Come Looking for Flowers Chapter 6.1 - Falling Petals

The steady beeping of the electrocardiogram continued at a constant pace. No trace of emotion could be found on Won Kangho’s face as he stood beside the motionless figure lying as if dead.

The sight of the frail body covered in a tangle of medical devices was grotesque. The forced semblance of life sustained by machines felt almost familiar. It was a moment that brought back memories of a certain day. Staring quietly at Lee Yoonjo’s sleeping face, Won Kangho recalled what had happened earlier.

“It would be best if the spouse could stay by his side continuously.”

Spouse. At some point, Won Kangho had become Lee Yoonjo’s spouse. It was an utterly absurd title.

“Since you’ve undergone mutual imprinting, exposing the patient to the spouse’s pheromones frequently will help him recover faster.”

The absurdity didn’t end there. The medical staff kept spouting nonsensical drivel.

At the mention of imprinting, the man couldn’t hold back his laughter. The uneasy look in Manager Jung’s eyes was none of his concern.

Imprinting, of all things. Wasn’t that ridiculous? The man’s body shook with laughter at the utterly preposterous notion.

Imprinting was the result of emotional bonding influenced by psychological factors.

And they called it mutual imprinting, not even one-sided. Something that could only happen through mutual love and dependence had supposedly occurred between this dying body and himself.

Love. Was such a word even remotely appropriate for someone like you or me? Yet the test results were far too clear to deny.

“Make sure to provide plenty of pheromone showers. It was very early, but it was still a miscarriage, so the aftereffects will be significant. The spouse’s role is the most important. Stay by his side as much as possible.”

The medical staff’s voice echoed in his ears. The hospital room, with all its lights turned off, had long been shrouded in darkness.

Dried bloodstains clung to the tip of his shoe, a dark crimson hue. The man’s gaze slowly swept over the corpse-like body from head to toe.

Life had been conceived in this small body. To be precise, it had been conceived but was now gone. A life even younger than the young man before him had vanished into light without ever seeing it.

Did Lee Yoonjo know? That a life had been breathing inside him?

Probably not. The man answered his own question.

If he had known, he wouldn’t have done something like this. Lee Yoonjo, with his infuriatingly kind heart, would never have been capable of such a thing.

“It’s time to wake up from the dream.”

The man’s face remained impassive as he recalled the words he’d spoken that morning.

Was I a dream to you? If so, is this me forcibly holding you back as you try to wake from that dream?

The man quietly stood up. He sat on the edge of the hospital bed and reached out. His fingertips brushed against the pale cheek, feeling the cold temperature of the body.

Though he seemed dead, Lee Yoonjo was alive. The transparent oxygen mask fogged up and cleared repeatedly. It was proof of life.

The man remembered his first meeting with Lee Yoonjo. The neighbor’s kid, radiating the glow of someone loved with his entire being. The light Lee Yoonjo had exuded back then was still vivid in his mind.

The youthful face, still carrying the scent of innocence, and the crisp collar of the neatly ironed school uniform shirt wrapped around his pale neck. Those round amber eyes that glanced at him whenever he passed by. The ears that turned slightly red whenever he greeted him.

The precious son of a wealthy family. That was his first impression of Lee Yoonjo. Someone who would never have any connection to him, or so he thought.

But when Lee Yoonjo’s father came to his house, Won Kangho had a gut feeling. That he and that kid were inevitably bound to become entangled.

Lee Yoonjo, now so faint he seemed on the verge of fading away, even had a pale breath. The radiant light that once shone from him was nowhere to be found anymore.

Won Kangho didn’t want Lee Yoonjo to die. It was a strangely unfamiliar thought for the man. He had never once felt regret or sorrow over someone’s death.

He had caused countless deaths and witnessed just as many. Tearing apart lives left no sentimental mark on him.

Death was just a job. A task for profit.

Profit or loss. Those were the only criteria the man used to make decisions.

A toy he enjoyed playing with dying would be a loss, while finding the family of a runaway debtor would be a gain. Whether someone lived or died was none of his concern. As long as it wasn’t his loss, it didn’t matter.

