Caesar let out a low, amused hum. "Is that what we're calling tear stains now?"
Eun-jae didn't miss a beat. "Is that what we're calling narcissistic stalking now? 'Bringing ramen'?"
The water started to boil. He poured in the noodles and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.
"I'm not weak," he added, voice lower now, but steady. "Just because I cry doesn't mean I'm broken."
"I never said you were," Caesar replied, stepping closer, his voice a silky whisper. "In fact… I like it when you break a little. Shows me I'm getting under your skin."
Eun-jae tilted his head, lips curling into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Careful, Caesar. You might fall for the pieces."
Caesar leaned in just enough that their faces were inches apart. His breath was warm, his smirk dangerous.
"Oh, darling," he whispered, "I already have. That's why I'm making sure no one else gets to touch them."
The kitchen was filled with the gentle hiss of boiling water, the faint rustle of movement, and that unspoken tension that always seemed to linger between Caesar and Eun-jae like fog that never lifted.
Eun-jae stood in front of the stove, stirring the ramen with languid grace, his expression unreadable—stoic but clearly holding something back. He had tied his hair into a messy low bun, with loose strands framing his sharp cheekbones, and wore Caesar's oversized black hoodie, the sleeves bunched up around his elbows. His back was turned, but he knew Caesar was watching him—he always was.
"I like my ramen spicy," Eun-jae muttered without turning around, his voice smooth with a faint sharpness. "And cheesy. Like, stupidly cheesy."
Caesar's eyes gleamed as he leaned against the marble island behind him, arms loosely folded, coat discarded somewhere in the foyer. His eyes trailed lazily down Eun-jae's frame, stopping right where the hoodie rode up just slightly when Eun-jae bent over to reach into the fridge.
"Mmm, noted," Caesar said with a sly smile. "You want yours spicy and cheesy. And me? I'll take it however you serve it, sweetheart. Anything you cook, I'll eat."
He didn't even pretend to look away from Eun-jae's ass, drinking in the view with zero shame. The way the fabric of the hoodie clung to him? That little bounce when he moved? The soft lines of his thighs? Caesar was mentally biting the inside of his cheek just to keep his thoughts semi-legal.
Eun-jae, oblivious to the stare—or perhaps just choosing to ignore it—shut the fridge with his hip and walked back to the counter, placing a block of mozzarella down before grating it with sharp, practiced strokes. The tension in his jaw was visible. Caesar noticed everything, including the way Eun-jae was moving a little too mechanically, like he was trying not to feel.
Then Eun-jae grabbed a bunch of spring onions, his knife flicking fast and clean across the board.
"You're being too sweet," he said suddenly, tossing a glance over his shoulder with a raised brow. "Too quiet. Why? What's your angle today?"
Caesar let out a low chuckle, his grin stretching slow and crooked. "What, a man can't be soft for his pretty little housewife?"
Eun-jae scoffed, rolling his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't fall out of his head. He cracked two eggs into a bowl, beat them with a fork, then poured them into the ramen pot with expert ease.
"First of all, I'd rather sell my soul to Satan than be your housewife. Second of all…" He turned to face him fully now, arms crossed, hip leaning into the counter. "What exactly do you expect me to do, Caesar? Smile like an idiot? Thank you for kidnapping me and dropping me on some random-ass island in the middle of the Norwegian Sea like it's a damn vacation?"
Caesar's expression didn't change—he just tilted his head a little, watching Eun-jae like a puzzle he'd already solved but enjoyed putting together over and over again.
"Well," he said, pushing off the island and walking slowly toward him, "I expected a little more sass, if I'm being honest. You're usually louder when you're angry. A little more… bite."
Eun-jae didn't flinch, didn't move—just stared up at him with narrowed eyes and a heart that he hated was beating faster.
"I'm tired," he said flatly. "Tired of trying to outsmart you. Tired of pretending I'm not scared. Tired of feeling like I don't even exist unless you're around breathing down my neck."
Caesar stopped just in front of him, eyes flicking down to his lips, then back up. His voice lowered, silken and dangerous.
"Oh, baby… but don't you get it?" he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair behind Eun-jae's ear. "You only exist because I choose to keep you in my world. Without me? You're just another lost little boy with no map and nowhere to run."
Eun-jae's hand twitched at his side. For a moment, something raw flickered in his gaze—rage, maybe. Or heartbreak.
But then he smiled.
Smug. Cold. Deadly.
"Well," he whispered, "you'd better keep choosing me then. Because if I ever figure out how to leave this island—"
"You won't."
Caesar cut him off, voice quiet but firm.
Eun-jae's smile faltered.
