Yang’s Master Chapter 4.3 - The Lamb

“Don’t get so angry.”

Cheon Yeomyung, observing that quiet fury, tried to soothe Yang Euijoo. As if telling him not to be angry could solve the problem. Already irritated at being held like a captive hostage, Yang Euijoo slammed the glass down and opened his mouth to protest. However, instead of spewing curses, something else entered his open mouth.

Something warm, almost hot, invaded his cold mouth. Yang Euijoo’s mind went hazy for a moment as Cheon Yeomyung’s kiss, wrapping around his whiskey-soaked tongue, tickled the roof of his mouth.

Only after thoroughly warming and melting the frozen interior did Cheon Yeomyung slightly straighten his bent waist and look at Yang Euijoo.

“You want to leave the room. Are you saying I’ve locked you up here?”

You know damn well. Cheon Yeomyung replied only in his mind, giving a gentle, sly smile.

“No way. Why would I lock up my lover? You remember how bad you were, right? Your body was riddled with holes, your foot was broken, your fever wouldn’t go down, and now you’re even having nightmares… It’s troublesome if you misunderstand my care for keeping you in this room.”

The reasoning was always perfect. Even to Yang Euijoo, who was going crazy after being confined to the room for nearly a month, it sounded somewhat reasonable. However, Yang Euijoo, born in the heart of illegality, doing the most illegal things, with a touch of human morality but a quick temper and sensitive disposition, replied like this.

“So what?”

“Hmm.”

Cheon Yeomyung smiled awkwardly. Yang Euijoo couldn’t handle frustration more than expected. Yet, for someone like that, he lived just fine in a cramped, narrow house. Cheon Yeomyung reconsidered his decision to store Yang Euijoo like a finger locked in a safe.

“Alright, then shall we go out together?”

“…”

Instead of brightening at the suggestion to go out, Yang Euijoo only hardened his cold expression further. Cheon Yeomyung shrugged.

“Don’t want to go out?”

“Where would we go? Stand outside the door for a minute? Or walk a lap around the hallway?”

“Am I still such an untrustworthy guy?”

Like someone who just learned one plus one, Cheon Yeomyung muttered with belated realization. Yang Euijoo didn’t even look at him anymore.

“Hey, pharmacist. You won’t even look at my face?”

Yang Euijoo wore a tired expression. Knowing that looking at Cheon Yeomyung’s face would tire his eyes, ears, and mouth, he stared blankly at the pool.

The only thing he liked in this house was the pool, tiled with a unique blue. It was a blue he’d never seen before. It wasn’t like the Pacific Ocean or the rotting, dirty seawater near Yirang’s docks. Watching the wide pool’s ripples reflect sunlight calmed his mind a bit.

This was why Yang Euijoo, unable to leave the room, clung to the window like an obsession. He wasn’t confident about swimming, but he liked the blue. It felt like the name of Cheon Yeomyung’s organization, Byeokhae, personified. Cheon Yeomyung, noticing what Yang Euijoo was looking at, thought for a moment.

It had been a busy morning. Sudden rain on Hong Kong Island had irritated not only Rose Rock but himself too. He had to prepare now for an invited evening party.

Publicly, he was a thirty-three-year-old, capable businessman. With political exiles and refugees flooding Hong Kong Island, it was chaotic. Cheon Yeomyung didn’t want to seem arrogant or rude to the smug white and Chinese businessmen from England or America.

Those with an honest image could most freely commit illegal acts. He was set to import a large shipment from Mexico in a month, some for Hong Kong and China’s domestic markets, some for lobbying, and most for reprocessing and redistribution.

The people he’d meet at tonight’s party were in the trade business. Cheon Yeomyung took such meetings seriously.

“Hmm…”

But once should be fine. His men were exhausted from ongoing incidents since summer. They needed a break. Cheon Yeomyung grabbed Yang Euijoo’s wrist and pulled. Yang Euijoo, interrupted from a sweet fantasy of drowning Cheon Yeomyung in the pool, grimaced.

“What?”

“I said, let’s go out.”

“Where exactly?”

“The pool.”

Cheon Yeomyung gave the answer. Seeing Yang Euijoo speechless, he immediately pulled his hand. As if an hour had already passed, the maid, holding a tray of snacks, looked slightly surprised to see Cheon Yeomyung heading out.

“I brought snacks. Are you going outside?”

“To the pool. I’ll take this, so you can go.”

