* * *
Their lips, deeply joined, parted slowly as Ben pulled back to catch his breath.
When he looked up, Haimar was smiling wide, as if he’d been waiting for this moment.
Compliant and quiet like a docile lamb—that was new.
But the real problem was the dangerously attractive face right in front of him.
Ben’s composure faltered, and a deep blush flared from the tips of his ears.
As Ben’s face turned bright red, a quiet chuckle escaped from Haimar between their still-close lips.
Ben let go of Haimar’s collar and tried to pull away, but Haimar’s hand was already cradling the back of his head, keeping him there.
“Don’t laugh.”
At such a short distance, Ben’s grumpy expression was impossible to hide.
Honestly, he had braced himself for teasing from the start.
It was laughable to think he could kiss better than Haimar—like a sparrow trying to keep up with a stork.
He never even tried to pretend.
“You said you’d teach me, but you don’t even have the chops to overwhelm me with a kiss. Guess not.”
“Don’t tease me. I’d rather be reborn first.”
Overwhelm? What was that supposed to mean?
There was no way Ben could ever “send Haimar over the edge,” like he claimed.
Knowing that, Haimar’s smug, unaffected grin was infuriating. Ben pursed his lips with a sullen face.
“I think I could do it, though.”
With a playful nip, Haimar bit Ben’s lips, which were close enough to reach with just a slight lean.
His sultry, low voice tickled Ben’s face, warm breath washing over his skin.
Then he licked Ben’s lower lip—wet from the kiss—then trailed up to the upper lip, kissing it lightly before pulling back. Again.
And again.
The kisses were soft, but persistent—as if waiting for Ben to open his mouth.
Ben turned his head slightly to resist, but Haimar’s lips kept following.
And for a moment, Ben worried he might actually follow through on his threat.
Still, some stubborn part of him refused to yield.
He kept his lips tightly shut, determined to hold out.
Noticing his resistance, Haimar shifted his weight, lifting his torso.
As the balance changed, Ben ended up underneath him. He tried to hold his ground, gripping Haimar’s shirt, but the added weight forced him down until he was pinned flat on the sofa.
Their eyes met—and Haimar’s gaze dripped with heat.
Ben’s body tensed.
Memories of last night surged back, crystal clear.
A man this sexy, when he really came at you, there was no winning.
He’d learned that the hard way.
But he wasn’t ready for a repeat of last night’s all-consuming, strength-draining session.
Not again. He wouldn’t survive it.
“…How about you cut me some slack?”
Ben quickly surrendered, giving a small plea.
Any more of this, and he’d be digging his own grave.
His mouth had gotten him into trouble, sure—but he wasn’t ready to lie in the coffin just yet.
“And if I do—what do I get in return?”
“I, uh…”
What did he mean what?
A favor for a favor, really?
Ben hadn’t thought that far ahead.
He looked momentarily lost, and Haimar saw right through him.
“Rejected.”
“I haven’t even said anything yet!”
Not that he had a good answer anyway, but still—he hadn’t expected to be shot down before speaking.
Ben looked up at him quietly, and Haima, in a teasing murmur, offered:
“Want me to tell you the best way to win here?”
A few strands of Haimar’s hair tickled Ben’s nose, making him frown slightly.
His pale green eyes were full of curiosity—and just a touch of suspicion.
Haima, seeing that look, brushed the tip of Ben’s nose lightly with his fingers, then trailed down to his neck, stroking a red mark he’d left behind.
He grinned.
The mark, impossible to hide without a bandage, was exactly where he wanted it.
He noticed more reddish bruises blooming beneath Ben’s slightly lifted t-shirt from earlier and found them just as pleasing.
“Well? What is it?”
Ben’s kisses might’ve been unskilled, still reeking of inexperience, but with him as the one taking the lead, there was a special kind of sweetness on the tongue.
But Haima—famous for his wicked nature—would never be satisfied with just that.
“Just be good and take the kiss.”
At Haimar’s languid remark, Ben let out a shallow sigh, wearing a look that was half resignation.
He seemed disgruntled, but at least he looked ready to take responsibility for the mess his own mouth had caused.
That made Haimar feel a bit more amused.
