Desires Chapter 3.5 - II. Time of the Mask

“How’s Matteo doing these days?”

The indifferent gaze skimming through documents in the office was directed at Park Sungjae with a toneless voice.

“Lately, he’s been in frequent contact with Executive Director Cha Sukhyun.”

A cold edge gleamed in Cha Woojin’s eyes.

“It seems like hyung wants to cozy up to the prosecution.”

With a low scoff, Park Sungjae nodded in silent agreement, bowing his head.

“Are these villains planning to band together or something?”

His dark eyes, now tinged with menace, flashed sharply.

“What about the Matteo matter I instructed you on earlier?”

“It’s in progress.”

“You can’t ignore Matteo’s father, who manipulates the prosecution like dough. Proceed with utmost caution.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Park Sungjae, bowing his head nearby, added, “Director, as I mentioned, it’s happening today.”

Cha Woojin cast a chilly sidelong glance at Park Sungjae.

“Tonight, you need to create an alibi before leaving the country.”

The superior, who had been reviewing documents, lifted his wrist to check the time on his heavy metal watch.

It was indeed tonight. To establish an alibi before departure, he needed as many witnesses as possible. The perfect location he had scouted was waiting for Cha Woojin.

“Bring Song Yeongin from Ashtro.”

🌫️

It was past 10 p.m. Waiting for Song Yeongin, who was finishing up at Lacquer and preparing to leave, was none other than Park Sungjae.

The fact that Park Sungjae himself, not the usual minder who drove him home, had appeared in front of him meant one of two things.

Either a major incident had occurred that required Park Sungjae’s direct involvement, or Cha Woojin had explicitly ordered him to bring Song Yeongin.

“I’ll escort you to Ashtro.”

“What’s this about?”

“The director instructed me to bring Mr. Song Yeongin. He said there’s something you absolutely need to do.”

“Something I absolutely need to do?”

Was there anything Cha Woojin needed from him besides physical intimacy? It might just be wordplay.

The way Cha Woojin had ravaged him with an outrageous, weapon-like object, something that should never enter a human body, had left wounds in his lower body that hadn’t fully healed even days later.

Yet, Song Yeongin didn’t ask Park Sungjae anything further and silently got into the car. When Cha Woojin sent Park Sungjae, not someone else, to fetch him, it came with an unspoken “absolute” condition.

As a capable subordinate, Park Sungjae would carry out Cha Woojin’s orders by any means necessary, and even if Song Yeongin resisted, he would ensure Song Yeongin’s body was in that car one way or another.

As before, Park Sungjae guided Song Yeongin to a secluded entrance hidden from the main one, leading to a mountain path. The isolated secret passage connected to the mountain revealed itself once more.

It was the same as last time. It was as if he was being told to find Cha Woojin’s secret hideout on his own. The fact that he was being summoned there again felt like a hint that, tonight, he would once again have to take Cha Woojin inside him.

When they reached the entrance, Park Sungjae retrieved something from the car’s trunk. He then handed Song Yeongin a large shopping bag.

“He instructed you to change into these clothes at the same place as last time and then head to the Ashtro Lounge.”

Song Yeongin’s refined, composed eyes blinked slowly.

The “place” Park Sungjae referred to was none other than Cha Woojin’s secret hideout. Park Sungjae cleverly avoided revealing its true nature, vaguely referring to it as “that place.”

“Change clothes… and go to the Ashtro Lounge? Is that really necessary? Can’t I just go straight to the Ashtro Lounge now?”

“Every year-end, the Ashtro Lounge holds a grand masquerade party for VIPs. As it happens, today is that day.”

Song Yeongin tilted his head in confusion.

“There’s a dress code for the party, so you’d likely be denied entry at the door with your current attire.”

Park Sungjae handed over the shopping bag again, saying, “Wear exactly what’s in here. The included mask is essentially an invitation for VIPs, so if you wear it and head to the Ashtro Lounge, the security staff will verify the invitation and let you through.”

