Underpainting Chapter 11.12 - Side Story: Found Object (2)

The reason Dawon was angry wasn’t that Taehan was possessive, but that he wasn’t possessive enough. If he was going to get upset every time another alpha spoke to Dawon, he might as well just swallow him whole instead of leaving him untouched.

‘This insatiable frustration is the problem.’

If they continued talking, Dawon felt he would either push Taehan away or pounce on him. Exhaling sharply, his small shoulders shaking, Dawon turned and headed for the bedroom.

“I’m taking a nap. Don’t follow me!”

He spoke curtly and slammed the door, secretly hoping Taehan would follow him. But Taehan, obedient for once, simply remained where he was.

As soon as the door closed, Dawon regretted it. If he was going to sulk in his room, he should have at least brought the leftover cupcakes. He was hungry, and with his feelings in turmoil, sleep was impossible.

As he tossed and turned on the bed, his regret deepened. The baby in his belly nudged him lightly, as if searching for the promised cupcakes.

‘Baby, I know. If I just talked to him honestly, everything would be fine.’

But he couldn’t muster the courage to have that conversation. Dawon fiddled with his phone and, out of mild curiosity, searched for the Lumière Gallery and Hugo Wightman. The results only intensified his feelings of inadequacy.

‘They’re even more important than I thought? The size of the gallery… Why would someone like that offer to be my tutor? Was he just being polite? Was it one of those American jokes I misunderstood? Is that why Mister reacted that way?’

As questions piled up, Dawon’s mood sank further. He stared dejectedly at Haley’s business card before crumpling it back into his pocket. Just then, he heard a soft knock.

“Dawon, are you still sleeping?”

Judging by the cautious tone, Taehan seemed to have genuinely believed Dawon was taking a nap and had left him alone. The sound of his voice melted away half of Dawon’s sulkiness, but he still tried to sound aloof.

“No. You can come in.”

At Dawon’s words, Taehan quietly opened the door, barely making a sound, and slipped the cupcake box through the gap. Dawon couldn’t help but smile at the sight, but he bit his lip, trying to suppress it.

Sensing that Dawon’s mood had improved somewhat, Taehan quickly entered the room and handed him the box. Swallowing hard, Dawon asked,

“Is it okay to eat this in bed?”

“Do whatever you want, baby. Who could stop you from doing what you want?”

Despite having just given Dawon the side-eye moments before, Taehan spoke sweetly. Dawon rolled his eyes but readily accepted the box.

As Dawon devoured the crème brûlée cupcake he’d been craving, Taehan, after a moment of hesitation, climbed onto the bed and sat close beside him. Dawon leaned against his shoulder, pretending to be reluctant. As he nestled into Taehan’s embrace, the remaining half of his resentment melted away completely.

While Dawon finished his cupcake, Taehan gently stroked his hair. The soothing, pleasant touch brought a blush to Dawon’s cheeks. As he finished the last crumb, including the small cookie on top, Taehan brought up a familiar name.

“Baby, about Haley Wood. He offered to tutor you?”

“Huh? Uh… yeah, he did.”

“You want to study, right? Should I contact him? Like you said, he seems trustworthy.”

The sudden turn of events flustered Dawon. After learning more about Haley Wood, he doubted she had been serious about the tutoring offer, but he couldn’t backtrack after his earlier outburst.

“Ah, no. I’ll talk to him again. I think I’ll see him again anyway. He comes to the lounge often.”

“Okay, baby. Talk to him, and decide what you want to do.”

Despite the evasiveness of Dawon’s reply, Taehan whispered tenderly and took his hand. As he often did, he massaged Dawon’s palm with his thumb, rubbing and pressing gently.

“…Baby. I don’t want to lock you up. You know that, right?”

His gentle voice trembled slightly at the end. Dawon had meant it when he said he wouldn’t mind being confined by Taehan, but hearing that tremor, he realized it could never happen. It would hurt Taehan more than it would hurt him.

Taehan was striving to give Dawon the best possible world. He wouldn’t forgive anyone who constricted Dawon’s universe, even if it were himself, blinded by possessiveness.

A tender affection flowed through their joined hands. It was a heartwarming moment, but the problem was, the warmth was spreading beyond his chest, down to his lower abdomen and the nape of his neck.

‘Ugh. Here we go again.’

Taehan’s hand, still holding Dawon’s, rested on his thigh. Every twitch of his strong hand sent Dawon’s heart racing. His mind was suddenly filled with thoughts of how, if Taehan’s hand moved just a little further inwards, it would touch there.

‘You clueless body. Do you really have to have these thoughts at a time like this?’

Even taking surreptitious deep breaths didn’t help. Taehan, oblivious to Dawon’s inner turmoil, continued to fiddle with his hand, making Dawon’s body tingle even more.

In the end, Dawon spent the entire evening agonizing, tossing and turning in bed at night as the feeling persisted, and even when he finally fell asleep, he was jolted awake by a suggestive dream.

‘I must be crazy. Is this okay for a pregnant person?’