Had he ever clung to someone’s life like this before? If he had to answer, the answer would be no.

It was unpleasant. The fact that Lee Yoonjo had broken irritated him and soured his mood. He was displeased that Lee Yoonjo had tried to break free from his shackles and fly away without his permission.

“Baby.”

A low voice fell over Lee Yoonjo’s face. There was no response. The beeping sound wasn’t an answer.

Where did this filthy feeling come from? He had thought and thought about it since arriving here, but he couldn’t pinpoint the reason. It was as if no reason existed in the first place.

“Was it that bad?”

“…”

“Bad enough to wish it was just a dream?”

Resentment, anger, murderous intent. There was no trace of emotion in the man’s voice. His expression was the same.

Lee Yoonjo had broken. By his own hand. What had stood firm against raging winds had ended up shattering itself.

Won Kangho had picked up Lee Yoonjo’s scattered fragments one by one, piecing them back together to restore their original shape. He had no regrets about that action. Nor did he regret the actions he’d taken before.

In all his life, the man had never experienced regret. What would regret change? Moving forward was the way to gain profit, not looking back.

It was the same now. Even as he gazed at the shipwrecked, sunken Lee Yoonjo, the man felt no regret. Only displeasure and questions arose.

Why did it feel wrong for this omega to die? Why had he brought back the breath of someone who was all but dead, not once but twice? Why did he want to see those eyes open and see himself reflected in them?

It had started as a game. No, it couldn’t even be called a relationship. To Won Kangho, Lee Yoonjo was nothing more than an amusing toy.

He was pretty, so he caught his eye, and holding him felt quite nice. He just didn’t want to hand him over to anyone else.

He wanted to keep him for himself, to prevent him from escaping, to savor that sweet scent whenever he pleased. This omega was a vessel that suited him perfectly.

His hand reached down and touched the withered hand, thin as a twig. He tapped rhythmically on the back of the hand where the IV needle was inserted.

“Why did you have to catch my eye?”

What a cruel fate. Lee Yoonjo offered no response.

If he had heard those words, Lee Yoonjo would have stared at him with those big eyes full of resentment. With a face like a voiceless siren, he might have shed tears instead of speaking.

“If I’m your hell.”

A sneer mixed into his words.

“Will you never escape me, even in death?”

Still, the other gave no answer.

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

His muttering voice was low. The man pulled Lee Yoonjo’s hand to his lips, pressing them against the back of it. Beep, beep, the sound continued steadily.

The freesia-scented pheromones that always lingered around were nowhere to be found. Won Kangho slowly released his pheromones. In an instant, the alpha’s cool pheromones filled the spacious hospital room.

The unpleasant smell of alcohol gradually faded. Something like blue smoke softly enveloped the body lying as if dead on the bed.

“Live, Lee Yoonjo.”

A quiet voice directed toward Lee Yoonjo.

“Live and come back to me.”

All the questions led to one answer.

Losing Lee Yoonjo would be a loss.

The man was still selfish, with no regard for the other. His innate nature would never change. Nor would it in the future.

“I’m not ready to let you go yet.”

The concentration of pheromones grew thicker. His dark eyes gleamed dimly. The figure submerged in them showed no sign of waking.

The approaching dawn’s footsteps felt unusually slow.

“Yoonjo, take this to the neighbors.”

“The neighbors?”

“Yeah. It seems someone new moved in. Looks like a guy living alone. Be polite, okay?”

His mother’s instructions came with a shopping bag full of tangerines. Yoonjo silently accepted it, thinking of the dignified old man who used to live next door. If someone new had moved in, did that mean the old man had moved elsewhere?

School, cram school, study room, and tutoring. Yoonjo’s days spun like a hamster wheel, each one the same. He was too busy to notice changes around him.

He rang the doorbell, waiting for someone to answer. In that brief moment, Yoonjo, overcome with an inexplicable tension, repeatedly clenched and unclenched his empty hands.

Thud. At the heavy sound of the door opening, his gaze, fixed on his toes, lifted upward. He saw a man approaching from beyond the gate.

He nearly dropped what he was holding. The man, as if all the darkness in the world had been gathered and molded into one, exuded an overwhelming presence even from a distance.

