Eighteen's Bed-Chapter 29.1

"They didn’t."

I tossed my phone aside as if it had burned me.

The moment I started waking up, a headache hit me. Honestly, just a headache would be a blessing. My back was aching too, so I groaned and buried my face into the blanket. It smelled different from usual. Not my scent. A scent steeped in deep, blue melancholy.

Go Yohan’s scent.

I buried my nose into the blanket and inhaled deeply. Why does Go Yohan always smell so good? Even back when I hated him, I had to admit—his scent was nice. Kind of like soap. Cool and clean.

"Smells good."

The thought slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

Well, whatever. Who cares if I said it out loud? Something good is good. My mind was foggy, but I wasn’t an idiot. This was my house, obviously. And there was no one here to hear me anyway—

"You like it? My little porcelain doll."

—Or at least, there shouldn’t have been.

The moment my brain snapped into alertness, I felt a strong arm wrap around my waist. Silky, soft strands of hair tickled my cheek and neck, and a low, languid voice murmured right against my ear.

My swollen eyes snapped open.

And the instant I realized this wasn’t my bed, memories from last night came rushing back.

Reality and memory aligned.

This was Go Yohan’s bed.

And of course, I was naked.

As for Go Yohan, who was lying behind me—I had no idea.

"Should we start the morning off with something even better?"

The hand that had been idly tracing circles on my stomach started to wander downward. As those long fingers slipped past my smooth navel, I instinctively grabbed Yohan’s wrist.

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"Don’t."

"Don’t talk. Your voice is shot."

"That’s why I said… don’t. My back seriously hurts. I nearly died keeping up with you last night. And like I’ve said before—I’m not a bottom, okay?"

"Oh? Then what do you call this? A peeled eggplant?"

"Urk…!"

Like hell my grip could even faze him.

Go Yohan let out a quiet chuckle before prying my fingers off his wrist with ease. Then, shamelessly, he rubbed his fingertips just above my dick.

"If you don’t like it smooth, should I get you some hair growth cream?"

"Fuck off!"

I yelled, slapping his hand away with all the strength I had. My ears burned with humiliation, and I yanked the blanket up, stuffing it between my legs as a barrier.

Fucking bastard. I refused to even look at his smug face, so I buried my head under the blanket.

But Go Yohan didn’t tease me further, didn’t even try to pull the blanket away. Instead, he sat up slightly, lifting my arm and leg as if examining them.

Somehow, that was even more unnerving.

"What… are you doing?"

Unable to hold back my curiosity, I turned my head.

Go Yohan was staring at my right hand.

"Checking."

"Checking what?"

The moment I asked, his fingers pressed against the thickest part of my palm. A sharp sting made my body flinch.

Why did that hurt?

Then it hit me.

A sudden rush of heat spread through my head.

I remembered gripping the safety bar in the car, kneeling on the seat as I struggled not to fall.

"The skin here is a little scraped."

"It’s… it’s nothing."

I quickly hid my face again.

I didn’t need a mirror to know what kind of expression I had right now.

But Yohan didn’t seem the least bit interested in my face. His hands trailed down my side, pressing against my ribs, my waist.

My chest, pressed against the bed, felt like it was going to burst.

While I was distracted, he lifted my leg.

And when his fingers brushed against my knee, it stung—like a fresh cut.

"Ah!"

"It’s red here too."

"Scraped my knee. It’s nothing."

"Anywhere else?"

I shook my head.

Nope. Nothing else. And if you could put my leg down now, that’d be great.

Surprisingly, he did.

He lowered my leg as if he were handling something delicate, like a jewel.

Relief washed over me.

I felt like I’d just overcome some great ordeal.

I shouldn’t have.

I shouldn’t have let my guard down.

I should’ve realized what was coming.

"……Huh?"

Out of nowhere, hands grabbed my hips, flipping me onto my back.

I barely had time to register the ceiling light above me before my legs were spread apart.

The blanket that had been wedged between them slipped away, gravity pulling it to the floor.

And then—heat. A firm, warm pressure against my knee.

Panicked, I propped myself up, peering past the heap of blankets.

"G-Go Yohan?"

Nestled between my legs, Go Yohan had his eyes closed.

His lips were pressed against my knee.

At my call, he cracked one eye open before shutting it again.

In the dim light, his pupils gleamed before vanishing once more.

Was he smiling? Expressionless?

I had no idea. His face was hidden behind my legs.

Chuuup—

A long, drawn-out sound sent a chill up my spine.

Go Yohan finally pulled back, brushing his fingers over the scraped skin as he spoke.

"Emergency treatment."

Then, he looked up at me and smiled.

Before I could protest, he kissed my knee again.

His large body, hunched over to press his lips against me, exposed the graceful curve of his neck, the broad expanse of his shoulders.

"……."

This scene… was way too dangerous for me.

Too erotic.

Way too erotic.

Even his loose training pants, clinging tight to his body, outlined everything.

I averted my eyes and mumbled,

"You’re… hard."

"Yeah. I am."

