TCBW C84

Chapter 84

The next morning, Dowoon stepped into Suhoe’s hospital room.

Suhoe, startled while looking at something, immediately jumped up barefoot and ran to greet him. It was the first time since his admission that Dowoon had missed even a single day by his side. Two whole days had passed without word or visit, and though the reason for his absence must have been agonizingly unclear, Suhoe welcomed him with a bright, relieved smile.

Dowoon’s face, as ever, was expressionless — calm to the point of seeming cold — yet Suhoe’s gaze clung to him, studying his every feature as if searching for a trace of injury. His eyes dropped lower, sweeping Dowoon’s body meticulously as though to confirm with his own eyes that he had come back unharmed.

From where she stood leaning against the doorframe, Professor Eun watched the couple quietly. When she turned to Haeon, who was observing them as well, he shrugged lightly and offered a faint, knowing smile.

“Was something wrong yesterday?” she asked softly.

“Well, you know our CEO,” Haeon replied dryly. “There’s always something wrong.”

Professor Eun gave him a look that sat somewhere between amusement and disapproval.

“You could at least have called,” she said. “Madam was waiting the whole night for you.”

Every entry into the VIP ward was logged. Professor Eun, who visited Suhoe twice daily without fail, knew perfectly well that Dowoon had come at dawn two nights prior. She also knew he had not returned — or even sent a message — since then.

“You didn’t have to tell me,” she murmured, almost to herself. “It was obvious. He kept waiting anyway.”

There was reproach in her voice — the gentle kind reserved for someone you pity as much as you scold.

Haeon chuckled awkwardly. “Ah, well. Madam’s just… passionate, I suppose.”

Professor Eun frowned slightly. “Passionate?”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Truth is, yesterday, the boss was checking on a gift he’d ordered for him.”

“…A gift?” She blinked, unsure whether to smile.

Before she could respond, Haeon added quickly in a whisper, “Please don’t worry. He’s just that kind of man. Likes surprises.”

Then, without giving her time to question further, he gently shut the door, leaving the couple alone.

As the door clicked closed, Professor Eun still couldn’t shake the unease tugging at her chest.

A “gift” might explain his absence — but something about it didn’t sit right.

She walked down the corridor, her heels soft against the polished floor, thinking back to the night before.

She had been late that evening, delayed by surgery. When she finally visited Suhoe’s room, she greeted him apologetically.

“Good evening, I’m sorry I’m late today.”

“It’s fine,” Suhoe had replied. But his face — pale and faintly drawn — said otherwise.

Though he tried to appear his usual self, she had noticed at once that his mood was off. She asked carefully if anything hurt, if he was in any discomfort.

He waved it off with a small smile, claiming all was well. But she knew better.

Her mind turned quickly through the possibilities. His meals were handled by Dowoon’s staff, his health was improving, and his medication had shown no adverse effects. If not a physical issue, then it had to be emotional.

Her eyes flicked toward the guards standing outside his room — large, broad-shouldered Betas stationed to ensure his safety. Then it struck her.

“Ah,” she had said lightly. “The representative hasn’t come today, has he?”

At once, Suhoe’s shoulders gave a tiny, involuntary tremor.

“Ah… no,” he murmured, his voice faintly trembling.

“You must be lonely,” she teased gently.

“…Was it that obvious?”

She’d only meant it as a joke — a playful comment toward the newlywed Omega — but the way his cheeks flushed red and his eyes glossed over made her heart twist in surprise.

She hadn’t expected that reaction.

It dawned on her then: she had severely underestimated the depth of this young Omega’s feelings.

Suhoe wasn’t merely fond of Dowoon — he loved him with a kind of raw, consuming devotion that few adults could bear, let alone someone so young. His entire being seemed to orbit that man.

Professor Eun felt her chest tighten with worry.

To her, they seemed mismatched — not in affection, but in emotional weight. Dowoon was a man forged by experience, self-control, and quiet restraint; Suhoe, still young and tender-hearted, loved with unguarded sincerity.

The difference between them — in age, experience, and emotional resilience — was too vast to ignore.

Still, after a moment of silence, she reached out and patted his back softly.

He calmed more quickly than she expected. By the time he spoke again, his voice was steady and quiet, almost serene.

“I’m all right now. And he did come,” Suhoe said with a small, reassuring smile. “I heard he stopped by at dawn. I must have been asleep, but the nurses said he left a basket of fruit for me.”

“That’s good,” she replied gently.

His frail hands balled into tiny fists as if to show strength. Seeing that, Professor Eun believed him. She truly thought he would be fine.

But that morning, the nurses told her something new — that on the nights Dowoon didn’t visit, Suhoe never once slept deeply.

Even when resting, he remained half-awake, as if waiting.

And so, when Dowoon finally appeared again, Eun couldn’t look away from him — not until the door fully closed behind Haeon.

“Did you eat breakfast?” Dowoon asked.

“Yes, of course. I shared what you sent with the staff outside.”

“The staff?”

“Yes. They said it was delicious.”

Dowoon’s brows drew together. The “staff” he referred to were the Beta guards he’d stationed at her door — men large enough to make the hospital beds look small.

He sent generous portions each day, but even so, it would have been far too little to feed all of them.

Though the hospital provided standard meals, he’d arranged for a private chef — one who usually cooked for their Balhwa-dong home — to prepare and deliver her food daily.

“You didn’t have enough to eat.”

“No, I liked it,” Suhoe said cheerfully. “It felt like a picnic. We shared everything together.”

Dowoon’s lips tightened. His expression soured, but Suhoe only laughed softly, waving his hands as if to ease his husband’s displeasure. Then, with that same radiant smile, he sat back on the bed.

Dowoon stared for a moment — dazed, perhaps — before abruptly turning his head away and walking to the sofa.

He sat down heavily, his right hand gripping his left shoulder, fingers pressing hard against the sore muscle as if punishing his own body for failing him.

Unbothered, Suhoe turned toward the window.

“Speaking of picnics,” he said suddenly, “this reminds me of that time back in Mount Unbang. Around this season, when the leaves grew thick and green, everyone from the shrine would gather and go on outings. Well — we called them picnics, but really we just ate packed lunches in the front yard.”

From the hospital’s high floor, one had to look down to see the trees below. Their leaves shimmered faintly in the wind. Suhoe smiled at the sight before turning his face back toward Dowoon.

It was a smile that said, I don’t want to stop smiling in front of you.

“A picnic, huh,” Dowoon muttered. “You want to go?”

He clenched his large, trembling hands together to steady them. The pain that crawled up his arm was worsening, but he kept his eyes fixed on the endless blue sky beyond the glass — afraid that if he looked at his wife, he might expose his pain.

“A picnic?” Suhoe tilted his head. “Well… maybe, when I’m feeling better, I’d like that.”

“Where to?”

“Hmm…”

He hesitated, not because he didn’t know where, but because he didn’t want to sound naïve. He doubted such a day would ever truly come.

Don’t hope for too much, he told himself. If I plan for later, it’ll never happen anyway.

“Then let’s go out now,” Dowoon said abruptly.

“Huh? Where?”

“Just out there.” He pointed toward the trees visible beyond the window.

Suhoe’s face lit up, childlike joy blooming across his features. Dowoon followed his gaze — to the small grove of trees at the hospital garden — and frowned faintly.

The garden? That’s all?

The thought twisted something inside him.

Perhaps it was guilt — guilt for being the reason the only place his wife dreamed of visiting… was a patch of grass beneath hospital trees.