Cheon Yeomyung casually took the tray from the maid’s hands with one hand and popped a muffin in his mouth. The raisin flavor was awful. So, he handed Yang Euijoo a chocolate chip muffin from the tray. Yang Euijoo bit into it, his expression suggesting it was a success.

Cheon Yeomyung kept handing Yang Euijoo things he might like from the tray, walking like a child in a fairy tale scattering breadcrumbs to mark the path.

“Are you good at swimming?”

Yang Euijoo, licking custard cream off his fingers, looked up. Cheon Yeomyung, balancing the large tray with one hand, casually picked something to eat. He soon plucked a small pomegranate seed and offered it to Yang Euijoo. Yang Euijoo, chewing the tiny red seed smaller than a fingernail, shook his head.

“No, I’m a landlubber.”

“You lived on a ship, and that’s surprising.”

“They probably didn’t teach me on purpose, so I wouldn’t swim away.”

Saying this, Yang Euijoo savored the pomegranate’s taste. His wet fingertips pointed to one side of the distant pool.

“At five, while cleaning the deck, I was thrown into a pool. Never thought about swimming since.”

Cheon Yeomyung, reaching for a grape next to the pomegranate, looked at Yang Euijoo. His tired face was hard to read. After a moment’s thought, Cheon Yeomyung handed the entire tray to the maid trailing behind.

“Are you afraid of water?”

“Kind of.”

Thrown in while cleaning the deck. His mother was far away and didn’t come. Yang Euijoo nearly drowned in a pool twice his height before being barely saved. A mop handle thrust into the water saved him.

They laughed, seeing a five-year-old clinging to a mop pole, sobbing until his throat tore, callously noting he was at least clever. Since then, Yang Euijoo hated deep, wide water. Bathtubs were fine, but pools and the sea were terrifying. It always felt like being trapped on a ship, unable to escape.

Still, looking at it was nice. Sitting by the window, gazing at the blue, he understood why guests paid so much to board and cruise.

“Just dipping your feet might be okay. You whined for this outing, so don’t look gloomy and enjoy it.”

“Whined…”

Yang Euijoo gave a skeptical look. He was a grown man, too old for “whining.” But Cheon Yeomyung didn’t seem likely to retract it. Let him say what he wants. Yang Euijoo quickly gave up protesting and cautiously approached the pool, careful not to slip in.

Water splashed over his slippered feet. It was oddly like waves, though it wasn’t. Yang Euijoo stared, entranced, at the massive blue water, as vast as the pool from his childhood on the ship. How long had he stood there? Cheon Yeomyung, having stripped off his clothes, stood with a white bath towel over one shoulder. He handed the towel to Yang Euijoo and dove into the water nonchalantly.

The water rippled, splashing transparent droplets onto the nearby tiles, shattering. Scars, large and small, stood out on his taut abdomen and thighs as he entered the water.

Soaked from head to toe, Cheon Yeomyung swept back his wet, disheveled hair with both hands, emerging from the deep water.

His palm-sized swimsuit was blatant yet striking.

“Don’t just stand there. Come in.”

The afternoon sun wasn’t too hot, and Cheon Yeomyung, grinning, invited him in. Yang Euijoo, lifting the heavy bath towel to keep it from dragging, replied.

“Did you hear what I just said? And I don’t want to swim in front of everyone with just my junk covered.”

“Conservative type?”

“Not conservative. I just don’t want to see a man’s half-naked body.”

“Conservative.”

Cheon Yeomyung teased shamelessly. Too annoyed to argue if “conservative” fit, Yang Euijoo pressed his lips shut. Surprisingly, just being outside lifted his mood a bit. Playing along with Cheon Yeomyung’s teasing was partly why. After being cooped up, walking the hallway, descending stairs, opening a big door, and feeling the open breeze wrap around him gave a greater sense of freedom than the chilly mansion interior.

“What are you doing so far away? Come closer.”

Leaning leisurely with his arms out of the pool, Cheon Yeomyung beckoned with a finger. The image of Quan, sitting beside blood-stained wallpaper, overlapped briefly. But it was distinctly different. Yang Euijoo saw a strand of Cheon Yeomyung’s wet, disheveled hair clinging to his fair forehead. A damn fine face.

“I said I hate water.”

“Think I’d make it scary? Even if you don’t trust me much, trust me this far.”

