Chapter 12 : unwanted feelings

Sergei carried Jiwon down the dimly lit hallway, his expression as emotionless as stone. The warmth of Jiwon's trembling body against his chest should have evoked something in him, but his gaze remained cold, his steps steady and unfeeling. Jiwon clung to him like a desperate child, his arms wound tightly around Sergei's neck as if his very life depended on it.

"P-Please... don't leave me," Jiwon's voice was nothing but broken sobs. "It hurts... I-I can't..."

Sergei's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. The pathetic way Jiwon whimpered only fueled his disgust. Yet, for some reason, he kept moving. The pain in Jiwon's fractured ankle was evident in the way his breathing hitched, every rise and fall of his chest shallow and strained. But Sergei didn't care. He simply couldn't bring himself to walk away.

Once they reached the lavish bathroom connected to his own bedroom, Sergei kicked the door open and strode inside. The marble tiles gleamed under the soft, artificial light, the spacious room dominated by an enormous bathtub that looked more like a miniature pool.

He set Jiwon down on a cushioned stool by the sink, his hands rougher than necessary. Jiwon flinched but didn't dare to complain. Tears still shimmered in his eyes, but his grip loosened, his fingers slipping from Sergei's shirt as if he feared being reprimanded for holding on.

"Take off your clothes," Sergei ordered, his voice flat, devoid of warmth.

Jiwon's eyes widened, terror twisting his expression. "W-What?"

"You need to be cleaned. I won't have you bleeding all over my mansion." The words were delivered with such callous indifference that they almost sounded robotic.

Jiwon hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor, his fingers trembling as he tried to follow the command. His muscles ached, his ankle throbbing with each shaky movement. But he forced himself to obey, feeling the weight of Sergei's gaze piercing through him.

When he struggled to remove the oversized chemise clinging to his sweat-soaked skin, Sergei let out a frustrated growl. Without warning, Sergei grabbed the fabric and pulled it over Jiwon's head, tossing it aside. Jiwon flinched, his body curling in on itself instinctively.

Sergei turned his attention to the tub, twisting the gold-plated faucets until hot water began to fill the basin. Steam curled into the air, misting over the cool tiles. Without waiting for the water to completely fill, Sergei returned to Jiwon, hoisting him up once more and lowering him into the bath.

A gasp tore from Jiwon's lips as the scalding heat kissed his skin. The pain from his ankle blended with the burning sensation, but he didn't protest. Instead, he held his breath, his chest heaving as if trying to muffle his own suffering.

Sergei grabbed a sponge and roughly dragged it over Jiwon's skin. The motion was harsh, devoid of any gentleness. He cleaned away the grime and blood with mechanical precision, his gaze never once meeting Jiwon's. To him, this was a task nothing more.

As the sponge slid over the bruised and battered flesh of Jiwon's inner thighs, the younger man shuddered, his eyes squeezing shut. A whimper slipped from his throat, but he dared not complain. He knew it would do nothing but provoke more cruelty.

"Stop squirming," Sergei snapped, his tone sharp as a knife. "You're making this shit harder than it needs to be."

"...Sorry" Jiwon whispered, his voice so quiet it was nearly swallowed by the sound of water sloshing around him.

Sergei ignored the apology, continuing his task with cold efficiency. When he was finally satisfied that Jiwon was clean, he grabbed a towel and pulled him out of the water, ignoring the sharp hiss of pain as Jiwon's ankle throbbed from the sudden movement.

He dried him with the same detachment, roughly patting away the moisture clinging to Jiwon's skin before wrapping the towel around him and lifting him once more.

Jiwon didn't speak, his head slumping against Sergei's shoulder, exhaustion rendering him almost lifeless. Sergei carried him out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom, where he placed him gently on the mattress.

But Sergei's care didn't end there. His gaze dropped to the grotesquely swollen ankle, the skin bruised and twisted. Despite the voice in his head urging him to leave Jiwon to suffer, he found himself retrieving the first aid kit stored away in a cabinet nearby.

