L*st and Death

Baek Kyung twisted around in his seat, poking his head through the gap between the front seats. His face was unreadable—half joke, half threat.

“Or hey, we could do all three of us. I’ve always wanted to fuck you until you break. Until every single hole of yours is filled with cum and you’re vomiting it up, again and again, and it still doesn’t stop. All night long.”

Siron had been gripping the door handle, ready to fling it open and bolt. But now his grip slackened. It was like getting punched in the gut out of nowhere. That hadn’t been his intention—he hadn’t said he had a boyfriend to provoke jealousy or invite Baek Kyung’s violence. Should he admit it was a lie? Siron’s heart pounded like a cornered animal.

“Just kidding. You’re such a scaredy-cat. Let’s go.”

Baek Kyung flashed a toothy, teasing grin, unlocked the doors, and got out first. Siron could hear the rain beating down on him, followed by the rough scraping sound of him opening the trunk and dragging the unconscious man out.

Had he grown too soft over the past four years, living a life free from Baek Kyung? The sound of that sick bastard’s voice—so close, so brutal—had shaken Siron to his core, like a herbivore suddenly facing down a predator. The shame of that realization burned in his chest.

“Hey, you psychotic bastard! I wasn’t scared!”

“Fuck. Blood’s gonna get all over my clothes.”

Siron stormed after him and jabbed a finger at his back, but Baek Kyung didn’t even flinch. With the limp body slung over his shoulder, he slammed the trunk shut and locked the car. Then, without hesitation, he started striding up the steps into the building with his long legs.

Only then did it hit Siron—he couldn’t let Baek Kyung go in first. That lunatic could lose it and brain the doctor with a frying pan or something. Siron hurried after him, heart pounding.

But when he pushed open the clinic doors and stepped inside, he came face to face with something unexpected.

“...Dr. Johnson... Rube?”

Baek Kyung had stopped dead at the entrance. He gave a small, stunned laugh, like he’d just run into someone impossible in an impossible place.

“You’re the guy claiming to be Yoon Siron’s boyfriend?”

He didn’t shout—he just sounded flatly incredulous.

“And a urologist, no less?”

“Is there a problem?” Johnson asked coolly.

Siron was stuck in the doorway, caught between them. He clamped a hand over his mouth. Was Baek Kyung going to snap first, or would Johnson call his bluff and end this farce right now? The tension was unbearable.

Careful not to brush against the unconscious man, Siron slipped past Baek Kyung through the gap in the door. Johnson was standing awkwardly in front of his office, as if he’d just come out. He’d been watching Baek Kyung warily, but when he spotted Siron, his eyebrows twitched into a frown.

“Johnson!”

Siron rushed up to him and grabbed his arm, standing on tiptoe. When he couldn’t reach his ear, he gently pressed on Johnson’s shoulder to get him to lower his height.

“Please, just for today, pretend to be my boyfriend. I’ll explain everything later. I’m really, really sorry.”

He pulled down Johnson’s hood and whispered frantically, brain scrambling for acting references—something, anything to guide his behavior. A seductive warehouse worker trying to tempt a righteous chief of staff? A sociopathic chaebol heir falling for a foul-tempered detective? None of it helped.

In the end, he just pressed himself to Johnson’s side, too close. Close enough to feel the muscles in Johnson’s arm tense in rejection.

“Sorry for showing up so late and unannounced. I—I didn’t know who else to turn to. Someone’s really badly hurt.”

But Johnson didn’t respond to his act. He slowly pulled his arm out of Siron’s grip and kept his guarded gaze locked on Baek Kyung. The silence between them stretched on. Finally, Baek Kyung broke it.

“Dr. Johnson Rube. Could you take a look at the patient?”

He used a strangely polite tone as he let the unconscious man slump to the ground.

“I don’t care if he dies, but Siron insisted we save him.”

“Of course we should save him!”

Siron snapped, turning desperate eyes toward Johnson.

“He—he was a mugger! Baek Kyung just swung a frying pan without thinking, and now he’s really messed up. He’s not gonna die from that, right?”

“Not a mugger. Rapist.”

