Ebony Castle

Doha’s breath hovered anxiously in the air. The man looking down at him, curled up at the bottom of the stairs, spoke with a blank expression.

“Come up here.”

Doha shook his head with all the strength he could muster. He wanted to crawl to the guest room by himself and endure the seizure until it passed. A sense of shame, one he hadn’t even felt during sex, burned hot on his cheeks. It felt like he had exposed his weaknesses to someone he never wanted to.

“Huh, th…”

He tried to speak, but his tongue wouldn’t move the way he wanted. Through his flickering vision, he caught the man’s dark silhouette.

“Then…”

The man’s low voice brushed through his ears like a rough bristle.

“I guess I’ll have to come down.”

“…Ugh…”

Doha tried to force his body to crawl a step toward the hallway where the door to the guest room was. The more his stiff muscles pushed him, the more it felt like he was breaking apart.

The desperate escape was useless. Without a single sound of the stairs creaking, the man’s presence was already close behind him.

“Eden.”

Tristan Locke’s hand gripped Doha’s shoulder firmly, like a predator capturing its prey.

“…Ah…!”

Doha instinctively gasped when he tried to pull away. The moment the man’s hand touched him, the moment the warmth of his fingers brushed the back of Doha’s neck through his shirt, the pain that had been overwhelming him lessened immediately, as if a plug had been pulled from an overflowing sink.

“Should I call a doctor?”

The man muttered as he looked down at Doha’s pale face. His hand, which had flipped Doha’s body over to see his face, dropped from his shoulder as if its job was done.

As soon as his body was released, Doha gasped silently. Every hair on his body stood on end with the intense thirst. The pain, which had subsided, surged sharply again, causing his body to instinctively twitch toward the man.

“Eden. Can you see me?”

Tristan’s palm passed in front of Doha’s wide-open eyes. The cool back of his hand lightly touched Doha’s forehead as if checking for a fever.

The moment their bare skin made contact, the body that had been trembling from the pain quieted. Doha closed his eyes and simply focused on breathing. If he could move his tongue, he would have thrown away all reason and begged him not to take his hand away.

Tristan hesitated for a moment, then clicked his tongue lightly and pulled Doha’s thin body into his arms. As Doha’s cheek rested against his shoulder, wrapped in those strong arms, it was as if he had encountered warm sunlight for the first time, like a creature emerging from the depths.

“I’ll get your bag later.”

Tristan said, looking down at the items that had spilled from Doha’s backpack. His voice vibrated through their close embrace. Doha weakly shifted his body, trying to press his cheek against the bare skin of Tristan’s neck, just beside his gown’s collar.

“Hold on.”

The voice had softened, almost like a sigh. With a gentle motion, Tristan lifted him, supporting him firmly from underneath. As if holding something weightless, Tristan carried Doha effortlessly up the stairs.

The chandelier in Tristan’s bedroom was dimly lit. He laid Doha, who seemed unconscious, on the bed and removed his clothes. The young man’s thin body, which had started trembling as soon as they separated, stilled the moment Tristan took off his gown and placed Doha against his bare chest.

The sensation of the clammy, sweat-soaked body pressing against his was both damp and cold. But Tristan didn’t push away the pitiful movements of the young man, who clung to him like a small animal seeking warmth.

“……”

Doha, resting his cheek against Tristan’s firm chest, slowly regained his senses. The pain of the seizures that had always shaken him and brought him to his knees diminished as though faced with an unbeatable enemy, subsiding quickly and then disappearing without a trace. The relief was so sudden and easy, it felt almost hollow.

It meant that all the suffering Doha had endured was simply due to the man’s absence. And that from now on, he would have to depend entirely on him, like drinking from the drops the man let fall. The moment Tristan abandoned him, he would wither and die. It was the confirmation of the miracle Doha had been waiting for.

The miserable feeling he had tried to push away during the week they had shared their bodies seeped into him like murky water. Doha didn’t raise his head. He didn’t want to see pity in the eyes of the man who was lending his body so quietly.

