* * *
Knock, knock.
Sweat dripped down his temple, tracing the bulging, blue veins stretched taut beneath his skin.
The muscles clenched along his tightly shut jaw stood out so starkly they were noticeable even from a distance.
Junhee, watching from afar, found his fingertips trembling slightly.
“Yoo Junhee?”
“…!”
Startled, he turned around to see a familiar man standing there, holding a medical chart.
“What are you doing here? Oh, you came to check on Taeryu’s rehabilitation, didn’t you? Then let’s go in toge—”
“No, no. I’m fine.”
Junhee quickly waved his hands and shook his head.
Only then did Daeheon stop talking, glancing between Taeryu and Junhee before shrugging.
When Junhee subtly gestured toward the break room, Daeheon caught on and followed him.
Creak.
Daeheon pushed open the frosted glass door and entered the break room, heading straight for the vending machine.
“Would you like a warm cup of cof— Oh, right. You can’t.”
Moments later, he returned with two paper cups, extending one toward Junhee, who was already seated.
The warm, nutty aroma of milk wafted up.
“…Thank you.”
Junhee took the cup with both hands.
For a while, they sipped in silence.
By the time the steam had faded from their cups, Junhee finally spoke first.
“Dr. Kim.”
“Yes, go ahead, Yoo Junhee.”
“Is it… normal for him to recover this quickly?”
He didn’t specify a subject, but Daeheon answered without hesitation.
“It’s abnormally fast. No, not just fast—practically a miracle.”
“…”
“You know what doctors always say, right? That the patient’s willpower is the most important factor in rehabilitation? It might sound like a cliché, but it’s true. Taeryu is living proof of that.”
Crack.
The paper cup in Junhee’s grip crumpled slightly.
Oblivious, Daeheon continued his monologue.
“The rehabilitation center’s director even asked me to check if Taeryu’s case could be included in a research paper. That professor never asks for favors, but then again, even for someone like him, approaching Ki Taeryu wouldn’t be easy.”
Junhee had to agree.
When Daeheon first explained Taeryu’s prognosis, he’d said the recovery process would take at least six months—possibly up to two years or longer.
“You remember, right? He could barely walk at first, and now he’s lifting weights. Seriously, he may be my friend, but he’s a total monster.”
…A monster.
Junhee repeated the word under his breath.
It felt like that monster could burst out of its cage at any moment and devour him whole.
The thought alone was terrifying.
“At this rate, he’ll be discharged within the week and start outpatient visits.”
Thud.
Another wave of shock hit Junhee.
The day the monster would be set free was only three or four days away.
He wasn’t ready.
Not even close.
Daeheon, who had been chattering nonstop, suddenly went quiet, watching as Junhee’s face turned deathly pale.
For all his usual obliviousness, he was quick to pick up on a patient’s condition.
Junhee’s hands trembled so violently that the remaining milk in his cup rippled.
“…Junhee, don’t tell me—”
Daeheon stared at the tiny waves forming inside the cup, and realization struck.
“You’re having morning sickness?!”
“…”
So he was just as oblivious as ever.
Junhee, whose soul had practically left his body, shot him a look of mild contempt.
Daeheon hesitated, then carefully guessed again.
“…You haven’t told Taeryu yet, have you?”
At least that saved him from further scorn.
Watching Junhee’s complexion turn even paler, Daeheon grabbed his hair in frustration.
“…My god.”
It finally dawned on him just how serious the situation was.
“Why on earth haven’t you told him yet?”
“I tried. But my mouth just… wouldn’t…”
It wouldn’t open.
‘I’ll tell him tomorrow. No, the day after tomorrow.’
‘No, before he gets discharged. That should be fine.’
He kept putting it off, and now discharge day was practically here.
He’d make up his mind, only for his throat to clamp shut the moment he faced Taeryu.
“Junhee, you’re already pretty far along.”
“But it’s barely noticeable, and more importantly…”
He couldn’t even begin to imagine how Ki Taeryu would react when he found out.
