Jeheon Han kept running his hand over the nape of Caesar O’n’s neck as if caressing him.
But this touch wasn’t a sign of affection.
If I fight back, that’s a threat to snap my neck. And he can.
Knowing that, Caesar still didn’t flinch or feel fear. Having already died several times, Jeheon’s grip was nothing more than the first move in a little skinship he was offering.
The man who’d been quietly enjoying the strokes opened his mouth.
"Why so scary."
"You don’t look scared."
"It’s because my facial muscles don’t move right."
He tossed out the excuse coolly, but of course Jeheon didn’t buy it. He only stared harder at Caesar, eyes more suspicious than before.
"Did I do something that deserves suspicion?"
When Caesar asked carefully, Jeheon answered almost at once.
"Timing."
"Timing…?"
Tap, tap.
The fingers on his nape twitched in an even beat.
"It was already weird that a celebrity whose body is his livelihood showed up the moment a shooting happened—and you knew my personal details. And this time, too, you appeared the second a tail was on me, like you were waiting."
What flashed through Caesar’s head was, Because I used future sight and kept you under constant watch. But instead of saying anything unscientific out loud, he kept listening to Jeheon.
"Then you admitted you had ties to gangs."
"…"
"What if you orchestrated it yourself?"
Unfair—but impossible to explain.
In the split second he thought it through, Caesar let a dull, aggrieved note into his voice.
"Why would I? Why would I sic anyone on the person I like? What would I possibly gain from that…?"
Jeheon answered, unimpressed.
"There are people who pull crazy stunts to exploit the suspension bridge effect."
"…"
"Thanks to guys like that, my career almost ended more than once. That’s why I’m suspicious of you now. You keep showing up like a hero at the perfect timing to help me. That can happen once; it doesn’t happen over and over."
If it’s not fate, it’s a stalker—what else am I supposed to think.
"And what you’ve done since you showed up has been weird too. You keep choosing nothing but acts of devotion—so much it can’t be explained as love at first sight. That’s not normal."
"Is it…"
"Yeah. So I’m just going to ask straight. I want to know whether you did something stupid or I just happened to be lucky."
Jeheon tightened his grip on Caesar’s nape. A dull ache bloomed where he held him. It hurt, but not enough to leave a long-lasting mark.
Realizing that sent a shiver down Caesar’s spine. It meant Jeheon had prior experience using violence in a very controlled way.
"Until you tell me why, we’re staying like this."
Caesar coughed lightly from the pain and thought:
Playing dumb won’t work.
But he did have a cover story prepared for exactly this.
He started in a voice free of tension.
"I’ll be honest."
His eyes slid sideways.
A faint smile touched his handsome mouth.
"I was your fan."
Silence filled the car.
It was a long moment before Jeheon reacted.
"...Sorry?"
He looked like someone had smacked the back of his head.
Seeing that face, Caesar moved his lips like a shy man and began offering explanations. Nothing he’d prepared or lied about—because it was true.
"I wasn’t trying to hide it… Back when you were playing, I watched every one of your games and training videos. I must’ve replayed that university-made documentary hundreds of times. So I got good at reading your moves."
"…"
"In case you won’t believe me—I even have your merch at home."
Jeheon’s eyes started to dart, probably counting how many items of his team-era merch ever came out.
When he finished the math, he stammered a question.
"What… merch."
"I bought the towel in your jersey design with your number. Your signed ball… and the sponsor sneakers from then, in every model. I bought the ones you wore and kept them."
"…"
"So when you retired, I cried like crazy. I thought you’d make it to the pro league."
The instant he heard the unhesitating roll call of merch, Jeheon’s hand lost strength on Caesar’s neck.
It’s working.
Riding the momentum, Caesar leaned toward him.
"Then the retired player showed up in front of me. How was I supposed to stay sane? Gun or not, I had to save my player’s life first. That’s what a fan does."
As Caesar moved a little closer, Jeheon snatched his hand off Caesar’s nape and shoved at his shoulder.
He burst out, aggrieved:
"Then say so! Why keep your mouth shut every time and make me anxious and suspicious!"
"If I said it, you’d have run. I know you’re cautious by nature—how could I risk that."
A look crossed Jeheon’s face that all but asked, Do you know me a little too well?
"Since when did you like—like me enough to know that? I’m only famous for clips of me throwing punches. I wasn’t exactly a name-brand player…"
"Since high school league."
Jeheon’s eyes went round. "That’s before my videos even hit the big sites," he muttered.
Caesar nodded along.
"I got the first video by email. Teresa wrote, ‘My grandson just started as a starter. Want to see?’ and sent it."
