Sangwoo lounged with a facade of boredom, his eyes roaming lazily over the drab walls as Yoon Bum wove a narrative of their supposed past life—a tragic, twisted tale that Sangwoo found more amusing than alarming. But as Yoon Bum spoke of betrayal and poison, Sangwoo's mind unbidden summoned the image of his father—defeated, dying, the froth at his mouth a silent testament to his mother's betrayal. The memory jolted Sangwoo, and for a split second, his mask slipped.
"Did you really try to kill me, then?" The question sliced through the stillness, Sangwoo's voice tinged with an unexpected sharpness, his casual indifference momentarily forgotten.
Yoon Bum flinched, his eyes wide with hurt. "No! Never. We just... didn't communicate. Which is why I want to do it right this time."
Sangwoo's laughter was hollow, his boredom resurfacing like a shield. "So… how did I die in this fantastical tale of yours?"
Yoon Bum's voice trembled with the weight of emotion. "There was a struggle, a fire. You got injured but..."
"Ah," Sangwoo interjected, his tone laced with mock relief. "I perished in flames. Poetic."
Yoon Bum's eyes glistened, a pool of sorrow and sincerity. "The fire didn't kill you. An old woman... she found you screaming for me. And... she smothered you with a pillow to silence your cries."
Sangwoo's laughter erupted, cold and sharp, but as the words sank in, an ancient fear clawed at his chest—a shadow of a memory, his mother's face looming over him, a pillow descending. Panic flickered in his eyes, a primal fear of ending up like his father—helpless, smothered, unloved.
But the laughter died abruptly, and he was motionless, his voice a dead monotone as he pushed the fear away. "I would've preferred the fire," he said, his face now an emotionless mask, the levity gone as if it had never been.
The rest of the conversation unfolded, with Yoon Bum reaching out earnestly and Sangwoo responding with barbed sarcasm, a familiar dance for them both. "Do you really think you can heal me?" Sangwoo questioned, a cruel twist to his smile.
"We have to try. I believe we can make it together," Yoon Bum insisted, his determination unwavering despite the bleakness Sangwoo exuded.
Sangwoo's amusement was a facade, brittle and thin. "We'll just destroy each other in the end. Like in your little fantasy."
A shadow of sadness passed over Yoon Bum's face, his voice a soft murmur. "Then we'll do that together, too."
Their exchange had continued, each volley of words a dance as intricate as the shifting emotions that played beneath the surface. Sangwoo, wrapped in the armor of his cold amusement, felt an uncomfortable tug of recognition at the parallels Yoon Bum drew with his own past—a mirror he was reluctant to gaze into, reflecting a truth he wasn't ready to confront.
The air between them grew charged, a silent acknowledgment of the undercurrents they were both navigating. Sangwoo, watching the tremble of hesitance cross Yoon Bum's features, felt a perverse curiosity awaken. Yoon Bum cleared his throat, his usual deference giving way to a tentative form of bravery.
"I want to move into our next session," Yoon Bum began, pausing as if the words were stones he had to lift from his throat, "which will involve touch therapy."
The hesitation in Yoon Bum's voice was palpable, his caution clear as he awaited Sangwoo's reaction. It was a caution Sangwoo found both irritating and oddly touching — the fear of him, mixed with the desire to help.
Sangwoo's eyes flashed with a complex emotion, unidentifiable even to himself. "Touch therapy?" he repeated, his tone deceptively mild. "And what makes you think I'd be interested in such... special treatment?"
"The thing is, Sangwoo, physical contact can be... therapeutic," Yoon Bum said, his voice steady despite the weight of the eyes upon him. "It can create a bond that's more instinctual, more primal."
Sangwoo's eyes gleamed with an unreadable sentiment as he watched Yoon Bum, taking in the serious tilt of his eyebrows, the earnest flush on his cheeks. When he spoke, his voice carried the sardonic amusement that came so naturally to him.
"You didn't seem to need any 'therapeutic' excuse to throw yourself at me when you first got here," Sangwoo pointed out sharply, the memory vivid in his mind—the weight of Yoon Bum against him, the desperate cling of his touch. It had been a contact born of raw need, not the clinical, methodical approach Yoon Bum was now preaching.
Yoon Bum's face colored a deeper shade, the embarrassment clear as day, but he held Sangwoo's challenging stare with an unexpected resilience. "I might have gotten ahead of myself," he admitted, a sheepish tilt to his voice that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It was... overwhelming, having you so close after everything. I was happy, Sangwoo, happier than I've been in a long time, just to be near you."
His expression sobered, the earlier flush of embarrassment giving way to a quieter intensity. "But you were restrained then. It was a moment born out of an uneven playing field." Yoon Bum's gaze was unflinching, earnest. "I want this—us—to be different. I want you to choose to participate in this touch therapy. To choose to connect with me."
