* * *
So it was possible in this life to be trusted by Haimar Eilec.
The realization came with a mix of emotions—mostly embarrassment—and for some reason, his heart wouldn’t stop pounding.
It wasn’t even a confession of love, yet it carried a similar nuance.
That must be why.
“Why should I be curious about anyone who isn’t you?”
Absolutely not.
No one would say Haimar was the kind of man to play around.
His firm and steady tone only reinforced that his words were sincere.
Flooded with that sincerity, Ben squirmed again—though for different reasons than before.
His face felt hot enough to warrant fanning himself, but he didn’t want to show how flustered he was.
He clasped his hands together, then stretched them out, shook the water from his hair unnecessarily, pretending to be distracted.
‘First, deep breath.’
He needed to calm the wildly pounding heart inside his chest.
Haimar had probably already noticed his pretense—how he was trying to act unaffected, despite the thudding heartbeat loud enough for even himself to hear.
Thankfully, Haimar didn’t call him out on it right away.
Once his face had cooled down a bit, Ben realized it was time.
He had no choice but to tell Haimar about the hallucination.
More than that, this was the first time he’d ever opened up about a weak spot of his own accord.
“So… that’s why…”
His voice trailed off, unable to tie the thought together.
The words he needed felt foreign to his tongue—he’d never said them out loud before.
“…I saw my late grandmother.”
His lips, sealed tightly as if glued shut from nervous clumsiness, finally parted after a long silence.
“She wasn’t very fond of me… She wasn’t a bad person, but she wasn’t a good one either.”
Once the words started coming, it was easier than expected.
Talking about the woman who treated him like a burden, and about the fearful way he tried to please her as a child—those memories came out, shielded by Haimar’s trust.
And with every word, the sting of those old wounds dulled just a little.
It was a strange feeling.
Like Haimar’s presence was gently erasing the scars that had always been there.
“I still don’t really know what kind of person she was. But whenever I think of her, I feel… bitter. I thought I was over it, but seeing her again, even as a hallucination, shook me more than I expected.”
Her final moments—Ben remembered the way his grandmother had smiled at him for the first time.
Her face had looked freed, like she’d finally thrown off the chains of a weary life.
At the time, it had hurt so badly.
“Don’t you resent her?”
“What’s the point of holding a grudge against the dead? I just think… it couldn’t be helped.”
“You’re too soft.”
There was disapproval in Haimar’s quiet click of the tongue, but this time Ben could manage a genuine, faint smile—not the forced one he’d given earlier.
Showing his vulnerability to Haimar, surprisingly, felt okay.
More than that, it felt like the hollow space in his chest, grown heavy over the years, was being gently filled.
“For me, enduring it alone always felt like the best way. But… I think you’ve changed that.”
They say pain lessens when shared.
That used to sound like something from a world that had nothing to do with him.
But now, speaking his truth, he could feel the weight truly lifting.
His words flowed more easily.
Still, some embarrassment lingered, so he eventually fell quiet again.
Then, in a soft voice, Haimar spoke.
“Then destroy her.”
Not forget—destroy.
Who else but Haimar Eilec could speak such drowsy cruelty so tenderly at the same time?
His uniquely rough comfort fell lightly over Ben, shattering even the last of his lingering unease.
“Because this is now.”
Like rain soaking dry earth, Haimar’s words thudded against Ben’s chest.
The warmth crept upward from his toes, spreading, enveloping him completely in Haimar’s presence.
It was soft and unfamiliar, but unmistakably comforting.
Every bit of Haimar’s presence was seeping into Ben.
In that moment, Ben admitted something: the influence Haimar had on him was far stronger than he’d realized.
Just as Haimar said, his grandmother was just a speck in the past.
The only problem was that he’d tried to fight it alone.
“I know.”
Simply having someone by his side was enough to banish the shadow that had hung over him.
The stirring inside his heart, once just ripples, had taken clear form and grown.
There was no going back now.
He couldn’t return to the cold loneliness of enduring everything on his own—because he had tasted the warmth of being with someone.
And even if he could, he didn’t want to.
