* * *
“Ah… mm…”
Seeing Ben frown slightly, still not fully conscious, Haimar let out a quiet sigh.
His abilities must have leaked out without him realizing, driven by the intensity of his impulse, and now Ben seemed to be experiencing a faint headache.
But that slip had helped him reel his thoughts back in.
Haimar gently pressed a kiss to Ben’s temple.
“You should consider yourself lucky.”
Haimar Eilec wasn’t the type to be easily swayed by instinct.
Sure, this wave of desire had been stronger than anything he’d felt before, but if he truly couldn’t control it, he would’ve lost it long ago.
And as someone who kept everything under the firm grasp of reason, he knew this was probably as far as Ben could tolerate today.
Maybe, without even realizing it, he’d relented just a little for Ben.
Still, the fact that Ben had accepted this level of contact without overt rejection—it hinted at a shift in their relationship, didn’t it?
For someone like Haimar Eilec, who had never tried to make an effort in his relationships with people, nor ever needed to, the mere fact that he was yielding this much for Ben Plaskun was… honestly, a pretty significant effort.
He would’ve found it laughable before.
But ironically, it didn’t feel that way now.
This man, slowly becoming colored by his presence—and the way their connection was starting to mesh together like slow-turning gears, perfectly aligned.
Rather than forcing something, he realized he didn’t mind this slow process, where Ben was gradually beginning to accept him.
The process wasn’t dull.
If it meant he could enjoy the small, quiet happiness that bloomed between them—then it was worth holding back, even against the strongest of instincts.
Even if he kept going, swept up by the mood, it wouldn’t be satisfying.
So, once again, Haimar deliberately let this moment slip through his fingers.
Someday, when that man fully belonged to him—body and soul—he would savor him, slowly, from head to toe.
He’d melt him in his mouth, bit by bit.
A smile curled on Haimar’s crimson lips.
He was in a good mood.
‘Ah… I’ve lost it, haven’t I…?’
As his mind slowly started returning to its usual rhythm, the fog lifted and reality began to sink in.
Ben, his head buried against Haimar’s chest, wished there were a hole he could crawl into and disappear.
Then again, at this point, maybe it’d be easier to just stop resisting and go with it.
There wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t mortified, but—well, he was Haimar’s guide, after all.
He’d have to get used to it eventually.
It wasn’t like he was violently repulsed by it or anything.
Maybe it was time he stopped making such a fuss and just accepted it.
The more time they spent together, the more likely they’d end up doing even more than this—though honestly, Ben preferred not to dwell on that idea.
Still, that didn’t stop his face from flushing bright red while he tried to act like nothing was wrong.
“S-So… we’re done now, right?”
“Why? You wanna keep hugging me?”
“T-That’s not what I meant!”
No good.
He couldn’t let himself get pulled in any further.
Ben knew full well he didn’t stand a chance against Haimar in any area—but still, he couldn’t let himself just be swept away.
He might already be like a raft tossed around in a raging current, but he still lifted his head with forced resolve, eyes stern.
“I was joking,” Haimar replied with a sweet smile.
Relieved, Ben carefully studied his face.
It wasn’t that polished kindness he wore in public.
This smile felt more stripped down—plain, even.
Ben found it strangely disarming.
There was a faint chill in it, sure, but it was leagues better than any fake mask.
So he could smile like that.
Huh.
Unexpected.
In fact, it looked more human than the dazzlingly perfect one he usually wore.
But whatever—Ben just wanted to finish what he came to the bathroom for.
He gently pushed Haimar aside, fixed his disheveled pants, and looked up.
Haimar’s blue eyes, now calm, seemed to read him effortlessly.
He brushed Ben’s damp hair back and said:
“I’ll help.”
It was the same offer as before—but this time, Ben didn’t have the strength to argue, so he gave a reluctant nod.
Thankfully, it seemed Haimar really was just helping this time.
With his awkward assistance, Ben managed to get through washing his hair safely—and even got the luxury of having it dried by Haimar.
Seriously, who else could say they’d been pampered like this by Haimar Eilec?
People say when someone changes overnight, it means they’re about to die.
Was this one of those cases?
But then again, maybe it wasn’t all that sudden.
Sure, Ben had grown used to him from spending time together.
But there was no denying that Haimar had softened toward him too—at least in some ways.
The towel gently soaking up the moisture from his hair made a soft swishing sound that struck Ben as oddly peaceful.