“Never seen this kid before.”

The man’s voice fell over Yoonjo’s head as he opened the gate. Snapping back to reality, Yoonjo awkwardly bowed.

“Uh, um, hello. I’m from next door. My mom told me to bring this over.”

His voice trembled at the end. Unable to meet the man’s eyes, Yoonjo extended his arms, holding out the shopping bag.

The man was silent. He glanced at the bag, then stared intently at Yoonjo. For some reason, Yoonjo couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Tangerines?”

The man’s muttering voice was excessively low. The moment Yoonjo cautiously raised his eyes, he met the man’s pitch-black gaze head-on.

Without a word, the man extended his hand. Entranced, Yoonjo handed him the shopping bag’s handle. A fleeting glance revealed a hand covered in scars.

“Tell your mother I said thank you.”

“Uh… Yes.”

“Oh, wait.”

As Yoonjo bowed and turned to leave, the man’s voice stopped him. Turning back with a puzzled look, he saw the man extend his hand again.

“Your hand.”

Entranced, Yoonjo held out both hands, and the man dropped something into them.

“Payment for your errand.”

“…”

“See you.”

A cheap mint candy without a label. As the man turned to leave, Yoonjo called out to him.

“Um, mister!”

The man, a cigarette in his mouth, raised one eyebrow. An impulsive action was followed by impulsive words.

“Happy New Year!”

The candy crinkled in his hand as he squeezed it. Its small weight felt significant. He wanted to wish for a New Year’s blessing that hadn’t even arrived yet.

After that day, Yoonjo thought of the man constantly. On days when he happened to run into him, his ears would flush red.

Admiration. Respect. Love. Curiosity. Yoonjo didn’t know the true name of the feelings he held for the man. He was too young to fully understand.

Some time later, when his body and mind had matured, Yoonjo gave the name “first love” to the nameless feelings he had for the man. It was the best conclusion he could reach.

The word “first love” was magical. Just by giving it a name, Yoonjo belatedly realized something had changed in the way he looked at and felt about the man. Until they reunited in that rundown apartment, the man remained Yoonjo’s first love.

“Hey, baby?”

The man, arriving with misfortune, was unchanged. Still taller and bigger than him, with that low voice and hands covered in scars—everything was the same.

The reunion with the man completely shattered Yoonjo. The man turned Yoonjo’s world upside down and planted misfortune within it.

“When you regret it, it’ll be far too late.”

The younger Yoonjo had believed there would be no misfortune in his life.

When his test scores were lower than expected, he felt regret. When a game console he wanted was sold out, he felt sadness. When his busy parents couldn’t attend his graduation, he felt disappointed.

The world had plenty of words to express emotions and situations without resorting to something as painful as “misfortune.”

“But since I bought you with money, shouldn’t you be worth it?”

The dark cloud named Won Kangho that stormed into Yoonjo’s world stained it black. The light vanished, leaving only dampness and gloom in Yoonjo’s inner world, sinking into an endless abyss.

A single word from the man wounded him, a single gesture caused him pain, and a single look shattered his senses and thoughts. Day by day, Yoonjo crumbled.

“No matter how much you struggle, it’s futile.”

Still, he wanted to live. He tried to soar to survive. The moment of standing on his toes was terrifying, but in the brief moment of leaping, he felt free.

But it shouldn’t have been like that. He shouldn’t have done it. He should have been more careful.

His clumsy flapping reduced his surroundings to ruins, and his wings broke before he could go far. It was the moment all his will collapsed.

Trapped in a transparent cage, Yoonjo’s world grew darker with each passing day. No trace of light could be found.

Each step felt like sinking into a swamp, and not a single day passed without nightmares. As if punishing him for daring to dream of freedom, pain came crashing down indiscriminately.

“Just keep being like this. You’re so cute when you behave, you know?”

Caught again in the man’s grip, Yoonjo could do nothing.

He couldn’t read, draw, or speak. All he could do was wait endlessly for the man and throw himself into his arms when he arrived.

It was horrific. The fact that he felt safe in the arms of the man who had ruined his body and life. An indescribable disgust crawled over his skin.