That—more than anything—was what held him back.
‘Would he tell me to get rid of it?’
‘No, forget that—was Ki Taeryu even fit to be a father in the first place?’
Junhee wasn’t prepared to stake his entire life on a child that was nothing more than a genetic byproduct.
For now, these anxieties and complex emotions had kept him from confiding in anyone.
Not even to Kim Daeheon, Taeryu’s closest associate.
“…Didn’t you say there was an 80% chance of a natural miscarriage?”
In the end, Junhee clung to a different excuse.
Daeheon let out a deep sigh, nodding.
“Yeah. It’s heartbreaking, but considering your body’s condition, even that’s an optimistic estimate. And given how recently your traits changed, your system is still highly unstable, making the risk even higher.”
Not even a 20% chance.
And that was under the best circumstances.
The reality was likely even lower.
A breeze slipped through the open window, ruffling their solemn expressions.
Junhee shivered involuntarily, and Daeheon draped his coat over his shoulders.
“The weather’s gotten pretty chilly with the season changing.”
“…Thank you.”
“I have to go. Page me if you need anything.”
Daeheon tossed his empty cup into the trash and left, leaving Junhee alone in the break room.
“…Hah.”
Junhee had no more room to run.
He knew the time had come to make a decision.
But he still hesitated.
‘Pregnant. A child…’
His trembling hand drifted to his stomach.
He felt nothing.
His belly wasn’t showing, nor was there any movement inside.
It was impossible to grasp that life was growing within him.
‘I can’t even accept that I’m becoming a parent—how could Ki Taeryu? He just planted the seed and walked away.’
‘…I need more time.’
Junhee started thinking of ways to keep Taeryu in the hospital a little longer.
“A research paper? Why the hell would I do that?”
Ki Taeryu, fresh from the shower, ran a towel through his damp hair.
His bare back was marred with unhealed scars running along his spine.
“That’s, well…”
Junhee, momentarily entranced by the sight, was a beat too slow to respond.
Taeryu stopped in front of him.
“My discharge is in two days. You think I have time for that kind of pointless crap?”
Junhee avoided Taeryu’s piercing gaze.
“…It’s not pointless. Dr. Kim said your case is practically miraculous. It could be a beacon of hope for Korean medical resear—”
“Junhee.”
A large hand wrapped around Junhee’s waist and pulled him in.
Before he knew it, he was being guided naturally onto the bed just a few steps away.
Junhee, now sitting on the man’s lap in a daze, felt a warm breath brush against his eyelids.
“You’re running your mouth like this… Must mean you want something from me.”
Three words flashed across Junhee’s mind.
‘I’ve been caught.’
They say you can see ten fathoms into water but not even one into a person’s heart.
But this man—this wraith of a man—was an exception.
Before those feverishly burning eyes, it felt like every last thought of his was laid bare.
Soon, large hands cupped both of Junhee’s cheeks.
The thumbs gently kneaded the slight puffiness of his face before Ki Taeryu spoke in a low voice.
“So, do you really want me to stay in this hospital and be nothing more than some research subject?”
“……”
He was trapped.
No matter what he said, Ki Taeryu would twist it to his advantage and act all petty about it.
In the end, Junhee chose silence.
But that only led to his cheeks being thoroughly nibbled—so much so that he couldn’t even tell whether it was a kiss or if he was being devoured.
“Well, I suppose I could at least grant you an interview. If someone were to ask why I’m pushing myself so hard with rehab, what do you think my answer would be?”
Junhee kept his lips tightly sealed, refusing to answer.
Then, as if undeterred, a tongue trailed down his cheek and finally brushed against his lower lip.
“Stop it. Have you forgotten where we are? Last time you pulled this, a nurse walked in and—”
“Yeah. This damn hospital.”
His low voice rumbled close to his ear, making Junhee flinch on instinct.
“I’m holding myself back so hard I feel like I might split open any second… The least you could do is give me a little praise for it.”
* * *
This cannot be the last chapter, but states completed.