***

When Doha opened his eyes, the space next to him in the bed was already empty. In Tristan Locke’s bedroom, where the light of dawn was beginning to creep in, the man himself was nowhere to be seen.

Doha sat up, curling into the thick blanket as the coldness seeped through even underneath it. His body felt sticky from dried sweat, but the bitter, dry taste that usually lingered after his seizures was absent. He wasn’t dizzy, and his mind was clear.

Not knowing when Tristan would return to the bedroom, Doha realized he had to leave if he didn’t want to face him. His clothes were messily piled on the bedside table, and beneath them were his shoes and a new pair of fur-lined slippers. Doha stood up, dressed, and slipped his bare feet into the fluffy slippers. The warm, soft fur brushed against the soles of his feet.

The third-floor hallway in the early morning was brighter and cooler than the bedroom. The light from the window spilled in, painting the floor in a soft blue hue. Doha paused at the landing. The place where Tristan had stood last night, looking down at him curled up on the floor. Beyond the large window on the opposite wall, the thick forest was tinted with the pale light of dawn.

Doha leaned on the railing and slowly made his way down the stairs, carefully watching each step. It wasn’t until he reached the second-floor hallway that he realized his backpack and the scattered items were nowhere to be found.

He was glancing around and toward the stairs when he missed the sound of a door opening. By the time he noticed movement at the edge of his vision, it was already too late.

“…Ah—”

Tristan, dressed in a gown, had stepped out from a door down the hallway and lifted an eyebrow slightly at the sight of Doha standing in the middle of the hall.

As soon as Doha saw his face, a wave of emotions surged through him, and he quickly lowered his gaze to the floor. The soft, elegant sound of footsteps approached. The tips of the man’s slippers entered the edge of his view.

“Did you sleep well?”

The man standing in front of Doha asked in a low, deep voice.

“…Yes.”

After answering briefly, Doha forced himself to speak again.

“Thanks to your help, sir. Thank you.”

Only after speaking did he realize he had used the wrong title, but instead of a correction, a calm question fell on his bowed head.

“Does what happened yesterday happen often?”

“…Not often.”

“I just asked Daniel, and he said it’s one of the symptoms that accompany Neim. You must already know that, though.”

Doha’s breath hovered anxiously in the air. The man, who had been looking down impassively at the curled-up body at the bottom of the stairs, spoke.

“Come up here.”

Doha shook his head with all the strength he could muster. He wanted to crawl to the guest room by himself and hold out until the episode passed. A shame, sharper than anything he had felt during sex with the man, burned his cheeks. It felt as though he’d exposed his vulnerabilities to someone he never wanted to see them.

“Ugh, I…”

He tried to speak, but his tongue wouldn’t move. In his flickering vision, the man’s dark silhouette became visible.

“In that case…”

The man’s low voice brushed his ear like a coarse brush.

“I guess I’ll have to come down.”

“Uh…!”

Doha forced himself to crawl toward the hallway where the guest room door was. The more his stiff muscles protested, the more it felt like they were tearing apart.

His desperate attempt to escape was futile. The sound of the creaking stairs hadn’t even echoed once before the man’s presence was suddenly right behind him.

“Eden.”

Tristan Locke’s hand gripped Doha’s shoulder firmly, like a hunter capturing its prey.

“Ah…!”

Doha, who had been trying to shake him off, unconsciously gasped. As soon as Tristan’s hand touched his body, just as the warmth of a knuckle pressed against the nape of his neck through his shirt, the pain subsided as if someone had pulled the plug on a sink filled to the brim.

“Should I call a doctor?”

The man, looking down at Doha’s pale face, muttered. His hand, which had flipped Doha’s body over to check his face, released his shoulder as if it had finished its task.

As soon as the touch left him, Doha gasped silently. The violent thirst prickled every hair on his body. When the pain, which had diminished, surged back up, his body instinctively flinched toward Tristan.

“Eden. Can you see me?”

Tristan’s hand passed in front of Doha’s wide-open eyes. His cool knuckles lightly touched Doha’s forehead, as if checking for a fever.

