The bad feeling he’d had in the shower proved justified almost immediately.
After only a few steps, Gi-hyeon realized his ankle was in terrible condition today. He lowered his gaze to his left foot.
—Symptoms like this are usually psychological. You haven’t fully overcome the trauma of the injury. In the end, it comes down to mindset. As someone in rehabilitation medicine, Dr. So, you probably understand that better than I do. You already knew these symptoms were psychosomatic, didn’t you?
That had been the diagnosis from one of Lee Beom-hee’s senior colleagues in Rehabilitation Medicine.
And the doctor had been right.
What crippled Gi-hyeon wasn’t the injury itself, but the deep scar it had left behind in his mind. On days when the nightmares returned, like today, that invisible wound ached unbearably.
Physically, the ankle—which had once been twisted completely backward—had healed years ago. Metal pins had long since been inserted and removed; the fractures had fused cleanly. It still throbbed faintly on rainy days, but that was all. Since he kept up with his rehabilitation exercises religiously, even that dull ache barely registered anymore.
“…”
Even with sturdy sneakers supporting the joint against the plush hotel carpet, Gi-hyeon limped badly. Each step looked unstable.
He had only just left the suite, yet he already felt exhausted.
Was this simply the inevitable fatigue of working life, or was there something fundamentally wrong with him?
“Mr. So Gi-hyeon, this way, please.”
Even the staff at the hotel restaurant knew his name.
The fact was absurd. Compared to someone like Jo Yeon-oh, Gi-hyeon was a nobody, yet sitting at the same table as him was enough to make everyone treat him like a VIP.
Suppressing the bitter irony, Gi-hyeon followed the impeccably dressed manager. The man slid open the private dining room door, bowed politely, and wished him an enjoyable meal.
Gi-hyeon returned a faint nod while wondering what part of this was supposed to be enjoyable.
The person waiting inside was Jo Yeon-oh.
“Sit.”
Unlike earlier, when he had been dressed casually in workout clothes, the Alpha now wore a tailored suit. Did he seriously have work on a weekend? If he was that busy, he should have just left instead of dragging Gi-hyeon into this lunch.
His plan to spend the day lying around eating room service and sleeping had already been completely ruined.
Sighing quietly, Gi-hyeon approached the table.
Jo Yeon-oh, who hadn’t even looked up when he entered, suddenly frowned.
“You’re limping again.”
“…”
Knowing exactly what he meant, Gi-hyeon simply pulled out his chair and sat down.
Yeon-oh wore the vest of a three-piece suit beneath his jacket, though the silk ascot at his throat softened the severity of the look somewhat. Resting his arm against the table, he stared directly at Gi-hyeon.
“What’s actually causing it? I’ve never heard of an injury lasting this long.”
Of course you haven’t.
The accident had happened five years ago.
Jo Yeon-oh still believed it had been nothing more than an unfortunate accident. As far as he knew, Gi-hyeon had slipped during field training in heavy rain, fallen down a muddy slope, and broken his ankle.
From that perspective, Gi-hyeon’s lingering limp probably looked excessive.
It made sense that Yeon-oh found it frustrating. Watching someone limp this badly every time they had a nightmare over an accident no one was responsible for would wear on anyone eventually.
Dabbing his lips neatly with a white napkin, Yeon-oh spoke again. Sunlight pouring through the window caught against the bezel of the watch on his wrist.
“I keep telling you to see a psychiatrist.”
“If something like that ends up on my medical record, I’ll lose my license.”
It was a blatant lie. Counseling alone would never threaten his license, but Gi-hyeon threw it out anyway to shut the conversation down.
At the dry excuse, Yeon-oh picked up his brass chopsticks and gave a low, amused laugh.
“I already told you I’d arrange someone privately. No records, no paper trail. Completely confidential.”
Gi-hyeon stayed silent.
Because it was true.
Jo Yeon-oh frequently moved entire mountains for his sake.