Yang Euijoo finally eased his guard slightly. He neatly removed his slippers to avoid the pool’s overflowing water, folded the bath towel carefully, and approached the pool. Lukewarm water seeped between his toes. Yang Euijoo curled them at the ticklish sensation. The water was cool. Still scary to enter, too deeply blue, but the pool’s view was beautiful.

Cheon Yeomyung, who seemed to love swimming, didn’t talk more to Yang Euijoo and dove deep. As the large man submerged forcefully, the water surged, splashing droplets onto Yang Euijoo’s calves. Stepping back, Yang Euijoo watched him swim like a fish.

With strong lung capacity, Cheon Yeomyung crossed the pool end to end without surfacing once. Finishing a lap, he shot up, exhaling a deep breath. It was a beautiful scene, like a whale breaching.

Yang Euijoo watched the sculpted body, like a banquet hall pillar carving, rise and fall to catch oxygen. Regardless of gender, it undeniably stirred destructive sexual appeal. Why not just jerk off to a mirror? Seeing that body daily, why bother with a frail one like his?

Thinking the man’s taste was rotten, Yang Euijoo unconsciously moved closer. Cheon Yeomyung, wiping off water, suddenly grabbed his ankle. After the dramatic day of kidnapping and escape, Yang Euijoo’s ankle was fragile. A little pressure would make him scream and collapse.

Cheon Yeomyung slid his fingers upward. Looking up, he glimpsed the inner thigh inside Yang Euijoo’s loose, flapping shorts. Reddish scars from Quan’s mansion stood out. A beauty scratched by thorns. Instead of teasing, Cheon Yeomyung slid his hand to Yang Euijoo’s wet foot and asked.

“How’s it?”

“What?”

“My swimming. What’s your impression?”

“You swim well.”

“Not a bit sexy?”

Yang Euijoo always thought guys who called themselves handsome, pretty, or sexy were pathetic, but surprisingly, Cheon Yeomyung didn’t feel that way. Maybe his confidence and arrogance plastered on that fine face. Yang Euijoo didn’t notice the bath towel’s end getting wet on the ground.

“I get what you’re trying to say.”

Yang Euijoo was scratched and pierced by thorns, even mentally shocked. Delaying physical intimacy indefinitely was natural.

Cheon Yeomyung, as he’d said on their first night, acted chastely. Whether you could call him chaste in that tiny swimsuit was another matter, but he didn’t throw lewd glances at others.

The mansion’s maids were all older. The youngest were Cheon Yeomyung’s men and Yang Euijoo himself. Maids brought him meals, sometimes talking about their kids or grandkids. He learned the mansion’s master was generous and paid well.

Regardless of Cheon Yeomyung’s true job or character, his social persona seemed well-respected, evident during Yang Euijoo’s stay. That made Yang Euijoo dislike him more. Wasn’t it just money from awful deeds enabling his generosity? And now, sexual appeal? Yang Euijoo wondered how long Cheon Yeomyung’s patience would last if his toes and ankle weren’t damaged.

“Pigs or sheep would be more rational.”

At the harsh judgment, Cheon Yeomyung let go of his ankle and moved back. The man, submerged in the dazzling blue pool, was beautiful, his golden hues shimmering. Yang Euijoo stared at the overwhelming appearance. The man in extravagant skin spoke.

“I’m a gentleman, so I wait.”

“Oh.”

Yang Euijoo sneered coldly.

“It’d be more gentlemanly if you hadn’t said that.”

Cheon Yeomyung, facing heartfelt contempt, lowered his hand with a regretful look. As he’d declared, he was a chaste man, not wanting to chase other men or women with a lover. The ankle was defective, but the mouth was fine—would he get mad if asked to do it? Cheon Yeomyung, thinking ungentlemanly thoughts, made a shameless request.

“I’d appreciate being treated like a gentleman.”

“Go date someone from Yirang who’ll treat you like one.”

“Am I not a decent lover?”

The sincere question got a scoff. The cold face, full of criticism, looked livelier than when cooped up in the room. It didn’t seem like someone who’d been through shock. Cheon Yeomyung gave up the tacky act of flaunting his appeal and climbed out of the pool. His toned body gleamed as it emerged.

Cheon Yeomyung took the bath towel from Yang Euijoo’s hand. Seeing its wet, drooping end, he silently wiped his body with the dry part. Yang Euijoo glanced at the unexpectedly complaint-free face. Cheon Yeomyung squeezed the wet towel end and looked at him.

“Swimming’s not your thing, so let’s try something else.”

Yang Euijoo looked at the pool, barely wetting his soles and feet. The blue was dazzling.