“Wear… a mask?”

The sudden, absurd request left him half-understanding, half-bewildered.

Of course, Song Yeongin, with his work experience at the Ashtro Lounge, was well aware that it was a venue for high-society events and large banquets, with periodic event parties planned. The lounge and party hall had hosted not just masquerades but even more unique and exotic social gatherings, which were a major revenue source for Ashtro, consumed in various ways by its elite clientele. However, being abruptly summoned there and told to attend a masquerade party was nothing short of baffling for Song Yeongin.

“Did Director Cha Woojin really say there’s something I absolutely need to do?”

With a loyal expression, Park Sungjae nodded silently.

Though it was a sudden demand, Song Yeongin, swayed by that single statement, ended up accepting the shopping bag from Park Sungjae.

What could this perfect man, who seemed to need no one’s help, possibly require from him? Song Yeongin was unbearably curious about it.

“And… take this.”

Park Sungjae handed Song Yeongin a tiny metal microcard, barely the size of a fingertip.

“What’s this?”

“It’s an access pass for that place.”

“It was designed and made exclusively for Mr. Song Yeongin, so you’d better keep it safe.”

“…”

“Touch the microcard and your hand to the hidden infrared AI screen on the side of the gate, and the door will open upon fingerprint recognition. It’s precision-crafted so that no one else can use it. The automatic sensor will only open the door by recognizing this metal card along with Mr. Song Yeongin’s biometric fingerprint and iris.”

“…”

“I trust you understand the risks involved, but please take extra care.”

Song Yeongin hadn’t even considered taking the small metal card from Park Sungjae’s hand.

“Why are you giving this to me?”

Song Yeongin couldn’t comprehend why they were doing this to him. That place was practically a ticking time bomb, sealing the secrets and scandals of VVIPs within its confines.

Why were they handing him the key to access such a place while urging him to be cautious?

No matter how powerless and insignificant he might be, from Cha Woojin’s perspective, they couldn’t entirely rule out the possibility that he might leak confidential information or cause trouble.

This could potentially endanger or inconvenience Cha Woojin. So why were they so blatantly entrusting him with the key?

Park Sungjae responded to Song Yeongin’s question with a look of his own discomfort.

“That’s something you should ask the director directly. I’m merely following his orders.”

From the displeasure on Park Sungjae’s face, Song Yeongin could infer one thing.

Even Park Sungjae, Cha Woojin’s loyal shadow, couldn’t make sense of why he was giving Song Yeongin this key. Barely concealing his disapproval, Park Sungjae continued matter-of-factly.

“The director only said that Mr. Song Yeongin is a very clever person.”

“…”

“Because you’ve memorized the complex route to that place and even the way to bypass security personnel. From your last visit, you already know the intricate path through this secluded passage connected to the mountain, don’t you?”

“…”

“Even I can’t freely access that place without the director’s orders.”

“…”

“So, this is as far as I can assist you with answers.”

Song Yeongin’s head throbbed with dizziness. Even if his unexpected ability to recall spaces like a photograph made it possible to find the hideout, how was he supposed to interpret being handed the key to Cha Woojin’s secret lair?

Cha Woojin clearly had ulterior motives.

With a heavy heart, Song Yeongin had to navigate the now-familiar maze. Yet, despite his complicated emotions, the map in his mind remained as clear and vivid as a photograph.

🌫️

For a while, he had to search for the infrared screen hidden inconspicuously within the gate’s crevice. What Park Sungjae described wasn’t a tangible object but a faint array of light and text.

When Song Yeongin touched the small microcard and his finger to the illuminated surface, a green light signaled approval for the intruder.

Moments later, as if by magic, the heavy spire-like door opened. Another door for security followed suit.

In that secretive, grandiose hideout, not a single trace could be found. No signs of human presence or use of the space. Everything was pristine, as if brand new. Naturally, Cha Woojin wasn’t there either.