As if sensing Dawon’s guilt, the baby in his belly, perhaps as perceptive as its father, chose that exact moment to wriggle. So, from the very morning, Dawon was left tearing his hair out, wondering if he should discuss his condition with the doctor at his next appointment, if he could confess to the doctor what he couldn’t even tell Taehan.

That day, as he strolled through the gallery district with Taehan, Dawon was consumed by the despair of not being able to confide in anyone, and by a frustration as agonizing and persistent as his despair.

The gallery staff in Chelsea wondered what profound and noble thoughts occupied the enigmatic young Asian man who had caught their attention. They might have been quite disappointed to learn that Dawon’s mind was entirely preoccupied with thoughts of sex.

‘…I need to draw.’

When Dawon drew alone in the lounge, without Taehan, he could at least enjoy some peace and wholesome time. It was difficult to have lewd thoughts while drawing moss-covered tree stumps or dragonflies perched on flower petals.

In the afternoon, Taehan left to run some errands at the bank, and Dawon headed to the lounge with his art supplies. However, the lounge was far from peaceful. In a corner, an old man and a young woman were bickering.

“You’re going to play poker here again? Don’t you get bored doing that every day?”

“Every day? I took a break yesterday.”

“A break? You were too hungover to move. Your nose is still red!”

Dawon had seen this before. He’d been aware of their presence even before Haley approached him. He was particularly conscious of Professor Wightman, as they were often alone in the lounge together, and the older man would always steal glances at him, pretending not to.

Dawon would also sneak peeks at Professor Wightman when he wasn’t looking. The professor was prone to sarcastic remarks, but having met mostly unusual people in his life, Dawon wasn’t intimidated; to him, those remarks sounded like harmless grumbling.

Dawon enjoyed observing people, and Professor Wightman was a particularly interesting subject. He hadn’t had much opportunity to interact with older people before, and the professor’s face, deeply lined with age, contrasted sharply with his youthful, sharp, and tenacious gaze, creating a curious tension.

“My nose is always red. So stop your nonsense and go away. My friends will be here soon.”

“Always red? It’s been like that ever since you started drinking tequila like cola.”

“Speaking of which, I think I’ll have a tequila. Hey, bartender.”

As Professor Wightman got up and headed towards the bar to order his drink, Haley shook her head in exasperation. It was at that moment that she spotted Dawon.

“Oh, Dawon. You’re here. You didn’t hear what Mr. Wightman just said, did you?”

She approached Dawon, fanning herself as if embarrassed. Dawon, a poor liar, answered honestly.

“I heard everything.”

“Oh dear. Don’t misunderstand, Dawon. Mr. Wightman isn’t usually the type to drink tequila in the middle of the day. He’s actually a brilliant artist, but he’s taking a break from teaching, and he’s in a bit of a slump…”

Haley fidgeted as she spoke, as if she needed Professor Wightman to make a good impression on Dawon. While he didn’t fully understand her behavior, Dawon nodded.

“Yes, I know. He’s a remarkable person.”

Dawon’s online search had revealed Professor Wightman’s paintings to be both delicate and intense. Reassured by Dawon’s sincere response, Haley sighed, seemingly relieved.

“I’m glad you think so. By the way, have you thought about what we talked about yesterday? About me tutoring you?”

“Uh… were you serious about that?”

“Of course!”

“Why?”

Haley looked flustered again by the innocent question, so Dawon carefully chose his next words.

“You’re busy, Haley. You run a really big gallery, and you know a lot of important people like Mr. Wightman, so why would you want to teach me…?”

“Oh, no, Dawon. Right now, helping you is more important to me than those things.”

“Why… is that?”

“Because, Dawon, you’re special!”

Her confident answer only confused Dawon further. To him, Haley seemed incredibly special. She must have received a wonderful education since childhood, surrounded by accomplished people, and grown up appreciating beautiful things.

“I’m not special. It’s just… maybe you think I’m special because I have a disability and I couldn’t go to school.”

Dawon spoke his mind without any malice. Compared to the kind and confident Haley, his only special quality seemed to be his unusually unfortunate past.

“What? That’s not it at all, Dawon. You are…”

Just as she was about to say something, her elegant eyebrows furrowed, a commotion erupted from the lounge entrance.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Miss Wood. Come to socialize with these old fogies again?”

“Hahaha, if Miss Wood is feeling generous enough to lose big again, we’re happy to oblige.”

The group of middle-aged men who usually played poker with Professor Wightman spotted Haley and greeted her with boisterous laughter and teasing. Haley’s annoyance was evident, but she forced an awkward smile, unable to curse them outright.

Dawon shared her dislike for these men. He didn’t mind Professor Wightman, but the group was often loud and disruptive, making it difficult for him to concentrate on his drawing.

“Ugh, here we go again,” she muttered under her breath.

Dawon understood the situation. Haley must have been pressured into joining their poker game last time and lost money.

It was puzzling. To Dawon, these old men weren’t particularly skilled at poker. He’d gleaned their playing habits just by eavesdropping on a few of their conversations.