Caesar leaned down, his breath brushing Eun-jae's lips. "Because even if you try… I'll burn the sea to ashes before I let you go."
And Eun-jae stood there, staring into the eyes of the man who was both his captor and the only person who truly saw him.
The ramen boiled quietly behind them.
"Hope you like your noodles soggy," Eun-jae muttered, turning away and grabbing a pair of bowls.
Caesar chuckled darkly, sitting at the counter like a king awaiting his feast. "Only if they're served by you, darling."
Eun-jae sat with his legs crossed under him on the plush chair, hair loosely tied, cheeks slightly flushed from the heat of the food, but eyes absolutely sparkling with amusement. His chopsticks moved effortlessly as he slurped up another spicy noodle, the steam rising like wisps of smoke. He looked elegant, relaxed—even smug.
Across from him, Caesar… was dying.
Caesar had underestimated the ramen. He thought he could handle it—how hard could a little "extra spicy" be? Except it wasn't just spicy. Eun-jae had gone full mad scientist in the kitchen. Not only did he empty half the chili flakes in the house into the pot, but he also threw in a mix of gochujang, jalapeños, and literal ghost pepper sauce "for extra depth."
Now, Caesar—usually the image of unbothered sophistication—looked like he'd gone three rounds with Satan himself. His nose was pink, lips flushed and slightly swollen, and his forehead shimmered with sweat. His button-down shirt was slightly undone at the top, and his hands shook just a little as he reached for yet another bottle of cold water.
Eun-jae watched the whole scene like a delighted villain.
"Are you okay there, your highness?" he asked, biting back laughter but absolutely failing. A loud, delighted laugh escaped his lips, echoing through the massive hall. "Oh my God, your face! You look like you got kissed by a blowtorch!"
Caesar tried to respond but ended up in a coughing fit, eyes watering as he chugged from the second bottle of water like his life depended on it. "It's… fine," he rasped, voice raw. "Just a bit… bold on the tongue."
Eun-jae slammed his palm on the table, cackling. "A bit bold?! You look like you just ran a marathon through hell!"
"I'm just not used to… Korean spice levels," Caesar wheezed, trying to hold onto what little pride he had left.
"Ohhh, so the mighty Caesar can handle guns, bloodshed, global espionage, and torture—but one bite of ramen and suddenly you're a Victorian lady having a fainting spell?" Eun-jae teased, resting his chin in his palm. "Wow. Incredible. Truly inspiring."
"I didn't say I couldn't handle it," Caesar snapped through gritted teeth, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I just said… it's strong. There's a difference."
"Oh, right, right," Eun-jae said, waving his chopsticks around dramatically. "You're handling it. Right. That's why your entire face is sweating like a sinner in church."
Caesar narrowed his eyes, trying to compose himself. He leaned forward, setting his water down with a shaky but practiced grace. "Are you enjoying this? Watching me suffer?"
Eun-jae tilted his head. "More than I should. You look so... human right now. Almost pathetic. It's adorable."
Caesar smirked, even though his lips were tingling and he still wasn't sure if he could feel his tongue. "You think this is me suffering? Darling, if this is what it takes to see you laugh like that, I'd burn my taste buds off every night."
Eun-jae paused, caught off-guard. His laughter slowed into a smile, his expression softening just a bit before he schooled it back into sarcasm.
"Don't get all sentimental just because you're dying," he muttered, slurping up another bite.
"I'm not dying," Caesar said, trying to sound offended, though his voice cracked mid-sentence. "I'm just… evolving."
"Into a fire hydrant?" Eun-jae grinned. "You need ice cream? I think I saw some vanilla in the freezer—though that might actually kill you now."
Caesar reached across the table dramatically, hand clutching his heart. "What I need is your mercy."
Eun-jae raised a brow. "Now you want mercy? Where was this energy when you drugged me and dumped me on your murder island?"
"Touché," Caesar muttered with a crooked smile. "Still… this is your fault. You cooked it. You wanted to punish me, didn't you?"
"I didn't want to punish you," Eun-jae said, tone dripping sarcasm. "I just wanted to see if you could back up all that talk about being 'unshakable.' Turns out, one noodle and you fall apart like wet tissue paper."
Caesar groaned, dramatically placing his head on the table.
Eun-jae sipped from his glass of wine with the flair of someone who'd just won a war. "Next time, I'll make tteokbokki and see if you can survive that."
"Next time?" Caesar said, perking up just a little.
Eun-jae paused… then flicked a chili flake at him. "Don't get excited. I meant if you survive this one."
The dining room had quieted down again after Eun-jae's fiery teasing and Caesar's dramatic ramen meltdown. All that remained was the occasional clink of silverware, the soft hum of the wind outside brushing against the mansion's high glass windows, and the faint bubbling of leftover soup cooling in the pot.