Thinking back to how the guy had been practically sparring with that ice-cold man earlier was absurd—but in the end, it had worked out in his favor.
Now he had an excuse to tease Ben a little.
“…Anything beyond kissing is off-limits. Seriously.”
Ben emphasized the point repeatedly, his eyes full of distrust, as if to make sure there would be no repeat of the bathroom incident where a kiss had escalated to much more.
Seeing he wouldn’t budge unless he got a reply, Haimar let out a small chuckle and gave in.
Only then did Ben stop resisting and part his lips as Haimar’s mouth met his.
“…Haa.”
Even though Haimar had to kiss him several times, just like Ben had warned, he never crossed that delicate line.
He stayed just shy of it.
His kisses were calm and reserved, like he was simply returning what Ben had given—sometimes slow and lingering, other times light as spun sugar.
Toward the end, Haimar’s lips hovered gently at the edge of Ben’s mouth, leaving behind a lazy warmth that made Ben slowly blink his eyes, as if getting drowsy.
When had they become so comfortable sharing these kinds of playful kisses?
Ben wondered for a moment as he felt Haimar’s presence—gentle and warm—enveloping him.
Maybe it was all the time they’d spent together.
Maybe it was the argument earlier.
In any case, it felt like they’d reached a turning point. Like Haimar had finally started to trust him.
That alone was a huge step forward.
Thanks to that, the emotional distance between them—which had once felt like an impossible gulf—had shrunk considerably.
He didn’t feel so tense around Haimar anymore.
If he did, he wouldn’t be like this with him now.
In fact, Ben had started to feel… closer.
More familiar.
Haimar was still rude, petty, and constantly pretending to be kind when he really wasn’t, but if you looked hard enough, just maybe… there were a few good points buried in there.
Just a few.
Lost in his thoughts, Ben lifted a hand to rub his heavy eyelids.
Haimar caught it and, like always, pressed his lips to Ben’s wrist.
From that small touch came a strange, sticky sweetness—something soft and hard to describe, yet undeniably comforting.
A gentle warmth bloomed from deep inside his chest.
Ben quietly let himself melt into that feeling… and drifted off to sleep.
A few weeks passed, and Ben’s arm—once bandaged—had completely healed.
The season had shifted, now unmistakably winter, with harsh winds that made even opening a window or stepping outside feel like a chore.
The warm, amber sunlight streaming through the window was pleasant, sure, but the pale, overcast skies typical of winter often became a conversation starter: “Looks like it’ll snow soon.”
With the sudden cold snap, most people preferred to stay inside if they could.
But Ben wasn’t in a position to pick and choose his assignments, so as scheduled, he was out assisting at the upcoming Daegu Event.
Despite layering up in a thick sweater and a puffy jacket with an oversized hood, his bare hands—holding a stack of papers—were freezing.
So, as a last resort, Ben blew warm air over them.
His breath turned white in the cold, hovering briefly over his hands before dissolving in the air.
It helped for a moment, but the wind quickly stole the warmth, making his hands feel even colder somehow.
“Damn, Central and here aren’t that far apart, so why’s it so much colder here?!”
While Ben flipped through a few sheets of paper, Deputy Director Enten Nebail of Division
One approached, sniffling.
Ben greeted him politely and glanced at the man—his thick, horn-rimmed glasses were fogged up, nearly slipping off his nose.
Wiping them clumsily with a gloved hand, Enten muttered in a half-grumbling tone as he looked at the rented building ahead.
“I swear… this stupid event shouldn’t need me to show up.”
To be fair, this event wasn’t anything special—just one of the routine annual gatherings sponsored by the Lanilgraph Foundation.
The idea was to bring espers from various regions together, a rare chance for them to meet in one place.
It also served as a space for interaction with the general public and a way to promote products designed for espers and guides.
Any esper not based in Central could attend regardless of whether they had a guide, as long as they registered in advance.
The perks were good too, so the turnout was always high.
The event’s goal was admirable—it was one of the few times the 10% of the population who were espers could connect more closely with ordinary citizens.
Central always sent personnel to support it.
Still, this time, the director had specifically chosen to send Enten Nebail himself.
* * *