Despite their apparent lack of skill, the men, brimming with misplaced confidence, took their seats at the largest table in the center of the lounge and beckoned Haley to join them. Haley whispered to Dawon, her face a mask of discomfort,

“I’m sorry. They seem even more excited because of me. I hope they’re not disturbing your drawing.”

“It’s okay. But, Haley, did they do something bad to you? Do you want me to get revenge?”

“What…? Revenge? In poker?”

“Yes. I don’t have any cash. Can you lend me 50… no, 20 dollars?”

As Haley, looking bewildered, reached for her wallet, one of the old men at the poker table started to get up, offering to escort her. Dawon, taking the bills, beat him to it.

“Excuse me, but would you mind if I joined you?”

As Dawon limped towards the center table, a strange expression flickered across the old men’s faces. People here rarely reacted overtly to Dawon’s disability, so it had been a while since he’d seen such condescending looks.

As Dawon calmly took a seat, the old men at the table exchanged excited glances, as if welcoming a sucker. The oldest of them spoke in a condescending tone,

“Well, if you insist, we can play a hand. But do you even know how to play poker? Where are you from, son? Do they have poker in your country?”

Haley gasped at the blatant racism, but Dawon simply smiled and replied,

“Yes, well… I know the rules.”

‘What should I do? I won too much money.’

That evening, while waiting for Taehan to return home, Dawon anxiously pondered. In just three hours at the poker table, he had amassed a pile of cash too large to count.

He’d started playing cautiously, mindful that these were men who played poker almost daily, but before he knew it, the boastful old men had crumbled.

‘The business cards are a problem, but… I can just throw those away.’

In a proper gambling setting, winning so decisively could have led to trouble, but the old men, initially surprised, then bewildered, had ultimately become intrigued.

They’d laughed heartily, pushing the stacks of cash towards Dawon, and eagerly handed him their business cards, urging him to play again, offering to teach him poker, even inviting him to their homes. Not lacking in money, they seemed simply thrilled by a new source of amusement.

Even after buying expensive drinks for all the old men, Haley, and the bartender, Dawon still had a significant amount of cash left. He’d shoved it into a drawer upon returning to his room, but it was only a matter of time before Taehan discovered it.

He worried that Taehan would be upset about him playing poker with strangers, and he was tired of constantly having to consider Taehan’s feelings. But he also felt guilty about taking the old men’s money.

‘What if I spend all this money before Mister finds out… But he’ll still find out, won’t he? Unless I spend it on something he can’t object to. That’s it! I’ll buy him a present.’

The idea, born of desperation, was actually quite good. Taehan always meticulously selected the best quality clothes, items, and food for Dawon, but Dawon had never bought anything for him.

‘That’s right. Now that I have money, there’s no reason why I can’t buy him something.’

With a determined look, Dawon visited the website of the clothing brand where Taehan often bought his clothes. The site was filled with luxurious items, and he was sure he could find something that suited Taehan.

‘Mister… he’s been wearing t-shirts and casual shirts lately. What are those soft shirts called?’

Scanning the product list, Dawon imagined Taehan wearing each item. They all seemed to suit him so well that it was difficult to choose.

After browsing through the casual wear, he moved on to the formal wear category, and his mind naturally wandered back to the first time he met Taehan. His heart pounded, his thoughts scattering.

‘What should I buy? They all look good. This is impossible. Buying clothes was a bad idea. I don’t even know Mister’s size… It has to be much bigger than mine, but how much bigger?’

The thought of Taehan’s broad chest and shoulders, and the muscles that seemed to have grown even firmer and thicker since they started living together, perhaps due to his increased peace of mind, left Dawon feeling overwhelmed.

‘Calm down. Clothes are out. What else can I buy him? Glasses?’

But ‘glasses’ proved to be an even worse choice. Dawon pictured Taehan wearing glasses whenever they went out, partly to conceal his face. His profile looked slightly different, somewhat novel, and the way he pushed his glasses up with his fingertip…

Then, he imagined Taehan returning home, sighing softly as he took off his glasses, and Dawon was thrown into complete disarray. He was fanning himself, trying to cool his blushing cheeks, when the door suddenly opened. Lost in his reverie, he’d completely missed Taehan’s return.

‘He can’t see this!’

Panicked, Dawon frantically tapped the screen, navigating away from the page he’d been browsing. Taehan, entering the room with a cheerful smile, seemed to immediately sense Dawon’s unusual demeanor.

By the time Dawon realized he should have hidden the phone altogether, it was too late. Taehan glanced at the screen, then asked with a gentle smile,

“Dawon, are you looking at baby clothes?”

“What do you mean?” Dawon looked down at his phone. In his frantic tapping, he’d somehow navigated to the brand’s baby and kids’ line. While Dawon was still bewildered, Taehan continued excitedly,

“Perfect timing. I was thinking we should start preparing the smaller items. Shall we go to the department store tomorrow?”

As with all the other rooms in the house, Taehan had taken charge of setting up the nursery. Dawon had offered his opinion at the final decision-making stage, but since those choices had been pre-selected by Taehan after thorough research, it was fair to say Dawon hadn’t done much.

