"Before, when I ran off, it was only natural I couldn’t do anything because I was tied up, attacked, and beaten—now you say it yourself, that preserving life is the primary concern—so look now. The situation’s so tough it’s killing me, but if you’re human, you’d try to live in a more comfortable environment. And even if you’re an animal, it’s the same."

"Why is this environment causing so many troubles?"

Jeong Tae-ui glared fiercely at Ilay. That hateful mouth, speaking so calmly though he obviously knew, when would he finally be able to rip it apart?

"Ilay. Ilay Riegrow. You said it before—you said when you met me you wanted to kill me. Not that you wouldn’t kill me, but you promised to torment me for life. Who’d be stupid enough to say they’ll live quietly and painfully forever?"

Even if there were such a fool, it wasn’t him.

Tae-ui realized speaking his heart so openly wasn’t very wise, but he had no excuses, and those were words he’d actually heard before. The real oddity was that Ilay even asked about it again.

“Torment me for life…? — Ah, right. You said you hate being with me terribly.”

Ilay looked briefly puzzled by Tae-ui’s words but then nodded as if recalling something. His fingers tapping ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) the bench backrest suddenly tightened.

“Then let me ask again. Why do you hate it?”

“Huh?”

Tae-ui furrowed his brows, still staring at him. Ilay kept asking things that were hard to answer. If he tried to reply, it would be easy enough, but it was so obvious he never seriously thought about it.

Ilay continued to look languidly at the pool, almost like he was still half-asleep, though Tae-ui had never seen him in such a state.

“I thought about it, Tae-ui. I’ve hardly ever really harmed you.”

Muttering that slowly like a soliloquy, Tae-ui could only glare. This guy might even think harming someone means killing them. Otherwise, how could he say such a thing? And if Tae-ui hadn’t been so careless, he’d probably be buried underground already.

When Tae-ui frowned silently, Ilay seemed to sense it and muttered, as if he also understood reality a little:

“Maybe I almost did.”

Watching his quiet side profile, Tae-ui scratched his head. What kind of reasoning was this guy using now? Even if his words were full of holes, one thing was clear:

“When I’m with you, terrible things happen all the time.”

Tae-ui muttered. Like just yesterday. The disgusting treatment where people weren’t even treated like humans. The feeling of his chest being ripped apart in fiery shards might have been a first. The bare minimum of dignity couldn’t be expected from that man. And no one could stay with a person like that long. They’d lose respect for their own self.

“People have all sorts of emotions—though you’re different—but the most important one is the feeling toward oneself. It’s the foundation that supports life itself. So at least that shouldn’t waver.”

But with this man, it never did.

Thinking back, Tae-ui knew he’d grown up in a very privileged environment. He was aware of that.

At first, he hadn’t realized it. It was an ordinary home like any other. Except for having an unusually exceptional older brother, nothing special. So naturally, he thought everyone’s the same.

It wasn’t long before he realized how precious and fortunate it was to be raised receiving proper, untwisted affection from parents and siblings.

“I can keep such a saintly personality even next to a bastard like that because of my parents... Thank you, Mom and Dad.”

Whispering so quietly it was barely audible, Tae-ui bowed his head to his deceased parents. Then he thought, ‘My personality’s already good, so please give me some luck too. I want to live a bit.’

“So... when I’m with you, I can’t maintain my feelings for myself?”

Suddenly Ilay interrupted, making Tae-ui stop his mental thank-you mid-sentence.

“It’s not about maintaining it, it just happens regardless of my will...”

Tae-ui stopped mid-sentence.

Why is this guy asking such things so early in the morning? And it’s so hard to answer. There’s no right answer anyway.

Tae-ui scratched his head harder this time, then glanced at Ilay. As always, his poker face was perfect. When he deliberately sat like this, it was impossible to guess what he was thinking.

Has there ever been anyone in his life who started a conversation by asking why someone hated being with them? No.

But this man was wrong from the start. Not wrong in direction but wrong in starting point.

Tae-ui lay back down on the hammock. Even though it was early morning, it wasn’t cold; he could probably fall asleep again. If only that man wasn’t here, he might have.

“But you’re wrong. People’s words can change drastically with just one word. I sometimes hate being with you, but I’ve never said I hate you.”

Answering instinctively, Tae-ui wondered if the question “why do you hate being with me” would come next...

“Why do you hate being with me?”

“...”

Tae-ui just turned his head toward Ilay from the hammock. Ilay still didn’t even glance his way.

“If you don’t care what I think or feel anyway, why ask? It’s not like it depends on me.”

“Tell me.”

“See, it’s like now. You don’t even recognize that I have a personality. Who’d enjoy a one-sided relationship where there’s no equality?”

Tae-ui clicked his tongue. Ilay wasn’t oblivious to this. Ilay Riegrow wasn’t dumb or slow. He wasn’t the type to lose sight of things when it was his business. He’d lived fully aware—knowing well his own nature—and yet he asked this question for some reason. Tae-ui couldn’t understand that mindset.

But then, for the first time, Ilay turned to look at Tae-ui. His gaze shifted from the pool to Tae-ui, giving a fleeting, subtle frown—an expression Tae-ui had never seen before.

“Jeong Tae-ui. The one who decides whether personalities are equal isn’t the other person, but yourself. You’ve never thought you’re unequal to me.”

“Yeah, but you keep gnawing at that thought. Just think about yesterday.”