Once his hair was mostly dry and no more drops were falling, Ben stopped Haimar’s hand.
“That should be enough.”
Ben shook out his hair with his hand, then quickly pulled on some comfortable clothes and sat on the bed.
A glance at his phone showed the time—11:50 PM, almost midnight.
The dim bedroom light cast a soft glow, and the fluffy blanket seemed to beckon him to dive in.
Everything was set for sleep.
Ben watched Haimar quietly fold the wet towel, then heard his voice.
“Not going to bed?”
“I am going to sleep.”
Ben fumbled to answer the question, debating whether to throw back the covers and lie down.
The moment his head hit the pillow, it’d be over.
But—unfortunately—his sleeping habits were a real concern.
It wasn’t like he could tie himself down before bed.
No matter how he started—on the opposite side of the bed, or lying straight—he’d always wake up nearly glued to Haimar.
If Haimar got up earlier and wasn’t there, no big deal.
But if Ben happened to be holding his hand or something?
Talk about awkward mornings.
Still, it felt silly to be worried about that now.
Haimar never said anything, but the concern lingered.
Ben straightened out the pillow and quietly asked,
“Um, do my sleeping habits bother you?”
“And if they did?”
Haimar’s gaze, unreadable, flickered as he stepped closer.
His piercing eyes met Ben’s, and the counter-question caught him off guard.
Maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up.
It was weird to just ask out of the blue.
And for some reason, Haimar’s tone carried a faint edge.
Trying to smooth things over, Ben racked his brain for a response.
“…If they do, I was going to tell you to get used to them.”
“Oh?”
The sharpness faded, replaced with that lazy arrogance unique to a predator.
Maybe he wasn’t expecting that answer.
His expression said “let’s hear that again,” but Ben ignored it, flopped onto the bed, and tucked his head into the pillow.
Then Haimar climbed into his side of the bed, lifted the blanket, and spoke.
“Look at you. Saying bold things now.”
Merely propping his arm on the pillow and lifting the blanket was enough to make his eyes—mingled with the crimson glow of the bedside lamp—curve beautifully, shimmering with an enigmatic light. His softly tousled hair, damp today, only amplified his already dangerous allure, evoking the image of a seductive incubus capable of ensnaring anyone.
“Well, since you’ll end up clinging to me anyway, why not just come here from the start and get used to it?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“If you want, I can even hold your hand.”
This guy—seriously.
“I never wanted that! Just go to sleep!”
It wasn’t as if he couldn’t hold his hand—but after everything he’d endured today, Ben refused to lose any more ground.
It definitely wasn’t because he was flustered or embarrassed.
He’d already suffered enough earlier, and he’d resolved to grow accustomed to physical contact with him.
This was different, Ben told himself.
As darkness settled over the room the moment the bedside lamp flicked off, Ben properly pulled up the covers and lay down.
Even with the lights out, he knew nothing would obstruct Haimar’s vision—nor did he doubt that the man was still wide awake.
Haimar only chuckled low, offering no further remarks, and silence followed.
Ben squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to sleep.
∗ ∗ ∗
The next day, Ben was greeted in Division 2’s conference room by Moria Iren and Liran Siu, who unpacked shopping bags full of snacks while bringing up yesterday’s incident.
Moria’s fresh mint-green hair was tied into twin tails today, while Liran’s neatly cropped bob—the polar opposite in style—swayed near her ears with every movement.
Spread across the table were beef wraps—thin tortillas stuffed with seasoned stir-fried beef, crisp bell peppers, and other fresh vegetables—along with an array of finger foods tailored to Moria’s tastes, all neatly packed in transparent containers, their appetizing appearance on full display.
It was the menu the two women had chosen for a relaxed meal and conversation instead of heading to the cafeteria for lunch.
As Ben unwrapped one of the beef wraps, Moria popped a tuna-laden canapé into her mouth, her expression blissful.
“Thank goodness nothing serious happened yesterday! I was so shocked when I heard! Right, Liri?”
“Yeah. Anyway, it’s a relief it’s all settled. What’ll you drink? Coffee or…?”
“Ah, I’ll take this one.”
Ben, who wasn’t particularly fond of coffee, reached for the fruit juice.
Liran Siu handed Moria a chocolate drink piled high with whipped cream before taking her seat.
After swallowing a bite of his wrap, Ben asked the question on his mind.
“Is Xenon alright?”
* * *