“Stop overthinking. Just hold tight to my leash. Who knows who I’ll sink my teeth into if you let go.”
Haimar Eilec—rough, emotionally clueless, unable to apologize properly—offering comfort.
That alone was monumental.
But even before Ben had fully grasped that fact, something unspoken had quietly blossomed inside him.
Small, but real.
Unseen, unfelt, but ringing crystal-clear in his heart.
“Then what’s your relationship with that Esper?”
The woman’s voice, once echoing in his memory, came back like a rewound tape.
“There’s no such thing as ‘nothing.’ Even if it’s out of obligation, that’s still the start of a relationship. Whether it’s friendship, need, or love—something always exists between two people. And when the direction doesn’t match, it falls apart. Just like with me. So, what name do you give it?”
‘Nothing?’
There’s no such thing.
Ben understood that now.
At the very moment of realizing just how foolish those earlier words were—
Thump.
Their eyes met, and his heart pounded harder than ever.
“Anyway… are you done washing up?”
In a voice like molten honey—so smooth, it felt like it might drip—Haimar whispered into Ben’s ear.
His hand, which had slid up Ben’s spine, now brushed lightly over his nipple, sending a sharp jolt up his back.
“Ugh… Ah… N-no… I’ll wash properly and come out.”
He hadn’t really bathed yet—just sat in the tub after washing his face.
He was about to gather himself and tell Haimar to wait outside, but before he could, Haimar’s tongue, which had been teasing his ear, slid down to the side of his face and bruised neck.
He kissed the scabbed wound lightly, then sank his teeth into the tender skin, still bearing hand-shaped marks from being nearly choked.
Haimar replaced them with his own bite.
“I’m wet too, you know?”
The fresh mark bloomed red as if erasing all the others.
It stung, but Ben didn’t push him away.
Instead, he gripped Haimar’s clothes tightly and endured it.
“Sure, but… if you just used the other bathroom—ah, s-stop biting…!”
“Why would I bother?”
To be fair, Haimar’s wet clothes were mostly Ben’s fault.
And sure, using a different bathroom was unnecessary.
But still—bathing together?
That was… embarrassing.
No, wait. What was so wrong about two men bathing together?
The embarrassment didn’t come from the act itself.
It was the awareness of his racing heart, the way his hand trembled, the feel of Haimar’s solid, bare body against his own.
That’s why he felt flustered.
Otherwise, Haimar’s logic was perfectly sound.
Unable to find a rebuttal, Ben hesitated, but in that brief moment, Haimar swiftly pulled off his T-shirt and peeled off his soaked pants, tossing them carelessly by the door.
Seeing the discarded clothes, Ben reluctantly abandoned the thought of sending him away.
Instead, he tried to slip out of Haimar’s embrace to quickly grab the nearby loofah and wash up.
But before Ben could fully free himself, the loofah floated through the air and plopped right in front of him.
Next, the body wash uncapped itself and poured over Ben.
Meanwhile, the mastermind behind these flying objects—Haimar—pulled Ben back into his arms from behind and settled him onto his lap.
“W-Wait—! I-I can do it myself!”
“This is faster.”
A silky liquid trickled slowly down Ben’s chest.
Like syrup dripping over pancakes, the sight was mouthwatering.
Haimar slid his fingers through it, spreading it diligently over Ben’s body.
Pressing his lips to the nape of Ben’s neck, he inhaled deeply, tracing each rib with his fingertips before trailing down the wet skin to tease the dip of his navel.
Ben’s spine stiffened.
“Nnh…! Th-This isn’t washing—!”
“Hmm? It is, though.”
“H-How is this— Ah! S-Stop…”
Every time Haimar’s palms brushed his sides, grazing his shoulder blades and nape, fluffy bubbles clung to Ben’s skin.
Even the sensation of the slippery foam felt hypersensitive, flushing his pale, bruised skin pink.
Dormant nerves ignited under Haimar’s deliberate touches.
The sweet, intoxicating fragrance enveloped Ben.
The soft lather covering his body only made the press of Haimar’s skin against his back feel even more obscene.
Ben’s attempts to push him away were clumsy—his hands kept slipping, missing their mark.
* * *