The space was so silent and desolate it made his ears ring. Song Yeongin’s footsteps echoed familiarly as he crossed the area, heading toward the bedroom at the end of the passage.

The bed, which had been a mess of blood and semen from their night together days ago, was now pristine with fresh white sheets, as if nothing had ever happened. Cha Woojin could replace everything with something new at any time, as if erasing the past.

Lacquer was overwhelmingly busy during the year-end season. With the influx of customers, Song Yeongin had been working grueling full-time shifts for days, exhausted from overwork. Seeing the comfortable bed, the accumulated fatigue hit him all at once.

His refined eyes, heavy with exhaustion, slowly scanned the entire bedroom. As if recalling his purpose, Song Yeongin opened the shopping bag.

Inside was a large envelope, presumably the invitation. He tore open the purple stamp with Ashtro’s emblem, sealed with melted wax.

The envelope contained an invitation to Ashtro’s masquerade party and an intricately crafted white mask covering the eyes and nose.

It was a sturdy, detailed white mask reminiscent of the masquerade balls of medieval Venetian nobility.

Dress Code: Black, Leather.

Please ensure you wear the enclosed mask upon entry.

Song Yeongin emptied the shopping bag, pulling out everything beneath the invitation. There was a stylish black leather trench coat made of fine parchment-like material, a luxurious shirt, neatly tailored black pants, and a pair of glossy leather loafers matching the trench coat.

“Who’s the one playing with dolls here?”

While mocking Matteo, it was none other than Cha Woojin who was making him do such bizarre things.

Song Yeongin felt he could barely move his exhausted body. He took off his clothes, folded them neatly, and set them aside. It had been a relentlessly busy day. He barely managed to drag his weary body upright.

To clear his mind, Song Yeongin quickly washed up in the bathroom, dried off, and put on the clothes Park Sungjae had given him.

He tied the belt of the leather trench coat and, finally, donned the intricately crafted white mask covering his eyes and nose. His full, red lips created a striking contrast with the white mask.

Unexpectedly, Song Yeongin liked the reflection he saw in the mirror. The mysterious, perfectly masked figure seemed to embody the long-buried wish of hiding from the world, reborn as an illusion.

His concealed identity under the mask was flawless. It felt like no one could recognize him, as if that sinister, malicious shadow could never find him.

It was an impeccable, flawless armor.

🌫️

Showing the invitation, Song Yeongin was cleared by security and entered the lounge, where a groovy house beat filled the air, dreamlike in its intensity.

Under hedonistic, ethereal lighting, the vibrant DJing in the booth heightened the party’s fervor to its peak.

For a while, in the dim light, the masks seemed to float in the air, creating a strange optical illusion. The invitees were dressed in various black leather outfits adhering to the dress code. Under the chaotic lights, they flaunted their glamorous and bold attire, reveling in vanity.

Some wore provocative bondage-style outfits, while others, like Catwoman, showcased their silhouettes in glossy enamel leather. A man wielded a whip, and in the Ashtro Lounge’s party hall, the vulgar and the aristocratic mingled without boundaries. Like art pieces on the wall satirizing crudeness, they shamelessly intertwined, cloaking their duality with sophistication.

Just as Venetian commoners, imitating nobility, donned masks to infiltrate their festivals, hiding their identities to whisper love with aristocrats at their balls, Song Yeongin, too, had slipped into this elite party, concealing his poverty to search for Cha Woojin, the king of the aristocrats.

Wandering aimlessly through the loud house beats, Song Yeongin bumped into Seohyun, a former colleague serving drinks. But only Song Yeongin was startled. She didn’t recognize him and kept bowing apologetically.

The bartenders were still frantically mixing drinks amidst the hedonistic frenzy. The brief time he’d worked at the Ashtro Lounge flashed through his mind like the thick smog before his eyes.

Running into Seohyun up close made it clear. As long as he wore the mask, no one would recognize him. Realizing this, Song Yeongin even felt that this masked state was oddly comforting.