He didn’t want to live like a fool anymore. He wanted to escape the man. He was repulsed by himself, unable to breathe, sleep, or eat without the man’s help.

That was why. That was why he made that decision.

To escape the man. To no longer continue this repulsive life. To put an end to it, even if it meant borrowing the strength of a measly pencil.

A red dot flowed down the pencil and dripped onto the water.

As if watching a movie, Yoonjo saw himself, a pencil lodged in his neck, submerged in the bathtub. Unbearable tears fell.

“Hn, ugh…”

Once the sorrow broke free, it didn’t stop easily. His death was so pitiful, so miserable, he couldn’t help but cry. It was what he had wanted, but it was far too wretched.

Yoonjo couldn’t take his eyes off his lifeless body. A desperate wail echoed across the vast bathroom floor.

“Yoonjo.”

A familiar, longed-for voice pierced Yoonjo’s ears as he sobbed, face down. A pair of arms gently wrapped around his frozen body from behind.

He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. His trembling lips let out a shaky voice.

“Mom…?”

Pat, pat. The hand patting his chest was smaller than Yoonjo’s. His frail, twig-like hand carefully grasped his mother’s arm.

As Yoonjo wept bitterly, on the verge of losing his breath, his mother soothed him. In her tender, affectionate comfort, Yoonjo poured out his sorrow.

“Mom, Mom, I… sob… I’m really, really struggling…”

His words broke off with his sobs. As if understanding everything, the comforting hand never stopped stroking him.

“I want to be with you, Mom, sob… I want to be with you. I want to stop everything… I want to be with you, Mom. Please, take me with you…”

Yoonjo clung to his mother’s arm as if it were his last hope. His trembling hands had no strength.

Deep down, he vaguely knew. That he wasn’t dead. That showing him this scene, meeting his mother at this moment—it was all so obvious, it drove him mad.

He wanted to die. He had to die. To end all of this, to stop hurting and find peace, this was the only way.

If he woke up again, the man would be there. The man would take him again, and he would cling to the one who ruined his life, craving his breath and warmth.

He didn’t want to live like that anymore. He’d rather die. Such a miserable life was worse than death.

“Yoonjo, my son.”

At the quiet voice he so desperately wanted to hear, Yoonjo momentarily forgot to breathe. Biting his lips, he stifled his choking sobs.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

A warm hand gently caressed the spot where the pencil had pierced. It was filled with pity and sorrow.

His grip on his mother’s arm tightened. Terrified she might slip away or disappear, he swallowed his anguished cries.

“You must have been in so much pain, my Yoonjo.”

“Sob…”

“I’m so sorry, truly.”

He felt dizzy. His eyes, pouring out all the emotions he’d suppressed, burned as if on fire, and his throat, choking with sobs, ached as if he’d swallowed flames.

“But, Yoonjo. Even though Mom ended up like this, I don’t want you to do the same. I want you to live a life where you’re loved and love others, blooming beautifully in a warm place.”

“No, I can’t. I can’t do it, sob… I’m too scared. It hurts. Mom’s gone, Dad’s gone, how am I supposed to live alone…”

“You’re not alone. Mom will always be by your side.”

The lips that settled on his cheek were cool.

“Let’s meet again later, much later.”

“No… I can’t. Please…”

“It’s too soon, Yoonjo. Not now, let’s meet a little later, okay?”

“Sob…”

His body kept sinking as if it would collapse. His mother, holding him tightly, whispered softly in his ear.

“I love you so, so much.”

The gentle embrace vanished. Turning around in a panic, he found no one there.

No. His body collapsed in despair. His wail, bursting as if it would tear the world apart, was sadder than any song. Left alone in the pitch-black space, Yoonjo curled up and sobbed uncontrollably.

I don’t have the strength to keep living, so what am I supposed to do?

If this is how I have to live, I’d rather die. Why are you doing this to me?

Everything in the world felt resentful and painful. Yoonjo wished that at least death could be according to his will, but the unbearable sorrow of not even having control over that gnawed at him.

It wouldn’t work. He couldn’t let it happen. If things went on, he would have to face that man again, and the same cycle would repeat.

