It felt like he had devoured every last bit if any had existed.

I gathered strength in my spine and lifted myself out of his embrace. As I pulled the neckline of my t-shirt, which had slipped completely off one shoulder, back into place, I subtly covered my still-matted sex, sticky with dried semen.

"I should throw this t-shirt away."

My voice came out unexpectedly hoarse, which embarrassed me.

"Hmm, you're right."

He agreed, looking down at the chest area of the t-shirt. The thin cotton shirt was so stretched out that it was impossible to tell what its original shape had been; even after I adjusted it, my collarbone and upper chest were completely exposed.

He stroked my collarbone, then playfully thrust his hand inside the neckline as if searching for something, stirring around beneath the fabric. The way his hand moved—not from the bottom up, but plunging down from the neck into the shirt—felt unexpectedly suggestive, so I looked down at his palm as he firmly pressed and rubbed my pectoral muscles a couple of times, then quickly looked away.

"It's easy to touch, and it looks suggestive—I like it. We should keep it as a souvenir."

Even managing the mood after sex, keeping it light and playful to avoid awkwardness, he did with practiced ease and naturalness.

I gave a weak laugh at his joke, but suddenly his expression hardened with seriousness.

His gaze landed between my legs. Even while sitting, the large amount of semen he had ejaculated three times continued to stream out. Just as during sex, his stare fixed on the space between my thighs was unabashedly direct. He even tilted his head to get a better look. Though I tried to remain composed, my thighs instinctively clenched together.

"Should we clean up first?"

He abruptly pulled his gaze away, as if cutting something short unnaturally, and stood up from the bed. Thinking he might try to clean me himself, I instinctively grabbed his wrist.

"Let me rest for a little while... I'll take care of it slowly."

"......"

His gaze dropped downward again. Because I had held onto him, my t-shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing the area between my legs even more than before. During sex, I had spouted all sorts of nonsense without him even asking, but now that the magic of the climax-inducing sex had worn off, the dampness between my legs, which had soaked the sheet as if I'd wet myself, filled me with unbearable shame.

"If I keep looking at that... I feel like I'll jump on you again. The stimulation is too intense."

Despite what I said, his demeanor as he gently removed my hands and headed for the bathroom didn't seem to show much reluctance.

The bathroom light came on, the sound of water filling the tub followed, and he returned with a damp towel. Even completely naked, leading with his still-erect cock, he moved naturally.

It was just that, perhaps because of the heavy weight, his cock bobbed every time he walked, and he would grasp the base of it whenever it swung noticeably. Despite being too weak to lift a finger, seeing that sight made me curse my own lust, which made the area between my legs tingle again. How on earth had I managed to live satisfied with only mechanical masturbation until now?

"Ngh, I-it's fine..."

He sat on the edge of the bed with one leg dangling down and immediately brought the towel between my legs. I gripped his wrists with both hands to resist. He paused for a moment, then easily shook off my hands and lifted the hem of my t-shirt.

"I did all of this. So, let me do it. I know I pushed you too hard."

As he said that, his face and hands, wiping down my thighs and cock with a warm, damp cloth, looked serious, as if performing a medical procedure. Even though his arousal remained, his expression and touch were completely devoid of any sexual nuance.

He was perfectly kind, showing no sign of awkwardness or embarrassment... which made me realize that the sex we just had hadn't stirred him in the slightest, and that the moment it ended, his lust for me and the wildness beyond his control had also ceased.

I wasn't resenting his kindness or manners. It wasn't like I secretly wanted him to treat me coldly, push me away, insult me, and scratch at my heart like a pervert after he was done with what he needed.

Still, why did watching him maintain such meticulous manners while remaining so utterly calm feel so suffocating? I knew I was asking for too much.

He said it would be much easier to clean out everything inside so I wouldn't suffer later. He practically carried me, who was dying of awkwardness and embarrassment, into the bathroom. In the meantime, the bathtub had been filled generously with hot water.

He said it would be much easier to clean out while I was in the water, so he told me to take off my t-shirt and squat down in the tub.

I desperately tried to stop him when he went to step into the tub behind me. I had boasted that I could do it myself, but tragically, I didn't even have the strength to support myself while squatting. Furthermore, his tub was much larger than a standard size, so I couldn't even brace myself by holding onto the edges on either side.

