Underpainting Chapter 3.2 - Wet On Wet (2)

Approaching the table, Taehan was taken aback. Several sheets of paper, filling the wide surface, were covered in hastily drawn pencil sketches. There was only one subject clearly depicted. It was Taehan.

Smoking a cigarette in a suit, checking his watch, leaning back with a tilted head, expressionless, lips pursed, eyes staring straight ahead.

It was as if Dawon’s gaze, which had started from the gap in the curtains across the alley and had now followed him right to his side, that persistent, clinging gaze that seemed to soak into his skin, had been imprinted on the paper.

‘Just how many of these did he draw?’

Taehan took another step closer to Dawon. The sweet scent, somewhere between the smell of milk and something green, had intensified to the point he could no longer ignore it.

When he first noticed this scent, Taehan had smiled, as if he had discovered an interesting toy. But now, it felt like rage was simmering within him.

He had come to this room intending to pour out all these explosive emotions, yet he found himself hesitating, unable to even make a sound. It was ridiculous.

“Ha…”

Taehan sighed, looking down at Dawon. Seeing his brow slightly furrowed, as if he were having a bad dream, Taehan involuntarily reached out.

At first, he only meant to brush away the messy hair, but after stroking it, his fingertips moved on their own, touching Dawon’s pale cheek. More than the soft, delicate feel of his skin, it was the way Dawon’s furrowed brow smoothed out at his touch that captivated him.

Dawon was still asleep, unaware of who was touching him. Taehan knew he wasn’t usually this oblivious.

He remembered the day they went to the clothing store, how Dawon, startled like a deer caught in headlights, had reacted to the slightest touch from the clerk. It was a stark contrast to how he reacted to Taehan’s touch.

His mood improved slightly just from that silly thought. Taehan moved his fingertips to Dawon’s red, plump lips. Even as he pressed down, Dawon didn’t startle awake. Instead, he puckered his lips, as if anticipating the touch.

‘He’s savoring the feeling.’

Lifting his hand, he gently traced Dawon’s lips. Dawon’s cheeks flushed like flower petals, and the unripe scent grew sweeter. Even in his sleep, he seemed to welcome Taehan’s touch.

One corner of Taehan’s mouth twitched. He couldn’t be sure what was going on inside that small, clever head, but whatever he was thinking, this child would eventually want Taehan. That’s just how nature, how instinct, worked.

‘Yes, after all, this is still going according to plan.’

He repeated it to himself, like an affirmation. Like someone stepping into a swamp, mesmerized, deliberately ignoring the unease within him.

In his dream, Dawon was five years old. The setting was a small room in the brothel where his mother worked. Created by partitioning a corner of the building, it was a place for the prostitutes to take short naps or rest between clients. For Dawon, it was home.

In that room, filled with the musty smell of dust, cosmetics, and cheap air freshener, Dawon ate, played, drew, and waited, for long stretches, for his mother. She saw many clients a day, so young Dawon often fell asleep while waiting.

“Why did it take so long, unnie? He looked like he could barely hold a spoon, so I thought you’d be out quickly.”

“Don’t even start. Those types are the ones who drag it out. You know what that old geezer said to me?”

His mother often chatted with the other women next to the sleeping Dawon. Dawon would jolt awake at the sound of his mother’s voice, but the conversations she had with the other women were usually things a child shouldn’t hear, so he often pretended to be asleep.

“Ugh, disgusting. Really. By the way, unnie, what’s Dawon’s secondary gender?”

At someone’s question at the end of a long conversation, Dawon realized which day this dream was based on. A doctor regularly visited the brothel to conduct health checkups. His mother had once brought Dawon to this doctor.

Most children had their secondary gender tested around the age of three or four. But Dawon, who grew up in a brothel, had never had a typical childhood experience. Even when he was sick, it was difficult to go to the hospital, so they couldn’t afford the expensive early secondary gender test.

Curious about Dawon’s secondary gender, his mother had asked the doctor, who was there for STD testing, about young Dawon. The doctor, wearing a dirty gown, had sniffed young Dawon and answered carelessly,

“They can’t tell for sure. Probably not an Alpha, maybe a recessive Omega or a Beta.”

