* * *
Ben Plaskun likes Haimar Eilec.
Not in the way one simply prefers something over something else, but in the romantic sense.
The reason his heart beats faster than before every time Haimar touches him gently, or why he felt so disturbed seeing Ellyn—who almost became Haimar’s Guide—is all connected to this.
As much as he hated to admit it, the moment his heart started racing like crazy, he was already a goner.
It’s embarrassing and annoying, but even this heavy, suffocating ache in his chest boils down to the same thing.
Ben Plaskun likes Haimar Eilec.
Unfortunately, Ben couldn’t say for sure that Haimar felt the same.
Especially after hearing Hoaphilen’s story, he was even less confident.
Maybe all the kindness Haimar shows is just because Ben is a Guide.
So why not just ask him directly, you say?
Well… he couldn’t.
To be exact, he was afraid—afraid of being rejected outright.
Ben didn’t think he could pretend to be unfazed if it came to that.
So maybe, just like Hoaphilen said, things are best kept at this current distance.
Just enough. As is.
That way, at least things wouldn’t get worse.
Under her assumptions, expecting love or even friendship—or anything remotely like that—from Haimar was foolish.
So maintaining the status quo seemed like the smartest move.
Still, it was irritating to take her words at face value…
Like rain in a drought, this newfound feeling of love brought more confusion than excitement to Ben.
People always say you can’t predict the heart—and here he was, liking Haimar.
This was the first time in his life he’d fallen for someone first.
And even if he tried to keep things the same, his feelings now were already different from how they used to be.
Would that really work?
He wasn’t a robot.
Emotions couldn’t be controlled at will.
Trying to calm the mess of thoughts in his head, Ben ran his fingers roughly through his still-damp hair.
As he wiped the steam-fogged mirror in the bathroom, his reflection came into view—covered in wounds.
Somehow, he looked just like a loser.
Which wasn’t wrong.
Even if he hadn’t lost in a real fight, he definitely felt defeated emotionally.
“Whew…”
Of course, sitting around like this wouldn’t solve anything.
First, he figured he should at least put some ointment on his wounds, so Ben stepped out of the bathroom.
“Come here.”
…What?
Drying his face with a towel, Ben walked into the living room and stopped in surprise.
What he saw was completely unexpected.
He thought Haimar would be in the bedroom, but instead, he was sitting on the sofa with various ointments laid out beside him.
Disinfectant, gauze, and balms were neatly lined up on the table.
There’s no way Haimar needed them for himself.
So… were they for Ben?
Ben pointed at himself, and Haimar responded with an incredulous smile.
“Who else would it be for?”
“…Fair point.”
Apparently, he was even going to help apply the medicine himself.
Once Ben realized that, he saw no reason to hesitate.
But as he approached to sit next to him on the sofa, Haimar suddenly grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward.
“Wha–!”
The unexpected force pulled Ben forward, and he nearly toppled over.
Afraid he’d crush Haimar under him, Ben tried to brace himself, but Haimar smoothly slid one knee under Ben’s legs, grabbed his waist, and held him down.
As a result, Ben ended up sitting squarely on Haimar’s thigh, face-to-face.
“W–wait, this is a bit—”
“This is easier.”
No, it’s not!
There was no way sitting on another grown man’s thigh like this was comfortable.
Even if it was, did applying ointment really require this kind of position?
It wasn’t even side-sitting—he was facing Haimar directly, with nowhere to escape.
Something about this pose felt… oddly suggestive.
His mind started going to strange places, making him fidget nervously.
But when he saw Haimar calmly examining the medicines on the table, Ben wondered if maybe he was just overthinking it.
He forced himself to settle down.
“Now, look here.”
With a sweet, coaxing tone like one would use for a child, Haimar gently held Ben’s face and turned it toward the side with the cut.
The sting of disinfectant brushed across his cheek, followed by the coolness of ointment and the press of gauze, each step carried out with practiced efficiency.
The neat, no-nonsense way Haimar worked had Ben quietly impressed.
Plus, sitting on Haimar’s thigh made Ben’s seated height oddly taller, and the shift in perspective was refreshing.
Haimar was always so tall—Ben had never imagined looking down at him, even slightly. But now he could.
His sharp nose, lashes glowing under the soft light—everything about his face was stunning, and Ben couldn’t help but stare.