Eun-jae sat there looking ethereal despite the chaos he'd caused—his sleeves rolled up slightly, a glimmer of sweat on his temple from the heat, his lips glistening red from the spice, still curved in amusement. He was unbothered, calmly eating like this was just another Tuesday night dinner, not some hostage fantasy on an island with a manipulative psycho.
Meanwhile, Caesar hadn't touched his bowl again.
Instead, he was staring.
Openly.
Unapologetically.
And worst of all—weirdly softly.
His chin rested lazily on his hand, eyes trained on Eun-jae with an intensity that made the air feel just a little thicker. Not calculating. Not cold. Just... oddly curious. His pupils tracked every little twitch of Eun-jae's lips, every time he pushed his hair back, every chew, every blink.
"You have very tan skin," Caesar said suddenly, his voice low and smooth, like he wasn't about to drop an absolute out-of-pocket comment in the middle of their spicy mukbang war.
Eun-jae blinked mid-bite, brows furrowing. He slowly lowered his chopsticks.
"What?" he said flatly, his tone not matching his confusion but his growing suspicion.
Caesar leaned forward, the dim golden light from the chandelier catching the edges of his smirk. "I mean it. It's striking. Most Koreans I've met are very pale. Your father, too—his complexion is almost ghostly. But you? You've got this warm, honeyed glow. It's beautiful."
Eun-jae just stared.
Long pause.
Very long pause.
Then—
"What kind of dumbass observation is that?" he said with a tone so sharp it could cut through Caesar's ego. "Did the chili oil leak into your brain and short-circuit your filter?"
Caesar chuckled, unbothered. "I'm just making conversation."
"Well, next time, try not to sound like a creep at a tanning salon," Eun-jae replied, picking up his chopsticks again with a dramatic sigh. "What's next? You gonna compliment my elbow skin? My earlobes? Wanna write a poem about my knees while you're at it?"
Caesar tilted his head, smile deepening like he was thoroughly enjoying being verbally slapped. "No, but I could. You have lovely knees."
"Oh my God," Eun-jae muttered, pressing a palm to his forehead. "You need help."
Caesar didn't stop. He leaned back in his chair now, looking way too smug for someone who was literally being roasted alive moments ago. "I just think it's fascinating. You stand out. I wonder where you got it from. Your mother, maybe? Or perhaps it's the way the sun always touches you differently. You glow like you were made to live outside, not locked up in a mansion. Wild. Uncontained."
"YES, YES, you fucking idiot!" Eun-jae snapped, his chest rising and falling fast, nostrils flared, voice trembling not with fear but with pent-up frustration. "I got it from my mom, asshole! She isn't fully Korean—she's half Nigerian, half Korean! You happy now?!"
The words came tumbling out, hot and cracked at the edges, like he'd been holding them back for a long-ass time. His jaw was clenched tight, his fingers curled slightly like he was trying not to toss the bowl at Caesar's smug-ass face.
Caesar blinked once. Twice.
Then leaned back slowly in his chair, his hands still laced under his chin, a contemplative look spreading across his face. No smile this time. Just sharp, observant silence.
Eun-jae scoffed and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back roughly. "God, you're such a pain. You think you're being deep, or what? Trying to psychoanalyze me over ramen? I swear you've watched too many villain dramas or something."
Caesar tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving Eun-jae. "I wasn't trying to insult you," he said calmly, voice deceptively soft, smooth like honey over a knife's edge. "I just think it's beautiful. Rare. Like you."
Eun-jae stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "Stop talking. Seriously. Don't say shit like that. You sound like an AI boyfriend with a glitchy romance script."
A flicker of amusement returned to Caesar's expression, but his eyes were locked in, laser-focused. "So that's why you're different. That fire. That bite. That unbreakable need to resist. It's in your blood."
Eun-jae stood abruptly, the chair scraping back harshly on the marble floor. "Okay, nope. That's enough. I'm not doing some 3AM 'let's dig into Eun-jae's trauma' session with a war criminal in silk pajamas."
He turned to storm off, but Caesar stood too—calmly, not chasing, just... following.
"Your mother," Caesar said, voice dropping into something almost reverent, "she must've been extraordinary."
Eun-jae stopped in his tracks, his back stiff, hands curling into fists at his sides. "Don't talk about her."
"Why?" Caesar asked gently, almost innocently. "Because it makes this real?"
Eun-jae turned around, his expression unreadable for a beat too long.
Then he hissed through gritted teeth, "Because you're not allowed to humanize me. Because the second you do, I might forget that you're the villain in this story."