He watched me repeatedly lose my balance and plop down, then sighed while clicking his tongue above my head.

"I told you, you can't do it yourself."

Splash. There was no excuse left to push him away as he entered the tub. It seemed ridiculous that I was wobbling as if all the strength had drained from my body just from having sex, and I was angry at my body for not cooperating, but considering the long, persistent foreplay that felt like it was melting my entire body, followed by the rough and intense penetration, knotting, and three climaxes, it seemed like an inevitable outcome.

"Stop being stubborn. You're going to bruise yourself in the wrong places."

As he spoke in an anxious voice, he settled in behind me. His arms immediately came around behind my knees. He lifted me slightly off the tub floor, and his chest and shoulders pressed against my back.

I didn't even expect him to be as calm and skilled as he was, but I really didn't want to look like an idiot—was even that too much to ask? The feeling of my legs being forced open by the strength lifting me from behind made me squeeze my eyes shut in shame.

He hooked my right leg over his erect knee to keep me from closing it, and then his hand fumbled its way downward.

"I'm just going to touch you a little first so things slide in smoothly."

"......"

What was there to say?

I just closed my eyes, lowered my head, bit down on my swollen lip, and prayed for this moment to pass quickly.

"Hah, ah."

But maintaining my silence while his fingers probed my acutely sensitive interior proved difficult. The act of him touching inside my hole for cleanup after the heat of sex had faded was more mortifying than the most obscene positions we had taken during intercourse, making my ears and face burn.

As if sensing my distress, he pressed a soothing kiss onto the nape of my neck.

"Ahhh...."

As his fingers, which had been gently scraping the inner walls, carefully opened the entrance, slippery fluid streamed out from within. It was a chilling sensation. When I opened my eyes, the cloudy spread of semen dispersing in the water-filled bathtub was clearly visible. What on earth...?

I bit my lip again at the overwhelming sight. Even without turning around to check, I knew his gaze must be fixed on the murky stain seeping out from inside my hole and mixing with the water.

Even though it was clearly his semen, it felt as though it had become a secretion created inside me... making me feel like a stranger to myself, as if I had become a different entity. My face, and certainly my neck which was exposed to him, must have been bright red.

"Don't look...."

As I murmured in a small voice, he kept his lips pressed against the back of my neck and let out a low chuckle.

"Why? It's too good a sight to waste."

Then, he kissed the back of my neck as if pressing down firmly before letting his lips slide down along my shoulder line.

"Apply pressure slowly and release."

To be told to tense up while in this position—legs spread and lifted—felt like... Haa....

I don't think I felt this ashamed even when he lifted my hips to his chest and licked my hole right in front of me. My face felt hot enough to explode, but accepting the situation and following his instructions was the only way to get through this as quickly as possible. I had no choice.

Rubbing his lips against my skin as if to encourage me, he used his index and middle fingers to stretch the entrance to my hole open. It was clearly an act to help with the discharge. Whether it was because his lips on my shoulder seemed to be smiling, or because his fingers were subtly creating unnecessary friction, my thoughts kept drifting toward something sexual.

"So much is already out. You're quick to get good at anything, aren't you?"

"..."

A faint trace of amusement clung to his voice, but since I was already short on composure, I had nothing to say, just as before.

It was strange how I could be bold enough to nearly undo the restraint he was barely holding onto by making him knot inside me, yet instantly become tongue-tied as soon as I got off the bed, but this latter reaction felt more familiar to me.

"Relax your body and sit a little longer."

He helped me sit up, leaning me against the edge of the bathtub, then walked over to the shower stall across from me. He finished showering quickly, showing no sign of awareness that another person was present in the same space. At least, he appeared not to be aware.

Maybe I was the one being overly conscious. Given his age of thirty-two and the smooth, refined bedside manner he displayed, it seemed unlikely that he would feel awkward after every encounter or flinch away from his partner's gaze.

It struck me again how inexperienced I was in every respect. When he was kind or smiled at me as if I were endearing, there were times I wondered if that proved he viewed me as slightly special too. But when I saw how calm and composed he was, unlike myself, I also suspected it was merely my delusion and that it was just his ingrained manners.

