TCBW C16

Chapter 16

He had been the man who’d let a stand‑in take his place at the wedding, even when he thought Suhoe was a woman.

It was impossible not to wonder—if he could hand off the wedding, might he also hand off the child?

The more one worry chased another, the colder Suhoe’s fingertips became. Sweat dampened his palms, and his pupils quivered unsteadily.

“H‑have you ever…”

Unable to bear the pressure, he opened his mouth in a sudden spurt of urgency—truthfully, it would be more accurate to say the words slipped out without conscious intent.

“…never been with a man before?”

It was such a blunt, abrupt question that he could hardly believe he’d voiced it of his own volition. There wasn’t even an explicit object to the “been with,” yet the meaning was easy enough for anyone to guess.

The tremor in his voice, the bright flush of his cheeks—these gave the words their unspoken context.

Slowly, he lifted his head.

Perhaps it was an illusion, but Dowoon’s mask‑like face seemed to hold a glimmer of surprise, mixed with an emotion that felt like disdain.

It was still better, Suhoe thought, than being met with pure indifference.

Dowoon’s gaze met his. The boy’s desperate attempt to hold eye contact, the way his cheeks flushed darker by the second, was a spectacle in itself.

Then Dowoon’s eyes dropped—from Suhoe’s small face to the tip of his own pinky finger, caught ever so timidly between Suhoe’s slender ones.

It was barely the smallest patch of contact, but enough for Dowoon to tell he was shaking violently. The tremors felt as though they originated not from the elevator, but from the boy’s small frame.

When he looked back up again, Suhoe’s face was red all the way down to his nape, looking about ready to burst.

Dowoon’s eyes narrowed.

The words, the fumbling gestures, the way the boy stared at him with eyes full of mingled desperation and embarrassment while trying to distract himself from his own fear—everything about it grated on him.

And the faint, unripe scent in the air didn’t help.

He couldn’t tell if it was raw wood or crushed leaves, but combined with Suhoe’s behavior it nettled him more.

The longer their eyes stayed locked, the more that vague, unstable scent seemed to thicken. Suhoe himself didn’t seem to notice it.

It was absurd—to wait there, not even aware of the figure he cut, simply waiting for an answer.

So when Dowoon finally opened his mouth, it was almost as if to grant the boy a scrap of mercy.

“…And if I have?”

After that long wait, the words landed, and Suhoe’s lips parted.

Since it had come this far, he gathered the last of his courage to push further.

“E‑even if you have… things could be different from now on.”

“…”

“You… might come to like me.”

The depth of that plea, that painful yearning, was written plainly in his chestnut eyes.

Please, give in. I might not be so distasteful to you. No—even if you dislike me, I think I could still do this.

Dowoon studied him a long moment, then asked quietly:

“Come to like you?”

“Yes.”

Suhoe nodded as if sure of it.

That precarious attempt to project steadiness only pricked Dowoon’s nerves further.

Looking down at him, eyes lowered without inclining his head, he began to advance a step at a time.

“Uh—?”

“If I decide I don’t…”

Suhoe retreated a step in turn.

“…what will you do then?”

When Dowoon murmured that and took another step closer, Suhoe backed away until his shoulders thudded into the wall of the elevator.

“…Wh‑what?”

The cold surface at his back froze him in place; the thin fingers that had been holding his pinky slipped away entirely.

“I mean—if I start to have you, and halfway through decide I don’t want to, what then?”

The sheer physical presence of the man—at least a head taller, a figure like a mountain—was enough to make Suhoe swallow hard without the strength to answer, his eyes darting away.

That made Dowoon’s brow knit.

He caught the boy’s chin and tilted it up so their eyes met, then lowered his head as if to press their mouths together.

Suhoe, unable to face him closing in, squeezed his eyes shut.

Ding.

Almost mockingly, the elevator chimed and the doors slid open at just that moment.

“…”

Dowoon straightened away from the half‑cowering omega without a flicker of awkwardness.

“To get this scared just from me coming closer…”

He tossed the words off and stepped out.

“…”

Thump, thump…

Left alone, Suhoe stared at the floor.

Dowoon’s words were exactly right.

He had begged, all but pleaded—and when the man had drawn near, fear shrank him to the core.

Slide.

The doors began to close.

He glanced up to see Dowoon’s back as he was already unlocking and stepping into the apartment.

“…”

In a stride, Dowoon crossed into the living room and slipped off his coat in the dark, at home with the space.

Perhaps he’d gone a bit far. The frightened young omega wasn’t even showing signs of following.

Still, he coolly removed his watch, set it with his papers on the table, and loosened his cuffs and tie.

It was only a short while later that his ears caught the quick patter of feet rushing up from behind.

What now? Running over all in a tremble, with what on his face this time?

He turned, half‑expecting it—

—and in the same instant, felt an unexpected tug dragging his shirt collar down, bending his upper body forward.

Suhoe had darted up and seized his placket, yanking down hard.

The next thing Dowoon felt was the soft but clumsily firm impact of lips against his own—not so much gentle as like a seal pressed into place—but a kiss nonetheless.

Up on tiptoe, clutching at his clothing, the boy had closed the space between them and kissed him first.

While Dowoon was still registering the abruptness of it, Suhoe drew back, breathing fast, and spoke almost like an announcement:

“Even if you ask what I’ll do if you don’t like me—I don’t know. But still…”

In his eyes now was no fear, only fierce resolve.

“…If you don’t… sleep with me, you can’t escape the curse. And then… your limbs will rot and you’ll die.”

Despite the clumsy echo of his lips from moments before, despite the outrageousness of the threat, Dowoon said nothing.

In that silence, Suhoe went on:

“You said I trembled just from you getting close. But you saw just now—I can do it. Before, I only… only jumped because it was sudden.”

He stumbled a little over the words, a shaky self‑defense.

“…”

Dowoon only looked down at him, wordless, as the boy clung to his shirtfront, thin shoulders rising and falling with each hurried breath, black eyes gleaming even in the dimness—his own expression holding a touch of disbelief.

Does he really think that awkward little kiss counts as proof of courage?

Flustered, fighting to make his case without the faintest grasp of his own position—it was almost laughable.

And yet, something in that guileless—or perhaps foolish—display stirred something buried deep beneath Dowoon’s indifferent mask.

Whether it was simple irritation or a spark of curiosity, he couldn’t have said.

It might have been a primal, unscripted impulse that had nothing to do with logic or plans. He didn’t bother to examine it.

Suhoe, perhaps taking the silence as a sign— or maybe just out of mounting anxiety—stepped closer.

“So… tell me.”

“…”

“Tell me… how I can make you want to sleep with me.”

Not realizing that this last, blunt question would be the trigger.

The unknown impulse Dowoon had been on the verge of dismissing flared to life at those words alone.

He closed a hand around the nape of Suhoe’s neck and bent abruptly, cutting off the babbling with his mouth.

Suhoe, startled, leaned back from the sudden press of lips, eyes going wide—he hadn’t believed it would truly happen, not after what came before—and the fluster was plain on his face.

“Mm—!”

In reflex at the foreign sensation, he even clamped his mouth shut.

Dowoon, without hesitation, brought his hand up to grip the boy’s jaw and hold it firmly in place.