The moment their bare skin made contact, Doha’s trembling body, racked with pain, stilled. Doha closed his eyes and barely managed to breathe. If he could move his tongue, he would have thrown away all reason and begged him not to stop touching him.

Tristan paused for a moment, clicked his tongue softly, and gently pulled Doha’s frail body into his arms. As the strong arms wrapped around his back and his cheek rested on Tristan’s shoulder, Doha held his breath, like an animal who had found warmth for the first time in its life after being trapped underground.

“Leave the bag for later,” Tristan said, glancing down at the items spilling out of the backpack. His voice’s vibrations traveled through their tightly pressed bodies. Doha feebly wriggled his limp body, trying to press his cheek against Tristan’s bare neck, next to the collar of his robe.

“Wait a bit.”

His voice had softened, almost like a sigh. Still holding Doha, Tristan lifted him easily, as if he weighed nothing, and carried him up the stairs.

The chandelier in Tristan’s bedroom glowed softly with dimmed lights. Tristan laid Doha, who seemed unconscious, on the bed and began undressing him. The moment their bodies separated, the young man’s frail frame began trembling again, but as soon as Tristan took off his robe and placed Doha against his bare chest, the trembling subsided as if it had been a lie.

The sensation of the cold, sweat-soaked body against his own was damp and chilling, but Tristan did not push away the pitiful movements of the young man, who clung to him like a small animal searching for warmth.

“……”

With his cheek pressed against Tristan’s firm chest, Doha slowly regained consciousness. The pain that had always shaken and overwhelmed him during these episodes diminished, retreated, and then disappeared entirely, leaving no trace behind. The relief was so fast and easy that it felt almost absurd.

This meant that the cause of all the pain Doha had endured was, in the end, the man’s absence. It was a confirmation that he would have to rely on Tristan completely, like drinking from the drops he allowed to fall from his fingertips, and that the moment Tristan abandoned him, Doha would wither and die. This was the reality of the miracle he had been waiting for.

Even during the week they had spent together, when their bodies had intertwined, Doha had tried to push away this sense of misery. Yet now, it clung to him like sticky, murky water. Doha didn’t lift his head. He couldn’t bear to see the pity he feared would be in the eyes of the man who had lent him his body so willingly.

***

When Doha opened his eyes, the space beside him on the bed was already empty. In Tristan Locke’s bedroom, bathed in the blue light of the breaking dawn, there was no sign of its owner.

Doha sat up groggily, hunching his body against the chill that seeped through the thick blanket. His skin felt sticky with dried sweat, but the bitter taste that usually lingered in his mouth after a seizure was absent. He wasn’t dizzy, and his mind was clear.

Since he didn’t know when Tristan would return to the bedroom, Doha figured it was best to leave if he wanted to avoid seeing him. On the bedside table next to the bed, his clothes were hastily piled up, and below them, his shoes and a pair of new, fur-lined slippers sat waiting. Doha got up, dressed, and slid his bare feet into the soft slippers. The warm, fluffy fur brushed against his soles.

The third-floor hallway, in the early morning light, was brighter and cooler than the bedroom. The light spilling through the window bathed the floor in a soft, pale blue hue. Doha paused on the landing. Yesterday, Tristan had stood there, looking down at him as he crouched on the floor. Through the large window that faced the staircase, he could see the thick forest, now tinged with the dawn light.

Leaning his arms on the banister, Doha slowly descended the stairs one step at a time. He was so focused on watching his steps that it wasn’t until he reached the second-floor landing that he noticed his backpack and scattered belongings were nowhere to be seen.

He was glancing around the area and toward the first-floor staircase when he missed the sound of a door opening. By the time he caught sight of movement at the edge of his vision, it was already too late.

“…Ah.”

Tristan, dressed in a robe, had just stepped out of a room on the far end of the hallway. He raised his eyebrows slightly when he saw Doha standing in the middle of the corridor.