He didn’t want that. It would be better to stay here forever. Neither dead nor alive, just waiting for death in this place where neither time nor space could be discerned.

“Please kill me, I beg you… I don’t want to live…”

His desperate wish rolled out with his tears. In a space devoid of light, Yoonjo locked himself away. His entire body seemed to melt.

Like clouds that cannot be grasped, time slipped away swiftly without pause.

The figure lying as if dead on the bed was in a deep sleep, showing no signs of waking. The oxygen mask covering Lee Yoonjo’s nose and mouth fogged up and cleared repeatedly.

In the silent hospital room, only the sound of pages turning spread across the floor. The man leaning on the sofa never let the documents slip from his hands.

At some point, Won Kangho began handling all his work from the hospital room. Unless there was something urgent, he rarely left the room.

Unlike his usual attire, the man was dressed casually, but his intimidating presence remained unchanged. The distinct aura of an alpha wasn’t something that could be erased by mere clothing.

“Come in.”

At the knock on the door, Won Kangho responded immediately. The hospital room door opened silently, and Manager Jung stepped inside, bowing deeply.

“Sir, about your meal—”

“Documents first.”

His words were cut off abruptly. Manager Jung, as if accustomed to this, moved quietly to Won Kangho’s side.

Handing over the items, Won Kangho reached out without even glancing in that direction. As he examined the stack of papers in the envelope, Manager Jung added a brief explanation.

“All matters related to debts and contracts have been handled. Only the compensation section remains blank.”

The soft sound of pages turning echoed lightly. Manager Jung consciously kept his gaze from drifting toward the bed.

Lately, Won Kangho had been on edge. It started after Lee Yoonjo’s suicide attempt.

Dr. Choi said it was about time for him to wake up, that his lack of will was keeping his eyes closed, and that they should wait patiently—an easy thing to say.

“What about the meal?”

“The kid’s mother.”

It was indeed an easy thing to say. As the days passed, Won Kangho grew increasingly irritable, and Manager Jung bore the brunt of it.

His hesitation was brief. As always, Manager Jung reported in a clear, precise tone.

“We confirmed she’s been laid to rest in a nearby columbarium.”

“Cremate Lee Joo-ho and place him beside her. Don’t move the columbarium, just the spot. At the kid’s eye level.”

“Yes, I’ll handle it and report back.”

“If there’s nothing else, you can leave.”

Faced with his sharp demeanor, Manager Jung had no choice but to turn away quietly.

Only a select few were allowed to enter Lee Yoonjo’s hospital room. Even they couldn’t stay long. Even the medical staff checked Won Kangho’s mood before entering.

Rumors even began to spread that the beastly Won Kangho had gone mad over some omega. Won Kangho paid no mind to such reactions. He simply went about his business as always.

Leaving the hospital room, Manager Jung nodded slightly to the men guarding the door and walked down the corridor. It was time to get back to work.

Silence settled over the hospital room once again, now with only the two of them. Won Kangho removed his glasses, letting out a tired sigh. The heavy breath carried weight.

The man stood up. His steps toward Lee Yoonjo’s bed held no hesitation. Sitting on the edge, he softly called out to the sleeping figure.

“Baby, Yoonjo.”

As expected, there was no response. The deeply sleeping figure only breathed steadily, neither hearing nor answering the man’s call.

Despite being a patient, his pale face was still beautiful. The man, brushing his slightly rough cheek with his fingertips, slowly leaned forward.

“It’s time to get up now.”

As if speaking to someone dreaming, the man whispered in a small voice. Instead of kissing, he gently bit the dry cheek, his eyes gleaming darkly.

“How long are you going to sleep, huh?”

His slow movements were almost serpentine. Won Kangho trapped the unresponsive omega between his legs and arms.

The man’s hand moved to his waistband. The sound of a buckle unfastening and fabric brushing followed, and the sound of skin rubbing against skin lingered thickly in his ears.

Holding the dry, flower-like hand, the man moved slowly. A satisfied breath escaped his lips.

“Lee Yoonjo.”

The small hand he held had no strength. If released, it would surely fall limply.