“Do whatever you want.”

“You think I’ll do whatever anyway, right? It’ll be fun.”

Cheon Yeomyung replied shamelessly, slinging an arm over Yang Euijoo’s shoulder. The heavy arm pressed down, making him feel shorter. Does he know he’s heavy as a pig? Yang Euijoo sighed, pushing off the iron-like arm.

“Let’s walk by the sea, eat something tasty, and go to a theater when the sun sets. What movies do you like? Romance? Action? SF’s good too. A recent sci-fi was well-made. Not to critique, but past sci-fi was pathetic, though it’s better now.”

Yang Euijoo couldn’t understand a word. Instead of saying he wasn’t refined enough to know movie genres, he responded with silence and indifference.

“Sounds fun, right?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Hearing the utterly insincere reply, Cheon Yeomyung walked ahead, satisfied. From the pool to the garden path, he entered through the back gate, not the front. Yang Euijoo, annoyed, watched him leap over a high step with long legs, then carefully followed, stepping deliberately.

He realized too late he’d left his slippers by the pool, but before he could retrieve them, Cheon Yeomyung grabbed him.

“It’s fine to leave them. Someone’ll pick them up.”

“Still…”

“Come on, let’s change. Can’t go in a swimsuit.”

Cheon Yeomyung rummaged through a massive wardrobe. In a dressing room filled with hangers and closets as vast as Kowloon’s sea, he debated between Western suits and traditional Chinese garments prized in Hong Kong.

Yang Euijoo, with bad memories of traditional clothing, ignored them. Cheon Yeomyung picked a black changpao. The diagonal embroidery across the chest reminded Yang Euijoo of the scars on his body.

Cheon Yeomyung, in front of Yang Euijoo, stripped naked and dressed without hesitation. He seemed unbothered by exposing himself. Bold or shameless, who knows.

He even lacked caution. If Yang Euijoo held a knife and stabbed between his shoulder blades, it’d be fatal. But Yang Euijoo had no knife, and he felt strange watching this sharp, dangerous man act relaxed in front of him.

Cheon Yeomyung, finishing the collar and knots, spread his arms.

“What?”

“You looked like you wanted to hug me.”

“Are you crazy?”

Muttering about nonsense, Yang Euijoo gritted his teeth and left the room. His ears and cheeks burned for no reason. Cheon Yeomyung, following his stingy lover, took car keys from a maid. He drove to the seaside himself. Surprisingly, for a man who seemed to rely on chauffeurs, his driving was skilled. Parking on a lined shoulder, Cheon Yeomyung led Yang Euijoo to a pub by the sea.

Though in Hong Kong, the pub’s owner was a burly, bearded foreigner. Cheon Yeomyung, fluently ordering in English, prompted the owner to scribble on a notepad from his apron pocket, place it on the table, and head to the kitchen.

Two beers arrived first. They sat at a parasol table, facing a wide, white beach unlike Yirang’s sea, eating fish and chips. Tasting the pricey fried fish and potatoes, Yang Euijoo shared an honest thought.

“I always wanted to try this.”

His dry finger pointed at the food.

“Don’t know why I craved it so much on the ship.”

“Humans drool over what they can’t have.”

Cheon Yeomyung replied casually, pushing the fish and chips basket closer. Yang Euijoo, with an empty stomach, ate the surprisingly ordinary fried food moderately. The crisp sound wasn’t bad in the humid summer, and Cheon Yeomyung, watching, stole a bite. It had decent grease and savoriness.

England doesn’t have much good food. Cheon Yeomyung recalled England’s vibe from business trips. A country full of rats like Yang Euijoo’s hair and eyes. The food, served with pretentious elegance, tasted like rotting taste buds. Still, he liked Edinburgh and thought of going with Yang Euijoo, when Yang Euijoo nudged him.

“You.”

“Hmm?”

“What food do you like?”

Yang Euijoo’s first question, not laced with suspicion but pure curiosity. Cheon Yeomyung’s face slowly brightened. Even in all black under the slanting summer sun, he glowed like he hadn’t learned heat.

“You’re asking me?”

At the sweet tone, Yang Euijoo uncomfortably turned away. The blue sea with white foam appeared. Nothing like Yirang, with its dirty gray and red-yellow signs plastered like a bloody mass.

“Hmm…”

Cheon Yeomyung tapped the table and answered.

“When I was a kid, food was restricted.”

