L*st and Death

The three of them passed through the door connected to the garage and stepped into the garden, then entered the house straight away. Siron, surprised by the size of the front hall, quickly scanned the interior. When Lewis had said he lived in a house alone with his sister, Siron had assumed they’d constantly bump into each other inside. But that wasn’t the case at all. Lewis’s house was a mansion large enough for grown adults to play hide-and-seek in.

Siron, enchanted by the seductive atmosphere of the luxury mansion he had only dreamed of, snapped out of it at the sudden commotion. At the far end of the living room, Lewis was roughly tossing Baekgyeong into a small room and binding him tightly with chains and thick ropes.

"Do you really have to go this far?"

"Even if you go this far, some bastards still manage to escape."

Anna answered on Lewis’s behalf, with a look of utter disgust. Apparently, Lewis was one of those bastards who had escaped before.

"Is it enough to just lock him in a room like this?"

"No. I’ve got something to test."

Lewis answered firmly. After restraining Baekgyeong’s body, he tied his wrists and ankles separately and set down a metal briefcase next to him. Reinforced at each corner and fastened with solid latches, it looked far from ordinary. Whatever was inside the case seemed to be very important.

Lewis opened the case and carefully laid out the contents one by one. Disinfectant, syringes, glass vials, disposable saline. The syringes, in particular, looked strangely familiar.

"Why go through all the trouble of making it injectable? Oral medication would’ve been way more convenient."

"Maybe oral versions aren’t as effective?"

Watching Lewis and Anna talk, Siron asked cautiously.

"This drug... it’s not a narcotic, is it?"

"A narcotic?"

Lewis looked at the vial with a drowsy expression, as if he’d just woken up, then gave a short laugh.

"Hm, well, I guess it does look like one."

He rolled the vial gently in his hand so that the powder dissolved into the saline and continued speaking.

"It’s a rut cycle suppressant. Supposedly a new drug developed by the Bile Group pharmaceutical company, but I don’t know if it actually works. This is my first time using it too."

Hearing Lewis’s answer, Siron found himself anxiously biting the inside of his cheek. If what Lewis was saying was true, then Siron had made a huge mistake just a few hours ago. He’d blown things out of proportion thinking Baekgyeong was doing drugs again.

Staring down at Baekgyeong’s face, covered in purple bruises, Siron asked with a complicated look on his face.

"When’s he supposed to wake up?"

"At the earliest? Eight hours from now."

Lewis rolled up Baekgyeong’s shirt to his shoulders, gave the area a cursory disinfecting, and injected him without much care. Siron pressed a small bandage over the spurting blood and held the skin firmly to stop the bleeding. Despite the heavy stimulus, Baekgyeong still showed no reaction. Siron gazed for a long time at Baekgyeong’s body—battered, broken, like a doll torn and stitched apart.

"What’s going to happen after eight hours?"

"If the suppressant works, he should be functional. If not, I’ll have to keep him locked in this panic room for at least a week."

"Rut cycles last that long?"

"Depends on the person. Mine did."

Siron was genuinely starting to worry about having become an omega. Just hours ago, he’d been swept up in Baekgyeong’s rut cycle, his whole body suddenly enslaved to desire.

In this fucked-up worldview Isaac Bazelli had pulled him into, omegas were sacrifices—reborn to give life to alphas, to fuck them. Siron didn’t want to devote his one and only precious life to being a sacrificial lamb in a trash-tier world like that.

Siron took Baekgyeong’s wallet and phone from his pocket. There was a decent wad of cash in the wallet. He noticed Anna’s sharp gaze on him but calmly pulled the money out anyway. As if presenting evidence to a judge, he held it out in front of her.

"Two thousand one hundred ninety dollars. That right?"

"That’s right. But why?"

"I’m borrowing it. Not stealing."

"...Sure. Well, it’s not my money anyway."

Folding the bills and stuffing them deep in his pocket, Siron took Baekgyeong’s phone too and stood up. As if he’d been waiting, Lewis shut the panic room door behind them, leaving Baekgyeong inside.

By the time Siron had finished his shower and was guided by Lewis into the guest room, it was already well past 3 a.m.

"I didn’t get to fix all the panic room locks, so it’s pretty weak. I’ll be right next door, so shout if anything happens."

Lewis brushed aside the bangs stabbing into his eyes and took the chance to touch Siron’s face under the guise of fixing his hair.

"Why do you keep calling me Bebe? It’s creepy."

Thinking he didn’t even know which one of them was pulling the dangerous moves, Siron swatted Lewis’s hand away.

Lewis lifted the hand Siron had hit and struck a playful pose, like pretending to bash himself on the head with a hammer. He rolled his eyes like a comedy mime and pretended to drop dead, then suddenly shifted his expression and leaned in closer. The mischief drained from his face, replaced with seriousness.

"If it makes you uncomfortable... should we start with a date, so you can get used to the nickname?"

"...Just go to sleep."

"I’m serious. This might sound strange, but I desire you."

Lewis shamelessly dropped the line and moved from Siron’s side to directly in front of him. Siron, with his back against the wall, turned his head away uncomfortably, feeling caged in.

