Chapter 8

“Wow, the lettuce looks great today. You wouldn’t guess it from his face, but Won Iheun is totally a Korean-food guy.”

Yeongung carefully selected the freshest greens from the produce section and placed them in the cart. His voice was bright, practically bubbling, as he rambled about Iheun’s preferences. Beside him, Cha Hyeon responded with a dead, soulless, “Oh… really. The Guild Master likes Korean food, huh,” while pretending to be alive.

The cart rolled merrily along for several aisles—until it came to a sudden halt in front of the meat counter.

Cha Hyeon seized the moment to start whining.

“Yeongung. Are you seriously telling me you don’t see my tragic, withered state right now?”

“You look fine. Your radiant face is practically glowing, Director-nim.”

“…Look me in the eye and say that.”

Lately, Cha Hyeon had been drowning in the bureaucracy of a public–private research collaboration he was leading. For months now, he’d been scraping by on two hours of sleep a day. And now, without warning, he’d been dragged to a grocery store to help shop for ingredients that would end up on Won Iheun’s royal banquet-style dinner table.

Already exhausted, he felt even more resentful that his friend barely looked at him while repeating, “Won Iheun this,” “Iheun that,” “Won Iheun likes—” like a broken record.

“Sir, please pack one kilogram of the highest-grade Korean beef—1++—with a mix of cuts.”

Marbled ribbons of chuck flap tail, ribeye, shrimp cut, and striploin were sliced and wrapped with expert precision. Even Hyeon, normally a light eater, found his mouth watering.

“Aigo, my poor stomach… sob… It’s tragic being single. They say even ghosts look good when they die eating good food, but I’ll be ugly alive and ugly dead at this rate.”

He wiped fake tears dramatically—and then noticed a beautifully wrapped Korean beef gift set.

“…Is that… for me?”

“Yeah. Not for Iheun. For you.”

“For… me? Not Won Iheun?”

“If it were just me and Iheun, one kilo wouldn’t even scratch the surface. That one’s definitely yours.”

Although the healers had restored Iheun’s organs, his body still needed time before things functioned perfectly again. Especially digestion—he was supposed to avoid heavy meats until his system adjusted. So from the start, Yeongung had come to the butcher counter to buy beef specifically for Cha Hyeon.

“You idiot. Don’t skip meals and live off gummies or whatever. Eat properly before your body gives out.”

“…Yeongung-ah…!”

Actual tears welled up in Hyeon’s eyes.

“You’re the only doctor who’ll be checking on my Creamie until I give birth safely. A bribe like this is nothing.”

“Creamie? That the baby’s nickname?”

At the mention of the child, Yeongung’s mouth curved into a bright smile. His refreshing expression made passing women flush.

“Oh my god, isn’t that Hunter Yeongung?”

“It is! Wow, his face is public welfare. And he cooks too? He does his own grocery shopping? Aaaagh, I want to marry him.”

“Pfft, dream on! Be satisfied with the eye candy!”

But the man who had set their hearts fluttering barely seemed aware of the commotion surrounding him. Words that he normally found embarrassing came out soft and tender.

“I named them after whipped cream. I had a dream yesterday—a cream-colored snow leopard cub was devouring a whipped cream cake. Its nose and little jelly paws were smeared with cream… it was so adorable. And Iheun loves whipped cream. Guess the baby already takes after their dad.”

The gentle affection in Yeongung’s eyes as he described the dream only deepened Cha Hyeon’s quiet melancholy.

Both of them, raised together in the same orphanage, had no real family to rely on. Growing up in a harsh, barren facility, they had become each other’s unspoken support beams.

At least, that’s how Hyeon always saw it.

But seeing Yeongung, carrying Won Iheun’s child, talk about the baby with such a soft, sweet expression—he couldn’t help feeling painfully inadequate.

Just then, Yeongung slapped the shoulder of the man digging a metaphoric grave with a heavy hand.

“So, how many kilos do you want? Hyung’s buying today.”

“…Ow. You really don’t get me. And my birthday is earlier, you know.”

“Stop digging holes and say what’s bothering you. You overthink everything.”

Because of who, exactly? Hyeon scowled and turned to the butcher.

“Sir! We’ll take ALL the 2+ grade beef over there too! Charge my friend here!”

“…You’ve lost your mind.”

“What! Why! I was planning a team dinner for my project members anyway. Might as well splurge. What’s the point of having a famous Hunter friend if I can’t bleed his wallet sometimes?”

Hyeon stood with his hands on his hips like he owned the place. Yeongung burst into laughter.