It wasn't easy to grasp the inner workings of a man ten years my senior. That was especially true when the senior in question was Liu Weikun.

While I looked down at the water, which had been cloudy with semen but was now diluted and clear again, he wiped himself dry with a large towel and left the bathroom.

After sitting a little longer, I got up to take a quick shower, my legs still weak, when he immediately returned to the bathroom. He then had me sit on the ledge designed for sitting and washed my hair.

"Close your eyes."

As I obediently closed my eyes, a stream of warm water poured down from above, rinsing away the shampoo lather. He interlaced his large hands through my hair, scrubbing more carefully to rinse out the foam completely.

By now, trying to be conscious of every move and insisting on something felt pointless. When the water stopped, I let out a small laugh at the feeling of being like a large, overgrown child, rubbing my eyes. The man standing before me gently cupped my chin, tilting my head up to thoroughly wash away the last of the suds from my face.

Just as we always had, or perhaps, just as he always spent the time after sex... everything felt entirely natural.

Just as when he entered the bathroom, I was led back to the bedroom, not walking so much as leaning heavily on him for support, though my legs weren't injured.

The sheets had been changed in the meantime. A clean set of new sheets lay on the bed, and even the underwear and pajamas for me to change into were laid out.

Even though I was the one who had been penetrated, and I hadn't exerted myself as much physically as he had, there was no question about who had expended more energy—it certainly wasn't me. Whether it was because he was an Alpha, or simply his personal ability, his stamina was admirable. Even now, he showed absolutely no sign of fatigue.

"I only have my size here, so it might be a little big."

"Yes."

My lower body felt heavy and throbbing; honestly, even just standing was a bit taxing. While I sat on the bed putting on my clothes, he too slipped into his underwear and training pants. He still wasn't wearing a top, perhaps because he was accustomed to sleeping without one in the summer. He stood beside me, looking down as I slowly dressed.

It wasn't just the overall size, but the way the underwear felt conspicuously loose in the front that made me embarrassed. It wasn't about male pride, or anything like that. Besides, grouping a Golden Alpha male and a Beta male together as "the same kind of man" was already a stretch. While nothing scientifically proven existed regarding genetic superiority like physical ability or brainpower, the fact that Alphas possessed superior reproductive capabilities was an established truth.

"We should probably buy some sets in Seo Ihyeon's size, too."

"......"

He said that as he turned and walked toward the refrigerator. I looked up involuntarily in surprise, but he was no longer looking at me. My hands, which had been fastening the buttons of my pajamas, stopped as I fixed my gaze on his back as he bent over to pull out a bottle of water.

The whisper from our time together—where he had told me I could have him whenever I wanted—came flooding back. Did him saying he'd stock up on underwear and clothes in my size mean he was certain I would seek him out again? Or was it an expression that he, too, intended to continue this relationship, this sex? It was all too difficult for me to decipher.

He stood before the refrigerator, nearly finishing a bottle of water, then took out a new one, twisted off the cap, and approached me. I awkwardly lowered my gaze and started buttoning my clothes again.

"It looks like you're wearing your dad's underwear..."

As he said that and handed me the water bottle, his gaze lingered on my loose underwear. It wasn't meant to be a way of showing off the size of his own manhood and putting me down. Rather, even as he spoke those words, his eyes looking down at the underwear were mixed with a subtle stickiness that made my legs involuntarily tighten.

After taking a few sips of water and setting the bottle on the side table, he lit a cigarette and sat on the edge of the bed while I put on my bottoms. A simple white ceramic ashtray was placed between him and me.

"Earlier... I said it in passing, but—"

He rested his feet on the legless, one-piece bed frame and propped his elbows on his bent knees, opening his mouth as he exhaled cigarette smoke.

"From now on, if anything becomes a problem, you can just come to me like you did today. I wasn't just saying that."

Perhaps those words were just a fleeting sentiment brought on by the mood in bed. His explanation seemed to read my very thoughts.

Since he was sitting facing the sofa, I, sitting near the headboard, could see his profile comfortably. He took the next drag a little impatiently, then frowned and exhaled a long stream of smoke, almost like a sigh.