At Jmil and Ashtro, he had always been a mere servant, an insignificant outsider trampled underfoot. But at this moment, the undeniable fact that no one could discern his background or status gave him a strange thrill and satisfied a latent desire for rebellion.

The lounge used different lighting than usual. The dim ambiance of the party hall was ethereal, almost decadent in its hedonism.

In a foggy showcase, a leotard-clad showgirl wielding a whip and a man in leather restraints performed like commodities on display. It evoked the ironic illusion of a sex business showcased in a luxury boutique.

Yet, through the familiar cynical sneers of the elite looking down from their refined perch, Song Yeongin realized this wasn’t real. It was merely a fake concept party for VIPs or the strikingly attractive outsiders mingling among them.

It was all just a stimulating game to quell the boredom of the wealthy with their mundane lives and overflowing money. For them, Ashtro was a safe playground, guaranteeing both pleasure and absolute privacy and security.

Compared to the brazen, bold exposure of those passing by, the leather trench coat he wore seemed overly conservative, almost ascetic, like a uniform.

As Song Yeongin hesitated, wondering how to find Cha Woojin in this chaotic, dazzling place and considered contacting him by phone, he spotted someone.

Amid the hedonistic lounge lights, one person stood out. Beneath the masked eyes and nose was the most refined and handsome face.

A sculpted jawline and sharp nose. The alluring lips and smile, transforming seething desire into restraint, left a uniquely seductive afterimage. The duality of stillness and dynamism, the continuous, rough dance of cold, straight lines, was right there… among the crowd.

A noble male frame that captivated every eye. More eye-catching than the bondage performer stripped bare in the showcase was his absolute physicality. A sensual structure, broad shoulders, a tall, sleek, and toned body. His overwhelming masculinity radiated unfiltered in the midst of the crowd.

When Song Yeongin spotted Cha Woojin, he realized he wasn’t the only one watching him in the party hall. The refined guests and those lurking in masks pretended otherwise but were all fixated on that man.

Wearing an imposing black leather rider jacket, Cha Woojin had transformed from the perfect suited gentleman into a rebellious rogue who looked ready to hop on a motorcycle.

The energetic, free-spirited attire seemed to grant him a lightness, as if liberating the freedom suppressed within him. As if the suit and tie had been the true restraints,

The casual t-shirt and jeans under the leather rider jacket accentuated his belligerent, sexy charm to the fullest. The body once restrained by a suit shone even more brazenly in this carefree attire.

His mere movement evoked thoughts of a bed. Under the hedonistic, dreamy lights, the sexual aura this perfect man exuded was so intense it was almost unbearable to witness.

“Hey! Look… Cha Woojin.”

“No way! Is that really Cha Woojin?!”

The shouts of passersby pierced through the house beats, ringing in his ears.

Though his face was hidden by a mask, everyone knew. The people here idolized and followed Cha Woojin, the crown prince of Woosung Group, as if he were their celebrity.

A palm-sized mask couldn’t conceal his overwhelming presence. It was unmistakably Cha Woojin, simply dressed in an unconventional outfit for the event.

The women circling him were all model-like in their perfect figures. A woman in a leather slip revealing every curve, another in an obscenely short skirt with a garter belt holding a prop gun. A man in leather pants and a holster, baring a sleek, muscular torso. People flocked to the couch where he sat. Women, men, regardless of gender, surrounded Cha Woojin.

Perhaps the masks gave them audacious courage. Normally, these onlookers would have feigned indifference, circling politely, but now they vied aggressively to claim a spot by Cha Woojin’s side.

This was a complete departure from the cold, dismissive Cha Woojin who had rebuffed a woman’s advances at the lounge last time. He didn’t reject the seductive whispers or sexual approaches. In fact, he seemed to openly welcome them.

Cha Woojin, alone on the couch he monopolized, moved with the proud grace of a solitary black beast. His generous ease was almost an unspoken permission for others to approach.