"I’m not even sure if this is lust, or affection, or love at first sight. I don’t know what to call it."

"It’s probably just pheromones messing with you."

"Sure, maybe. But I like you because you’re beautiful."

Siron had been called handsome, pretty, gorgeous, cool—countless compliments about his appearance. But Lewis’s blatant interest felt like a burden. Hoping to shut down the conversation, Siron frowned slightly and looked up at him.

"Don’t flatter me."

"You really are beautiful."

"That doesn’t work on me..."

"I watched your videos over and over while I was searching for you. Every moment on screen, you showed a different kind of charm. You felt like someone important to me. You comforted me. I guess I was hoping for a deeper connection. Like I had some kind of fever over you."

...In short, Lewis McCarthy had become a die-hard fan of the actor Yoon Siron.

Back when he was thriving as an actor, Siron had not only been ambitious about his craft, but greedy for fans too. The attention and love people gave him never felt like enough. He enjoyed basking in his fans’ affection, followed online reactions closely, was active on social media, and whenever he got the chance, he would perform at fan meets with delight.

Even the coldest person’s heart would melt in the face of unconditional love and praise. And Siron wasn’t the type of cruel person who could be cold to a new fan who had fallen in love with the memory of his prime.

Lewis’s desperate expression as he poured out his words so seriously made Siron smile involuntarily.

Seeing Siron smile, Lewis blinked like he was stunned, then broke into a smile of his own. To him, Siron’s laughter felt like warm rain washing away his anxiety.

"I really liked you as Private Norman Anderson. In Return to Bunker—you were so captivating in that role."

Was this a good atmosphere now? Or was Siron drawing the line? With an unreadable smile, he placed a hand on Lewis’s shoulder.

"But I don’t date fans. So let’s stop there."

Then he patted the now-frozen Lewis gently and pushed him out of the room.

"Goodnight!"

Then, like a flying squirrel, he darted into the room and locked the door behind him. Lewis remained standing in the hallway long after Siron’s door had shut and the lock clicked.

Siron burrowed under the blanket, listening to Lewis pacing outside the door. His body, utterly drained and aroused by sexual stimulation, had become so sensitive it felt like it would react to even the slightest touch. He craved sleep, but it wouldn’t come yet.

With bloodshot eyes, Siron stared at the screen of Baekgyeong’s old burner phone. A passcode was required to access the home screen. It didn’t seem like there’d be anything useful in there, but he couldn’t just sit back and wait to “become” an omega.

A few hours ago, he’d been pinned under Baekgyeong, his entire consciousness focused on pleasure. To be ruled by pheromones, overtaken by lust both in mind and body—that was what it meant to be an alpha’s plaything. If that sensation had been real, then a massive trial awaited him now.

"Fucking Isaac. If I see him again, I’ll kill him."

Grinding his teeth, Siron began carefully inputting numbers into the phone. He tried Baekgyeong’s birthday, the code to his old apartment, even his old phone number. None of them worked. After eight failed attempts, the phone locked up. Siron had to fight off sleep for fifteen minutes to earn another chance. One more failure would lock it for an hour. Another after that might wipe all the data.

"...No way, right?"

Gnawing at his nails, Siron hesitated for a long time before trying a number half in doubt. The screen lit up. The phone unlocked.

"...Seriously?"

He stared blankly at the sparse home screen, dazed.

Passcode 412127. April 12th, 1:27 a.m. The time Yoon Siron was born.

At that moment, a sound from the next room sliced through the silence and pierced his ears. The wooden house wasn’t soundproof at all—he could clearly hear the sound of flesh against flesh. The wall was so thin it felt like paper.

‘Fucking horn-dog.’

It was Lewis. Masturbating. Disgusted, Siron shuddered and sighed deeply. He could picture perfectly what kind of fantasy Lewis was immersed in, what each motion of his hand meant.

It wasn’t unfamiliar. His perverted neighbor back home used to press himself against the night sea’s wall, jerking off to Siron’s every movement like a rat. So this wasn’t even shocking anymore.

‘Yeah, it pisses me off... but it’s not surprising. I always slept fine through this shit, didn’t I?’

Thinking of sleep suddenly made it harder to stay awake. He tried to check the phone, but his eyelids were growing heavier. Even as he fought sleep, the noise from the next room didn’t stop. It sounded like Lewis had moved on from hand stuff to pillow-humping. Half-asleep, Siron involuntarily imagined the scene.

Lewis’s face twisted in lust, eyes half-closed in ecstasy. Gripping the sheets with his huge hands, he pressed hard against the pillow and rubbed his dick crudely. Sweat rolled down his forehead and cheeks, and restrained moans slipped out of his mouth. The entire scene replayed slowly, dreamlike, in Siron’s mind.

‘If you hump a pillow like that on your stomach... your dick... ends up bending.’

Siron blinked slowly, Lewis’s moans playing like background noise.

‘That asshole’s dick... what did it even... look like again.’

But his thoughts never reached the memory. His eyes finally closed, consciousness fading. Even after sleep claimed him completely, the sounds of Lewis jerking off continued until dawn.

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