“Why can’t they tell for sure? Quack.”

“They said to go to a hospital and pay for a proper test if I wanted to know for sure. I’m just going to wait. They test them in school anyway.”

“Ha, that damn money. Seriously. Unnie, you borrowed money from the manager again? Why, really?”

“I-It wasn’t that much.”

“You haven’t even paid back the advance yet. Even if Dawon goes to school soon like you say, if word gets out about us living in this alley, it’ll be real fun for him at school.”

At the other woman’s reprimand, his mother stroked Dawon’s sleeping head.

“I need to quit this life before Dawon goes to school. I’ll raise him properly. He’s so smart. He doesn’t just draw well, he already taught himself how to read and write.”

“Will our Dawon change your life, unnie? It’s a shame, though. It would’ve been better if he was an Alpha, since he’s so bright.”

“Even if he’s not an Alpha… he won’t be an Omega. He’ll probably be a Beta. He has to be a Beta.”

His mother muttered with a resolute tone, as if making a wish. It was a common wish for parents, but hers was more desperate for a reason.

There were as many older brothers in the brothel as there were women. And these brothers were just as pretty as the women. Young male Omegas were said to be popular with customers. If Dawon had presented as an Omega in that place, he would have naturally ended up doing the same work.

That day, too, in the room right next to theirs, a male Omega, barely twenty, was with a client. Cries that sounded like screams seeped through the thin walls. His mother, stroking Dawon’s head anxiously, had said irritably, looking at the wall,

“Aish, why is he being so loud? Doesn’t he know there’s a child listening?”

But hearing those sounds was just a part of everyday life for Dawon back then. He was too young to even understand what they meant.

“Haah, uh, hhnnn!”

When Dawon in the dream opened his eyes, he was seventeen, drawing in the studio of the two-story house. The studio, usually silent, was filled with loud noises that day. The sounds were coming from downstairs. The woman his youngest uncle had called was letting out coquettish moans.

“Uh, kghhh… Fucking bitch, you’re good.”

His youngest uncle, panting between the woman’s moans, slapped her skin hard, making sure everyone could hear. The woman giggled, then acted even more coquettishly towards him.

His youngest uncle often called for women while he was staying there to supervise the work. No longer a child, Dawon naturally understood the meaning of the sounds these women made.

“Ah, I feel so refreshed after one round! Hyung, why are you just watching? Want a turn?”

Dawon’s brow furrowed slightly as he painted. His dream was showing him the memory of a day when those sounds, which he would normally ignore, had felt particularly uncomfortable.

It was shortly after Jaeuk-hyung, who used to draw with him, disappeared without a trace. Usually, his uncles would visit in the morning and leave around the time Dawon went to bed, but for about half a month around that time, they stayed at the two-story house, watching over him even at night.

It wasn’t because they were worried Dawon would be lonely. Dawon had a history of jumping from the second floor shortly after his mother died. So, his eldest uncle had sent the other uncles to watch over Dawon to prevent him from doing anything reckless again.

“Huh? I’m saying, try her out. She’s good.”

During that period, his youngest uncle brought prostitutes to the house almost every day. He would roll around with them in the living room, where the sounds carried best to the second floor, right in front of his second eldest uncle, and then offer him a turn. His second eldest uncle always declined awkwardly.

“No. I-I’m good.”

“Ah, is that so? Heh, hehe.”

His youngest uncle’s laughter grated on his nerves as much as the woman’s moans. He flaunted his actions in the living room not just out of boredom, but also out of spite. When his second eldest uncle wasn’t around, his youngest uncle had told Dawon in a boastful tone,

“Dawon, you don’t have to worry about Kim-hyung hitting on you. He can’t even if he wants to. He’s impotent. His dick won’t get hard no matter what.”

So, his youngest uncle’s behavior of sleeping with women and then taunting his second eldest uncle was meant to humiliate him. In front of the giggling youngest uncle, his second eldest uncle replied in a forced casual tone,

“Yeah. Sh-She’s not even an O-Omega…”

“Oh, so if I brought an Omega, you could, like, do something?”

And according to his youngest uncle, even when he paid extra for an Omega prostitute, his second eldest uncle just buried his face in the nape of her neck and sniffed her pheromones without touching her.