Doha dropped his gaze to the floor, overwhelmed by the surge of emotions that rose at the sight of Tristan’s face. The quiet, graceful sound of footsteps drew closer, and soon, the tips of the man’s slippers entered Doha’s line of sight.

“Did you sleep well?”

The man standing in front of Doha asked in a low, slightly husky voice.

“…Yes.”

Forcing the short response from his throat, Doha pushed himself to add more.

“Thanks to your help, CEO. Thank you.”

It was only after he finished speaking that he realized he had used the wrong title. However, instead of correcting him, the man simply posed a calm question above Doha’s bowed head.

“Does that happen to you often, what happened yesterday?”

“…Not often.”

“When I asked Daniel just now, he said it’s one of the symptoms that comes with Neim. I assume you already knew that.”

“Daniel just told me that it’s one of the symptoms that accompany Neim. I’m sure you’re already aware of that.”

It seemed he had called Daniel Hunt in the middle of the night. There was no time difference between London and Scotland. Doha briefly kept his mouth shut before replying, his gaze fixed on the faded carpet.

“It’s just pain. There’s no actual damage. If I stay still, it’ll pass on its own.”

“Really? Had I known that, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

His tone was so dry that it was hard to decipher the meaning behind his words. Doha instinctively looked up and found Tristan Locke standing there, his face slightly tired under the pale blue dawn light. Standing close enough that Doha could reach him if he extended his arm, the height difference between them became all the more apparent.

There was a brief silence as they locked eyes. Tristan, looking down at Doha, softened the end of their conversation.

“But if there’s an easier way, there’s no need to suffer unnecessarily, right?”

“…”

“If this happens again while you’re staying here, come talk to me.”

“…Yes, thank you.”

“It’s still early, so get some more rest. I’ll see you in the bedroom tonight.”

As if concluding the matter, he brushed past Doha. His white, delicate hand lightly gripped the stair railing as his long legs, clad in slippers, moved gracefully up the stairs. The old wooden stairs, which had creaked when Doha descended earlier, remained silent, as if they recognized their owner.

Doha stood silently, watching the man’s retreating figure until it disappeared into the third-floor hallway. Shivering slightly from the forgotten chill of the early morning, he turned back toward the slightly open guest room door and pushed it fully open, flicking the light switch.

Under the bright chandelier, a neatly made white bed came into view. On the floor at the foot of the bed lay his backpack, zipped up and sitting quietly.

***

Doha had become so accustomed to sleeping all day back in London that it was late afternoon by the time he finally woke up in the guest room bed. Even after waking up, his eyelids felt so heavy that he drifted in and out of sleep a few more times. The day was overcast, and with the curtains drawn, the guest room was as dark as if the sun had never risen.

Sleeping in someone else’s house until late afternoon in the guest room was, honestly, rude enough to get him kicked out if he were truly a guest of Tristan Locke. While Doha knew it was polite not to disturb Tristan during the day, a vague sense of unease gnawed at him, as if simply staying still wasn’t enough.

Doha went downstairs to the kitchen, where he had some soup prepared by Jean, then returned to his room after offering to help with dinner but being politely declined. The afternoon passed sluggishly, as though part of his brain was still asleep. After taking a slow and thorough shower, Doha sat on the bed, wearing his robe, waiting for the night to come.

At that point, he felt only heaviness and anxiety without any specific thoughts. Quite a bit of time had already passed since the five days he had spent with Tristan, and his memories had become somewhat hazy and blurred.

It wasn’t until Doha entered Tristan Locke’s bedroom that he realized those memories were not just in his mind—they were deeply engraved somewhere in his body.

“…What’s wrong?”

Seeing Doha frozen at the doorway, Tristan Locke asked. His hair was still slightly damp, as if he had just showered, and his robe was loosely tied, revealing his chest. He sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned Doha over.

“Come here.”

“…”

Doha tried to move. His brain gave the command to his legs, but his slippers seemed stuck to the floor.

Tristan brushed his wet hair away from his eyes and stood up. The moment he rose, Doha instinctively stepped back. Thud. His back hit the already-closed door with a loud noise.

