Divorce Contract Extra 11

Extra 11

 

The clerk’s eyes sparkled as he piled toy after toy; Go Igyeol agonised, then chose only three. A new plaything delighted Ihyeon once, maybe twice; after that, interest withered like petals in frost.

 

Even pared down, their arms overflowed from wandering every floor. Yet Seo Dohyeon drifted into another boutique as though enchanted.

 

“Dohyeon-ssi.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“We don’t need that.”

 

“Really? Then how about this? I think this suits Ihyeon perfectly. Which colour do you like, Igyeol?”

 

A butter-yellow set printed with tiny chicks had snared him. Go Igyeol seized the wandering hand before the clerk could launch into dinosaurs and greens.

 

“We’ll run out of spring before he wears everything we bought today.”

 

“Shoes, though. He crawls everywhere now. They say crawling turns to walking overnight. Shouldn’t we be ready?”

 

“When he walks, then we’ll buy.”

 

“Still, having them waiting means we can slip them on the moment he stands.”

 

Longing eyes flicked backward to squeaking light-up sneakers. Seo Dohyeon wanted every pair.

 

“Ihyeon has two feet.”

 

“Two feet don’t mean only one pair.”

 

Words bounced off him today. Go Igyeol tugged the sleeve of a man determined to conquer every aisle.

 

“I’m hungry.”

 

“Let’s go.”

 

The spell shattered. Seo Dohyeon bowed to the disappointed clerk, draped an arm around Go Igyeol’s shoulders, and strode out. Hunger was rare on those lips; the confession sent him hurrying.

 

“I reserved a place, but if you’re starving we can eat here. What do you think?”

 

“The reservation is fine. I can wait.”

 

Truth was, he wasn’t hungry at all. Another minute inside and Seo Dohyeon would have bought the entire baby department. Hunger was simply the only excuse guaranteed to work.

 

***

 

They arrived early, yet the table gleamed: mild, delicate banchan, grilled fish without a hint of ocean, skewers, steamed treasures, clear soups, kimchi sharp and bright. Suddenly Go Igyeol’s stomach remembered its purpose.

 

“When did you find this place?”

 

“Recommended.”

 

“…By whom?”

 

The cautious whisper curled Seo Dohyeon’s mouth into a helpless smile.

 

“An employee who held their engagement dinner here recently.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“Eat a lot.”

 

Go Igyeol disliked Japanese, Chinese, Western fare. Raw fish never touched his tongue, red meat rarely. But pristine Korean tables—gentle vegetables, clean steamed flavours, fish kissed by fire—he loved. Whenever meetings moved outside the office, Seo Dohyeon booked only hanjeongsik. He tasted first, alone; if it passed, he brought Go Igyeol back.

 

He had fretted the whole drive that the food might disappoint. Then he watched small cheeks bulge with namul, watched neat bites vanish between soft lips, and knew they would return often.

 

“Why aren’t you eating?”

 

“I am.”

 

“Does it not suit your palate?”

 

“No, it’s delicious. I’d love to try another course next time. Shall we come again?”

 

Seo Dohyeon’s quiet joy lit the room. He deboned fish with deft fingers, piling snowy flesh onto the small plate opposite until Go Igyeol laughed and made him eat his own share.

 

It was a slow, comfortable evening.

 

Side Story Ⅴ

 

Every preparation had been made—twice—yet Seo Dohyeon’s rut still loomed like a storm. After long talks they had chosen a hotel instead of the hospital, but Go Igyeol’s heart galloped all the same. Deep breaths did nothing.

 

He stood in the centre of the suite, then drifted to the window. Far below, the city glittered like scattered jewels. His phone vibrated.

 

“Hello.”

 

—It’s me.

 

“…Yes.”

 

—What are you doing?

 

“Just… standing here.”

 

—I’m on my way. Ten minutes.

 

The voice trembled with the same worry he felt. Are you sure you’re all right? hung unspoken between them. Go Igyeol could picture the tight line of that mouth.

 

—You don’t have to push yourself for me.

 

“It isn’t that. It’s just… been a long time.”

 

Silence, then softer:

 

—Shall I buy jelly?

 

“…Lots.”

 

Low laughter warmed the line. Heat flooded Go Igyeol’s cheeks. He ended the call and decided to shower again—though he had bathed at home—because ten minutes was enough, and he needed the ritual.

 

In the bathroom he stripped, caught sight of faint bruises Seo Dohyeon had left days ago, and buried his face in trembling hands. Anxiety and desire tangled until his skin burned.

 

Hot water poured. Tension eased, but slowly. He lingered longer than he meant, until steam blurred every mirror. Only then did he step out—and found Seo Dohyeon already seated on the bed’s edge.

 

“When did you… I meant to be quick—”

 

“Just now. Come here.”

 

An outstretched hand. Go Igyeol approached barefoot, pyjamas forgotten, water dripping from dark hair.

 

“You should dry your hair.”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“You’ll catch cold.”

 

“Towel is enough.”

 

Seo Dohyeon only smiled, sat him down, and returned with the hair-dryer. Warm air rushed; gentle fingers combed through damp strands. Each pass lingered—nape, ear, cheek, lips—until pale skin bloomed rose.

 

“I think… it’s dry now.”

 

The moment misty eyes lifted, the dryer fell silent.

 

“I’ll re-wet it if I must. Truly…”

 

Fear of refusal flickered across Seo Dohyeon’s face. Go Igyeol reached out.

 

A small, warm palm cupped the tense jaw—and the dam broke. Pheromones flooded the room like dark wine. Suppressants from the hospital held only the thinnest thread of control.

 

“Just… quickly…”

 

The plea was barely breathed before lips crashed together. Tongues met, tangled, coated every inch with scent. Slender shoulders shivered.

 

“Hn—ngh…”

 

That broken moan lit the fuse. Seo Dohyeon eased him onto the sheets. The loose gown tie slipped free; fabric parted like curtains. Cream-pale skin scattered with his earlier marks glowed beneath the lamp. He pressed his forehead to the soft chest and inhaled lungfuls of warm, sweet flesh.