I clenched the blanket in my fingers.

Then don’t do this.

And yet—

A thought surfaced.

Should I?

Should I not?

An invisible scale inside my head wavered.

Then, at last, it tipped.

I reached out my hand again.

"......Hey."

Go Yohan lifted his eyes at me, looking slightly puzzled. Why?

"Should I touch it first?"

And when Go Yohan’s eyes wavered for just a second, I felt a sudden surge of triumph inside. My shy pride flared up in my chest. All of my foolish actions had always been driven by stubbornness. My entire history was made from that stubbornness. Just like right now.

I raised the leg that Go Yohan had been holding. His gaze followed my movement, landing on my foot, and I pressed my bare sole against the inner part of his thigh.

"......I’m doing the emergency treatment too."

At my provocation, Go Yohan slowly reached out, grabbing my ankle. He locked my foot in place with his body and nodded in approval. His face, full of expectation, had turned damp with eagerness.

"Yeah, please."

Well, I couldn't just leave him hanging. Go Yohan was still adorable in a way.

****

Unfortunately, my "Go Yohan Report," which I had started with the intent to finish, was far from over. I had gotten too caught up in the fun of observing Go Yohan. It probably had something to do with my natural curiosity for people.

However, the format had long since disappeared. Now, I just wrote whenever I felt like it and sometimes forgot to jot things down altogether. This meant my "Go Yohan Report" became a spontaneous mess of observations.

101. Go Yohan’s cooking looks like some hellish oxtail soup (probably made with rice cake noodles), but it actually tastes pretty decent.

101-1. What a weird guy.

But why did my food taste like this?

"I followed the recipe exactly."

I measured the ingredients like it said—just the right amount of everything. Why did it taste off? This was something that seriously needed to be looked into. It wasn’t like I’d done anything wrong. What exactly does "the right amount" even mean? I needed precise measurements.

But Go Yohan—he always got that right amount perfectly. Why did he?

To figure it out, I decided to pretend I was cooking for him and mess it up on purpose. So, this food wasn’t my fault.

"Jun, how long do I have to stay like this?"

"How am I supposed to season this? How much is the 'right amount'?"

"Can’t I just do it myself?"

"No, what I want to know is, how much is the 'right amount'? 30g?"

"Can’t you feel what’s the right amount?"

"What does that even mean?"

"Can’t I just do it?"

The conversation went in circles, and I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Why? Why couldn’t he just accept that? On top of that, Go Yohan slouched in his chair, watching me with a look of disdain. That expression just made me more furious.

"Jun, cooking for yourself is something only pathetic people do."

"You’ve made every citizen pathetic, then."

"Listen up, Jun. I have a lot of money. When you have money, what do you do?"

"Save it."

"Shut up."

"Invest it."

"No, you consume it. Listen, you idiot. What you're doing right now is driving the country to ruin. When you have a lot of funds, you need to spend them for the economy to work. So, stop. You’re a traitor to your nation."

"Cooking is going to bring about the downfall of the nation?"

"Rebellion always starts from a desire for stability in food, clothing, and shelter."

"……."

Go Yohan’s logic remained as consistent as ever. And somehow, it always sounded so convincing. So, I slyly changed the subject.

"I’ve been consuming. I’ve contributed massively to the consumer market."

I clenched my fist in frustration, eyeing the food scraps piled in the sink. What else would you call it if not consumption? Art? I glared at Go Yohan resentfully. He responded by hiding his face with his palm and muttering audibly.

"Ugh, I’m going crazy."

Then, he smirked and peeled an orange. It was late January—prime orange season.

After peeling off the bright yellow skin, he didn’t immediately pop the segments into his mouth. His right hand clumsily removed the white part from the orange, moving so carefully that his middle finger trembled in the air.

"Done."

Go Yohan smiled brightly at the now-pale yellow orange, then swept the messy ingredients off the counter with a single arm. The noise of everything crashing down echoed in the kitchen. A few strawberries exploded on the floor. I was startled and instinctively shut my eyes. But then, I opened them again, pretending nothing was wrong, silently staring at the squashed strawberries.

Go Yohan tapped the sink like it was a piano. It was as if he wanted me to look at him. When I turned my gaze, Go Yohan opened his shoulders in a satisfied stretch, tapping his fingers against the sink with a loud clack.

"Stop wasting time and just eat the orange."

His long, bony finger pointed at the fruit.

"I’ll take my leave now, I’m just the unwelcome guest."

Without bothering to clean up the mess, Go Yohan left. I heard the door click shut as I slowly reached out and grabbed the orange in front of me. When I bit into it, the sweetness burst in my mouth. It tasted like an orange harvested late in the winter.

"I was trying to make him a cake, and he doesn’t even know. Damn bastard."

The sweet taste of the orange lingered in my mouth. I stuck my lips out and, after chewing a bit, bent down to pull a small paper bag from under the sink. Inside was a small box. Thank God it wasn’t discovered. I smiled smugly and popped the rest of the orange into my mouth.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

****

"Sorry, I accidentally pushed it all to the back."