A wave of guilt washed over him as he realized how much he’d neglected the baby, just because it was hidden inside him. At that moment, he felt the familiar flutter in his belly. Dawon forced an awkward smile and nodded.

‘I can’t help it. Shopping is… difficult.’

It wasn’t an excuse for his neglect, but it was true. Everything in the outside world felt new and awkward to Dawon, but shopping was particularly challenging.

The act of choosing and acquiring something he needed or wanted was unfamiliar. Moreover, the stores Taehan took him to were always overwhelmingly luxurious, and he found it difficult to deal with the overly attentive staff and their expectant smiles.

Even choosing things for himself was hard enough that he mostly left it to Taehan. Choosing things for the baby was even more perplexing. The next day, at the department store, Dawon’s face was as tense as a student facing a difficult exam.

He didn’t know what they needed or what constituted a good product, and the constant questions from the sales staff only added to his discomfort.

“This product comes in two colors, pink and blue. Do you know the baby’s gender?”

Dawon didn’t know the baby’s sex yet. After the doctor’s house call, Taehan had asked him again about finding out, but Dawon had said he needed more time to think.

He hadn’t anticipated this dilemma. From the bedding section, where he’d been faced with the choice between pink or blue, floral or dinosaur prints, to the baby clothing store, the challenges only mounted.

Adorable bonnets that looked like pixie hats, onesies that showcased the baby’s chubby silhouette, and unbelievably tiny mittens and booties. The store was filled with items so cute they brought tears to his eyes, but there weren’t many gender-neutral options.

“Um… what should I do? Should we come back later?”

Lost in thought, Dawon fiddled with a pair of baby shoes, one with lace and ribbons, the other designed like sneakers, and looked at Taehan for help.

Taehan, who had been excited since the start of their shopping trip, was now avoiding eye contact, unable to answer Dawon’s question. A sudden realization dawned on Dawon.

“Mister, don’t tell me… you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

Taehan’s expression became as flustered as the day Dawon had suddenly asked, “How old are you, Mister?”

“I’m sorry, Dawon. I called the doctor the other day to ask about your rehabilitation, and I couldn’t resist…”

“Wow, Mister. That’s not fair.”

“But you said it was okay for me to ask first if you were curious, uh, no… no. I’m sorry, baby.”

A single reproachful glance from Dawon was enough to make the large man, twelve years his senior, look utterly contrite.

“Do you want me to tell you?”

Taehan, at a loss, reached out towards the baby shoes Dawon had been holding. The ribboned ones, or the sneaker-like ones? Dawon was momentarily curious, but before Taehan’s hand could reach either pair, he quickly closed his eyes.

“No! I’m not ready yet!”

In the end, they only bought a few gender-neutral items, like teddy bears and rattles, and arranged for the rest to be delivered to their home, with Taehan discreetly specifying the colors to the staff without Dawon hearing.

“I guess I won’t be able to go into the nursery once the items arrive. Should I just find out?”

“Do whatever you feel like, baby. I’ll take care of everything else.”

Taehan replied with a smile, but Dawon couldn’t tell if he was being difficult or not. Having never experienced a normal life, the question of ‘what do people normally do in this situation?’ was always the hardest for him.

“Shall we go to Chelsea now?”

Dawon, pouting slightly as they left the department store, brightened at Taehan’s suggestion. He found looking at art in galleries much more relaxing than browsing through department store merchandise.

Despite his lack of general knowledge, Dawon’s knowledge of art history was comparable to that of a specialist. However, his understanding of contemporary art was still nascent. When choosing subjects to forge, paintings by living artists had been excluded to avoid potential disputes.

Therefore, whenever they visited the gallery district, not far from their home, to see an exhibition that caught his interest, Dawon felt as excited as a child visiting a toy store. But then…

“Huh? We’re going… there?”

It was unusual for Taehan, who always asked Dawon where he wanted to go, to stride so purposefully through the streets. Taehan stopped in front of a familiar name: the Lumière Gallery, where Haley worked.

“Yes. Didn’t you want to visit sometime, baby?”

Dawon had indeed been curious about the gallery, but he wasn’t sure if this was a wise decision. It would be awkward if Haley said something like, “You were amazing at poker yesterday!”

Taehan took Dawon’s wrist and led him into the gallery. The elegant lighting and subtle fragrance suited Haley perfectly, Dawon thought.

“Oh, look who it is! Dawon. You came!”

Haley rushed over to greet him, then hesitated as she saw Taehan beside him. Taehan had a terrible habit of sharpening his pheromones whenever a strange alpha approached Dawon.

Whether he was doing it intentionally or unconsciously, he was emitting an aggressive scent. Startled, Dawon tugged lightly on Taehan’s sleeve. Haley cleared her throat, her expression strained.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Are you Dawon’s…?”

“Husband.”

I, too, had called Taehan “husband” to Haley, unable to find another suitable term, and Dawon’s cheeks flushed at Taehan’s reply. Haley seemed even more uncomfortable, but she responded with a patient air, as if bearing it for Dawon’s sake.