Sangwoo regarded him silently for a long moment, the humor slipping from his features. It was a strange sensation, this tug-of-war between the reflex to scoff at the suggestion and the curious, niggling part of him that wanted to understand the man before him. The same man who had, once upon a time, broken into his life with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
He let out a slow breath, the ghost of a snarl lingering on his lips. "Fine," Sangwoo conceded again, his voice lower now, more controlled. "Show me this 'bonding' then."
As Yoon Bum reached out, Sangwoo's instinct was to recoil, but he stilled the impulse. Their hands met, and a jolt of unexpected energy surged through him. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was intense, almost too much. Sangwoo's breath hitched in his throat, the sensation so alien it bordered on the offensive.
The contact was light, as if even the air between them was charged with a strange magnetism that repelled as much as it attracted.
Sangwoo's defenses, always at the ready, snapped into place as their hands met, his mind reeling against the tide of unexpected emotion. Yet, there was a hesitation in his withdrawal, a lingering curiosity amid the turmoil.
"Is this your idea of healing?" he quipped, a wry twist to his lips, "Holding hands like we're on some kind of twisted date?" The joke was sharp, meant to deflect from the surge of something he refused to acknowledge stirring within him.
Yoon Bum's expression didn't waver; he met Sangwoo's challenge with a kind of solemnity that felt out of place in their warped reality. "Maybe not healing in the way you think of it," he responded softly, "but it's a step towards something better than where we've been."
The remark was a velvet glove over the iron fist of truth, and Sangwoo could feel the softness trying to envelop him, the iron pressing insistently against his will. "Don't kid yourself," Sangwoo spat out, his voice a low growl of cynicism. "This isn't about healing. You and I, we're... we're not capable of something so mundane as consent, are we?"
The statement hung in the air, a declaration of their shared dysfunction. Yet, Sangwoo didn't pull away, his hand remaining against Yoon Bum's, palm to palm, an odd warmth growing between the press of skin that belied his harsh words.
Yoon Bum looked at their joined hands, then back up to Sangwoo with a resilient stare. "Consent is given in the moment," he countered, "And right now, you haven't pulled away."
Sangwoo's eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation at the catch in Yoon Bum's logic. He wanted to lash out, to rip his hand back and restore the safe distance between them. But curiosity, that damned, treacherous thing, held him still. The physical connection was an anchor, tenuous yet steadfast, in the tumultuous sea of their interactions.
For a heartbeat, or perhaps a lifetime, they simply existed in that connection, the rest of the world blurring into the background. Sangwoo was acutely aware of the pulse thrumming under Yoon Bum's skin, a reminder of life, of humanity, of things Sangwoo had tried so hard to distance himself from.
Finally, Sangwoo broke the silence, his voice a hushed echo of his usual bravado. "If this is your way of trying to save us, Yoon Bum, I hope you're prepared for disappointment."
As the door creaked open, Sangwoo's attention shifted from Yoon Bum to the figure standing at the threshold. It was Reid, his presence an unwelcome jolt to their intimate cocoon.
"Hello, Reid," Yoon Bum's voice cut through the thick air, surprisingly steady.
Reid's acknowledgment was curt, a sharp nod that cut through the space between them. Sangwoo's lips curled upwards ever so slightly, sensing the disquiet Reid tried to mask.
With a subtle, predatory grace that seemed almost casual, Sangwoo shifted, intertwining his fingers intimately with Yoon Bum's. His grip was firm, pulling him imperceptibly closer, their hands locked—a silent declaration of possession and an unspoken promise of something deeper, more dangerous.
But before the theatrical smirk could blossom on Sangwoo's lips, he felt the pressure of Yoon Bum's hand increase—a silent but clear reprimand. He glanced down, surprised, meeting Yoon Bum's gaze. It wasn't harsh; there was no anger in it. Rather, it was an unspoken message: "I see you." Yoon Bum's expression held a clarity that saw through Sangwoo's facade. It wasn't a challenge, but an acknowledgment.
Sangwoo couldn't help but let out a soft, derisive snort. There was something irksomely charming about Yoon Bum's attempt to steer the narrative, to hold on to the fragile reins of their interaction.
Sangwoo's eyes narrowed playfully, impressed despite himself. Then, drawing Yoon Bum in closer, he upped the ante. "Reid, you're interrupting a crucial moment in my therapy," Sangwoo drawled, turning back to Reid with a sly grin while his fingers laced with Yoon Bum's, locking them in a private embrace that they forced Reid to witness. "We were just about to explore the next phase of our bonding."
The words hung between them, heavy with implication, watching Reid's controlled facade quiver with irritation. Yet, as the tension thickened, Sangwoo savored the thrill of the game pulsing beneath his skin.
Leaning in, his whisper to Yoon Bum was a murmur meant for a solitary audience. "I've been a good patient today, don't you think? Perhaps I deserve a little reward."