"No, it’s fine."

"I was going to clean it up before you arrived."

"It’s fine. If you need anything, just call me. I’ll help with anything."

"......No, it’s fine."

Was this intentional on Go Yohan’s part? He must have known the housekeeper was coming today and purposefully shoved everything to the back of the sink.

The fridge was empty, the counters cleared. There had been nothing to mess up in the first place, but surprisingly, the housekeeper had cleaned everything up more thoroughly than ever before.

A gentle breeze drifted in, and the quiet of the morning, still before sunrise, filled the house. The peaceful atmosphere, especially after waking up late, felt like a soft caress. Of course, the loud sound of a vacuum cleaner interrupted it.

I sat down at the kitchen table, picked one of the remaining tomatoes, and took a bite.

The Kitchen Was Quickly Cleaned

The trash scattered across the floor disappeared in an instant. I had to admit, she was a pro. I secretly admired her while sucking on the juice that had flowed out of the strawberry. The excess liquid trickled down my fingers, gathering into a large drop at my wrist. I lightly lowered my eyelids and licked the liquid off my wrist.

It was a normal day, but there were moments when tension would creep in. The moment the housekeeper opened Go Yohan’s door was one of them. Even though there was no reason to worry, I always felt like I was the one doing something wrong, sneaking glances here and there.

I sometimes wondered if it was really necessary to feel this way, but the truth was, if I tried to handle everything myself, my parents would get suspicious, so I had no choice. I could only desperately wait for the vacuum cleaner to turn off.

Even while staring at the laptop on the table, my mind was still on Go Yohan’s room.

7. GoOO is bad.

※But sometimes, he's kind to me. Just to me. Sometimes.

Is this some sort of self-consolation?

I flinched at the thought that popped into my head while reading the report. It was a truth anyone who knew Go Yohan would accept: he had always been a bad person from the start.

Go Yohan must have been born a demon. Being born into a family that loved Jesus was a curse for someone like him. Living under God’s protection must have been a fate crueler than the flames of hell itself for him. Perhaps Go Yohan drank the sweet sulfur of hell like it was a treat.

※This is likely due to his natural disposition.

But my self-consolation didn’t end there. Go Yohan was born a demon because his father was one. Go Yohan was merely a victim of his bloodline. It wasn’t his fault that he resembled his father.

Wait, does that mean Go Yohan’s father must have resembled his own father too, and thus, it’s not really a crime?

"Huh?"

I suddenly realized my argument was flawed. My thoughts were blocked by my own logic.

The housekeeper, having finished cleaning, came out of Go Yohan’s room, and I sat at the table, trying to formulate a new counter-argument to break my own reasoning.

In the end, I failed. When I looked up, I saw the housekeeper standing quietly in front of me, having finished preparing my lunch.

"Ah, sorry. I was just thinking about an assignment."

"Mr. Go asked for a restorative dish."

"Restorative dish?"

"Yes. Samgyetang."

Ah, samgyetang. It was too heavy for me to eat right now. I was already full. But, knowing why she had made it for me, I couldn’t bring myself to refuse, so I just smiled and accepted it.

"Thank you."

"No, it’s fine."

"Can you serve a little less? I don’t think I can eat too much."

"Of course."

After serving the dish, the housekeeper didn’t engage in any casual conversation, as usual. She simply glanced around the house before setting to work on other tasks. I carefully sipped the steaming broth. She was a good cook.

But how does one become a good cook? How do professionals know what the "right amount" is? If you keep adding little by little, you wouldn’t be able to finish the dish on time, right? Wouldn’t the broth reduce or the food burn?

I was so curious that I stopped drinking the soup and peeked at the housekeeper’s back. She was scanning the room, and then suddenly mumbled to herself,

"I see."

What does she mean by that? I felt something was off as she stepped into my room and came out again, carrying a large bowl. Inside, a mountain of bright yellow peeled tangerines was stacked high.

"What’s this?"

"It was on your desk."

"It was on my desk?"

Hearing that, I chewed the meat I had in my chopsticks. I couldn’t hold it any longer. As I chewed, I stared at the mountain of tangerines. Why was that in my room?

While I chewed, the housekeeper continued to sort through the tangerines with her hands, checking them carefully.

"Should I buy more tangerines?"

I swallowed the small food I had left and responded.

"No, I can order them if I want. Why?"

"You seemed like you wanted them."

"I did?"

"Yes."

"……Why?"

I asked "why" twice. It wasn’t like I was a seven-year-old child. The housekeeper had never really asked me questions like this, so I found myself growing increasingly curious. At my question, she placed the tangerines on the sink and said,

"I peeled them all."

I rolled my eyes. "Tangerack"? I didn’t know that word. I must have made an expression of confusion, because the housekeeper rubbed her forehead.

"Ah, sorry."

She released the tension in her forehead and, without knowing, grabbed some cling film from the cupboard and said,

"Jun doesn’t usually eat the white part of the tangerines."

"I don’t?"