This was a side of Cha Woojin Song Yeongin had never seen. The cold-blooded man with icy eyes who never let anyone near was nowhere to be found. The man before him was someone entirely different. Song Yeongin raised a faint, mocking smile beneath his mask.

“Maybe that’s the real Cha Woojin.”

Perhaps the version he thought he knew was an illusion, a misconception. Maybe Cha Woojin was always this libertine, charming women left and right.

If he wanted, he could have anyone—man or woman—spreading their legs for him.

Song Yeongin had been told there was something he absolutely needed to do. That’s why he’d gone along with this bizarre mask-wearing ordeal and come to find him.

He needed to ask Cha Woojin why he’d been summoned here. But breaking through the blatant, lustful gazes surrounding that man, piercing that high, impregnable fortress, felt impossible.

Instead, Song Yeongin wanted to flee this place. Cha Woojin, who claimed to have no interest in men, had embraced him, which was strange enough. Knowing it was just a momentary fling didn’t make it easier to see those alluring women dominating his side, leaving Song Yeongin with a quiet, crumbling misery.

He didn’t want to disturb the man who seemed to be enjoying himself. Song Yeongin turned away, escaping toward the opposite terrace.

Emerging from the stifling interior, Song Yeongin faced the cold winter wind on the rooftop terrace. The biting breeze snapped him out of his emotional spiral.

He considered leaving a message for Cha Woojin and going home when a masked stranger approached, holding a champagne glass. The man smiled vaguely at him, his exposed lips curling with a peculiar grin.

“You really stood out back there…”

The stranger addressing Song Yeongin was masked, but his voice, the glimpse of his lower face, and his attire suggested he was around Song Yeongin’s age. Compared to Cha Woojin’s presence, he had a youthful, almost immature air. A black earring glinted on one ear, and his speech carried the nasal, slightly childish tone typical of their age group.

“Did you come alone?”

Song Yeongin didn’t respond to the stranger.

“Even with the mask, your beauty can’t be hidden.”

“…”

“I’ve been watching you from a distance since you walked in. Under the mask, that delicate face and those pretty lips are just too striking…”

The man seemed drunk. What was he rambling about?

“You came out here because you were bored, right? I’m bored too. This kind of thing… it’s dull, tedious.”

“…”

“I came out here because it was too loud inside.”

Song Yeongin’s gaze quietly fixed on the stranger behind the mask. The man, around his age, kept mumbling while skillfully swirling his champagne glass.

“Want to go somewhere quiet and have a drink with me?”

Approaches from strangers weren’t unfamiliar to Song Yeongin. But the fact that someone was hitting on him despite the mask felt incredibly strange. The headache, worsened by fatigue, throbbed even more intensely.

“I’m sorry… I have something to attend to.”

His soft, clear voice cut through the distant hum of house beats, and white breath escaped his full, red lips like smoke in the chilly air.

The stranger chuckled.

“Your voice is insanely attractive too.”

“…”

“Don’t you ever hear that? That voice… damn, just thinking about it gives me chills.”

“…”

“I’m dying to know what kind of face is hiding under that mask. Wanna come with me?”

As the stranger pressed Song Yeongin repeatedly, a presence loomed behind him.

An imposing figure approached and abruptly placed a large hand on Song Yeongin’s shoulder. The man’s distinct scent rode the cold air, assaulting Song Yeongin’s senses.

“…!”

Song Yeongin didn’t even have time to react. The heavy texture of a leather jacket brushed against his face. The raw, cold smell of leather hit him mercilessly.

With the champagne-holding stranger standing before him, the man who boldly embraced Song Yeongin’s shoulder was unmistakably Cha Woojin, even without seeing his face.

Cha Woojin leaned in, pressing his sharp jawline close to Song Yeongin’s ear, and whispered in a low, deep voice. His mask buried itself against Song Yeongin’s face.

