* * *
“I am curious what you two talked about.”
“Nope. Secret.”
Slurping noisily on a straw stuck into a whipped-cream-laden drink, Elgran shot Ben a teasing, smug look.
Thanks to that, Lus’s eyes also shifted to Ben.
Ben barely managed to stifle a sigh and tried to act like everything was fine as he casually patted his body that was increasingly aching all over.
“Mmm, if you two have time, would you like to have a meal together?”
“Ugh, for what?”
Thankfully, Lus changed the subject for Ben.
In response, Elgran openly made a face of exaggerated displeasure and slumped against Lus’s shoulder.
Lus gave him a light scolding, but Ben also wasn’t sure whether he should agree or turn it down.
He actually did want to eat with them, but his body kept feeling worse, and a nagging worry grew in the back of his mind: was he pushing Haimar too hard by being out this long?
He considered asking Haimar’s opinion, but before he could even open his mouth, Haimar’s cold palm landed firmly on his forehead.
“Haimar?”
The hand swept aside his bangs, and Haimar’s signature cool body temperature passed into Ben’s skin.
Maybe because Ben felt a bit feverish, it didn’t feel cold—it felt just right.
He didn’t want to pull away, so he simply blinked up at Haimar, who responded with a disapproving tone.
“You’re overdoing it.”
“Aren’t you the one who’s overdoing it?”
No matter how many times he thought about it, the one pushing themselves too hard wasn’t him—it was Haimar.
Still, Ben felt ashamed.
He was the guide, yet he couldn’t even manage his own body properly.
Sure, his body would get better with some rest, but Haimar’s?
Rest alone wouldn’t cut it.
There could be all kinds of complications.
From every angle, Haimar was the one who was really overextending himself—even if he didn’t admit it.
“Pointless talk.”
Tsk. Haimar clicked his tongue and dropped the subject, and Ben chose not to argue.
After a moment of pressing his hand against Ben’s forehead as if checking his temperature, Haimar pulled away and turned to Lus and Elgran, delivering an abrupt but polite dismissal.
“Let’s meet another time.”
It was clearly a graceful but firm rejection.
Coupled with that perfect face, with eyes and lips curled in a gentle arc, there was really nothing more they could say.
Lus nodded, as if he’d been expecting that.
“Haha, fair enough. You look unwell—seems I shouldn’t have insisted.”
“No, not at all. You were being kind. I’m sorry instead.”
But because the words had come from Haimar, anyone with half a brain could tell that “next time” didn’t actually mean next time.
Ben smiled wryly and sincerely apologized.
Elgran, however, looked like he wanted to make it clear he didn’t agree with Lus, barely acknowledging Ben’s apology.
Still, they all exchanged the usual pleasantries about “next time” and parted ways.
Ben and Haimar returned safely to the officetel.
Except for one unfortunate thing—Ben had completely forgotten his earlier slip of the tongue.
The evening that Ben and Haimar spent together that weekend was unexpectedly peaceful.
The delicious smell of food wafting from a kitchen that had gone unused for a long time, combined with the warmth from cooking, finally made the officetel feel like a place where someone actually lived.
And the dinner?
It was amazing.
They’d bought some clams on sale at the supermarket, which Haimar turned into clam chowder—hearty with potatoes, carrots, and thick-cut bacon, all simmered in cream and milk.
The warm soup filled Ben’s almost completely empty stomach and gave him a comforting fullness.
He ended up eating two bowls with croutons.
The taste was incredible—but what shocked Ben even more was that Haimar had made it.
To be honest, Ben had no talent for cooking.
Earlier, when they got back and he realized he was starving, he tried to make chowder himself.
Not joking, he nearly blew up the kitchen.
He could handle a knife, sure, but once open flames got involved, it was like he had some cursed anti-talent.
Just before the ingredients went to waste and the kitchen faced certain ruin, Haimar stepped in and kicked him out to the living room, stopping a disaster in its tracks.
Haimar Eilec cooks?
Ben found it hard to believe.
But Haimar, in contrast, seemed born for it.
Even if he just threw ingredients in blindfolded, he’d still end up with something not just edible, but actually delicious.
A humiliating but total defeat.
Then again, was there anything Ben could ever beat him at?
Thanks to that, Ben sat on the couch with a full stomach, relaxing in front of the TV.