He’d always known Haimar was good-looking, but this close-up made it feel like he’d been spellbound all over again.
It was several times more dangerous than before.
“What?”
Apparently, Ben had been staring too hard.
Haimar, who had been applying ointment to the bruise on his neck, suddenly looked up and met Ben’s eyes.
Startled, Ben instinctively deflected with a question he’d prepared in case of emergency.
“I just… had something I wanted to ask you.”
“Hmm. Take your shirt off.”
With the cuts on Ben’s face, neck, and hands all treated, Haimar now pointed at Ben’s pajama top with a nod of his chin, indicating he wanted to see the other injuries.
The blunt command made Ben freeze slightly, but he figured Haimar wouldn’t answer his question otherwise.
So he tried to act nonchalant as he slowly undid his buttons and slid the top off his shoulders.
“How do you know Roilnia Lanilgraph?”
“It’s a one-sided relationship. She annoyed me, so I considered killing her—but she begged me to spare her, so I thought about it.”
Ben could guess the rest.
She must’ve run away using her naturally slippery skills.
If Roilnia, with her overblown pride, had to stoop so low as to beg, it’d make perfect sense why she’s now hellbent on defeating Haimar.
But to Haimar, the whole thing sounded as trivial as deciding whether to snap a twig with one sudden motion or slowly bend it until it broke.
He’d even skipped over half the explanation—clearly, he was no longer interested.
“Then it’s my turn to ask something.”
“…Huh?”
Ben had gone quiet, deciding not to ask anything more.
As he opened a bottle of disinfectant, Haimar casually tossed a question back at him.
“What were you doing earlier that left you looking so gloomy?”
Those familiar blue eyes curved into a smile as they met Ben’s gaze.
Ben should’ve denied it right away, but he was too stunned to speak.
He thought he’d hidden it well, but apparently, such things didn’t slip past an esper like Haimar.
“I’m not… gloomy or anything.”
Of course, he couldn’t exactly confess he’d had a talk with Hoaphilen.
So Ben slowly averted his gaze.
As he did, Haimar’s fingers brushed against his ear.
Not forcing him, but gently sifting through his hair, coaxing his face to lift.
It wasn’t aggressive—so Ben couldn’t push him away either.
“Look at me when you talk.”
“I am telling the truth.”
Even as the words left his lips, Ben knew they sounded unconvincing.
He could feel his own eyes trembling.
And Haimar, staring at his face, clearly saw right through him.
But still, if Ben didn’t speak, then it was like it never happened.
Haimar couldn’t read minds, after all—so as long as Ben kept his mouth shut, he’d never know why.
“…You’re infuriating.”
“Look who’s talking.”
He was the one who found Haimar unfair.
The person he liked was doing something that felt so tender, and yet he had to keep reminding himself: “It’s just because he’s a Guide.”
It was cruel, downright cruel.
He couldn’t say it aloud, so he just shot Haimar a subtle glare.
But the moment he looked away, he realized he was still clinging to a sliver of hope.
‘No matter what, I wish… I wish I wasn’t just imagining things.’
That it wasn’t just any Guide doing this—
That it was Haimar, Ben Plaskun, and only because it was him.
If he could just have that kind of proof…
‘Maybe falling for someone really does make you selfish.’
Maybe that’s why everyone obsesses over imprinting.
Whatever the case, Ben didn’t have the courage to speak his heart right now.
So instead, he clamped his mouth shut, suppressing everything like someone exercising their right to remain silent.
“If you make that face and say you weren’t thinking anything, it kind of makes me want to make you cry.”
‘Cry?’
Sure, touching a wound with disinfectant would sting, but it wasn’t that bad.
Unless he meant to rub it in hard—then maybe.
Haimar casually pulled his hand away from Ben’s face and got back to business.
He opened the bottle of disinfectant, dipped the cotton swab deep inside.
Ben had already rehearsed a few excuses in his head, just in case Haimar started asking questions.
But if he could just get through this with a bit of pain, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
He let out a small breath of relief and quietly braced himself.
Haimar let the soaked cotton swab drip a bit, then flicked off the excess with his finger, and without any hesitation, brought it to its target.
“Ugh!”
A sudden sharp sting, completely different from the previous treatments, struck Ben hard.
His shoulders jerked in surprise.
He looked down, trying to see where the swab was touching through the opening of his pajamas—
And found the cold, soaked tip pressing against his nipple.
* * *