Sergei sat beside the bed, his fingers gliding over the supplies until he found the necessary bandages and ointments. He grabbed Jiwon's ankle without warning, eliciting a sharp cry from the other man.

"Shut up," Sergei growled, his eyes flashing with annoyance.

Jiwon bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, forcing himself to remain silent.

Sergei applied the ointment with rough, hurried strokes before tightly wrapping the bandages around the broken ankle. His hands worked methodically, his touch efficient but lacking any semblance of compassion.

Once he finished, he rose to his feet, his gaze finally meeting Jiwon's. There was no satisfaction, no empathy only a void that swallowed whatever kindness might have existed within him.

"Don't try something like that again," Sergei said coldly.

"Because next time, I won't bother saving you."

With that, he turned and walked out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Sergei sat hunched over his desk in the dimly lit study, his elbows pressed against the polished wood as he buried his face in his hands. The cigarette between his fingers had long since burned down to nothing but ash, its once-rich scent now a faint, bitter residue clinging to the air.

His body felt heavy, leaden with exhaustion. But sleep had not come easily since he brought Jiwon here. The mansion felt colder, the shadows deeper, as if Jiwon's presence had tainted the very air he breathed.

He closed his eyes, just for a moment. And the darkness swallowed him.

The nightmare began with a bitter chill, a cold so sharp it sliced through skin and bone alike. He found himself standing in a cramped, crumbling apartment, where the air was thick with decay and misery. Everything about the place reeked of neglect.

From his detached view, he saw a child huddled on a filthy mattress, limbs trembling and skin ghostly pale.

The child's cheeks were hollow, eyes wide and frantic as they darted to the door every few seconds. As if waiting. As if hoping.

But the door never opened.

The scene shifted, twisting violently like a knife plunging into flesh. Now the child was outside, the world around him nothing but a brutal, unforgiving winter. Snowstorm winds tore at his fragile body, and his desperate cries were stolen away by the howling void.

"Jiwon!" The child's voice was a shriek of pure despair, a sound so broken it could freeze even the darkest soul.

The boy stumbled and fell, his knees cracking against the ice. But he continued to crawl, blood trailing from his hands, his knees, his feet. Every movement was agony. Every breath a struggle.

"Jiwon!" Another scream. Hoarse. Desperate. Lost.

The child's small body convulsed in the snow, his hands reaching for something—anything. His mouth opened, but no words emerged. Only the ragged gasp of someone suffocating under the weight of betrayal.

And then the boy stilled. His outstretched hand trembled before finally falling limp against the snow. His eyes remained open, glassy and unseeing, filled with a terror no child should ever endure.

The coldness seeped into Sergei's veins, cruel and relentless. The child's suffering was like a poison, sickening and unforgettable. The world around him blurred into shadows and agony, the nightmare refusing to release him.

His eyes flew open with a strangled gasp.

He was still seated at his desk, his chest heaving as if he'd been drowning. The study was bathed in darkness, the fire in the hearth reduced to a few dying embers.

But the chill remained, clawing at him from the inside.

For a moment, he simply stared at his own shaking hands. It took him a second to realize they were trembling, and he clenched them into fists, his nails biting into his palms until the pain forced them to still.

But the sick feeling wouldn't leave. His own breathing was a grating noise, harsh and uneven in the silence. His skin felt cold, his mind racing with a fury that had no direction, no resolution.

Without thinking, his legs propelled him from the chair, his stride hurried and almost frantic as he left the study. The hallways were dark, shadows stretching across the polished floors like grotesque fingers.

He reached the door to Jiwon's room and shoved it open with more force than necessary. His eyes found the figure curled up on the bed, chest slowly rising and falling with each breath.

«Jiwon...»

Sergei's fists tightened at his sides, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth ached.

Why had he come here?

Why did the sight of this man—the very man he should hate—feel like the only thing anchoring him to reality?

But those questions remained unanswered, buried beneath the savage need to keep Jiwon right there where he could see him. Where he couldn't run away again.