"I know you're not someone who likes leaning on others or asking for favors... but it's perfectly natural to lack the resources to solve real-world problems at your age, and consulting or relying on those who are older and more experienced doesn't make you weak or dependent..."

I was surprised that he understood me so well. He knew exactly what I was worried about, what I was hesitating over. He saw right through me, even though I had never told him. Was the ten-year age gap really that significant?

I felt awkward, like a self-conscious adolescent boy who tries to act mature but is forced to confront the fact that he is ultimately just a child when it counts, but more than that, his words were deeply appreciated.

Perhaps they were the very words I had longed to hear from someone stronger and wiser than myself, words I desperately needed to get back on track. That it was okay to consult him and rely on him. That doing so wouldn't cause him trouble or make me dependent on him.... Maybe, because I couldn't be sure on my own, I had been waiting for someone with a large, trustworthy presence to say that more than anything else.

Even so, my chest felt tight, as if pressed down by something heavy.

I needed to thank him, but the flickering of so many complicated emotions made it hard to open my mouth. I kept forming the words without speaking them, finally biting down hard on my lower lip.

In the room, where not a single wall clock hung, only the sound of him breathing as he smoked continued quietly for a long time.

"Last time, you asked if I liked that painting... Alienation."

"......"

My gaze, which had been fixed somewhere on the sheet, lifted involuntarily. My eyes widened, and my pulse quickened. I hadn't expected him to still remember that question.

"My parents divorced because of me."

And I certainly hadn't anticipated that his question about whether I liked my painting would lead down this path.

I had defined him internally as someone who buried his own stories deep inside, yet the voice confessing a part of his past was utterly flat, as if he were reading aloud from a book.

"It's a complicated issue, so explaining it would take too long, and it's not something I'd tell a stranger in detail, so I'll keep it brief... They divorced to protect me even though there was no problem in their relationship. They continued to see each other away from the public eye, but how could I not feel guilty about that situation?"

He tapped ash from his cigarette into the ashtray set between us, then swept the hand not holding the cigarette across his hair.

"No one ever said it was because of me, but as I grew up, I naturally realized it. That I was the reason the set—which was meant to be complete only when together—was unnaturally split apart."

His tone seemed to waver slightly, losing its dryness, but he quickly regained his composure, his balance.

"People often described the two of them simply as the 'ideal couple,' but what I, their only child, felt most closely was something beyond that. There were no arguments, their gazes when they looked at each other remained as sweet as lovers' even after a long marriage, and they still enjoyed date nights alone... it went beyond just that level of relationship...."

I interrupted him as he struggled to choose the right words to convey a meaning that wasn't ordinary.

"I think I know."

He was scratching his lower lip with his upper teeth, pausing for a moment, then turned to look at me. The cigarette dangling from his fingers had grown noticeably short.

He didn't challenge me, asking what I knew or how I knew. Instead, his surprised, rigid face softened into a relaxed smile, and he chuckled. It was a smile that tolerated his story being received and understood by the other person, "in their own way."

Considering that most people tend to be objective and rational about the pain of others, yet resent their own minor hurts, like a splinter under a fingernail, being easily dismissed, the slightly melancholic, resigned, gentle smile he showed suggested he wasn't just a prince who conquered the world effortlessly through the power of his circumstances.

However, what I offered was by no means a superficial display of sympathy.

Even though I couldn't be perfectly certain whether my understanding precisely matched what he intended to convey, I, too, knew a couple who shared a bond beyond what people call an ideally perfect marriage.

"My father was an admirer and an artistic comrade to my mother's entire body of work and the spirit that comprised it, and my mother considered my father, the perfect interpreter of herself and her art, to be her literal soulmate. Many people believe that a perfectly balanced relationship, one that doesn't lean toward either side, doesn't exist—especially in the unequal relationship between an artist and their supporter, where the balance tips toward the artist—but that wasn't the case for them."

He ground the cigarette out in the ashtray until the filter was completely scorched.

"It wasn't a relationship that relied simply on romantic feelings for a partner or affection built up over time. To establish a basic life by taking care of food, clothing, and shelter, and to instill a meaning beyond that into their lives... they absolutely needed each other, and those two people had to be forcibly torn apart... because of me."