“Are you feeling unwell?”

Tristan had only crossed about half of the large bedroom, but it was enough to make Doha tremble noticeably. His body shook like someone exposed to the cold for too long, his shoulders and legs trembling pitifully. Doha felt embarrassed by his own reaction, unsure of what was happening to him. He raised his gaze only to lock eyes with Tristan, who had stopped just a few steps away.

“…I…”

He tried to explain, but his tongue felt sluggish, tripping over his words. Tristan, observing Doha’s pale face, smiled slightly, as if he understood.

“It seems you’re afraid of me.”

“…That’s not…”

“After all this time?”

Without warning, Tristan’s hand reached out. The moment his white fingers lightly touched Doha’s shoulder, Doha flinched, his neck tensing as he shut his eyes tightly.

Tristan’s arm wrapped gently around Doha’s waist. Trembling like a drenched child, Doha was led toward the bed. With a soft thud, his legs bumped into the mattress, and he sat down awkwardly.

“I guess there’s nothing to lose now, is there?”

Doha opened his eyes. His body had reacted instinctively to the man’s words. He shook his head, looking up at Tristan’s pale face. At that, Tristan’s arm around Doha’s waist fell away without hesitation. Gently, as if confirming something, Tristan asked while gazing into his face.

“Shall we begin, then?”

“…Yes.”

Everything felt slow and hazy, as if the air had turned into jelly. Trying to focus on nothing, Doha took a step back and began undressing. The loose shirt he had worn after his shower slipped over his head.

Tristan, who had been waiting with his robe loosely undone, pulled him in with one arm.

“…Ah!”

Doha’s body, still tense, wobbled unsteadily. His cheek brushed against Tristan’s firm chest, where he had leaned the night before.

“Don’t worry.”

As Tristan gently laid Doha’s white body face down on the bed, he whispered softly.

“I have no intention of doing that messy, disgusting sex again, even if Eden begs me to.”

“…Ah, ugh!”

“It was hard for me, too. Once in a lifetime is enough.”

Tristan’s right hand was in a position where it could easily reach his hip.

“I’ve heard it tears less if you wet and loosen it first.”

A calm voice came down over his back. Doha, with his cheek pressed against the sheet, closed his eyes. He could feel fingers fidgeting between his buttocks and was about to say it was pointless, but stopped. Loosening the inside wouldn’t make the man’s size any smaller.

“Relax. Stop trembling.”

“Ugh!”

He felt a firm sensation at the entrance, slowly prying him open. Doha held his breath and curled up. It was just a finger, yet the process of it all going in seemed endlessly long.

After inserting two fingers into Doha’s body, the man murmured.

“It’s not loosening as easily as I thought. It’s tight.”

“Ah, ugh…”

His fingers pressed harder, coaxing the stubborn inner walls. When the fingers spread apart like scissors, there was a tingling sensation in his lower abdomen. The feeling of his delicate flesh being stretched tight was eerie and painful.

There was a clattering sound, and then the man’s firm hand pulled one side of his buttocks apart. Something cold and slippery dropped between the wet crease with a plop.

“Ugh!”

There was a squelching sound from the moisture. Once his fingers had adjusted, they moved freely inside as though exploring. Doha could feel the man’s gaze carefully observing the swollen entrance while still holding his buttocks open.

What he thought would end quickly seemed to drag on for more than ten minutes. Unable to endure, Doha gritted his teeth. The heat and foreign sensation were overwhelming, but it would have been preferable if it had just been pain.

“Is it loosened up a bit?”

Tristan’s voice finally came from above his head. Wet fingertips slid out from inside and brushed against the entrance.

“…I’m not sure.”

“Neither am I.”

Doha’s insides throbbed. Exhausted, he slid off Tristan’s body as his hand weakly left his thigh. For a moment, he saw Tristan remove the condom from his fingers and toss it aside.