Siron spun around in panic and glared at Baek Kyung.

“Shut the fuck up!” he hissed in Korean.

“...Rapist?”

Johnson repeated the word, his expression darkening. His gaze dropped to the man on the floor—specifically, to the bulge of his erect cock. He stared at the tight, stretched fabric and asked without looking away:

“Are you okay, Mr. Siron?”

“W-What? Y-Yeah. Nothing happened.”

“My apologies... I didn’t expect him to react so quickly.”

“...Huh?”

“Let me check his condition.”

Johnson pulled a small flashlight and a metal cable tie from a pouch on his chest and approached the man. He checked his breathing and pupil reflexes, then used his foot to roll him over onto his stomach. As if restraining a criminal, he pulled the man’s arms behind his back, pressed his thumbs together, and bound them with the cable tie. Not satisfied, he did the same for his wrists and ankles—three ties per joint, pulled tight.

Siron stood scratching his itchy neck and cheek, watching the whole process with growing unease. The guy was already unconscious—was this really necessary? And what kind of doctor carried metal zip ties in their chest pouch? Something wasn’t right.

He stared at Johnson, trying not to fidget. The man was dressed entirely in black: Gore-Tex pants that hugged his legs, a matching hoodie under a tactical vest, and a neck gaiter pulled up high enough to hide half his face. It looked more like a lightweight combat outfit than a medical uniform.

Was he out hiking? Camping? In this rain? What the ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) hell...?

Johnson rolled the man back over and reached into a narrow thigh pocket, pulling out a folding knife.

“Wait—!”

Before Siron could stop him, Johnson drew a shallow cut across the man’s foot.

“AAAGH!”

“Oh? He’s awake.”

“Fuck! What the hell?!”

The man’s eyes flew open. On his blood-covered face, those eyes shone clean and clear—it was eerie as hell.

“Who the fuck are you people?!”

He thrashed, trying to look around. When he saw Johnson holding a knife, Baek Kyung leaning casually against the wall, and Siron hovering awkwardly nearby—then noticed the restraints—he exploded.

“Y-You kidnapped me?!”

His voice rang out, loud and crisp.

“Ugh. I can’t listen to this bullshit. Hey, you crazy fuck.”

Baek Kyung crossed his arms and scowled.

“Who told you to run around in rut like that?”

“...What?”

“Who told you to walk around with your dick hard?”

The man blinked in shock, then looked down at his still-standing erection.

“Shit!”

His flushed face crumpled as he panted in distress.

“I didn’t do it on purpose. I—I don’t remember anything.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“...Are you guys alphas too?”

“If you know, then rein in your pheromones.”

“S-Sorry. I’m still, huff, not used to that yet.”

“Ohh. A baby alpha?”

“Yeah. I just... made a mistake.”

He was starting to hyperventilate, flailing in place.

“P-Please, untie me. It hurts.”

What the hell was this conversation? Siron felt like he was listening to an alien language.

“Am I the only one not getting this? Alpha? Pheromones? What does that even mean?”

All three men turned to look at him. Their stares hit like arrows, sharp and precise.

“It’s a thing,” Baek Kyung said, dismissing the question entirely.

He suddenly ran both hands down his face roughly, then pushed his hair back and fixed Johnson with a serious expression.

“Dr. Johnson. I need to talk to you.”

“Talk to me?”

“Yeah. But not here.”

He gestured toward the office. It wasn’t what Siron had expected—he hadn’t gotten violent—but this was still Baek Kyung. He had the volatile aggression of a teenage boy. God only knew what he might do.

“What are you gonna talk about?”

Siron rushed to wedge himself between them.

“Just say it here.”

Baek Kyung let out a breath, annoyed, and pressed one giant palm to Siron’s face, shoving him back like a fussy child.

“You don’t need to hear this.”

Siron slapped his hand away, panic rising in his throat.

“You’re not gonna fight, are you?”

“Who knows? Who do you think would win?”

“It’s not about winning or losing. You picked the wrong guy to fight. That whole ‘I’ve got a boyfriend’ thing... it was a lie.”

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