He showed no demand from me, the listener, to sympathize with his emotions. Pausing briefly, gazing into space as if recalling a specific point in the past, he seemed determined to handle his own emotions entirely by himself. To me, he was merely telling a story, presenting it as information.

Perhaps he considered it unsightly to become absorbed in his own feelings and turn the listener into an audience for his misery—to say, "I struggled this much," or "I suffered this much."

While I agreed that such emotional distance was what constituted "generally accepted" maturity, and despite being a person who also felt uncomfortable exposing my own vulnerabilities, a selfish desire suddenly flared up in me: I wanted to see him drop his guard, expose his most fragile parts, and let his surging emotions overwhelm me. But it was just that—a selfish desire.

He, who had been deeply absorbed in thought, stood up, grabbed the cigarette pack and lighter from the table, and returned to his seat. After lighting a new cigarette, he exhaled smoke with a practiced motion and began to speak.

"Growing up, I often had to ask myself. Whether I was... worth that much."

I felt the urge to answer him. But of course, I had no right to speak that answer. Nor was I the one he was seeking an answer from.

"It's strange. They sacrificed even their most precious relationships for me, yet why couldn't I become a person full of love, but instead started doubting my own existence? Even though I know they didn't make that decision in order for me to feel guilty... as time went on, the feeling I had toward them became more one of apology than gratitude... And since I knew that if I wasn't completely happy, their project would be considered a failure, that guilt only grew—well, I spent my formative years caught in that vicious cycle."

He took a quick puff of his cigarette, deliberately lightening the tone for his last sentence. He rested his elbows on his knees, loosely clasped his hands, and cracked his knuckles one by one with a series of sharp pops. Then, he glanced back at me and smiled, setting the half-smoked cigarette down on the ashtray.

"So, the moment I saw that painting, I doubted. I thought, What is this? Did I really paint something like this?"

But I couldn't even manage a faint smile, much less return his grin. He was talking about one of the very cells that made him up—a secret that, at least to me right now, was the most fascinating in the world. By mentioning Alienation, that cell was now trying to connect with me.

The Alienation he must have felt for reasons that were far from ordinary.

Parents who loved each other ideally, and the sacrifice they decided upon out of love for their child. A child who was "required" to be happy within that enclosure.

Even if I thought his story bore a significant, though not perfect, resemblance to my own, it didn't feel like a desperate delusion conjured up by my urge to find common ground with him.

He picked up the cigarette again.

"That means I empathized that much. Because the things I wanted to scream out loud at my parents, or at the world... they were right there in it. I knew immediately what the artist was trying to say."

He looked at me as if asking for confirmation that he had seen the painting correctly, but I had never considered how I might receive someone else's interpretation of my work.

If that was how he felt, and if it was a very strong conviction, perhaps that's what he was meant to become through the painting. Perhaps that was enough. I could only vaguely guess.

"Born between wonderful, talented parents who loved each other dearly, raised with sacrificial love, I was supposed to be happy. Everyone said so, so why couldn't I be? I started wondering if I was the strange one for not being happy. Eventually, I even got angry at the people who forced happiness onto me."

The coercion of happiness. Specifically, the pressure from those around me for a perfect happiness, one drawn as if from a fairy tale or a Hollywood family movie ending. I understood that feeling of suffocation to some degree myself.

Around the time I painted Alienation, all my friends were pursuing only what they didn't have. Friends with hands-off parents envied those who received devoted attention from theirs, while friends with overly involved parents felt it was interference and envied freedom. That was the age we were in.

The reason I painted Alienation was not due to some terrible knot of resentment, as people might think.

I loved my parents, and I was happy. It simply wasn't the flawless, perfect happiness that some people imposed on me—based solely on the highly relative grounds that I possessed something they did not.

They had already told me, when I was grateful and happy, with grim expressions, "You should be more grateful, and happier."

The air in the room was still warm from the heat we had just exchanged, but I slowly ran a hand over my pajama-clad arms, as if suddenly feeling a chill.

Taking another drag, he swept his hair back with the hand holding the cigarette and turned to look at me, his face tilted at a slight angle.

"But that painting told a different story. 'You're not the only one who's strange. I am strange too.'"

