Do-yun lay motionless, listening to the soft drumming of the rain against the panoramic windows. Chaos reigned in his head: he tried to compose himself, but his thoughts kept returning to one thing—how Seungho had changed in the past few hours. He was used to his pressure, his predatory persistence, his voice, where every order sounded like law. But today, for the first time, the Alpha was different. Cautious. Warm. Almost gentle. "Seungho... and tenderness? Is that even possible?" — he didn't believe himself, and that made it even harder.
Do-yun flinched when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. Seungho leaned toward him and kissed his skin—not greedily, not demandingly, but slowly, as if savoring the moment. His breath was hot, a contrast to the coolness of the room. — You're thinking too much again, — he said low, almost purring.
Do-yun wanted to say something, but Seungho stroked his hand and suddenly changed the subject: — Come with me. — Where to now? — Do-yun frowned, not turning around. — To the store, — Seungho chuckled and touched his shoulder with his lips again. — I'm out of vanilla ice cream. I want a coffee float. Do-yun blinked, disbelieving that he was hearing this after everything that had happened. — Are you serious? — Very. — Seungho lightly touched his palm. — We'll make coffee for two. You'll like it.
***
They went out together.
The rain was no longer pouring down, but fine drops settled on their hair and shoulders. The narrow streets glittered with the reflections of neon signs and the headlights of rare cars. The air smelled of wet concrete, gasoline, and something else—fresh, as if the city breathed differently after the storm. Seungho walked a bit closer than necessary, shoulder-to-shoulder, so Do-yun could feel his warmth even through the fabric of his light jacket. The Alpha didn't touch him openly, but the very fact of how he stayed close looked almost provocative—as if he were marking his territory with his body: this person is with me. — I haven't just gone for a walk in a long time, — Seungho noted quietly, glancing at the wet shop windows. — Surprisingly, — Do-yun smirked. — I thought you only lived in offices and clubs. — That's true, — he nodded. — But sometimes it's worth reminding yourself that the city isn't just numbers and reports.
They walked in silence for a few more minutes. The rain became heavier, but neither of them suggested going back. Seungho suddenly turned his head, his gaze sharp, but without mockery: — Tell me about yourself. Do-yun frowned. — What exactly? — Why you chose this work, — he replied directly. — Detective. Why not something simpler?
Silence hung in the air. Do-yun slowed his pace and looked at the wet asphalt. Raindrops broke against his boots, leaving dark streaks. He didn't like talking about himself—too many wounds that were better hidden under clothing, beneath a mask of indifference. But there was no command or pressure in Seungho's voice. Just interest. — I chose this, — he began slowly, — because I saw how many people are left alone with their grief: theft, assault, betrayal. People came asking for help... and in response, they received arrogant looks, as if these people had somehow caused the situation themselves. No one listened to their stories. — He paused. — I wanted to be someone who would listen and could help.
Seungho walked silently, but his gaze swept over Do-yun's face. — Too noble for a simple explanation, — he said calmly. — You speak as if there's a personal reason behind it. Do-yun clenched his fists in his pockets. — Maybe there is. Seungho didn't back down. — Did someone hurt you? Do-yun smiled faintly, but there was no joy in the smile. — Hurt is too soft a word.
Silence descended between them. Only the rain and the distant sound of the road accompanied their steps. — There was an incident, — he finally said, looking straight ahead. — I was deprived... of the ability to choose: whether I wanted it or not. Coercion. But the person who did it... he remained unpunished. They didn't even try to punish him, didn't try to investigate, and I wasn't listened to. He was let go.
His voice was even, but the bitterness he couldn't hide was audible inside. Seungho tensed. His fingers twitched slightly, as if he wanted to grab Do-yun's hand, but he didn't. — And you decided you'd become the one who wouldn't let that happen again? — No, — Do-yun said curtly. — I decided that at least someone would have a chance. Even a small one.
Seungho looked at him longer than usual. Anger flashed in his eyes—but not toward him. — You underestimate how much that changed you. — Maybe, — Do-yun shrugged. — But it's better than pretending nothing happened.
They fell silent. Their footsteps echoed on the wet street, neon reflected in the puddles, and the faces of passersby had long since disappeared.
***
Suddenly, Do-yun noticed a reflection in the old pharmacy window: behind them, a few meters away, a shadow was moving. A black jacket, a hood. Steps—slightly off to the side, so as not to match their rhythm.
He froze for a fraction of a second. — What? — Seungho asked quietly, sensing the change. — Behind us. Someone is following.
Seungho didn't even turn around. Only his shoulders tensed, and his voice became low, like a beast that smelled the hunt. — Don't look back. Stay close.
They turned onto a narrow street. Puddles glistened, the walls of houses rose high, squeezing the space. A light flickered ahead—someone lit a cigarette and immediately hid in the darkness. Behind them, footsteps creaked again.
Do-yun clenched his teeth. His heart was pounding so loudly he was afraid they would hear it. Seungho reached out and squeezed his wrist—firmly, but not painfully. — Act natural.
But they both knew: control was slipping away. The enemy was no longer hiding behind fake documents or shadows in a club. And the city suddenly became too confined.