* * *
Meanwhile…
Yeo Woohee, dressed in a baggy T-shirt and boxer shorts far too large for his frame, made Na Taejoon burst out laughing.
“What are you wearing?”
“I left in a hurry. Didn’t have time to pack a change of clothes.”
“…Damn, why’s it so hot in here?”
Taejoon fanned himself and looked away, pretending not to notice what Woohee might’ve gone through with his brother.
Woohee curled up beside him on the couch, one knee raised.
The blue plaid boxers had slipped low, revealing pale, bare thighs.
Maybe it was just Omega-to-Omega comfort that made Woohee so careless, but Taejoon—who liked him—could feel his face burning.
He edged a little closer.
Woohee’s hand, resting on the couch, was long and slender—hands that had never known hardship, good for nothing but playing piano or studying.
Taejoon felt ashamed of his own rough, calloused hands and tried to hide them with a cushion.
Sunlight streamed through the window, making Woohee’s white shirt translucent, revealing his skin beneath.
His nipples, swollen and raw from how much they’d been sucked and bitten, poked through visibly.
Taejoon didn’t know how to comfort someone in pain like this. In his world, poverty had been the only real hardship.
Beyond that, he’d been raised with deep love by his grandmother.
The day it rained like the sky had opened a hole, Na Taejoon thought he’d lost everything.
That was when Yeo Woohee helped him.
Taejoon wanted to be an umbrella like that for Woohee, too. But as a mere college student, there was nothing he could really do.
Yeo Woohee watched the drama like he’d never seen TV before, asking with kitten-like curiosity, “What’s that about? Who’s the main character?”
Taejoon patiently explained everything to him.
They got absorbed in watching together, and when Taejoon turned his head, he saw Woohee’s mouth slightly open in concentration.
Moments like this made Woohee seem like just a regular person.
Taejoon laid back on the sofa, trying to get more comfortable, and Woohee, perhaps stiff from sitting, lay down in front of him.
Woohee’s shoulder landed right in front of Taejoon’s face.
Only then did he notice the name engraved so clearly on the back of Woohee’s neck—it was strange he hadn’t seen it before.
Taejoon was so shocked he screamed and shot up.
“What’s wrong?”
Woohee asked in confusion.
But no matter how many times Taejoon looked, the name “Yeo Jinwoo” was still there on Woohee’s neck.
He burst into tears.
That bastard—how could he brand his own younger brother?
If Woohee found out his friend had discovered this, it would only hurt him more.
Since Taejoon couldn’t do anything to help him, the least he could do was make sure Woohee forgot about it, even if just for a little while, and have fun like a normal friend.
So Taejoon lied to the worried Woohee.
“I-it just felt like I saw something scary. A g-ghost. Yeah, a ghost.”
“In broad daylight?”
Just then, a warning chime rang out from the living room—the refrigerator had been left open too long.
Woohee screamed and bolted into his room.
Taejoon, knowing the ghost thing was a lie, closed the refrigerator door, still wondering how it even got opened.
The chef’s collection fridge, made of metal, reflected blurry images like a bronze mirror.
When Taejoon turned around, a large shadow—taller than him—briefly appeared, then vanished.
Yeo Jinwoo had snuck into the villa.
There was no way a BL novel wouldn’t have a ghost in it.
Woohee trembled under the blanket.
Taejoon followed him, only to find him curled up on the bed like a mochi, and felt like his heart might stop from how cute it was.
“Hey, Yeo Woohee. You coward. What’s so scary about ghosts?”
“I… I really hate ghosts.”
Taejoon yanked the blanket off to see Woohee’s tear-streaked face.
No wonder he’d obediently paid an outrageous price for the suppressants when Taejoon had once threatened him—he was just that timid.
Taejoon tasted bitterness in his mouth.
Unlike Taejoon, who had started bullying and then befriending Woohee out of affection, Woohee’s older brother had exploited that same fear to threaten, coerce, and rape him.
It was enough to drive Taejoon mad—this gentle fool just made him want to scream.
“How do you expect to survive the world with that scaredy-cat heart of yours?”
“I don’t know. Taejoon, I’m scared.”
Woohee clung to Taejoon, even though Taejoon was smaller in build, and glanced nervously around.
He began hiccuping from fright, saying they needed to ask the caretaker for a cross, salt, and red beans.
“Ugh, you really make me sigh. Sit up straight, Yeo Woohee.”
Taejoon made him sit and then said seriously:
“Repeat after me. ‘No!’”
“No.”
“‘Stop!’”
“Stop.”
“‘Help!’”
“Help. But Taejoon, why are we practicing this? Will ghosts run away if I say it?”
Taejoon figured Woohee, aside from his academic smarts, wasn’t particularly sharp.
Regardless, he earnestly drilled him in self-defense against sexual assault.
Only after saying “No! Stop! Help!” a hundred times did Woohee manage to hold Taejoon’s hand tightly and come out to the living room.
The intercom connecting to the annex didn’t need a special number to dial—it connected instantly.
“Young master, do you need anything?”
“Yes, could you bring us some salt and red beans? Also, do you have a cross?”
“A cross? I’m afraid not.”
The villa caretaker tilted his head at the odd request from the second young master.
‘Salt and beans? Ah, red bean porridge!’
Thinking he understood, the caretaker asked eagerly:
“Young master, would you like some red bean porridge? I’ll prepare it right away.”
“No, not porridge. Just plain raw red beans and coarse salt. As much as possible. Like a sack of each.”
“Yes, understood. I’ll bring them right away.”
Taejoon shook his head.
Even if there were a real ghost, that probably wouldn’t drive it away.
But Woohee, convinced he was now in a novel and possibly possessed by the villain’s ghost, was in a full-blown panic.
The caretaker delivered the sacks of salt and beans using a garden cart normally used for fertilizer.
Woohee hurriedly went around the villa, scattering them everywhere.
The caretaker, watching this strange ritual, assumed the second young master had fallen into some shamanic delusion.
Taejoon, lounging on the sofa, clicked his tongue.
The caretaker, startled by something, suddenly gasped—he had spotted the name engraved on Woohee’s neck.
Taejoon quickly raised a finger to his lips.
The caretaker met his gaze and nodded knowingly.
“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me—you saw a ghost too?”
The caretaker, mentally piecing together the situation, guessed the first son must have done something terrible to the second, leading to his current breakdown.
Suddenly, the salt and bean scattering made perfect sense.
Unable to speak out about what he suspected had happened in the household, the caretaker simply nodded solemnly.
“I knew it. Why did my mom bring me to this haunted house?”
Woohee slumped to the floor, crying.
The caretaker found him oddly endearing, even a little pitiful, and smiled gently.
“Don’t worry. I’ll suck up all the ghosts with the vacuum cleaner.”
“Ghosts can be vacuumed?”
“Of course! There was a movie made before you were born, but it’s a well-known ghost removal method. Sit here with your friend and watch. I’ll clean up all the ghosts.”
The caretaker sat Woohee on the sofa and put on the 1984 comedy-horror movie Ghostbusters.
He then went around the villa with a Swiss vacuum cleaner, sucking up all the salt and beans.
* * *