Yoon Bum's response, while a step into Sangwoo's trap, was not without a flicker of resistance. "A reward?" he parroted back, a hint of skepticism threading his tone.
"Just a beer with dinner," Sangwoo suggested, his voice dropping to a register of feigned modesty that belied his true intent.
Yoon Bum paused, his hesitation betraying the inner conflict between his understanding of Sangwoo's manipulation and the part of him still swayed by the promise of closeness. "I'll check," he said, his voice carrying a hint of compliance.
Sangwoo wasn't sure if he knew he was being guided to do as he wanted, but it didn't really matter, either.
As Yoon Bum made to leave, he gestured for Reid to follow. But Sangwoo, feigning a discomfort of his own, stopped Reid. "Actually, would you mind looking at this collar? It's chafing me." The excuse was flimsy, but it served its purpose.
Reid's eyes narrowed, the silent acknowledgment passing between them that this was nothing more than a ruse for a private word.
Yoon Bum glanced between them, the strings of trust visibly frayed by the undercurrents of control and defiance. After a breath of charged air, he conceded with a wary, "Alright, I won't be long."
With Yoon Bum's retreat, Sangwoo's facade slipped into a casual indifference, hands buried in his pockets. The collar around his neck hummed quietly, a constant reminder of his own bondage even as he played puppeteer.
Reid stood across from him, the glare he fixed on Sangwoo filled with silent confrontation.
Sangwoo eyed Reid with an easy nonchalance, the way one might survey the landscape before a maneuver. "You know, Reid," he began, as if musing to himself, "Yoon Bum is an intriguing one. How'd you get mixed up in his world?"
"You know, Reid," Sangwoo started, feigning a contemplative tone that belied the sharpness of his gaze. "Yoon Bum is an intriguing one. What's your stake in his world?"
"It's just a job," Reid countered, his voice betraying a hint of strain—a crack in his professional facade Sangwoo was quick to note.
"Is it?" Sangwoo pressed, letting the words hang, laden with meaning. "With all the time you spend here, one might think there's more. But then again, with the way Yoon Bum looks at me..." His voice trailed off, inviting speculation.
Reid's control slipped, anger flashing in his eyes. "Enough," he snapped.
Sangwoo raised his hands, the picture of innocence, but his eyes glinted with victory. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger," he chided softly.
The conversation twisted with every word, Sangwoo's provocations veiled under a layer of false naivety. "I'm surprised, though. You two... I would've thought there was something special."
Reid's silence screamed louder than words.
"Let's be honest, we both know Yoon Bum's fascination with me won't last," Sangwoo prodded further, his words sharp and calculated. "He's like a child with a new toy."
Reid's eyes darkened, but he held back, his silence a taut string ready to snap.
Sangwoo, sensing the perfect moment to withdraw, leaned back. "But if I weren't in the picture, Yoon Bum would be open to... new possibilities, wouldn't he?"
"You think you're clever," Reid growled, tension coiling in his voice.
"Sometimes," Sangwoo replied with a dismissive shrug. "But I don't need to be clever to see the obvious."
Yoon Bum's return sliced through the heavy atmosphere, his voice oblivious to the undercurrents. "I found some beer, Sangwoo! It's not much, but—"
The moment Yoon Bum reentered, the dynamic shifted, and Sangwoo welcomed it with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Ah, there it is," Sangwoo remarked with a nod towards the cans in Yoon Bum's hands. "I have to say, this little reward system might not be so bad after all."
Yoon Bum set the dinner and the beers beside Sangwoo, smiling at the comment. "Well, that's the point," he said. "It's supposed to encourage cooperation. I'm glad you're seeing it that way."
Sangwoo popped open a can, the crisp sound of the tab breaking the silence. He took a long, savoring sip, the familiar bitterness of the beer a sharp contrast to the blandness of his recent days. "It's been a while," he breathed, almost to himself, as he tasted the alcohol.
Turning to Reid, Yoon Bum's voice carried a professional concern. "Everything okay with the collar?"
Reid, his expression still clouded by their earlier exchange, forced a smile. "Yeah, it's fine. All good on my end," he assured Yoon Bum, the attempt at cheerfulness unconvincing.
"Good, thanks," Yoon Bum replied with genuine appreciation, seemingly oblivious to Reid's inner turmoil. "There's extra food if you want to take some before you go."
Sangwoo caught the brief tightening of Reid's jaw at Yoon Bum's casual invitation to leave. It was subtle, but it was there. The dismissal didn't go unnoticed by either of them.
"No, I should get going," Reid responded, the slight frown betraying his reluctance. "Thanks, though."
Yoon Bum nodded, perhaps too eagerly, and Reid turned to leave. Sangwoo watched the interaction with a small, victorious smirk. The game was set, and Reid, whether or not he fully realized it, had just been nudged a step closer to the edge.