“What’s the point of being an Alpha if you can’t even use it? Fuck, if you buy a woman, shouldn’t you at least fuck her? It was creepy watching him drool and just sniff her.”

Dawon couldn’t understand what pheromones were that would make someone do something so creepy. But he thought he understood what his youngest uncle meant by “creepy.”

“You too, little brother… You’re such a kidder.”

Second Uncle just chuckled, “Hehehe,” without a hint of anger. Thinking of Second Uncle’s grinning face, revealing his yellowed teeth, made Dawon feel uneasy. His concentration was broken that day, and he worked late into the night, finally going to bed much later than usual.

He couldn’t fall asleep, perhaps because he had been drawing furiously until just moments before. I need to sleep. I have a lot to do tomorrow. He was lying with his eyes closed, lost in such thoughts, when he heard it.

A faint, yet chilling sound from afar. Footsteps padding down the hallway, followed by the careful creak of a door opening.

Whoever had opened the door approached the bed where Dawon lay, their movements silent. An ominous shadow fell over Dawon’s closed eyelids.

‘Who is it? A dream? Or…’

It was too late to open his eyes and see who it was. He was frozen, as if sleep paralysis had gripped him. A sense of dread and fear, the premonition that something terrible would happen if he opened his eyes, completely overwhelmed him.

“Hoo, hoo. Hhhnnn.”

Then came a disgusting sound. From the breathing and the presence alone, Dawon knew who it was. Standing by his bedside was Second Uncle. He was making a wet, sniffing sound, his nose close to the top of Dawon’s head, inhaling deeply.

‘Is he smelling me?’

The realization sent chills down Dawon’s arms. He remembered his mother’s words.

“Dawon, you will be a Beta. You have to be a Beta.”

Even after they left the brothel room and came here, his mother often said that. In the months before she died, she clung to him, repeating those words over and over, her voice filled with a stronger, more desperate plea, almost like a command.

As if her words were a spell, Dawon hadn’t presented as any secondary gender throughout puberty.

Until that night, Dawon hadn’t understood her wish. His life was already a mess. No, he didn’t even have a life. He never went outside, so he thought his secondary gender didn’t matter.

“Haa… Tsk.”

But the moment he heard Second Uncle’s sniffing, followed by a disappointed sigh, Dawon understood exactly why he had to be a Beta.

The moment he presented as an Omega, he would become prey. It wouldn’t matter if the Alpha at his bedside, desperately trying to catch a whiff of pheromones he couldn’t possibly smell, was a weak predator. He didn’t want to imagine how much more horrific his already swamp-like, mud-caked life would become.

‘I’m a Beta.’

Clenching his teeth, pretending to be asleep, Dawon told himself that. Fortunately, even after puberty, when most people presented, even past the age of twenty, Dawon hadn’t presented.

So, Dawon was undoubtedly a Beta, and he never doubted it. There was no reason to think otherwise just because he hadn’t been formally tested.

After that chilling night at seventeen, Dawon in the dream opened his eyes again. He was standing in a sunlit room. The room with the large bed on the first floor of Taehan’s house. Just like the day they first met, Taehan, wearing a robe, asked him,

“Kid, what do you think this room smells like?”

That day, Dawon had smelled burnt plastic, semen, sweat, blood… No, actually, Dawon in the dream could only smell one thing. A sweet, heavy scent that made his head spin, yet also acrid, like burnt wood. Taehan’s scent.

Dawon in the dream couldn’t speak in front of the smiling Taehan. Because he should have asked this instead of mindlessly listing the scents he smelled:

‘What do you smell on me, Mister?’

It was a meaningless question. Dawon was a Beta. He had to be a Beta. So, he shouldn’t be able to smell Taehan’s scent, and Taehan shouldn’t be aware of Dawon’s scent. But then, why?

“Gasp…!”

Tormented by a long dream, Dawon woke up in his room at the end of the second-floor hallway in Taehan’s house. He frowned, his eyes slightly open, feeling strange. His underwear was damp.

This was the third day he had woken up with his underwear damp. If it had been a wet dream, he would have just been embarrassed, but it was the wrong place that was wet.