The rubbing palms gradually grew slick with an unknown liquid. Pheromones poured endlessly from the alpha, consumed by possessiveness. The concentration of pheromones was particularly dense.

“Lee Yoonjo.”

By now, an arm should have wrapped around his neck, but Lee Yoonjo remained as still as a calm sea. Limp like a corpse, he didn’t even raise an arm, let alone open his eyes.

“Yoonjo.”

The man growled like a beast. His voice, laced with a metallic edge, carried a dark hue, deeper than the darkness filling the room.

The man’s breathing grew rougher. The dry hand, now glistening with some unidentified liquid, sparkled. The speed of his hand’s movement quickened.

Suddenly, the motion froze. The man’s heavy breath fell over Lee Yoonjo’s head.

A kiss began at the forehead and descended to the neck. Even with his nose close, the faint pheromones drove the man’s heated body to crave more.

More. Just a little more. The hand unbuttoning the patient’s gown was slow but carried an underlying urgency. The moonlight illuminating the pale skin was strikingly bright.

His limbs felt heavy, like water-soaked cotton. Though conscious, he couldn’t move.

Struggling to move, he would black out, only to regain consciousness and lose all sensation again, repeating the cycle.

His vision remained dark. Was he still there? But his body felt too restricted for that.

The index finger of his left hand, clipped with a sensor, twitched. At the same time, the eyelashes hanging from his eyelids fluttered.

Yoonjo, with great effort, lifted his eyelids, heavy as if weighed down by stones. The color of the eyes beneath was cloudy.

As if something clung to his retinas, he couldn’t see clearly. He blinked slowly several times.

Just moments ago, he had been walking through pitch-black darkness. It must have been a dream.

In that dream, after his mother vanished, Yoonjo collapsed in that spot, crying until exhaustion, falling asleep, and waking to cry again.

How much time had passed? A faint dot appeared before the fallen Yoonjo. It was long after noticing it that he stood up.

He felt nothing. Only the thought of following that dot. As if entranced, his legs moved on their own.

He walked, walked, and walked again. When he stumbled, he got up and took another step. The dot, once the size of a fingernail, gradually grew larger.

When it reached his size, Yoonjo realized, belatedly, that it wasn’t a dot but an open door. Bright light poured from within.

Just as he had followed the dot without hesitation, Yoonjo stepped through the door. A blinding white light engulfed him, and his senses returned as he came to.

He had survived after all. Facing a reality he didn’t want to believe, Yoonjo tightly shut his eyes and slowly opened them again.

The world was dark. Like the endless path he had walked, nothing was visible. But he could distinctly sense the familiar pheromones lingering in the air.

Gathering all his strength, Yoonjo barely lifted his hand. He grasped the oxygen mask covering his face and pulled it off. The cool, refreshing pheromone scent grew stronger.

“Haa…”

It was as if he had surfaced after being submerged in water for too long. His racing heart slowly steadied.

With each breath, his vision began to clear. The dark ceiling light, the IV bag hanging by his bedside, the moonlight streaming through the window.

“…”

“…”

And the familiar, unwelcome figure. All of it came into view.

His eyes met the man’s, but Yoonjo didn’t flinch. With the same expression and gaze as Won Kangho, he quietly held his stare.

Meeting those familiar eyes, Yoonjo acknowledged that he had returned to reality. He straightened his head and let out a long breath.

It had failed. His desperate final attempt had ended in miserable failure. If it had succeeded, he wouldn’t be breathing this familiar-scented air or meeting this man’s eyes.

Anger, sorrow, sadness—no such emotions remained. He only felt a faint regret. Pity and sorrow for himself, unable to control even his own life.

The man leaning against the window approached slowly. Standing close, he reached out. Yoonjo didn’t avoid him.

A large hand gently held Yoonjo’s chin. At the light touch, devoid of force, Yoonjo slowly blinked.

His head turned gradually. Once again, he faced the man. His eyes roamed over the man’s expression, as if studying it.

The hand on his chin moved higher. The cautious touch made his eyes crinkle slightly.

The hand brushed over his rounded forehead, eyebrows, slightly damp eyelashes, round nose, dry cheeks, and parched lips, then slowly slid to the back of his neck.