“You really don’t give anyone an opening, do you?”

Song Yeongin stared at the mask whispering against his face. Those unabashed, calm eyes gazed down at him from within.

When he glanced across in embarrassment, the champagne-holding man coughed awkwardly.

Cha Woojin turned roughly to face the intruder. He tilted his broad shoulders arrogantly, exuding an intimidating presence as he glared at the stranger.

“I didn’t realize he had company… My apologies.”

The stranger quickly bowed his head and slunk away.

Song Yeongin brusquely brushed off Cha Woojin’s large hand gripping his face. The buckle on the sleeve of the rider jacket clinked with a metallic sound. Cha Woojin spoke in his characteristic low, flat tone.

“If you’re here, say so.”

Song Yeongin looked up at the masked Cha Woojin. Even with his face covered, he was razor-sharp and menacing. Song Yeongin’s skin stung as if cut by a blade just from his touch.

The tousled hair spilling freely over the mask and the heavy leather jacket drew the eye. Up close, he was infuriatingly sexy. His rebellious attire and the aggressive, untamed body beneath radiated fervent, sexual allure.

A debauched scent wafted from him, one that stirred and bewitched. Song Yeongin hated it. His entire body recoiled in rejection of the man.

His soft voice echoed faintly in the air.

“You looked like you were having too much fun… I didn’t want to disturb you.”

When Song Yeongin spoke with a hint of sarcasm, the sexy lips beneath the mask curled into a cocky smile.

“So that’s why you’re so pissed off? Enough to pretend you didn’t see me and run away?”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. That’s not it…”

Cha Woojin cut off Song Yeongin’s words.

“I was in the middle of creating an alibi.”

An alibi…?

“To prove I was having a great time here for hours, I had to act like I was genuinely enjoying myself in front of countless eyes and ears.”

Song Yeongin couldn’t make sense of what Cha Woojin was saying. The man’s way of speaking was always so uninviting.

“Then why didn’t you just keep having your fun alone? Why did you call me here?”

Cha Woojin laughed off Song Yeongin’s sharp words with ease.

“Do you really think I’m doing this pointless nonsense because I want to?”

“…”

“Once I’d made enough of an alibi, I planned to slip out with you.”

Cha Woojin’s gaze lingered on Song Yeongin beneath the mask.

“It suits you. Though I didn’t pick it out.”

Cha Woojin commented, eyeing the glossy black leather trench coat.

“Then how did you recognize me?”

If he didn’t choose the outfit, how did he spot Song Yeongin from a distance, masked and all? Song Yeongin was puzzled.

“How did you recognize me?”

What a strange thing to say. Of course, you stand out anywhere… It wasn’t just me; everyone in there recognized you.

Cha Woojin let out a languid breath, his long eyes behind the mask meeting Song Yeongin’s.

“You stand out. Even with your eyes and nose covered, still…”

His gaze lingered on the full, red lips exhaling white breath in the cold for quite some time.

“You didn’t even notice some random guy following you?”

“…”

“Being an easy target isn’t always a good thing.”

Yet he was the one shamelessly blaming Song Yeongin while commanding the attention of the crowd in the Ashtro Lounge’s party hall. He’d openly indulged the women throwing themselves at him…

“I came here because you said there was something I absolutely had to do. What’s the reason you—”

Cha Woojin sneered, muttering lowly.

“Can you stop with that ‘reason’ nonsense?”

“…”

With a mischievous, boyish squint, he said playfully, “If there’s no damn reason, you wouldn’t even bother meeting me, would you?”

Song Yeongin’s mouth clamped shut. The man was saying strange things. Not meet him?

The weak, joking complaint from the lips of the absolute power holder in this relationship sounded utterly hypocritical to Song Yeongin, the powerless one. It wasn’t up to him to decide whether to meet or not—it was Cha Woojin, the one saying these words. Song Yeongin was left speechless by the absurdity for a long moment.