I couldn't help but relax my shoulders and laugh at his theatrical antics, which seemed to mimic someone I couldn't quite place.

As my laughter subsided, I recalled Ms. Suki Kim's story.

Alienation had been a source of comfort to him.

Now, through his own words, I was finally hearing clearly that Alienation could hang in his living room not just because he appreciated my talent as a collector or dealer... but because he himself had felt a personal resonance with my work.

The fact that at least a part of the Alienation he had carried with him was somehow intertwined with my painting stirred a unique emotion in me, something I had never felt before. Believe it or not, it was a feeling more captivating than the sex we had just shared. I wanted to know more about him.

"That's why I want Seo Ihyeon-ssi to paint again. I want to see that artist's next work."

"......"

His eyes met mine as he spoke. He wanted to see the painting I created.

Even if he had asked to see my naked body, my soul couldn't have been more shaken than it was now.

"Seo Ihyeon-ssi's question was brief, but my answer was... rather long, wasn't it?"

Perhaps embarrassed by the long story he had just shared, he rubbed his eyes with a faint, wry smile. I wondered if he was finally feeling tired. How could he not be tired? He had spent hours pouring his energy into holding me, someone who was hardly small.

"Could you give me one too?"

"......"

He looked at me silently, and after a moment of quiet, handed me a cigarette without any particular reaction. When I looked up because he only gave me the cigarette but not a lighter, he gestured with his chin, as if telling me to put it in my mouth. I clumsily gripped the filter, and he brought the flame of the lighter to the tip of the cigarette.

I flinched and pulled back slightly for a moment, then slowly tilted my head while meeting his eyes across the flame. He, too, didn't look away from my eyes while lighting it for me.

It didn't cause the same physical rejection in my body as the cigarette I smoked in his room in Hong Kong. I didn't cough, nor did the sharp sting that felt like it was tightening my throat and lungs feel severe. If anything, this level of pain felt like something I needed right now.

Yet, I couldn't swallow even half of the smoke. The remaining half drifted slowly upward into the empty air. Humorously, I thought it resembled the way the bodily fluid, which had flowed from me moments earlier and clouded the bathwater, had spread out.

I was the first to break eye contact.

"Ms. Suki Kim... she's your mother, Director?"

I asked the question simply to confirm, as he no longer seemed to have any intention of hiding that fact.

He stared at me intently, as if observing something novel as I smoked, then let out a small chuckle and turned his head. He skillfully handled the cigarette, as if it were an extension of his own body, inhaling the smoke.

"That's right. I dislike both the jealousy that attributes everything to parental backing and the flattery, so I don't usually make it known."

Although his mother had Korean blood, he was from Hong Kong, and it didn't seem like any close relatives had settled in Korea either. Nevertheless, I thought I could vaguely grasp the reason he opened a gallery in Seoul, a city where he had no ties, connecting it to the stories he had shared earlier.

"Everything that has shaped me since birth is already a benefit derived from my background, so saying I'd decline the benefits of influence now would just be childish stubbornness. Honestly, I'm embarrassed even to be saying this."

Saying that, almost as if to himself, he gave a self-deprecating smile and took a drag from his cigarette.

"Because people will surely whisper that it's just the petty show of a prince who wanted the title of self-made man. Even if it were true to some extent, it's certainly not the whole story... and I was tired of being talked about by people who like to simplify and judge others' lives."

Having said that much, he seemed to have revealed more of his true feelings than he intended, making a look of dismay before quickly sucking on the cigarette as if to silence himself.

It wasn't shameful to try and resist the inertia of the orbit that maintained his current self. Because even taking a tiny step away from one's original position, or even forming or changing a single habit, requires immense effort. Therefore, any intention to conduct a new experiment through himself should not be treated lightly.

Innumerable words floated in my mind, but I couldn't utter a single one of them.

Would it come across as hollow sympathy? Would anything I said feel genuine, coming from someone who hadn't made any effort to break free from inertia? Such fears cemented my tongue.

"Ah, the others don't know about my mother. Manager Han does, though."

It was an unexpected statement.