Yang Euijoo, picking up a fry, paused and looked at him. Golden eyes sparkled. Staring at Yang Euijoo, he said.

“My father said we couldn’t eat anything that bled.”

“What?”

“So even now, meat feels a bit disgusting.”

Unable to understand what he meant, Yang Euijoo pondered for a moment. Then, he mustered the courage to ask.

“Are you saying you were abused or something like that?”

At that, Cheon Yeomyung widened his eyes as if to say, “What are you talking about?” and playfully waved it off.

“I was really loved.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Seriously. My dad adored me.”

Dad? Just hearing that one trivial word made Yang Euijoo feel like his ears were rotting. During the conversation, Yang Euijoo scratched his ears vigorously. That ear, which had a history of a ruptured eardrum from being slapped by Du Shanchong, prompted Cheon Yeomyung to stop Yang Euijoo’s actions. Yang Euijoo pushed away Cheon Yeomyung’s gloved hand with a grimace.

“Why do you talk like that?”

“Cute, isn’t it?”

“Ha…”

Yang Euijoo, irritated, shoved Cheon Yeomyung aside and stood up from his seat. Cheon Yeomyung, like a loyal dog, faithfully followed behind Yang Euijoo.

The sandy beach, where the sand sank underfoot with every step, was difficult to walk on in slippers. Yang Euijoo, with his uncomfortable ankle, was quickly caught up to by Cheon Yeomyung. Cheon Yeomyung, standing next to the ashen-faced man who was openly radiating displeasure, smiled as if they were close and struck up a conversation. Occasionally, glances followed the striking appearance of the two men. However, in the midsummer heat, no one seemed brave enough to approach the crazy guy who looked perfectly fine despite wearing all black, and their curiosity quickly faded.

Cheon Yeomyung caught the scent coming from Yang Euijoo. After just a week at the mansion, Yang Euijoo carried the fragrance of the laundry detergent and soap used there. The damp, humid aura that had been noticeable when they met in Yirang wasn’t in his clothes but had dried onto his eyes and lips.

“The date’s not over yet.”

“Date, my foot…”

“My date course might be a bit cliché, but it’s never failed. Shall we head to the next place?”

Ignoring Yang Euijoo’s retort, Cheon Yeomyung walked ahead. He held Yang Euijoo’s hand persistently. Once again, eyes followed the sight of two men walking hand in hand. In Hong Kong, where races were chaotically mixed, it wasn’t an entirely strange sight, so Yang Euijoo was able to quickly shake off the attention.

“Where are we going?”

Unaware that the man was walking slowly to match his uncomfortable ankle, Yang Euijoo asked in a bored tone. Cheon Yeomyung, thinking he could smell the savory batter of the fish and chips they’d eaten earlier and the sweet tartar sauce on Yang Euijoo’s lips, answered.

“The theater.”

“The theater?”

“Not a play, we’re watching a movie.”

At that, a flicker of curiosity crossed Yang Euijoo’s face. Cheon Yeomyung didn’t hesitate and pulled Yang Euijoo’s arm.

“I asked Roserock to reserve the theater for us. Got any movies you’re curious about? Or should I pick one? Have you ever had popcorn and cola in Yirang? Do you know why they started selling popcorn at theaters?”

Yang Euijoo realized he was being sweetly persuaded with honeyed words. But it was hard to completely ignore the man who was pulling him close and whispering seductively. A theater. He’d only ever heard about it in passing. Tickets were too expensive, so he’d never even been near one. He’d only ever seen, while passing by, the endless lines of cars near where theaters were built and the signs that glowed even at night.

Cheon Yeomyung, skillfully guiding the awkwardly acting Yang Euijoo, entered the theater under the guidance of a ticket boy dressed in a dashing uniform. The dazzling lights dimmed, and the sound of the projector whirring came from behind.

“It’s a movie that came out last winter.”

Cheon Yeomyung explained to Yang Euijoo a movie he’d already seen about five times. Yang Euijoo watched a film that grotesquely blended repulsive indoctrination and crime. He frowned at the crimes the protagonists committed without hesitation and asked if Cheon Yeomyung actually liked this kind of thing. Then, he put the cola to his lips. His lips, wrapped around a yellow straw, ceaselessly sucked in the sweet, fizzy liquid laced with heaps of sugar.

Cheon Yeomyung waited for Yang Euijoo to completely swallow the cola, then, with the repulsive scene of the protagonist being educated to a beautiful symphony in the background, kissed Yang Euijoo. Yang Euijoo’s eyes, faintly reflecting that he’d expected as much, accepted the kiss with a mix of embarrassment and exasperation.

