TCBW C81

Chapter 81

“I think he was wearing the same school uniform as me back then… though I’m not entirely sure.”

“School uniform? You wore one before?”

The soft sunset light shimmered in Suhoe’s eyes. His clear pupils, full of curiosity, sparkled like glass catching firelight. Dowoon found himself pausing at the sight; for someone who had never even worn a uniform, it must have sounded like another world entirely.

“What were your middle and high school uniforms like? What color were they? Did you wear a tie back then, too? Sometimes when I see students on the street, I think they look so neat. I kind of wish I could’ve experienced those days, even just once.”

Dowoon listened silently to his young spouse’s rambling voice, his expression unreadable. Through the glass, he noticed Haeon outside, subtly pointing at his wristwatch—a silent reminder that it was time to go.

He glanced at his own. Time seemed to slip away faster whenever he was here.

In the corner of the door’s glass window, he caught sight of Professor Eun’s dark hair. She’d been talking to Haeon earlier—perhaps about something important—but now it was clear that she had stepped back intentionally, giving them privacy.

Dowoon understood immediately. They were buying him time.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. He quietly picked up the suit jacket draped over the sofa’s backrest.

“It’s time to go.”

“So soon?”

Suhoe pouted, lips jutting out in childish protest.

Dowoon knew that look—it was the one Suhoe made whenever he was drowsy, or a little out of sorts. It was so instinctive, so disarming, that a faint chuckle escaped him before he could stop it.

He would see him again tomorrow. Unless the hospital suddenly decided to lock down the ward, there was no reason to feel reluctant about leaving. Yet Suhoe always seemed wistful every time he stood to go.

If he wished, Dowoon could easily stay the night. There was a spare bed available, and the nurses would’ve gladly arranged it.

But he never did. He always returned to their home in Balhwa-dong.

Because deep down, he knew himself too well. If he stayed the night alone in the quiet dark with this delicate, trusting creature beside him—he might lose control.

“Then… tell me a little more before you go. What kind of student were you?”

“Just an ordinary one.”

“No way.”

Still smiling, Suhoe watched him as he slipped into his jacket. Dowoon opened his mouth to reply—but stopped mid-motion when a faint sweetness brushed against his senses.

Peach.

It was so light he almost thought he imagined it. Softer and subtler than the rich scent that used to fill the room whenever Suhoe’s pheromones surfaced—it was barely there, a whisper of fragrance that melted into the air.

He turned.

Suhoe was rubbing lotion onto his hands, the small white tube resting on his lap. Dowoon assumed it was the hand cream one of the doctors had given him.

He didn’t realize the truth—that it wasn’t lotion he was smelling.

It was Suhoe.

Professor Eun had once mentioned that Suhoe’s pheromone signature had already changed once before. The stress from his last rut could have caused it to weaken again, she’d said.

That explanation had been enough for Dowoon to rationalize the moment away. He didn’t question it further.

And when he looked at Suhoe’s bright, guileless face, all lingering doubts vanished completely.

Suhoe glanced up just as their eyes met.

“Then… hug me before you go.”

His tone was quieter now, the playful brightness replaced by a gentle plea. He patted the empty space on the bed beside him.

Dowoon hesitated. Just for a second. Then he crossed the room, slow and steady.

It was unlike him—this softness. But as he drew nearer, he noticed the faint flush spreading across Suhoe’s cheeks, the way the light deepened its color until it resembled the twilight itself.

He stopped beside the bed.

That delicate peach scent clung to the air again. His fingertips tingled faintly—the nerves in his left hand almost numb—as he reached out and brushed a few strands of Suhoe’s hair away from his face.

For a moment, the world went still.

The young Omega smiled up at him, his dark hair catching the fading sunlight, his lashes trembling.

When Dowoon’s hand lingered near his face, Suhoe took it gently and guided it closer until it rested against his cheek. Then, lifting his chin, he leaned into his chest and wrapped his arms around him.

Warmth bloomed between them—soft, full, and fragrant.

Dowoon’s arms encircled him, broad and steady. He was careful, leaving space, making sure Suhoe could pull away whenever he wished.

“Am I… am I pretty to you?”

His words came muffled against Dowoon’s chest—shy and teasing all at once. Normally, Suhoe would never have asked such a thing. But tonight, something felt different.

He hadn’t expected an answer.

“……”

And Dowoon didn’t give one.

Instead, he only tightened his hold slightly, drawing him closer, their fingers intertwined.

No words could have said more.

For a long while, they stayed like that—breathing in each other’s warmth, listening to the slow, rhythmic beat of two hearts.

The sunlight outside dimmed. The room grew long shadows.

Dowoon watched everything—the way the light slid off Suhoe’s hair, the faint curve of his lips, the stillness of his breath.

And Suhoe, nestled against him, listened to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, faster than usual, strong and alive.

He closed his eyes, letting the sound lull him.

Maybe I should ask him to stay tonight, he thought, childishly. But almost at once, he shook his head.

He couldn’t.

He remembered what the world had taught him: that everything gained comes at a cost.

And he was too afraid of what he might lose.

So instead, he placed his hands gently over his belly, whispering in his mind.

Baby… look. This is the place you’ll live when you’re born. Your father’s arms—they’re firm, but warm, aren’t they? He’ll protect you. Even if I’m gone, he’ll protect you.

Meeting Sara had shattered something deep within him. The realization that his existence could be someone else’s source of pain had left him drowning in guilt.

Then came Professor Eun’s cold, clinical suggestion—a final weight pressing down on his fragile heart.

And yet, because of that, Suhoe made a decision.

For the first time in his life, he would desire something for himself.

Something forbidden to Sara. Something he had to keep hidden from Professor Eun.

Even if it meant enduring every risk, he would protect this one thing.

Please… just let me stay by Dowoon’s side until this child is born. Let it grow safely inside this weak, unworthy body.

He didn’t pray for happiness. He didn’t even dare to wish for a future.

He only asked for time.

And so, each night, as he watched Dowoon leave, he whispered silent goodbyes—never sure if there would be another tomorrow, but always hoping someone, somewhere, would grant him that wish.

Outside, in the glowing hallway, two figures were also watching the sunset.

“Professor, aren’t you busy today?”

Haeon sighed, finally giving up on waiting for his boss to emerge.

Beside him, Professor Eun gave a small, embarrassed smile.

“Oh, no. I’ve already finished my outpatient rounds. I just needed to check in on Madam before heading home.”

“You’ve been working so hard.”

“So have you, Secretary Choi.”

Their voices softened. A fleeting sincerity passed between them as they both smiled—awkward, wistful witnesses to the love blooming quietly behind the door.

They talked idly about nothing for a while, the empty corridor filling with gentle laughter.

Only ten minutes later did Dowoon appear at last—his expression composed, though faint tear tracks glimmered faintly across his chest.

It was late when he returned to the company.

Dowoon sat at his desk, immersed in paperwork, the glow of his monitor reflecting against his glasses. A knock sounded at the door.

He exhaled softly, setting his pen down, removing his glasses as his gaze drifted toward the darkened skyline outside. The sun had long vanished.

He’d left early that morning after seeing Suhoe, but the day had bled into night again. Dinner had been forgotten; the stack of documents before him only seemed to grow.

“Come in.”

His voice was calm, low.

The door opened quietly—revealing his wife.

Suhoe stepped inside, carrying a small plastic bucket like he used to, dressed in a simple zip-front jacket with his hair neatly tied up.

The faint scent of peach followed him in.

And for the first time that day, Dowoon’s tired eyes softened.