With a garlic breadstick in one hand and a cushion in his lap, he was ridiculously comfortable.
The TV was playing some brainless entertainment news show.
The screen was filled with top actors, but Ben didn’t find them particularly handsome or beautiful.
Likely because the man next to him—sitting back and lazily resting with his eyes closed—made them all look bland in comparison.
Ben stared at Haimar’s side profile, popped the rest of the garlic bread into his mouth, and turned off the noisy TV.
That finally made Haimar open his eyes and meet Ben’s gaze.
“Got anything to say to me?”
Something to say? Aside from “thanks for the food,” was there anything else?
Ben tilted his head slightly at the unexpected question.
Haimar, face still relaxed, reached out and brushed the corner of Ben’s mouth.
A crumb must’ve stuck there from the garlic bread.
Embarrassed to look so careless, Ben quickly wiped his mouth and placed the bread bag on the table, furrowing his brows in thought.
‘Anything to say…’
No matter how hard he thought, nothing came to mind.
When he finally glanced over, confused, Haimar smiled in that enigmatic way and gently touched Ben’s chin.
With all the food and rest, Haimar’s hand didn’t feel cold anymore, but Ben still spoke with hesitation.
“Do I… need to say something?”
“Let me rephrase. Anything you feel guilty about?”
…Oh, no.
The moment he heard the word “guilty,” Ben’s mind flashed back to that earlier moment—his verbal disaster parade.
“You… heard that?”
“A bit?”
“A bit,” he says—but with that sly smile on his face, daring Ben to even try wriggling out of this, there was no doubt he’d heard the whole damn thing.
He was like a mouse caught in a cat’s claws.
Damn it.
Ben knew something was off when Elgran looked so smug.
That nonsense he’d spouted earlier had its reasons, sure—but to think it would come back around like this?
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Elgran had probably been counting on Haimar hearing every word, just so he could throw Ben under the bus.
‘Whew, calm down, self.’
What’s done is done.
What matters now is how to respond.
While Ben carefully searched for the right words, Haimar, who had been sitting upright on the sofa, leaned to the side and turned his body toward him.
And just as Ben drew a breath to speak, Haimar snatched the moment away with perfect timing.
“Will you teach me?”
“…Excuse me?”
Ben’s voice lost its footing, and he blurted out a dull, deflated reply, the words he had originally meant to say gone thanks to Haima.
“You said I was bad at kissing, didn’t you? Then you should be the one to teach me.”
“You know I didn’t mean it that way. Don’t twist my words just to mess with me.”
“Hmm… I don’t know what you mean.”
Ben’s face twitched slightly at Haimar’s playful tone.
He didn’t expect this to go smoothly, but this was the angle he was taking?
Fine. He’d been caught off guard enough times.
If he got flustered again, things would go exactly the way Haimar wanted.
Lately, Ben had come to realize something—Haimar found it incredibly amusing when Ben got flustered or didn’t know what to do.
That’s why this time, Ben vowed not to let that happen.
Narrowing his eyes in focus, he replied:
“All right. Just… don’t complain if I taste like garlic bread.”
“Since when did I ever—”
‘Too late.’
‘Take that—garlic bread attack!’
Ben cut him off mid-sentence and, almost at the same moment, grabbed the collar of Haima’s shirt and yanked him forward.
The sofa creaked under the shifting weight, and Haimar was pulled in easily.
Their lips met.
Ben hesitated for a moment, gauging his reaction, then gently slipped his tongue past Haimar’s lips—only to be met immediately by the soft heat of Haimar’s.
“…!”
Just the lightest touch of tongues sparked a jolt through Ben, and he instinctively bit down slightly in surprise.
Maybe he was still wary of being counterattacked, like last time in the bathroom, or maybe it was just strange—Haimar waiting quietly for his kiss instead of taking the lead.
All the kisses he remembered had been one-sided, with him on the receiving end.
Still, no backing down now.
‘A man who draws a sword should at least slice a radish.’
Ben hesitated, drew back, touched again, and slowly steeled his resolve.
He pulled Haima’s collar even closer.
Then, his warm tongue began to fill Haima’s mouth, exploring slowly and thoroughly.
It traced over his gums and brushed his palate.
The kiss was clumsy but sincere—awkward, yet gentle, just like Ben.
* * *