The clear, serene eyes beneath the mask gazed up at the man coolly. Cha Woojin grabbed Song Yeongin’s frozen hand in the winter breeze.

“Fine… Since you’ve got something you absolutely have to do, stop talking and follow me.”

🌫️

Cha Woojin’s hand, gripping his frozen one, was searingly hot, like the fervent desire hidden beneath his cold-blooded expression.

Cha Woojin pulled Song Yeongin by the hand from the terrace back into the lounge. As they stepped inside, the cold winterinstallation: winter air was overpowered by the sultry, heated atmosphere.

Cha Woojin checked his heavy metal watch and scanned the area, likely calculating his route and timing.

Holding Song Yeongin’s hand, Cha Woojin strode through the center of the hall. Like an unstoppable tank, his bold, rough steps forced Song Yeongin to follow helplessly.

Under the loud music and hedonistic lights, the crowd’s sharp gazes latched onto him. Cha Woojin tore off his mask mid-stride, tossing it aside carelessly.

When his refined, noble face was revealed, the curious onlookers’ eyes turned predatory, swarming Song Yeongin and Cha Woojin from all directions.

Cha Woojin deliberately caught the eye of the lounge’s CCTV cameras, as if staging the moment. He pulled Song Yeongin through the center of the hall and out without hesitation.

Even after escaping the fervent gazes of the crowd, Cha Woojin still held Song Yeongin’s frozen hand tightly.

He led him toward another destination. Like the day he was silently taken to his hideout, Song Yeongin followed Cha Woojin’s back in silence, asking nothing.

They reached the top floor of the Ashtro Lounge, where Song Yeongin thought there was nowhere left to go. But Cha Woojin guided him to a hidden emergency staircase.

It felt like the bell tower of an ancient cathedral. A narrow, spiral staircase unfolded before them.

Song Yeongin asked nothing of Cha Woojin, not even where he was being taken.

Climbing the stairs, he panted breathlessly, too rushed to remove his mask. At the end of the spiral staircase, a small door connected to the rooftop opened.

Cold air pierced his lungs between heaving breaths. Exhausted, Song Yeongin struggled, but Cha Woojin showed no signs of fatigue—a superhuman body forged through countless limits.

“Come here.”

Cha Woojin gestured casually.

The rooftop of Ashtro was revealed. They had to climb a ladder to reach an even higher point. Panting, Song Yeongin silently followed Cha Woojin.

They reached the pinnacle of Ashtro’s spire, a place no one would find.

At the highest point of the Gothic building, overlooking Ashtro’s entire landscape, was a small garden close to the sky.

In the tiny garden stood a wooden cabana, like an ancient work of art steeped in time.

Cha Woojin lit a faint, low-light lantern inside. An old, ornate lamp. Only then could Song Yeongin make out his face. In the dim light, his eyes were like a melancholic dawn, serene and rebellious, as if they might vanish like a dream.

Cha Woojin lay down on the cabana’s bench without a word. There was enough space for both to lie down and gaze at the sky. He silently gestured for Song Yeongin, still catching his breath, to join him.

Song Yeongin lay beside Cha Woojin wordlessly. The night sky filled their vision, stars seemingly ready to spill over. Living in the city, Song Yeongin had never seen such an abundance of stars so close.

Cha Woojin reached for Song Yeongin’s face with a veined hand. Only then did he remove Song Yeongin’s mask, which he’d forgotten to take off.

Beneath the mask was a refined, sculpted face. In the faint light, his calm, composed eyes gazed silently at Cha Woojin.

Cha Woojin brushed back Song Yeongin’s sweat-dampened hair, revealing a smooth forehead and finely shaped brows. They lay in silence, staring at the night sky.

In all of Song Yeongin’s life, this was the quietest, most desolate moment. Silence was his most familiar form of communication, raised with a mute mother and sister. He wished this man understood that.

Suddenly, Cha Woojin stood and dug something out from the garden’s edge. Song Yeongin watched. Cha Woojin pulled out a small whiskey bottle.