The movie wasn’t to Yang Euijoo’s taste, nor was it an entertaining story for someone watching a film for the first time. Yang Euijoo seemed to think that kissing the man was less disgusting than watching the movie, so he wrapped both arms around Cheon Yeomyung’s neck and responded passionately to the kiss.

Maybe it was because he was in a good mood. Cheon Yeomyung removed the cumbersome armrest separating them and pulled Yang Euijoo closer. The long-sleeved shirt covering his body was stiff with dried salt from the sea breeze. In the darkened theater, after the unpleasant movie ended, an erotic film began playing. Yang Euijoo had fallen asleep. Cheon Yeomyung watched the lascivious and seductive movie without waking Yang Euijoo, who was leaning on his shoulder.

The filming techniques were dull and simplistic. It was only natural not to expect visual artistry or sophistication from a mere erotic film. A scantily clad woman straddled a man, swaying her body. The actor moaned like an animal. Cheon Yeomyung merely stared at the flesh-colored spectacle that stirred no arousal in him. It was no different from pornography. But the theater, to meet Cheon Yeomyung’s expectations for renting the place until the next morning, would keep playing low-quality film reels like this all through the night.

Watching the moaning actress, Cheon Yeomyung carefully detached Yang Euijoo and stood up from the seat. Yang Euijoo was sleeping soundly in the narrow, uncomfortable chair. His face looked unexpectedly at ease, as if he felt safe in such a place. Cheon Yeomyung crouched down in front of Yang Euijoo. It was an attitude that would have shocked Yang Euijoo or his subordinates if they’d seen it.

Cheon Yeomyung quietly thought. Yang Euijoo unexpectedly liked gentle things. The more tender and devoted he appeared, the more Yang Euijoo let his guard down. That soft personality wasn’t entirely unlikable. Cheon Yeomyung had approached him with the intention of planting a young contact in Yirang to use once Chui died, but unexpectedly, he found himself liking this romance. Cheon Yeomyung gazed at the quietly sleeping face. In an uncomfortable position, he kept watch through the dawn.

“You awake?”

At the low voice, Yang Euijoo groggily came to his senses. He was on the verge of slipping off the chair from dozing. On the plush, red theater sofa, Cheon Yeomyung’s hand rested on his knee. Yang Euijoo realized that the long coat the man had been holding was now draped over his shoulders.

“I forgot to mention, but you should cut down on drinking. It’s not good for your mental health. Not that self-harm is a good behavior either.”

At the low voice, Yang Euijoo blinked his sleepy, dizzy eyes a few times. The movie had apparently ended, as the credits were rolling, but it was completely different from the one he’d been watching. How many films had played? Yang Euijoo reached out and fumbled for Cheon Yeomyung’s wrist. Then, he read the watch hanging at the center of his wrist with his eyes.

“Why didn’t you wake me…”

At the much later time than he’d expected, Yang Euijoo let out a flustered voice. Cheon Yeomyung, watching his lover uncover a trivial secret in an unexpected way, let out a laugh.

“You were sleeping so well. Did you have fun today?”

Yang Euijoo rolled his eyes. Fun, huh. He wasn’t sure, but if this was what a date was, he could understand why people found romance appealing.

“…The movie was bad, but, yeah.”

“Can you get up? Or do you want to sleep more?”

Cheon Yeomyung was too kind. Yang Euijoo, almost unconsciously, reached out his hand. Cheon Yeomyung didn’t brush it off and held it back. The ashen eyes, catching the familiar scent, tried hard to look forward. Cheon Yeomyung stopped that pointless stubbornness.

“It’s okay to sleep. I’ll stay by your side.”

Feeling languid, Yang Euijoo had a useless thought. Why was this man so good at comforting? And in such a sly way.

He really hated it…

“Not really, I don’t want to sleep…”

“I’ll stay by your side all night tonight.”

The man whispered as if stating the obvious. He held Yang Euijoo’s hand firmly to keep him from slipping away. Just like that day in the basement facing Quen, when he’d appeared so nonchalantly. It was such a trivial action, but somehow it felt comforting…

“I don’t believe you.”

Would it be bad to trust him?

“Why not? Just try believing me once.”

Maybe it’s okay to trust someone for the first time.

“I’m really being good to you, you know.”

It’s different with me.

“Liar.”

Should I try believing?