“Ah, I’ve heard so much about you from Dawon. Your name is…?”

“Kim Taehan. Haley Wood, right? Dawon has your business card.”

Hidden within their exchange were barbs: ‘I’m already close enough with Dawon to talk about you,’ and ‘I don’t know about that, but why did you give my spouse your business card so casually?’

“Um, can we go inside?”

Sensing the tension escalating, Dawon asked cautiously. Taehan immediately took Dawon’s arm, as if escorting him, and Haley, flustered, led them into the gallery’s inner room.

“Of course! Since you’ve come all this way, let’s have some tea inside.”

Haley welcomed them as if they were important guests. She served Taehan coffee and Dawon his favorite hot chocolate instead. Taehan glanced at her with an expression reserved for someone ‘useful but somehow unpleasant.’

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Taehan. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m acquainted with Professor Hugo Wightman, so I often visit Graham Place. Supporting great artists is the greatest joy for people like us.”

“Is that so?”

“I happened to see Dawon’s paintings in the apartment lounge and I was completely captivated. For someone so young, he has such strong fundamentals! He’s already amazing, but I can only imagine how much greater he could become with the help of excellent teachers.”

Taehan maintained a relatively impassive expression, but Dawon could clearly see the shift in his emotions. The tension between his eyebrows, evident when Haley said she was “completely captivated,” smoothed out as she began praising Dawon’s paintings.

“So, Taehan, I heard Dawon’s tutoring position is vacant. Would you perhaps consider letting me teach him? I’m an Ivy League graduate, you know.”

Having confidently presented her main point, she seemed to grow anxious at Taehan’s silence, hastily adding, “You might be concerned that I’m an Alpha, but I have a bonded partner. So you don’t have to worry about that. What do you… think…?”

Just as Haley trailed off, Taehan’s phone rang. He nodded apologetically to her and excused himself.

“Wow… Dawon, was it obvious I was nervous just now? I rarely get tense around people.”

Despite her playful tone, Dawon didn’t laugh along. A word she’d casually dropped had piqued his interest.

“Haley, what’s bonding?”

“Huh? Well… wait. Dawon, you haven’t bonded with your husband? You’re married, though?”

Haley seemed momentarily taken aback before composing herself and explaining, “When an Alpha bonds with their chosen Omega, they both become unresponsive to other people’s pheromones. That means, even if they perceive the scent, they won’t be affected by any impulses.”

It was new information, but it sounded incredibly appealing to Dawon. Moreover, judging by Haley’s initial reaction, bonding seemed customary for married couples.

“Um… whether or not to bond with a partner is a personal choice. Since the connection can’t be broken until one of them dies, some people want to think it over carefully…”

Although Haley’s words remained neutral, her tone and expression conveyed dissatisfaction and suspicion. She likely saw Taehan as ‘a jerk who seduced a naive youngster into marriage and then delayed bonding.’

‘Yeah. If bonding is like that, why hasn’t he done it? He hates it when anyone even looks at me.’

Dawon, though not to the extent of Haley, also felt puzzled. He didn’t want to doubt Taehan, but he couldn’t help feeling a little hurt. Seeing Dawon’s dejected expression, Haley tried to change the subject.

“Dawon, did you go to 5th Avenue? Looks like you went shopping. I frequent that department store, too.”

“Yes, it was a lovely place.”

“May I ask what you bought?”

“I don’t really know. My husband mostly chose the items.”

Still preoccupied with “bonding” and hampered by his limited English, Dawon couldn’t properly explain the incident at the department store to Haley.

As a result, Haley now viewed Taehan as ‘a jerk who seduced a naive youngster, didn’t bond, and controlled even daily life and shopping.’

“I, I see. Um, Dawon, since you’re here, you should see our exhibition. I heard you’ve been diligently visiting other galleries.”

Haley forced a sweet smile, masking her true feelings, and rose from the table.

“Oh? How did you know?”

“Word gets around. By the way, we have one of Professor Wightman’s paintings in this exhibition. Would you like to see that first?”

At those words, Dawon momentarily forgot his worries and eagerly nodded. The piece Haley led him to was painted during Hugo Wightman’s last prime, showcasing his mature style.

The face of a woman with slight wrinkles around her eyes and partially graying hair. The dry texture of the hair, the moistness at the innermost part of her lips, the translucence and reflection in her eyes – all were palpable in the painting, captivating Dawon completely.

Engrossed in the vivid and overwhelming artwork, Dawon failed to notice Haley’s burning resolve to ‘somehow intervene in this absurd situation’ as she observed him.

When Dawon finished admiring Wightman’s painting and the other pieces in the exhibition, Taehan returned from his call.

Unaware of the iciness that had crept into Haley’s gaze, he told her he would consider her offer to tutor Dawon and left the gallery.

His coldness towards Haley vanished as soon as they were alone, replaced by a gentle expression as he stroked Dawon’s hair and asked, “My love, I’m sorry I left you alone. It was the carpentry workshop. They called to ask if I could check something before they deliver it to our home. Want to go and take a look with me?”