Without needing to be told, Doha instinctively lay on his stomach. His body remembered the position. Thinking he’d tried enough, Tristan, now over him, pressed the half-erect tip of his thick member between Doha’s buttocks.

“…Ugh!”

It wasn’t rough or cruel. If Tristan had wanted to cause him pain, he could have done it much worse than this.

Nevertheless, the small, tightly clenched entrance stretched open, and the thick flesh pushing through was still excruciatingly painful. Doha buried his face in the bedding to stifle any noise. The thick flesh moved in and out slowly, as if paving the way, then suddenly plunged deep inside.

“Ugh!”

“Still… it’s better than last time. Stop trembling, I’ll only go this far.”

A firm hand grasped and spread Doha’s buttocks as the man slowly controlled the depth of his thrusts. With each wet sound, a burning heat flared up.

Maybe because of the loosening, the rear wasn’t torn, though it convulsed and stretched painfully. Every time the thick member slid out and plunged back in, Doha’s vision turned red and he struggled to breathe. It felt as if a fist was mercilessly squeezing the tender, internal part of his abdomen.

But it was still more bearable than last time when his insides had been shredded. Relieved by that thought, Doha gritted his teeth and focused his gaze on his clenched hands on the bed. He tried not to think of it as miserable or painful, just hoping that even this small amount of help would last a little longer.

***

For once, the sky was clear, and the wind was calm. Jean finished cleaning up after lunch and prepared a light setup for dinner, arranging afternoon tea on a table with a parasol by the fountain.

“There’s so much to do.”

At first, Hazel had declined the offer of afternoon tea, but ten minutes later, she appeared through the back door of the mansion. Seeing Jean sitting alone, she removed her apron and hung it on a chair.

“Where is Eden?”

“I don’t know. He said he’d come down, but he’s not here.”

“He might still be asleep.”

Hazel glanced up at the mansion as she spoke. The mansion was so large that unless you made a point of it, it was possible to go all day without running into other residents. Tristan and Lowell usually ate together, while the other employees either ate alone or gathered when schedules aligned.

When Tristan Locke first moved into this mansion, he suggested setting meal times so that even the staff could dine together, a notion that horrified Hazel. The few times that such gatherings did occur, they disrupted the employees’ routines and caused various inconveniences. Eventually, even Tristan admitted it wasn’t practical, and the idea faded away. Jean sometimes dined with Tristan, but that made sense, given that he wasn’t originally a staff member but a fine-dining chef and not even from England, so he likely didn’t grasp the nuances of aristocratic tradition.

“Drink.”

Jean poured tea and moved the cup toward Hazel. There was a plate in the center, prettily arranged with freshly baked pastries.

“Did you bring some to the CEO?”

“Of course.”

Hazel picked up a pastry filled with red jam. A light breeze rustled the parasol, and from the nearby woods, the sound of birds echoed. Jean reclined comfortably in his chair, gazing toward the garden.

“I’ve been asking for half of the greenhouse to be given to me.”

He gestured toward the greenhouse.

“Since the weather’s getting colder, we can’t get much from the garden anymore. And those flowers in the greenhouse are just for decoration, aren’t they?”

“No. We can’t grow tomatoes in the CEO’s greenhouse.”

“…What’s the difference between oranges and tomatoes? Why are oranges allowed, but tomatoes aren’t?”

As Hazel was about to explain, there was a heavy sound of the mansion door leading to the garden closing. Both Jean and Hazel turned to look. A young man in a white sweater awkwardly appeared from the doorway, looking a bit sheepish as their gazes fell on him.

“Jean, I just saw your message… Sorry.”

“You’ve been asleep until now, haven’t you? Your face is all puffy.”

Jean teased as he pulled out the chair next to him. It was opposite Hazel. Eden Yeon, looking embarrassed, touched his face with the back of his hand as he approached the parasol and sat down. Jean placed a cup in front of the young man and asked.

“You ate the soup I sent up this morning, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s have some tea and later we can have dinner together.”