Perhaps it just turned out that way, and he hadn't intentionally tried to keep it a secret from nuna and hyung. He wasn't the type to volunteer information about himself unless asked. He hadn't specifically asked me to keep quiet about it either. Yet, the embarrassed smile on his face as he looked at me conveyed the message to keep it a secret.

He didn't feel a sense of relative superiority for having confided in me a story he hadn't even shared with nuna and hyung.

When he played his trump card—Suki Kim—to persuade me to start painting, he had probably been prepared for me to find out about the mother-child relationship as well.

Considering his desire to simply be Liu Weikun, regardless of his origins or background, it felt like a remarkably radical choice. That was why I found it surprising.

He was willing to risk exposing a part of himself he didn't want seen just to make me pick up a brush.

It wasn't just because of a business mindset—scouting an artist as a dealer or collector—but because he himself was the person who had found resonance and solace in the artwork he had kept close for so long.

He knew, and was certain, that if I didn't paint, I would lose my individuality and simply drift away like a colorless speck buried in universality. It was as if he had known me intimately for a very long time.

After taking the first drag, I slowly brought the cigarette, which I had merely been holding between my fingers, to my lips as if entranced.

He, who had been leaning back loosely with his hands pressed on the mattress behind him, looked at me and put a cigarette to his lips at the exact same moment. We were each just smoking our own cigarettes, but perhaps because of the look in his eyes or the atmosphere surrounding him, I felt the illusion of feeling his lips and tongue through the smoke. My skin tingled with a sharp sweetness, as if I were physically connecting with him.

A fragrance lingered, not with the intensity that stifled breath during sex, but with a subtle languor.

He exhaled the smoke slowly on a long breath and spoke quietly.

"Before, in front of Shushu's work, you said that it made you want to paint."

He had certainly said that. But back then, he had seemed to have almost no interest in me, so I hadn't expected him to remember that conversation all this time.

"......"

"Paint."

It was a concise core message. Stripping away all grand reasoning and persuasion, that was the essence he wanted to convey to me.

"I don't know what stopped you from painting anymore, Seo Ihyeon-ssi, but... for someone like you... the only way to walk, run, and breathe again is by painting, so fight for your life... just focus on reclaiming your own language."

Like when he told me to eat for my own sake even if I had no appetite, his words urging me to paint as if my life depended on it captivated my mind, like a striking passage in a song.

The more I got to know him, the more it seemed he wanted me to pick up the brush not for his business or for "Phantom," but for my own sake. His words, and the serious way he looked at me, conveyed just that.

What Ms. Suki Kim had said—that he pretended to see art only in terms of its economic value—was tantamount to saying that he was someone who could never weigh art by economic value alone.

Perhaps he was a person who was compelled to treat each artist's uniqueness and the works they created with pure artistic sensitivity.

While it was true that getting recognized solely for the value of one's work, without marketing, was difficult—which is why he didn't hesitate to collaborate with the most mundane media outlets for promotion—that wasn't the entirety of his attitude toward art and artists.

It might have been an attempt to defend him too much, but it felt instead like he was trying to suppress his own pure affection for art with that very businesslike demeanor.

Though I had only taken two puffs, the ash had already grown long, so I tapped it into the ashtray and gathered my courage to ask him.

"How can you be so certain, just from a single piece, that I am someone who speaks through my art?"

He avoided my gaze, which had been fixed intently on him, and ran his fingers through his hair several times. The faint smile that touched his face looked shy, like a boy about to share a secret.

Looking down at the cigarette in his hand, which had already burned down short, he spoke.

"I don't know if you noticed, but there are hardly any paintings hanging in this house. However, I've kept Alienation hanging up since before I moved to Seoul. For five years, I've lived with that painting, staring at it every day. Not just its theme or composition, but every brushstroke and texture... If this were a movie, I'd have memorized every line spoken by every character. I probably know more about that painting now than Seo Ihyeon-ssi does."

I felt a heat rising from deep inside my body, coloring my face red.

When I read his review of the artist Shushu, I had felt that the high praise for Shushu's capabilities as an artist, along with his words about Shushu's work having a personal impact on him, were like a fervent confession. But this—this was something more...

Suddenly, he tilted his head and looked back at me, and in contrast, I dropped my gaze to avoid his. As if fleeing, I brought the cigarette to my lips and took a drag.