“Did you sleep well?”

The low, gravelly voice was hoarse.

The hot hand slowly moved forward. It grazed his ear and reached his lips.

The man freely touched the rough, colorless lips. The delicate flesh was crushed under relentless force.

Yoonjo’s amber eyes cautiously lowered. He glanced at the hand touching him, then returned to his original gaze. The man’s image was fully reflected in his cloudy eyes.

Tears welled up for no reason. His vision blurred, and the gathered tears rolled down from the corners of his eyes. His crushed lips trembled.

The man’s hand was hot. Its temperature contrasted sharply with the pheromones unconsciously seeping out.

His lungs, naturally inhaling the pheromones, stung coldly. His breath clung to the man’s fingers.

Their locked gazes didn’t waver. The dark eyes were indifferent, while the amber ones trembled with confusion.

What was the man’s expression the last time he saw him? It felt familiar, not strange, so it probably hadn’t changed.

It was the same. Nothing had changed, and the man had forcibly pulled Yoonjo, who had strayed from the path, back to him. An unwanted reunion.

The fingers caressing his lips suddenly probed inside. The brief motion teased his tongue.

“It’s warm.”

The murmured words rolled over Yoonjo’s ear. His pale face slowly crumpled.

With an impassive expression, the man picked up the oxygen mask Yoonjo had discarded. The transparent mask covered Yoonjo’s face again. At the incomprehensible action, Yoonjo simply let tears fall.

In the dim room, only the man’s eyes gleamed. Facing his own reflection in them, Yoonjo quietly clenched his hand. The white blanket, smelling of disinfectant, crumpled messily under his pale hand.

The man who replaced the oxygen mask brushed Yoonjo’s hair back. The cold sweat on his exposed forehead quickly vanished. The man continued to caress Yoonjo’s face for a long while.

Until the man left the hospital room, Yoonjo couldn’t say a word. He couldn’t. Not knowing what the man might do, he only hoped the incomprehensible actions wouldn’t end in pain.

“Hic…”

Only after being left alone did he let out a sob with his suppressed breath. Tears rolled down as he tightly shut his eyes.

Even after coming back from the brink of death, nothing had changed. The helplessness weighed heavily on Yoonjo’s mind.

As the tension released, his strength drained away. Letting go of what he had barely held onto, everything grew distant. With a heavy sigh, Yoonjo fell back into a deep sleep.

“Your progress is better than expected. How about combining rehabilitation with counseling?”

After regaining consciousness, Yoonjo prepared to return to daily life. Naturally, it wasn’t by his own will. His surroundings made it so.

Yoonjo’s head slowly lifted. As always, Dr. Choi’s kind face was scribbling something on paper with a pen. The words were all illegible. His tightly sealed lips, which seemed as if they would never open, slowly parted.

“Do I have to do counseling?”

The pen stopped abruptly. Dr. Choi set it down, clasped his hands, and rested his chin on them, quietly observing Yoonjo for a moment.

Yoonjo used to believe that eyes were the windows to the soul. But now, having closed that door, he no longer believed it. If one chose to hide, no one could see inside.

“May I ask why?”

There was no need for a reason.

“I just don’t want to.”

“…”

“I don’t think it’ll make things better.”

He was already broken. Just as a shattered glass bottle, even if pieced back together, could never regain its original form, Yoonjo knew too well that counseling wouldn’t return him to who he was.

A brief silence filled the office. Dr. Choi looked at Yoonjo with downturned eyes.

The small, frail patient before him was dear. Though not everything, Dr. Choi vaguely knew about Lee Yoonjo’s situation.

The CEO Won he knew was a cruel man. What he had done to Lee Yoonjo was clear without needing an explanation.

The current Lee Yoonjo exuded a completely different aura from before. He was so broken that it felt remarkable he was still breathing.

“…I’m sorry.”

Misinterpreting the prolonged gaze, Lee Yoonjo apologized in a small voice. But Dr. Choi welcomed his expression of opinion. This was a boy who had never voiced his thoughts before.

Apologizing out of caution likely stemmed from his gentle nature. The corners of Dr. Choi’s mouth slowly curved upward.