It was the familiar label he always drank—Macallan. He unscrewed the sharp, perfume-bottle-like metal cap.

Cha Woojin’s low voice broke the silence, echoing under the starry sky.

“I buried this here last December 31st…”

“…”

“Hard to believe a year’s passed.”

In the dim light, Cha Woojin’s long, curved eyes smiled lazily as fireworks exploded in the night sky behind him.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The deafening blasts rang in their ears. Vibrant, majestic fireworks lit up the sky like a festival. This spot he’d brought Song Yeongin to was the perfect place to watch.

Was this why he brought me here?

The winter night was ablaze with dazzling fireworks. Seeing them so close was a first. These moments with this man were piling up, one by one.

Cha Woojin took a swig from the year-old whiskey bottle and sat beside Song Yeongin.

“Every year, I watch the New Year’s fireworks here. Over a decade now.”

On the last night of the year, Ashtro’s tradition was to ring in the New Year with a countdown and fireworks.

December 31st, bidding farewell to the year… January 1st, welcoming the new one with this man. They shared no customary New Year’s greetings.

Song Yeongin stared, entranced, at the falling fireworks like a child. Their vibrant shadows danced mystically on his face.

Cha Woojin gazed at Song Yeongin’s profile, lost in the fireworks, without a word. After a long pause, he spoke in a low voice.

“I’m going to be very busy for a while.”

“…”

“I’ll be out of Korea for quite some time.”

“Where… are you going?”

Song Yeongin’s first words were thrown out carelessly.

“My father’s always testing me, so I’ll be sent around endlessly again.”

His refined brow furrowed slightly.

“…”

Cha Woojin checked his heavy metal watch under his leather jacket sleeve, a habit of constantly calculating his schedule.

“Time’s running out. I need to head to the airport soon. I won’t see you for a while, so…”

Why was he explaining himself like this? Song Yeongin knew he was a busy man, always pressed for time, appearing out of nowhere after long silences.

“I was pressed for time, but there was something I wanted to do.”

His unabashed, blunt face and tone were nonchalant.

Song Yeongin turned away, avoiding his gaze, his face flushing red.

“I just wanted to get inside you, do it, and finish. I didn’t want to waste time on pointless things.”

Song Yeongin scoffed in disbelief at his crude, vulgar words.

“Why don’t you ever ask for my opinion?”

He glared at him, incredulous.

“Who said I’d do that with you again?!”

His beautiful voice cut through the night air, clear and cold.

“I’ve already apologized to you how many times?”

“…”

“That night, I was forceful and relentless. I’m sorry.”

“…”

“But you didn’t hate it, did you?”

Song Yeongin was stunned by the man’s brazen, arrogant words.

“…What did you say?”

“Don’t tell me it was my imagination.”

“…”

“Do I have to spell it out? If you hated it, you wouldn’t have let me.”

“…”

“You were begging me.”

Song Yeongin let out a derisive snort at his shameless audacity, biting his full lips to suppress his rising anger.

He wanted to shut that wicked mouth humiliating him on purpose. Those crude words—do it and finish—made the unhealed wounds in his lower body ache.

“I know I messed you up.”

“…”

“Dr. Cho looked at me like I was crazy and told me not to do this for a while. I didn’t know your body wasn’t used to this.”

Lies… all lies.

“Are you still not feeling well?”

Cha Woojin, hiding his beastly nature from that sleepless night, asked with feigned concern, his hypocrisy shameless.

“I’m… still not healed.”

Song Yeongin replied with a cold face.

“It’s different from women, so I don’t know how or when you’ll recover.”

Song Yeongin gave a chilly smile at his words.

“Yes… I suppose so.”

His calm response dripped with sarcasm.

Cha Woojin sighed and chuckled softly. Narrowing his long, debauched eyes, he asked, “So, how’s your mouth?”

“…”

“Is that ruined too?”