Tae-ui clicked his tongue again. Yes, even just hours ago.

Ilay said nothing. He closed his mouth and silently stared at Tae-ui. But whether that gaze was approval, disapproval, or something else, Tae-ui couldn’t read. He had no intention of convincing Ilay anyway.

Tae-ui grimaced, cleared his throat, and rolled back down. It had been a peaceful morning, but now the mood was broken.

“Yesterday...”

Suddenly Ilay spoke, but stopped after one word. From behind Tae-ui, lying facedown, a vague discomfort radiated. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know, I’m going to sleep,’ Tae-ui thought, glancing sideways at the sky that was growing clearer and bluer, and closed his eyes.

But thinking carefully, this was still something that irritated him.

Why did Ilay have to dredge up that memory after overturning his insides just hours ago? Such inhuman treatment.

Tae-ui decided if Ilay asked the same question again, he’d answer, “That’s exactly why I hate it,” then closed his mouth.

“Yesterday... I was wrong. Sorry.”

Then—

A low sound of tongue clicking and a sigh pierced Tae-ui’s ears. He suddenly opened his eyes wide. His dazed gaze automatically shifted toward Ilay.

What had he just heard? It felt wrong. Not the content or the voice, but the combination was deeply troubling. Maybe the problem was with his ears.

Turning his head suspiciously, Tae-ui stared intently at Ilay, who was calmly gazing at the fruit tree across the garden with the same indifferent expression as always.

Tae-ui blinked repeatedly in disbelief, unable to accept it. He even got up and sat up.

“...”

Running his disheveled hair from the hammock aside, Tae-ui looked at him like someone just waking from sleep.

Did he mishear? It had to be. No one else could have said such a thing. Definitely not those lips. He must have been really pissed off yesterday to even hear nonsense like that. Or maybe he was just too exhausted lately.

Tae-ui tilted his head and blinked, watching the unfazed man sitting calmly.

It must have been an auditory hallucination after all.

Tae-ui sighed, licked his lips, and lay back down. But even if it was a hallucination, it was a strange one. Maybe it was because he’d just closed his eyes to sleep. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep without realizing it.

He looked at the sky above. It was no longer dawn. Morning had come—bright blue morning. Though it felt wasteful to close his eyes again in the morning, maybe enjoying such waste was a kind of leisure. And who knew? If he fell asleep right here, maybe he’d hear that strange hallucination again.

He sighed and closed his eyes. Luckily, Ilay no longer spoke. Then again, everything Ilay said from the start had been strange. Maybe the whole situation was just a dream.

As he closed his eyes, even though it was early, he felt he could fall asleep. The pleasant approach of unconsciousness was comforting—except for one thing, the gaze.

He felt someone watching him. Surely if he opened his eyes now, that man would be looking at him. That gaze was annoying but—would he really kill him?

He heard soft footsteps. They approached slowly, stepping on grass leaves, then stopped beside him.

Someone was trying to disturb his morning sleep. Tae-ui clicked his tongue and opened his eyes.

“Again, why...”

But he couldn’t finish the sentence.

Ilay, frowning at Tae-ui’s peaceful expression, suddenly grabbed his collar and easily pulled him up from the hammock.

Tae-ui, lying down just moments ago, now floated in the air, his upper body suspended. He raised his eyebrows, about to sulk and ask why.

But before he could speak, a tongue filled his mouth.

“...?!”

He had no time to say anything. One hand covered Tae-ui’s cheek and ear, while the other held his collar, pressing him close and kissing him.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was like Ilay was invading his body through the mouth, devouring him whole. The tongue roamed greedily over his teeth, gums, every inch without leaving out anything. The sensation was suffocating. Tae-ui tried to call Ilay’s name, but even that was swallowed inside.

“Th—, wai—, brea—”

He wanted to say “wait” and “breathe,” but no word came out.

Miraculously, Ilay seemed to understand. Maybe because he swallowed those words himself. Just as Tae-ui felt he was about to faint from lack of air and darkness overtook his vision, he was thrown back onto the hammock.

Coughing and gasping for breath, Tae-ui looked up at him.

Ilay stood motionless before the hammock, looking down at Tae-ui. When their eyes met, Ilay briefly frowned, then turned and walked toward the house.

“…—”

Holding his throat to catch his breath, Tae-ui stared blankly at Ilay’s retreating figure. Ilay soon disappeared inside through the front door.

“…?! …—”

Tae-ui blinked, looking from the closed door to the sky, then to the ground, then back to the door. More precisely, to Ilay’s vanishing trace beyond it.

He lowered his head and rubbed his lower lip as if biting it. His fingertips were slightly wet. Saliva was mixed and indistinguishable whose it was on his hand.

It was the first time they kissed.

To be exact, it was the first time they just kissed without anything else. Suddenly, out of nowhere, completely unrelated—he had never experienced such a thing before. No, it had never happened.

“Uh...”

A slow flush of embarrassment spread across Tae-ui’s face.

—Yesterday, I was wrong. Sorry.

“What? Did I mishear...?”

He slowly covered his face. His hands nervously rubbed his jaw and mouth. “Uh, uh,” meaningless words slipped from his lips.

No, he couldn’t let Ilay show a human side. He couldn’t let Ilay apologize. That wasn’t Ilay’s place to say. If he did, it would show an unexpectedly human side, and that couldn’t happen.