“Treatment, after all, depends most on the patient’s will.”

The wandering gaze turned to Dr. Choi. Meeting his deep brown eyes, Dr. Choi continued.

“But you must diligently do the rehabilitation. If you want to walk out healthy.”

“…Thank you.”

His voice trembled at the end. Dr. Choi pretended not to notice. He had no way to shield the boy, who bowed his head, from the rain pouring only on him.

A man followed Yoonjo as he returned to his room in a wheelchair. Unable to even turn the wheelchair’s wheels himself, Yoonjo relied on others.

Having lain in bed for over a month, Yoonjo’s body struggled with daily life. Sitting up was exhausting, and moving required a wheelchair.

“Rest.”

Only after the man pushing the wheelchair left did Yoonjo finally find himself alone. With effort, he sat up and collapsed onto the bed.

“Haa…”

He had walked barely ten steps on his own. Even that small movement left him breathless. Clutching his chest, Yoonjo’s body slumped forward.

He tightly shut his eyes, trying to shake off the anxiety. The death he had so desperately craved had rejected him, forcing breath back into him and pushing him into the world.

Told to live when he had no confidence to do so, he felt lost. His body sank deeper into a dark, endless swamp.

Before his breath could even out, he burrowed into the blankets. He had to sleep, even if by force. Sleep was his only escape from reality. Only in sleep could he avoid that hollow fear. Dreams were the only place he could breathe freely.

It felt like floating in a vast ocean, clutching a Styrofoam box. The fear of tipping over and sinking into the depths enveloped him.

He pulled the blanket over his head. In the darkness, his eyes darted beneath his eyelids, searching for something. He wandered for a long time, seeking sleep.

Regrettably, sleep didn’t come. His memory flickered out briefly, only to jolt awake. Forcing his eyes shut to sleep again, his memory cut off, and his eyes opened once more.

Repeating this cycle, darkness fell over the hospital room. His cloudy eyes stared into the void beneath the blanket.

Giving up on sleep, Yoonjo sighed and pulled the blanket down. The trapped breaths dispersed, and cool air settled on his cheeks.

“…”

“…”

As soon as he lowered the blanket, his eyes met those of the figure by the window. Won Kangho, who had entered unnoticed, stood with both hands on the windowsill, looking at him.

Silhouetted against the dawn, the man, as always, wore a sharp black suit, exuding a cutting aura. Yoonjo’s grip on the blanket tightened.

He hated feeling this way. When the man was near, strangely, all his anxieties fled as if seeking sleep. Fear and dread seemed powerless before him.

The air mixed with the alpha’s blue pheromones. The more Yoonjo breathed it in, the thirstier he felt. An impulse to inhale more surged within him.

To Yoonjo, Won Kangho was the object of his resentment. The man who had taken everything from him.

So why did he feel alive only when he saw him? Had he finally gone mad?

Despite remembering every single thing the man had done to him, why did he feel this way?

Yoonjo stared blankly at the approaching man. The thick pheromones poured over him. A large hand covered his eyes.

A paradoxical sensation of hot and cold. Tears welled beneath the warm palm. The murmured voice carried moisture.

“I don’t understand.”

His dry lips trembled. Even his breath quivered.

He couldn’t comprehend it. Himself, wanting to cling to the man’s wrist, or the man, inexplicably releasing pheromones.

“Me, you.”

“…”

“I don’t understand.”

The man’s palm grew wet. Yoonjo couldn’t see what expression the man wore.

The man said nothing. He simply covered Yoonjo’s eyes and released pheromones.

The sleep Yoonjo had so desperately craved poured from the man’s hand. His tearful voice faded.

The hand clutching the blanket turned pitifully white. Yoonjo swallowed his sobs for a long time. The passing dawn quieted its footsteps.

Knock, knock. The sound stirred his dazed mind. Sitting on the bed, staring out the window, Yoonjo’s gaze turned toward the door.

“It’s been a while.”

His blank eyes met Manager Jung’s. Approaching with a polite smile, Manager Jung held a yellow envelope. He handed it to Yoonjo, who looked uninterested.