Since ready-made furniture often wasn’t suitable for Dawon’s mobility issues, most of the furniture in their home was custom-made by an artisan carpenter.

They had ordered essential furniture in advance and had been using it since they moved into the mansion, but the baby’s room was still being furnished, with the furniture just completed.

“No, I wouldn’t know what to look for anyway, so I’ll leave it to you.”

“Then do you want to go home and rest first?”

“Um… I’ll wait for you in the lounge.”

“Really? Won’t you be tired, my love?”

“It’s okay. They said the lounge will be closed tomorrow for cleaning anyway. And I really feel like drawing right now.”

Seeing the wonderful artworks had ignited a creative spark in him. Dawon clenched his fists in excitement and then noticed Taehan looking at him fondly. The word “bonding,” which he had briefly forgotten, flashed through his mind.

‘I should talk about that later when we get home.’

Despite this resolution, Dawon knew deep down that he probably wouldn’t be able to bring up such an embarrassing topic. He simply headed to his usual drawing spot, carrying the weight of his unspoken desires and newfound creative urge.

Until he entered the residents’ lounge, Dawon had planned to draw the creatures in the garden visible through the window, as usual. However, before he even reached his usual table, his eyes met those of the lounge’s resident, who was already there.

“…Hello.”

Professor Wightman, who usually pretended not to see him and only observed him from afar, was openly looking at Dawon today. He nodded in acknowledgement of Dawon’s greeting, but his gaze seemed persistent and mischievous.

Was he perhaps harboring resentment over being relieved of his money by Dawon and his friends yesterday? Dawon frowned at him, then suddenly realized something.

This old man, who had spent his life observing, analyzing, and capturing subjects on paper, now seemed like a fascinating subject himself, worthy of being drawn. He had a wrinkled face with the eyes of a boy, an air of perpetual boredom mixed with an expression that seemed ready to explode at any moment.

The moment Dawon thought, ‘Could I draw him?’, his body moved involuntarily towards the professor’s table.

Meanwhile, Professor Wightman had been intensely bothered by Dawon from the moment he entered the lounge. It wasn’t just that the kid had cleaned him out in poker the day before, but Haley had been constantly filling his ears with stories about the boy.

She’d go on and on about how incredibly talented he was, how he seemed to be held back by some strange Alpha, and how she needed to help him. He could tolerate her enthusiasm, but Haley was also insistent that Dawon’s presence would inspire Wightman and was determined to bring them together.

‘What’s the big deal about this kid?’

The simple sketches did reveal an unusual talent. And judging by how he’d played those four old poker veterans like fiddles yesterday, the boy was clearly sharp and observant. But so what? No matter how talented the kid was, Wightman had no intention of getting involved with him.

He glared at Dawon with disapproval, but for some reason, the boy approached him. Before Wightman knew it, Dawon was sitting across from him, pencil in hand, studying his face.

“What are you doing?”

“May I draw you?”

Wightman’s sharp question was met with a casual inquiry. Flustered and unsure how to respond, Wightman stammered while the boy started sketching on the paper.

“Don’t mind me. Just continue with what you were doing.”

“What? You little…”

“That book doesn’t seem to be helping you much, though.”

Just as Wightman was about to unleash a torrent of insults, the boy added another disconcerting remark. In front of Wightman lay a book on poker strategy.

Having been thoroughly outplayed by the kid yesterday, reading such a book in his presence felt ridiculous. Wightman quickly shoved the book into his bag. Meanwhile, the boy continued to sketch, capturing the contours of his face.

He’d missed the chance to stop him. Wightman was dumbfounded, but at the same time, he keenly observed the boy and his drawing.

“Ha.”

What made it even more absurd was that the drawing was remarkably good. Wightman, a lifelong artist himself, could tell from a single stroke that Dawon’s skill was exceptional.

Watching the fluid movement of the pencil, Wightman’s thoughts became complex.

‘He’s twenty-one, is he?’

Dawon had looked much younger, and yesterday, while fleecing him at poker, he’d seemed like a seasoned gambler. Yet, according to Haley, the boy was around the same age as the undergraduates Wightman taught.

But the way he drew was different. Not only was his draftsmanship impressive, but the way he looked directly at his subject was unlike any student of that age.

In truth, this kid wasn’t comparable to the undergraduates Wightman found so tiresome. If anything, he was closer to Wightman himself at that age.

‘Of course, I was a much better artist at twenty. This kid still has a lot to learn.’

It was ridiculous. Though he didn’t want to be arrogant, Hugo Wightman was already considered a master of contemporary art. There was no reason to compare himself to a novice who hadn’t even debuted, whose artistic training was a mystery.

Yet, watching the boy, Wightman felt something stirring within him. He could clearly see how much deeper Dawon’s artistic universe could become with a little guidance, and he felt a growing urge to offer his expertise.

The shadows should be darker, the light more brilliant. You need to break down the planes more in that area. You can do it. You’re not like the other lazy students.

Wightman’s fingers twitched. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming urge to snatch the pencil from Dawon’s hand. As if sensing this impulse, the boy calmly offered,

“You can draw too, if you like.”