‘It’s just… temporary. Because I’m not feeling well.’

Despite his unease, Dawon stubbornly clung to that thought. His physical condition was definitely a mess. His fever had worsened, and even when he was just spacing out, his cheeks would flush, and the back of his neck would feel hot. When that happened, his nerves would be on edge, and his skin would become more sensitive.

It was strange that he wasn’t feeling well in the first place. He was sleeping and eating more than he ever had in his life. His fractured arm had completely healed, and he had even removed the bandages.

To be precise, he had ripped off the bandages a few days ago while drawing, but the doctor who visited the next day had examined his arm and declared him fully recovered.

“You don’t need a brace anymore. But it’s best not to overdo it for a while. And, also, if by any chance…”

That day, the doctor had hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more. But Taehan, who was standing right next to him as if guarding him, cut him off with a sharp glare.

“Dr. Park, is there something else you wanted to say?”

“Ah, no. I’ll be going then.”

The doctor had glanced at him with a look of pity, but Dawon didn’t care. His attention was solely focused on Taehan. That day, Taehan had been unusually alert, as if wary of the doctor, but he hadn’t even glanced at Dawon.

Dawon, who had been stealing glances at Taehan since he entered the room, felt even more anxious. He had planned to talk to him if their eyes met, even briefly, but Taehan left the room as soon as the doctor did.

“Mister.”

The moment Taehan turned his back, Dawon called out to him without thinking. He had so many questions. The day before, Dawon had fallen asleep at the table while drawing Taehan. He woke up in his bed, the room empty, but the faint sweet scent and the smell of cigarettes lingered.

Taehan had definitely been there while he was asleep. He was worried whether Taehan had seen the drawings, and if so, what he thought of them, that he couldn’t sleep that night.

Having called out to him, Dawon was at a loss for words when Taehan turned around. He didn’t know how to react if Taehan admitted to seeing the drawings. Even Dawon himself didn’t know why he had drawn them.

‘It’s better not to talk about that. Then, if I just ask him why my body is like this…’

The next question that came to mind was even stranger. It was ridiculous to ask this man about his physical condition when he hadn’t even asked the doctor who had just examined him. The very fact that he had considered asking Taehan such a question might mean that Dawon already knew the answer.

“…No, it’s nothing.”

In the end, Dawon muttered, giving up. Taehan probably wasn’t pleased with him calling out and then saying nothing. However, Taehan’s eyes, staring intently at him, held an inexplicable look of satisfaction.

“Tell me when you’re ready.”

As he turned away, he looked as if he already knew everything Dawon wanted to ask. A premonition that something was terribly wrong washed over him. A chill ran down his spine, yet his skin felt even hotter.

The sense of crisis Dawon felt at that moment proved to be accurate. In the next few days, the situation became much more serious. Unmistakable signs, too obvious to ignore, were now overwhelming him. Strange signs, making his body feel foreign.

‘Today is… March 27th.’

Dawon repeated the date, trying to gather his muddled thoughts. The twenty or so days he had spent here felt as long and complicated as the past twenty years of his life.

Thinking he needed to wash his uncomfortable body, Dawon headed to the bathroom. He tiptoed down the hallway, looking around like a thief. He even hunched his shoulders as he passed the door to the next room.

‘He’s there again today.’

Dawon sighed inwardly. Taehan had been staying in that room for days. It wasn’t that he didn’t have work and couldn’t go out; the other members of the organization left early in the morning and returned late at night, their faces exhausted.

From the snippets of conversation he overheard, it was clear that something was going on in the organization, but Taehan remained unmoving. For whatever reason, he wasn’t going to work, nor was he visiting Dawon to teach him things like before. He was just there, beyond Dawon’s wall.

Intimidated by Taehan’s mere presence, Dawon practically fled into the bathroom. As he took off his pants and then his underwear, the fabric clinging to his skin felt sticky as it peeled away. His sensitive skin shivered, but Dawon gritted his teeth and turned on the shower.

‘No. No. Why is this happening now?’

Even though Dawon didn’t know the details of presentation, he could sense that this wasn’t normal. But there was nothing he could do. All he could do was pretend to be oblivious to the changes in his body and stay confined to his room.