The clearest example was the rehabilitation hospital. Yeon-oh had forced his way into the Foundation’s affairs—a field he’d previously shown no interest in—solely to acquire it for Gi-hyeon. That single act had shaken the entire Haeseong family. Relatives who had comfortably assumed the sleeping dragon would remain dormant forever suddenly panicked and began scrambling against each other.
I know that.
I know everything you do comes from devotion.
And yet, whenever moments like this happened, Gi-hyeon inevitably thought about the goldfish tank sitting in his apartment.
Were those fish happy?
Their lives were safe. Food appeared regularly without fail. They would never starve or struggle.
But they also lived their entire lives inside glass walls.
Since Gi-hyeon had never known anything outside the suffocating world Jo Yeon-oh built around him, he couldn’t even tell whether he was trapped.
“Just eat,” he muttered at last.
That was all he had the energy to say.
Yeon-oh nodded and returned to his meal.
As he chewed, the line of his jaw flexed sharply beneath pale skin. Though his features were beautiful enough to seem almost delicate, the darkness of his brows and the clean, severe line of his jaw grounded everything in unmistakable masculinity.
Opening the lid of his brass rice bowl, Gi-hyeon took a bite of sticky rice mixed with ginkgo nuts.
Immediately, the nagging began.
“Eat the vegetables first. Stop inhaling rice like you’re trying to finish the meal in three minutes.”
Gi-hyeon gave a vague nod, but Yeon-oh had already started.
Don’t disappear without telling me again. If you’re going to stay at a hotel, stay at one owned by Haeseong. I’ll get you a VIP membership, so at least go use the spa properly…
The complaints went on endlessly.
And yet, despite talking the entire time, Yeon-oh’s table manners remained flawless. He never once exposed food while speaking.
Gi-hyeon’s own manners were strict as well, drilled into him by his schoolteacher father and the rigid culture of the Military Academy, but he could never imitate the effortless elegance Jo Yeon-oh displayed while eating.
To make matters worse, Yeon-oh continuously moved side dishes Gi-hyeon disliked onto his plate.
Grilled deodeok skewers.
Cold jellyfish salad with cucumbers.
Gi-hyeon could tolerate the jellyfish salad, but the deodeok made him sigh the instant he saw it.
He hated the taste.
Catching the hesitation immediately, Yeon-oh clicked his tongue.
“You refuse to eat anything healthy.”
“Then eat plenty yourself and live a long life.”
Despite the flatness of the response, Yeon-oh only laughed.
Contrary to his calm appearance, Gi-hyeon was an absurdly picky eater who viewed meals as nothing more than necessary fuel, which constantly led to arguments between them.
It was always Jo Yeon-oh dragging him around the country every season, insisting he try whatever rare ingredients happened to be in peak condition at the time.
On his days off, Gi-hyeon wanted nothing more than to lie in bed and do absolutely nothing, but Yeon-oh never left him alone long enough for that. And whenever Gi-hyeon finally snapped, irritated beyond endurance, Yeon-oh would simply laugh and treat him like a sulking child.
“Don’t make things so hard for your hyung, Gi-hyeon. Dating someone three months younger than me is exhausting.”
“Right. You say that like you have any conscience at all. Three months younger makes me a child now?”
Yeon-oh abandoned his chopsticks entirely and burst into loud laughter.
Whenever he laughed hard, he still had the childhood habit of scrunching his nose. The beauty mark near the bridge folded slightly with the movement, giving him an almost decadent kind of charm. Even smiling openly, he somehow looked dangerous.
“Alright, alright. Just eat. Manager Yoo already booked the spa for you, so go get a massage afterward.”
“…”
Gi-hyeon said nothing.
There was no point objecting when Jo Yeon-oh would bulldoze through it regardless. He had probably anticipated today’s limp the moment he realized Gi-hyeon had another nightmare and arranged the massage in advance.
A massage wouldn’t help psychosomatic pain.
Still, Gi-hyeon couldn’t bring himself to dismiss the effort outright.
The skewers had been grilled over high-quality Cheongsong charcoal with pine needles and paired with premium pine mushrooms. Objectively, they tasted excellent.
Slowly chewing, Gi-hyeon moved his jaw with dull lethargy.
I want to disappear somewhere.