TSBIRBV Ch 192

Chapter 192. The Venomous Viper Will Not Endure (3)

Haryang gazed down at that artfully contrived look of innocence.

Even blinded by Yegyeol, he could not fail to recognize how deliberate that expression was. His disciple did not even bother to conceal it.

And besides, he wants none of it.

Yegyeol felt no longing for Kunlun. On the contrary, he clung tightly to Haryang’s side as though that were his rightful place. Such a one would never suddenly yearn for snowy mountains out of nostalgia.

But what did it matter?

“Did I not promise you,” Haryang’s low voice flowed into Yegyeol’s ear,

“that so long as you did not leave me, I would grant you anything?”

The first step is always the hardest. The second, the third, come easily. Even if for now his disciple asked for things he did not truly want, in time he would speak his real desires. Human beings crumble more readily before comfort than before pain.

If Yegyeol demanded pearls ground into sand to fashion a desert, Haryang could make it so. To tear down the Azure Hall, the ancient heart of the Demon Sect, was no obstacle if his disciple wished it.

“Truly?”

“Of course.”

At his Senior Brother’s boundless indulgence, Yegyeol rubbed his cheek against his chest, smiling brightly. He intended to coax him back toward the bedchamber.

The true completion of pillow-side litigation is in pleasure.

Though order had been reversed, his Senior Brother always carved exceptions for him. That would suffice.

Yet just as he was gaily rationalizing his desire, words like a bolt from the blue fell into his ear.

“Shall we step outside a while?”

Though it sounded like suggestion, Haryang was already draping a robe about his shoulders.

“Outside?”

Yegyeol’s tone was distinctly reluctant.

He had been bound to the bed only on the first day, true. Yet the unspoken ban remained: he was not to leave the hall.

“There is something I wish to show you.”

Haryang gave no further explanation.

“…Very well.”

Yegyeol’s chest gave a faint jolt. Unease first, as ever—that was his bad habit. But becoming Heavenly Demon had not made his Senior Brother another man. He would never harm him.

“You should wear shoes too.”

Haryang brought fur-lined leather shoes. The mountains were cool.

Though not so cold as to warrant such wrapping…

He would have worn them himself, but Haryang sat him on the bed and carefully put them on for him. His touch was absurdly cautious, as though his feet were made of glass.

Suddenly Yegyeol recalled words he once overheard in the facility.

“Chief, isn’t it too rough, even if he is an esper?”

It had been on the day of blood-drawing. His veins were battered from countless needles, his arm bruised, yet he had only stared vacantly. A trainee had asked after stepping out into the corridor.

“They heal quickly. It’s fine.”

The words had been tossed carelessly. Looking at his arm, healing even then, Yegyeol had thought them not wholly wrong.

Perhaps that was why even his parents, belatedly found, had cast him into such a place, frightened of their monstrous son.

“You needn’t be so careful,” Yegyeol whispered softly, as if sharing some deep secret.

“I heal quickly anyway.”

Haryang lifted his head at that. His disciple’s brown eyes were flatter, duller than usual. Yegyeol himself seemed unaware.

He did not resist harm, did not grow angry even when Dosuhak’s poison had nearly killed him. He had simply removed the danger, efficiently, without emotion.

“It is because this Senior Brother is cowardly. If your ankle were hurt, or broken—what then?”

It would have been easier to believe him afraid of crushing a chick in his palm. For though Yegyeol was not large, he bore the durability of an esper’s body.

I am still S-rank, after all…

It was not Yegyeol who was frail, but the standards of martial men that were too high.

“That could never happen.”

“And if you were scratched and bled?”

His voice was gentle as if reciting a children’s tale.

“…You would never do such a thing.”

That was all Yegyeol answered. He did not tell him to stop.

“They suit you well.”

Haryang smiled in quiet satisfaction, then lifted him in his arms. Startled, Yegyeol clutched his neck, blinking, and asked as he stepped over the threshold:

“Then why put on shoes at all?”

“Outside is cold.”

“I can walk.”

“You might fall.”

His answer sang like a tune, light, insincere.

Yegyeol yielded, resting against him. He knew his Senior Brother’s stubbornness once set would not bend.

“I know you walk well on your own,” Haryang said, patting his back gently as he went.

“But when one walks alone, one finds places they wish to go.”

The tone was mild, almost languid. No trace of suspicion or fear could be heard.

“I am still burdened with many worries. Forgive me for troubling you a little longer.”

Their hearts pressed close, Yegyeol could hear his Senior Brother’s heartbeat—quick, heavy, almost like his own.

He had the strength to retrieve him no matter where he went, whom he turned to. Why then such unease?

Yegyeol found it strange, yet also comforting.

He is like me.

He knew Haryang still wanted him. But the fear he had felt in that alley, learning that his Senior Brother was Heavenly Demon, had never left him.

The realization that he had shattered the man he most revered, the fear that somewhere in his heart resentment lurked—that haunted him. One day, Haryang might peer into that shadow.

“You are silent. Do you dislike being carried?”

“No. It’s just… my head is tangled, but my heart is fluttering.”

The truth slipped unguarded from his lips. Startled, he worried his Senior Brother would think him foolish.

“…Is that so? Then I am glad.”

Haryang smiled. The faint, gentle tremor spread into Yegyeol’s body.

“In truth, I have felt the same, since earlier.”

Happiness spread like ink in water, rippling outward. Sweet, tickling.

“When I fetched the shoes, I thought them too small. I wondered if they would fit at all. But when I set your foot upon my knee, it was so small, so light… I thought, how did these feet bring you back to me?”

“They are not small.”

Yegyeol answered stubbornly, though not truly angry.

His Senior Brother’s habit of calling him cute only pleased him. He recalled a saying: that the most dangerous thing in love’s enchantment was finding the other adorable.

So if Haryang said his feet were small, then they were. If he said he could be swallowed whole by Yegyeol, then it was so. If he fretted that a step might break his ankle, then even that must be true.

…Though he really could break it. But never by accident.

Besides, insisting they’re not small was only cuter than agreeing. So Yegyeol glared, pretending to pout.

He was a man dark to the core, yet wanted to be seen as endearing by the one he loved.

And sure enough—

“Yes. Yegyeol, your feet are not small at all.”

His voice carried a soft, lulling smile, like silk steeped in dye, smooth, slipping away between the fingers.

This was the trouble with his Senior Brother. Even his ears were soft. Though he was Heavenly Demon, his nature was too tender, too easily deceived by Yegyeol’s tricks.

Again and again, he was fooled.

And who is the truly adorable one, here?

Yegyeol tightened his arms around his neck and kept silent.

He did not mean to toy with him, but his Senior Brother’s innocence worried him. And he hated himself, for always lying to snatch at a little more of his affection.

But this was no tug-of-war for love alone. His very life hung on the rope.

So he was sorry. He would apologize. But he could not stop lying.

“Are you angry?”

Haryang, his smile faded, asked softly.

“No.”

“Mm. You are angry.”

At last he turned his head, meeting his gaze.

“But forgive me.”

Sunlight fell evenly across his face as they left the hall.

“For you must take your gift.”

At those words, Yegyeol lifted his head, glancing back.

“…Eh?”

He thought suddenly of the markets of Seonyeong. Of performers on every corner.

And even as he looked, musicians struck up at once, as though waiting for his gaze. Drums pounded, pipes shrilled, and dancers climbed a hastily raised stage, swirling in bright colors.

Streamers fluttered high in the air.

“…A troupe?”

Yegyeol murmured, dazed.