"So I can't help but know that the artist of Alienation is someone who can only live by painting."

Still, I couldn't ignore my curiosity about the expression on his face as he spoke of me and my painting. When I exhaled and raised my head, his eyes held a heat different from what they held during sex.

It was a seriousness that stripped away all pretense, falsehood, probing, and self-protection—a frankness that exposed his entire interior, refusing to let me dismiss it with a laugh.

"I'm not someone who speaks through painting, but I was born to someone who cannot live unless they paint. Genes? You can't ignore those."

He managed a smile, as if joking, but I couldn't follow suit.

"I thought that something inside me had died, which is why I couldn't paint anymore... but then one day, it occurred to me that perhaps I had died because I stopped painting."

His words—that I must paint as if my life depended on it—echoed what Ms. Suki Kim had said. As he claimed, the power of genes truly could not be ignored.

I clearly remembered the teacher's words, as if I had recorded them and listened every day, about the time when she had put down her brush for two years because she had to prioritize things over painting, and temporarily give up art for something more important than the paintings themselves.

Perhaps that two-year period was related to the process of having to get a divorce by deception to protect him, but that was just speculation.

Just as I couldn't explain why I had stopped painting, I couldn't ask what his most vulnerable point was.

He stared intently at me while I smoked, then reached out and traced the surface of my lips—lips swollen sensitively from our deep kiss.

In the dim light, his eyes, which looked paler than usual, meticulously scanned my face. He looked at me this way sometimes. From my perspective—someone attracted to him—it was a gaze too intense to meet comfortably. If it was a habit, he should probably break it. Especially if he didn't want to invite unnecessary misunderstanding and get tangled up in something like a lovers' quarrel.

"Did it hurt?"

"......"

It was ambiguous whether he was asking about my lips, given that he had been touching them, or about what had happened internally during the knotting, or perhaps about the sex in general. But whatever he was asking about, the answer I would give him was the same anyway. I shook my head.

After pulling down my lower lip slightly, as if turning it inside out, and withdrawing his hand, he continued to stare at me for a long time. It felt like a ritual of imprinting a face onto his memory before departing on a long journey.

His gaze and expression were calmer than when he spoke, yet the shimmering waves of atmosphere emanating from him conveyed a sense of turmoil.

Vaguely, I felt an urge to confess everything to him. If I could learn about him by confessing about myself, it felt like a mutually beneficial transaction.

Had I ever wanted to know someone this deeply? Especially about the most private and cruel wounds, the ones trapped in his most secret and shadowed corners.

As if sensing that I had noticed his agitation, he forced a smile and gripped my shoulder.

"It must have been a very long day, so please get some sleep. I actually have somewhere I need to be... I have to get ready and leave in a little while, but don't worry about me; sleep as soundly as you need to."

He got out of bed and arranged the blankets for me. Perhaps the fatigue was finally catching up to him, as he pressed his fingers against the top of his eyelids several times while doing so.

I felt apologetic that we had been so intensely intertwined when he had to leave early in the morning, but apologizing now for having wanted sex also felt inappropriate for the situation.

The sky outside was already lightening to a rather deep violet. It was still raining, but the downpour had eased compared to the middle of the night.

I asked him in an apologetic voice if he truly had no time to rest at all as he added another layer of blackout curtain, but he just smiled as if it were nothing, approached me, and lightly pressed my shoulder, urging me to lie down.

"I'll leave your phone here. I'll call you, so even if you're sleepy, make sure to answer it."

He was probably calling to discuss how the task was progressing, yet his instruction to answer the phone sounded like a small promise between lovers—it was briefly sweet, and that made me even more afraid.

I was not prepared, either situationally or internally, to handle something like dating or love without issues.

Not even he was expecting anything from me, yet here I was worrying about whether I was ready or not... Finding my own premature assumptions bitter and ridiculous, I pulled the blanket up to my lips and nodded.

It was hard to believe that just a few hours ago, I had been trembling with such intense fear the moment I saw my uncle standing at the front gate. If he said everything was fine, I felt like it really would be fine.

Perhaps that was an ability as formidable as actually resolving the issue. Thinking that, I closed my eyes, which were growing heavy.