The red tea, still steaming thanks to the tea cozy, trickled into the cup. Hazel quietly watched Eden Yeon as he lowered his head and sipped the tea like a bird, holding the cup by his wrists. She realized why Jean only filled the cup halfway—it was to ensure it wouldn’t be too hot to hold by the wrists.

“By the way.”

Eden Yeon spoke softly after setting the cup down.

“Look at this.”

He rolled up the sleeve of his sweater with the back of his hand and extended his right hand for her to see. His fingers, gnarled as if cursed, slowly uncurled, the pinky trembling slightly as it stretched out. He exhaled softly as he fully extended his fingers and then relaxed them again. The quivering pinky returned to its original state.

“Oh wow.”

Jean, who was watching closely, clapped sincerely.

“That’s impressive. It wasn’t like this yesterday, right? You’ve managed to move it this much in just a day?”

“Yes.”

The young man’s face turned a little red, softening the cold and pale impression he usually gave.

“It started working when I woke up this morning.”

“At this rate, you’ll recover pretty quickly, won’t you?”

“Yes… It’s thanks to Mr. Locke.”

At that, Jean’s expression grew slightly awkward, but the young man, focused on moving his fingers again, didn’t seem to notice. Hazel took a sip of tea, turning her head slightly. By now, there wasn’t anyone in the house, apart from the gardener, who didn’t know why the young man was visiting Tristan and what was happening in the bedroom on the third floor. But acknowledging it openly was a different matter.

“What did you do today?”

Jean offered a pastry to Eden as he changed the topic.

“Don’t you get bored staying in your room all the time?”

“…But if I come down to the kitchen, I’ll be in the way of your work.”

“You’re welcome in the kitchen, but I can’t entertain you because of my work, so it must be dull for you. Since you’ll be visiting two or three times a month from now on, how about finding something to do during the day? There’s no TV here, but there are other things.”

At this, Eden glanced at Hazel.

“Shall I get permission for you to access the library?” Hazel asked.

“Or you can call the CEO directly and ask him.”

“No, that’s fine, Miss Jean.”

The young man, flustered as soon as Tristan’s name was mentioned, responded quickly.

“Dinner will be ready soon. I’ll take a walk in the garden after Jean leaves.”

“That sounds good.”

Hazel finished the last of her tea and the remaining bite of pastry before standing up.

“Then I’ll take my leave. I have some unfinished work. Eden, if I don’t see you before you leave tomorrow, I’ll see you again in ten days.”

“Yes, goodbye.”

Eden gave a slight nod, while Jean, now that Eden was no longer alone, simply waved as Hazel walked away. Before entering the mansion, Hazel glanced back to see Jean moving to sit across from Eden.

Even though Eden was a guest who didn’t require much attention throughout the day, his presence in the guest room was still on Hazel’s mind. Jean also seemed aware of Eden’s presence, as evidenced by his habit of experimenting with various soup recipes and muttering about catering to an Eastern palate.

Life in this secluded mansion had been monotonous, filled with the same people and the same routines day after day. The unexpected arrival of an outsider felt like a fresh breeze sneaking into a sealed space. It might have been a welcome change for Jean, but it also meant the once sturdy walls had begun to crack.

***

Doha held his breath until the man fully withdrew from his body. His abdomen stung and throbbed, and the sharp pain between his buttocks lingered. He felt a wave of relief that it was finally over, lying motionless as he listened to the sound of Tristan dressing behind him.

Although he knew he should get up and head down to the guest room on the second floor, his body didn’t seem to have the strength. Doha blinked slowly, feeling the cold sweat on his back begin to cool, making him shiver.

“You’ll catch a cold if you stay like that.”

The voice of the man he had just been intimate with was cold and detached.

“Go down if you’re going, or crawl under the covers if you’re staying.”

“…I’ll go now.”

He tried to rise, but his knees buckled beneath him. Doha barely managed to twist his body away from Tristan as he collapsed onto the bed.

Tristan silently lifted the edge of the blanket and draped it over Doha’s thin back.

“I’m not too particular about sharing my bed, so stay if you want.”

“…Thank you.”