The moment Wightman looked at the blank paper offered to him, he felt an irresistible desire to fill it. But simultaneously, the realization that his aged hand could no longer achieve the same level of artistry tormented him.

“Easy for you to say. Do you think drawing is easy for an old man, even if it’s something I’ve done my whole life? My eyes are weak, my hands don’t obey. You young people have no idea what it’s like when your body betrays you.”

Aging was no one’s fault, but Wightman lashed out as if it were the boy’s. While most youngsters these days would crumble at the slightest criticism, this pampered-looking boy remained impassive despite the unwarranted outburst.

“I think I understand. That feeling.”

“What? You barely pubescent…”

“Even though I’m young, I know what it’s like when my body doesn’t cooperate.”

Wightman, momentarily forgetting about the boy’s disability, felt a pang of regret. Despite his habitual sarcasm, he never intended to be insensitive. He backtracked, his tone softening.

“No, uh, that’s not what I meant… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

And he truly seemed unaffected.

“The people I knew before always used my leg as a reason to criticize me. It’s strange being here where everyone acts like my leg isn’t an issue.”

“…”

“So, you can just draw. I’ll pretend not to notice if your hand shakes.”

Wightman couldn’t decide if the boy was insightful or clueless, mature or naive. Letting out a chuckle of disbelief, he responded in kind,

“If my hand shakes, it won’t be from old age, but from you. From the way you swindled this old man out of his money without me even realizing how you did it.”

“Swindled? I just… have different skills? Is that the right way to say it?”

“Right? You cheeky brat.”

Chuckling, Wightman returned his gaze to Dawon’s nearly finished drawing.

“Is this how I look to you?”

“Yes.”

The eyes of the old man in Dawon’s drawing sparkled with an unusual light. In the eyes of the seemingly grumpy and stubborn, gray-haired man, there remained a vibrant passion and hope.

Hope, my foot. He wanted to dismiss it as the naive optimism of a clueless child, but the corners of Wightman’s stubbornly downturned mouth kept trying to curl upwards.

‘Mating…’

Time to wind down for the day. Dawon lay in bed, unable to sleep. As he’d feared, he hadn’t been able to talk to Taehan about the word Haley had told him.

Several times during dinner, a strange tension had filled the air, and Dawon had opened his mouth to speak, thinking, ‘Is this the moment?’ but he’d missed his chance. In the end, he’d fled to the shower without mentioning the word “mating,” and now he was back in bed, freshly washed.

Oblivious to Dawon’s inner turmoil, Taehan had dried his hair, tucked him into bed, and then gone to shower himself.

With his pregnancy-induced sleepiness, Dawon usually fell asleep before Taehan returned from his shower. While Dawon often complained that Taehan didn’t touch him, he hadn’t exactly given him the opportunity for anything to happen at night.

Tonight was different. Listening to the sounds of Taehan showering, Dawon grew increasingly restless. After much hesitation, he picked up his phone and began searching for “mating.”

Dawon had developed the habit of looking up unfamiliar words ever since he’d learned how to use his phone. However, this was the first time he’d searched for such an embarrassing term, and his cheeks were already flushed.

‘Haley was right. It seems normal for married Alphas and Omegas to mate. Mating anniversaries? Some people even celebrate those…’

Scrolling through scattered information, Dawon’s eyes widened as he came across an article about “how to mate.”

‘During intercourse, when an Alpha bites their Omega partner’s nape strongly, mating occurs due to pheromone interaction… Is that really true?’

It sounded fantastical, but the tingling sensation he felt in his nape after reading those words suggested it wasn’t entirely made up. He self-consciously touched his nape, and then he couldn’t help but imagine Taehan’s lips there, his teeth sinking in.

‘Oh my god.’

Like an adolescent boy aroused by the mere mention of the word “sex,” Dawon found himself flushed with excitement without any physical stimulation. His nape felt hot, and a strange warmth spread between his legs.

He wiggled his toes, trying to quell the unexpected arousal, but even the feeling of his pajamas against his skin, the slight friction between his thighs, only intensified it.

‘I’m going to get hard. Wait, am I already hard? My back feels weird too.’

His erection strained against his pajamas, and a tingling sensation spread between his buttocks, followed by a growing wetness. As he fidgeted, flustered, he heard the sound of the door opening.

Taehan was returning from his shower. The scent of Taehan’s damp pheromones felt unusually alluring tonight. Even if it wasn’t just him coming into the room, Dawon would have recognized that distinct fragrance.

Trying to hide his arousal, Dawon squeezed his eyes shut, hoping Taehan would leave him alone. But, as if to taunt him, Taehan sat beside him, gazing at his face for a long moment. His gaze was tender and soft, his sweet breath ghosting over Dawon’s nose.

‘I wish he would just… No, that’s a bad idea. Stop. I should just fall asleep. One sheep, two sheep…’

Dawon desperately clung to his dwindling self-control. If he fell asleep before anything happened, he’d be fine. But despite his desperate efforts, Taehan’s face slowly drew closer. Closer and closer, until his lips finally landed on Dawon’s.