He told himself it might subside if he just endured it, but he couldn’t help but feel afraid, wondering what would happen if he went into heat.

All Dawon knew about heats came from the dirty stories his uncles told.

Back then, the giggling uncles and the “Omegas desperate to be fucked” they talked about felt like a different species, distant and unreal. But now, just the thought of a “heat” made Dawon’s lower abdomen clench.

“Hooo…”

No matter how long he stood under the cold water, the churning sensation in his gut wouldn’t go away. When he finished his long shower and stepped out into the hallway, towel-drying his still-damp hair, he sensed someone’s presence.

Even without looking up, Dawon knew Taehan was standing outside his room. The reason Dawon had noticed Taehan’s constant presence in the house, despite his silence, was because of that sweet, oppressive scent, a scent no Beta could ever smell.

Instinct told him to run, but he knew he couldn’t. And a small part of him didn’t want to. Dawon stood frozen, his feet rooted to the spot, wavering precariously. The silence was broken by Taehan.

“You haven’t been eating.”

He gestured with his chin towards the tray by Dawon’s door. The food, placed there that morning, remained untouched.

“…I don’t have much of an appetite.”

Dawon finally managed a weak reply after a long pause. He couldn’t even lift his head properly, afraid that he might be exuding a strange scent.

The droplets of water falling from his wet hair, the dry air in the hallway, everything felt irritating. His fingertips trembled, and a cold sweat broke out on his back. If he didn’t clench his fists, he felt like his body would move on its own, towards Taehan.

“Hmm. I see.”

The belated reply was loaded with meaning. His seemingly generous attitude, as if he knew and was letting it slide, wasn’t comforting. It was terrifying. Dragging his unusually stiff right foot, Dawon headed towards his room.

He dove straight into bed and wrapped himself in the blanket. He hid himself there, as if the thin blanket could mask his scent, the instincts threatening to burst forth.

Dawon stayed in bed until the high sun began to set. He hadn’t meant to sleep, but the constant tension had drained him, and he drifted off at some point. Along with sleep came another incomprehensible dream.

He couldn’t distinguish between dream and reality. Even in the dimly lit room of his dream, Dawon was lying in bed, covered by a blanket, his heart pounding so loudly it felt like it would rip through the covers.

And in the middle of the room was a large, dark shadow. Sniff. As the shadow inhaled, Dawon instinctively thought,

‘Is it Second Uncle?’

Just like that night when he was seventeen, Dawon was terrified, his hands and feet turning cold. As his heart slowly froze, the shadow in the room moved closer.

He told himself he had to pretend to be asleep, but his breathing grew ragged, his chest and shoulders heaving. When the shadow reached his face, his shoulders trembled. As if caught, the figure in the room yanked the blanket away and grabbed his wrist.

‘No, no, this is…’

Dawon’s eyes flew open. It was Taehan. The moment he smelled his scent, Dawon felt a mixture of fear and relief, helplessness and anticipation.

The image of the Taehan he had been observing flashed through his mind, superimposed over the shadow that was pinning him down. His unreadable expression, his low, heavy voice, his eyes staring straight at him.

If he was destined to present anyway, he felt it was fortunate that it was happening here, not in the studio where he had been confined his whole life. Because Dawon…

“Gasp…!”

He woke up in the middle of the night, gasping for air. A cool draft seeped in from behind the curtains, but a fiery heat was rising within him. Dawon instinctively knew that his presentation was complete.

As he shifted, a sticky fluid trickled down between his thighs. His underwear was soaked, but what was more frightening was the sensation of something writhing deep inside him.

He couldn’t control his lower body, which was exuding moisture and scent. He tried to press his legs together, but even the slightest friction between his skin and clothes sent shivers down his spine.

‘It’s over. Now.’

Dawon thought resignedly, then impulsively sat up. He didn’t care how loud his footsteps or breathing were, or how disheveled his sweat and fluid-soaked clothes were.

Leaving his room, Dawon walked down the dark, silent hallway and opened the door to Taehan’s bedroom. The large room was filled with the sharp scent of an Alpha on high alert. Dawon spoke in a voice choked with tears,

“Mister. Help me.”