Tristan reached out and turned off the remaining light. In the calm darkness, Doha shifted his position slightly, careful not to get too close.

During the stressful week when they had first met, they had spent time together even when they weren’t being intimate, often falling asleep in each other’s arms. But now, it was clear that Tristan wasn’t willing to endure any unnecessary discomfort. Their physical encounters were limited to a fixed number each night, and there was no other contact outside of that. Doha stared at his barely visible fingers, moving them slowly, telling himself he should be grateful even for this. If this was the most Tristan could tolerate, he could only hope it would last as long as possible.

He heard movement beside him, indicating that Tristan wasn’t yet asleep.

Doha tossed and turned restlessly, then something occurred to him. After a few moments of hesitation, he whispered softly.

“…Mr. Locke.”

“Yes.”

His voice was deep and calm in the dark.

“Next time I visit the mansion… would it be okay if I used the library? I won’t stay long. I’ll just borrow a book to read in my room.”

“……”

“If you don’t want me taking books out, I could use it while you’re not around.”

The request sounded more unreasonable now that he had said it out loud. If he really needed books, he could always buy or borrow some in London and bring them along. Perhaps what Tristan really wanted was for him to remain quietly in the guest room. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Tristan responded first.

“Did I ever say you couldn’t?”

His voice was curious, as if the question was unexpected.

“Have you been locking yourself up in your room this whole time because you thought you had to?”

“…It’s not like that. I sometimes go out to the garden.”

“As long as you’re inside the estate, feel free to wander around. Just don’t scribble in the books, and I don’t mind if you take them to your room. It’s good to be aware of your place, but if you’re overly cautious about everything, it can actually irritate the other person.”

His languid voice had a sharp undertone. Doha nodded silently, then realized he couldn’t be seen, so he calmly responded.

“Yes. I’ll do that.”

“I heard your pinky finger is moving quite well.”

“…Yes.”

“I’m the one treating you, but it seems you have no intention of bragging about it to me.”

Doha couldn’t tell if he was being reproached or if it was just a comment. He quickly collected himself and spoke.

“I’ll show you tomorrow morning.”

By tomorrow, his hand might move a little more than it did today. If he focused, he could faintly feel a tingling sensation inside his paralyzed fingers, as if bubbles were popping. There was a rustling sound beside him, and to his surprise, the man chuckled.

“Every time you sleep with me, Eden, you seem to gain a lot.”

“…”

“But I don’t seem to be getting anything in return. What should I do about that?”

Though his tone was casual and light, Doha momentarily held his breath. He opened his mouth and barely managed to respond.

“I’ll… try harder.”

“Try harder, huh.”

Tristan repeated in a languid voice.

“That sounds good. So, what exactly are you going to work on?”

“…If you give me some time, I’ll become a bed partner that satisfies you.”

As soon as he said it, his cheeks flushed. Starting with his gender, everything seemed wrong. He hadn’t shown Tristan anything worthwhile thus far. By tomorrow morning, he’d leave the estate again, and this time too, all he’d managed was to quietly endure under him, not making a sound for fear of displeasing him. He was probably one of the most boring people Tristan had ever had a relationship with.

The man gave a soft, low laugh.

“Alright then. Let’s start by gaining some weight.”

“What?”

“Holding you, your bones dig into me, and your limbs are so thin that I worry I might accidentally break them.”

“…I’ll fix that.”

“Good.”

He slowly murmured, “What else?”

Doha listened intently, tense.

“Well, you can’t grow a chest that doesn’t exist.”

“…”

“And it’d be nice if you loosened up a bit when taking me. Sometimes, it feels like I’m holding a log from the woods outside, not a person.”

“…Yes.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing how much you improve when you return in ten days.”

Tristan finished his sentence lightly, making it unclear if he was joking or serious. In the darkness, Doha could see him turning over. Doha closed his eyes and exhaled quietly. His waist, thighs, and hips, all the places Tristan had gripped and collided with, still ached, as if remembering the heat of their contact. The cool night air settled on his exposed face.