A soft peck, light as a butterfly landing on a petal. It was a chaste kiss, full of affection but devoid of any lustful intent. More like a goodnight kiss for a child than a gesture of intimacy between spouses.

Dawon had always been asleep and hadn’t realized it, but perhaps Taehan had been kissing him like this every night. But tonight, with his heightened sensitivity, this small kiss had an unexpected effect.

“Ngh…!”

The dam of Dawon’s pent-up desire burst. The almost-erection hardened painfully, and a gush of wetness escaped him.

A soft moan escaped his lips. Mortified, he curled up and turned away. Taehan, who had thought Dawon was asleep, seemed startled. He placed a hand on Dawon’s shoulder.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

He wasn’t exactly hurt, but he definitely wasn’t okay. Dawon hunched his back further, trying to make himself smaller. He needed to calm down, but even now, Taehan’s gentle voice, his hand gripping his shoulder, felt strangely arousing.

He didn’t want Taehan to see his aroused state, yet at the same time, an inexplicable desire bloomed within him. He wanted Taehan to whisper sweet nothings to him, to touch him more intimately.

“No, hngh, I…”

Unable to articulate his tangled emotions, Dawon whimpered. Taehan, even more concerned, tried to turn him over.

“You seem to be in pain. Your face is red. Baby, let me see your face.”

“I’m, I’m fine, ah, let go.”

“Baby, if you’re sick, you should take some medicine. Huh? Look at me.”

“No, it’s just… Ungh!”

If he’d stayed still, he could have at least covered himself with the blanket. But in his struggle to pull away, he thrashed about, and the blanket was flung aside as Taehan turned him over.

Dawon’s flushed body was completely exposed to Taehan’s view. His reddened face and neck, his knees pressed together and fidgeting. And most of all, the unmistakable outline of his erect penis, straining against his damp pajamas.

Dawon couldn’t bear to look at Taehan. Even without seeing him, he could feel Taehan’s gaze fixed on his lower body. The short silence stretched on, agonizingly long.

Just as Dawon was about to burst into tears, Taehan’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and he gulped audibly. The strangely wet sound sent a shiver down Dawon’s spine, and then a strong scent emanated from Taehan.

“Hah…”

It was the familiar scent that always surrounded Dawon. The doctor had recommended ample exposure to Taehan’s pheromones during the pregnancy, so Taehan would sometimes hold him close and release a comforting scent.

Dawon had sometimes felt disappointed by the lack of a sensual undertone to those pheromones. But the scent approaching him now was entirely different. It was a potent, heady fragrance that invaded his lungs and stirred his senses.

Dawon’s arousal spiraled out of control. Even his pregnancy-weakened pheromones intensified, a tingling sensation spreading through his veins. He felt like he might come just from Taehan’s gaze, and he instinctively tugged at his pajama top, trying to cover himself.

“Taehan…”

Despite his actions, Dawon desperately wanted Taehan to take him. As if reading his mind, Taehan’s lips covered his. He pressed down on Dawon’s lower lip, forcing his mouth open, his tongue hot and slick as it delved inside.

Dawon sucked on his tongue like a parched man desperate for water. Had kissing always been this sweet? This intoxicating, this mind-numbing?

He wrapped his heated arms around Taehan’s shoulders, the contact sending shivers down his spine. Taehan’s hand hesitantly reached down and slipped beneath the waistband of his pajamas. When his large palm spread his legs and wrapped around his erection, Dawon almost cried out.

“Ah, ngh…”

Each stroke of Taehan’s hand sent tremors through his body. He whimpered around Taehan’s tongue, lost in the sensation.

He wanted to savor the moment, but the pleasure came on too quickly, too intensely. Overwhelmed, he shook his head.

“No, ah, ungh…”

Even though it had been a long time, Taehan seemed to know exactly when Dawon was nearing his limit. He circled his thumb over Dawon’s wet tip and then pumped his length faster, harder.

Dawon had been holding back for so long, and he instantly climaxed. His vision blurred, a throbbing ache radiating from his groin. The forgotten sensation spread slowly through his body.

“Haah, ah…”

The afterglow was sweet. But even sweeter was the anticipation of Taehan taking him further, pushing him past his limits. Dawon gasped for breath, his gaze fixed on Taehan.

He’d expected another kiss, but Taehan’s face was strangely stiff. With hurried movements, he grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and wiped his hand before meticulously cleaning the semen from between Dawon’s legs.

His touch was clinical and efficient as he tidied Dawon, pulling up his underwear and pants. Dawon was so flustered and embarrassed he couldn’t speak.

‘Why are you dressing me? Is it over? Aren’t we going to do more?’

But Taehan, as if to shut down any protest, firmly pulled the blanket up to Dawon’s neck and said, in a gentle but strangely strained voice,

“Sleep well, baby.”

Then he lay down beside Dawon and turned his back. Lying in the same bed, yet feeling utterly alone, Dawon was bewildered, mortified, and even a little heartbroken.

‘What the hell? Taehan. Why are you doing this?’