"…"
"I opened it out of obligation to say the polite ‘Thanks for the video.’ And what do you know—a boy like a deer was on my screen."
Truth is, even pairing Jeheon with Teresa had been Caesar’s doing… Around then, Jeheon needed a protector he could trust, and in Caesar’s view, Teresa was the best person for that job.
That’s why he leaked news about Jeheon to Teresa.
Jeheon knew none of it.
He didn’t even know Caesar was the one who’d told Teresa, "Sports are good for trauma therapy."
Stifling a laugh, Caesar shamelessly kept laying it on.
"That day I realized I like men. I tried to sleep that night and your face kept floating up. You even showed up in my dreams for days."
At that add-on, Jeheon—already flushed with embarrassment—went scarlet.
"There was no way not to look you up. I started hunting down your games, and later I even came to like your personality."
"My… high school league personality. You liked that."
"Sure. You looked like a deer, but with that body you were knocking out guys built like bears. Anyone picked a fight, you never backed down."
"That’s what people call a bad personality."
"I thought it had a feral charm."
By then, every trace of suspicion had vanished from Jeheon’s face, replaced by embarrassment and bewilderment.
Seeing that, Caesar hurried to bolster his credibility.
"Every time the brawl ended, you’d rip off your headgear with bloody hands. Like this."
Caesar mimicked Jeheon’s habit.
He’d practiced it dozens of times; it was a way to say, I know you this well. I’ve been this focused on you.
And it landed perfectly.
"Your taste is kind of strange, isn’t it?"
"Why? You were insanely sexy."
"Did it never strike you that football uniforms look ridiculous? We run around in tights down to our knees…"
"On you it looked like art."
Caesar let out a low laugh.
"I even have a few photos displayed next to your merch. The press shots were gorgeous. I’ll show you when you come over."
"I don’t need it! No—hide it where I’ll never see it! I’m mortified just hearing about it!"
Jeheon bonked his forehead against the window and yelled. His ear rims and nape were bright red—he was truly dying of embarrassment.
Watching his profile, Caesar thought:
Looks like I got through this time. But the fact I drew suspicion hasn’t changed.
Given how sensitive he is, next time it’s strike three. If the same issue crops up a third time, I can’t wave it off as a misunderstanding.
From there on it’s a question of trust.
…What was I thinking this summer, charging at Jeheon like a madman?
He did know the reason. The shock of the previous "repeat" had been so big he was too worn out to even smile properly—that was a reason, if it counted.
…Even though I could see the future clearly, my scrambled head kept me from making the right choices.
Swallowing a sigh, Caesar spoke to Jeheon as if nothing were wrong.
"Are you done being mad? Should we go in?"
Jeheon, skin still flushed, mumbled back:
"It feels like inviting a stalker home."
"There’s some potential. Fans and stalkers do show similar patterns."
"…Can’t believe you said that out loud."
"You literally just asked me to stop being confusing and be honest to my face."
Caesar undid his seatbelt completely and leaned in. He set his cheek on Jeheon’s shoulder and whispered:
"Let’s go on a lot of dates. I want to watch football games together, and I want you to teach me some training."
The instant Jeheon’s brow pinched like he’d felt a twinge of aversion, Caesar rubbed his own nape and whined, "Ah, my neck hurts."
Jeheon froze, startled.
The tension drained out of him again.
"How did I end up laying hands on you… I knew touching you wouldn’t end well, and I still did it."
"My neck hurts. I think it bruised."
"I know you’re faking it."
Even so, Jeheon couldn’t shove Caesar off or push him away. Because he’d grabbed him by the throat—because he wanted the truth.
Which meant he felt guilty toward Caesar.
Softhearted. Even in a situation where suspicion was warranted, he feels guilty toward me.
Which is good for me.
And Caesar knew it, which is why he played it up. If he whimpered like a wounded animal, Jeheon would give in—however reluctantly—even knowing it was an act.
As expected, Jeheon took the bait fast.
"…Does it hurt?"
He pressed the dome light on the ceiling and checked the nape where Caesar leaned on him. It didn’t stand out much, but there was a definite reddish mark where his hand had been.
Jeheon pulled a face that said, I knew it—he was faking, then sighed out a question to Caesar.
"…So, what do you want me to do? Go in and put something cold on it?"
At that, Caesar’s head popped up, eyes bright.
"It’d be nice if I could focus on something else so I don’t feel the pain."
"…What?"
At the request he couldn’t parse, Jeheon blinked. Caesar smiled with his eyes and whispered:
"Kiss me."