“Did you feed the goldfish their din-din?”
So Gi-hyeon had already guessed he wasn’t alone the moment he stepped into the apartment. The entryway was too clean. Jo Yeon-oh was here.
Still, he didn’t answer right away. He peeled off his shirt instead, tossing it into the laundry basket with sluggish movements. Somewhere in the dark living room came the sound of someone shifting on the sofa.
Unlike Gi-hyeon, who barely fell short of one-eighty, Yeon-oh was huge no matter where he stood. Taller than most vending machines and broad enough to block a doorway, he was intimidating on sight. His temper didn’t help. The tiny sofa in Gi-hyeon’s apartment clearly wasn’t built for a man that size, judging from the heavy grunt that followed as Yeon-oh pushed himself upright.
From the bedroom doorway, Gi-hyeon caught sight of messy black hair glowing faintly beneath the fish tank light.
So the Alpha had skipped another meeting and crawled into his apartment to sleep.
Letting him keep spare clothes here had been a mistake.
“I asked if you fed them,” Yeon-oh said again, voice rough with sleep. “Why aren’t you answering? You’re supposed to be their dad, but you’re never home. No wonder they’re so skinny.”
Gi-hyeon stayed silent for a reason.
Right now, he was calculating the odds of Yeon-oh’s secretary frantically chewing antacids while blowing up his phone. Serving an absurdly competent man who was also catastrophically lazy had to count as some kind of cosmic punishment.
There were more immediate concerns, too.
A moment earlier, Gi-hyeon had quietly slipped his military dog tags off and tucked them into the nightstand drawer before they could clink together. If Yeon-oh saw him still wearing them, he’d start another lecture.
And he’d come home in his clinic scrubs again.
Just thinking about the inevitable nagging exhausted him.
He was about to change and head for the shower when heavy arms wrapped around his waist from behind.
“You came home in your uniform again.”
“Mm.”
Caught immediately, Gi-hyeon answered with the bare minimum.
“You don’t even know what kind of germs are all over those things. Why do you keep commuting in your scrubs? Change before you leave work.”
Gi-hyeon ignored him and continued moving through his routine with Yeon-oh hanging off him like dead weight.
If the Alpha was really worried about germs, he should’ve let go. Gi-hyeon had pointed that out countless times. It had never made a difference.
Yeon-oh only pressed closer, burying his face against the crook of Gi-hyeon’s neck.
The warm touch of his cheek against bare skin sent a sharp shiver down Gi-hyeon’s spine.
Desire hit him low in the stomach, sudden and familiar, and he shoved it aside.
This wasn’t new.
To So Gi-hyeon, arousal was just another physical impulse. Like hunger. It passed eventually. On bad days, he burned it out through exercise until exhaustion drowned everything else out. His ankle sometimes made things difficult, but punishing upper-body workouts usually did the job.
Meanwhile, Yeon-oh stayed draped over him, arms snug around his waist, cool dress shirt brushing against bare skin. A slow breath warmed the back of his neck.
He’s finding peace right now, Gi-hyeon realized. Just by touching me.
“You’re the one who said I’m covered in germs,” he said quietly. “Let go until I shower.”
“Are you underestimating my immune system?”
Yeon-oh’s voice rumbled low against his skin, soft and loose in a way it only became when he was completely relaxed.
A faint laugh escaped Gi-hyeon before he could stop it.
Yeon-oh immediately lifted his head.
“You’re doing that thing again,” he muttered. “Laughing without showing your face. Let me see.”
Even this wasn’t love.
At least, not the kind Gi-hyeon wanted.
It was affection. Comfort. Attachment. The sort of feeling that came from seven years spent tangled around another person’s life.
Gi-hyeon had never misunderstood that distinction.
When he didn’t answer, Yeon-oh simply rested his forehead against the back of his neck again with a long exhale. His bangs brushed lightly against sensitive skin.
Under different circumstances, it might’ve felt suggestive.
But Gi-hyeon knew better.
Jo Yeon-oh was an Alpha. So Gi-hyeon was a Beta male.
People like them were never viewed kindly.
Alpha–Alpha marriages appeared in newspapers all the time, dressed up as strategic alliances between powerful families. Money and influence made everything respectable.
But an Alpha man with a Beta man?
There was no political value in that. No biological one either.
Most people reduced it to lust and left it there.
Society had grown more careful about saying those things openly, but that didn’t mean the prejudice disappeared. It simply moved behind closed doors.
“Did you eat?”
Yeon-oh’s voice vibrated against the back of his neck, dragging Gi-hyeon from his thoughts.
“At the clinic. You?”
Without reacting to the massive body hanging off him, Gi-hyeon stripped off his scrub pants and tossed them into the laundry basket.
He wasn’t small by any means, but Yeon-oh outweighed him enough that if the Alpha fully relaxed, Gi-hyeon would fold forward under the pressure. His back tightened instinctively beneath the weight as he continued unpacking his bag.
Yeon-oh’s fingers wandered absently across his waist, tracing the faint indentation left behind by his waistband.
Gi-hyeon twitched slightly.
If he told him to stop one more time, Yeon-oh probably would have.
But Gi-hyeon stayed quiet, pulling documents and a laptop from the mess inside his backpack.
By nature, So Gi-hyeon wasn’t particularly organized. Military Academy had forced discipline into him; otherwise, he would’ve happily spent entire days rotting in bed whenever he had time off.
Most of his current habits existed because of Jo Yeon-oh.
If Gi-hyeon left a mess behind, Yeon-oh cleaned it up. Even exhausted, even half-dead from work, he cleaned.
So Gi-hyeon had learned to do it first.
Behind him, Yeon-oh’s hand continued drifting lazily along his spine.
There was no heat in it. No sexual intent.
Yeon-oh clung to him the way other people reached for sleep or cigarettes—pure habit, pure comfort.
Gi-hyeon had made peace with that years ago.
In all the time they’d spent together, they had never shared anything that could truly be called sexual intimacy. Their kisses had always been shallow and brief. Neither of them knew the taste of the other’s mouth.
Still, Jo Yeon-oh stayed.
That alone was enough for Gi-hyeon.
Love didn’t always return in the same shape it was given.
He had accepted that long ago.
His confession had nearly destroyed everything between them. Yeon-oh had looked at him afterward like a man gutted alive. Betrayed. Sickened.
Even after agreeing to date him, he’d disappeared for weeks at a time, resurfacing only to spit out cruel, cutting words.
And yet he came back.
Again and again, he returned to Gi-hyeon’s side.
Kind, stupid Yeon-oh.
He could’ve walked away forever. Instead, he forced himself to stay.
Whenever greed threatened to rise inside Gi-hyeon’s chest, he crushed it down immediately.
This was enough.
Even if all they ever shared were tired embraces and childish kisses, it was enough.
He had never stayed beside Yeon-oh because he expected to be loved back.
At last, Yeon-oh loosened his arms and wandered toward the kitchen.
“Seriously,” he called out, opening the refrigerator, “did you feed our babies their din-din?”
The phrasing sounded absurdly domestic.
A strange exhaustion washed over Gi-hyeon.
“You probably already fed them.”
The refrigerator door shut with a soft thud.
“How would you survive without me?” Yeon-oh asked.
A faint smile touched Gi-hyeon’s mouth as he pulled on a pair of lounge pants.
“I wonder.”
The answer left him in a near-whisper.
Yeon-oh probably didn’t hear it.