“Hah… You’re insane, really.”

“Maybe I overdid it…”

Arriving at the top floor of the Guild residence building, Yeongung stared at the armfuls of shopping bags he carried. It had been so long since he last shared a meal with Won Iheun that he’d gotten overexcited and nearly emptied the supermarket.

At first he wondered if he’d been too impulsive, but he could always give leftovers to the idiot duo or store everything with a preservation skill.

The penthouse was accessible only to the Guild Master and whoever he granted permission to. Yeongung leaned toward the floor security scanner; the system recognized his retinal data and opened the door automatically.

He left my biometric access untouched.

Realizing he was still allowed to enter Iheun’s home gave him a strange feeling—as though his place in the man’s world remained intact.

Inside, the penthouse was sparkling clean and impeccably maintained despite its owner’s absence. Further in lay the kitchen designed so two people could face each other while cooking, and a living room so wide it rivaled two master bedrooms combined.

Floor-to-ceiling windows offered warm daylight by day and sunsets by evening. Setting his bags down, he sat on the sofa and gazed at the fading orange light.

The sofa was spacious enough for two grown men to roll around comfortably.

A place where they often had.

“Ask for it. Tell me to fuck you harder.”

“Hngh…!”

The sticky sounds of bodies colliding, breathless gasps, humid air—

Fragments of a night spent tangled with him replayed in vivid detail.

“I can’t hear you.”

“You—bastard—shut up and just—ah—keep movinging—!”

“Tell me you want to come on my cock.”

“Hah—ngh—on yours—ahh—”

Wicked, husky whispers by his ear surfaced in his memory, making him clench involuntarily despite nothing touching him.

“Do you like it dark?”

The same husky voice asked from behind him.

Every hair on his body stood on end. Iheun was suddenly there, standing behind the sofa, hands resting lightly on Yeongung’s shoulders.

“Are you sensitive to the cold?”

Still standing, he leaned forward and reached toward the coffee table to grab the remote. The air conditioner had been left running on auto-cooling mode in the heat. As he switched it off, Yeongung—caught between the man’s tall, sleek, jaguar-like frame—froze stiff.

“You still have peach fuzz. Like a little peach.”

His gaze lingered on the soft white hairs on Yeongung’s arm, raised from tension. It was one of Yeongung’s few insecurities—being in his thirties yet still having faint baby-like down on his skin. He tugged down his rolled sleeves to hide his arms.

“Ahem… you—uh… You’re here. A little warning next time, maybe? Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Heat burned on the skin where Iheun’s eyes had touched. Maybe because he’d been remembering those indecent scenes just before Iheun arrived—he couldn’t bring himself to meet the man’s gaze, staring only at the carpet instead.

“You haven’t eaten yet, right? Dinner—! Let’s eat. It’s already eight. No wonder I’m starving. Hahaha…”

Flustered, he rambled nonsense by himself. After silently observing him, Iheun spoke in his usual cool, flat tone:

“You’re the one who texted me to have dinner here.”

“R-right! I did send that! Anyway, I bought everything, so all that’s left is cooking.”

He flapped the collar of his shirt as if hot.

“You were cold earlier. Now you’re hot?”

“…No! Forget it!”

Snatching the remote from Iheun’s hand, he quickly turned away. The man only lifted his shoulders in a small shrug and walked toward the kitchen island. In an instant, he organized the mountains of groceries into neat sections, loading fruits into the fridge as he commented:

“Just act like you normally do. Don’t move like a malfunctioning robot.”

“……”

But the island he was standing at—was another landmine entirely for Yeongung.

Memories snapped into place: himself bent over that same cold marble, sobbing; Iheun gripping his hips, driving him to the limit—

That spot was practically their go-to place for rear-entry.

“This is insane.”

Unlike Iheun, who had no memories, the penthouse was a minefield of erotic flashbacks for Yeongung.

Turn here—and a filthy position. Turn there—and another obscene scene.

“How many damn times did past-me do it with this bastard?”

Muttering to himself, he poured himself a glass of ice water and downed it.

“…Think pure thoughts. Pure thoughts.”

“What is it? Were you thinking impure thoughts?”

He violently shook his head. Then, with practiced motions, he tied an apron around Iheun’s waist.

“Ah, and you’re the head chef tonight. I can help prep things, but actual cooking is all yours. I’m a disastrous cook.”

“Then what exactly are you doing?”

Iheun looked at him like he was unbelievable. Yeongung grinned proudly.

“Eating it deliciously.”