The heavy door clicked shut behind Okjin, cutting off the muffled voices and the weight of Jeremiah's gaze.
What the hell just happened?
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, one hand instinctively brushing his sleeve where Sebastian had touched him. The man had been all teeth behind silk. Every smile felt like a dare. Every word a trap.
But Okjin had kept it together. At least outwardly.
That's what Lirien would do, he told himself. Unshakable. Elegant. A mirror with no reflection.
He turned toward Jeremiah, ready to speak—to joke, maybe, or shake his head at the absurdity of it all—but stopped.
Jeremiah's expression was unreadable. His hands were clenched at his sides, shoulders rigid. The light in his eyes wasn't the cold anger from before—it was something far quieter.
Grief, maybe. Longing, buried too deep to name.
"…You alright?" Okjin asked.
Jeremiah didn't respond immediately. He just stepped closer. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a frightened animal or a breaking thing.
Then, without a word, he moved behind him and lowered his head… pressing his forehead gently to the curve of Okjin's shoulder.
Okjin froze.
The contact was soft. Familiar. The kind of gesture that would feel natural between two people who had shared things—intimate things.
But Okjin didn't register it that way. His mind spun in practical circles. He must be worried. Of course. Lirien had just been groped and cornered by one of the most powerful nobles in the empire.
"He's… a lot," Okjin said quietly, trying to offer comfort, to cut the tension. "I'll talk to the elders about ending this match before it gets out of hand."
Jeremiah didn't answer.
His breath warmed the fabric of Lirien's robes. His hand hovered near Okjin's elbow, not quite touching. His body was tense with restraint, but the ache in it—the longing—seeped through.
Okjin, unaware, remained calm and distant. "You don't need to worry so much, Jeremy."
There was a silence. The kind that seemed to hold its breath.
"…Jeremy," the man repeated gently, like reminding him of something they'd once shared.
Okjin blinked, then gave a faint, absent nod. "Right. I meant—Jeremiah."
He said it without thinking. No edge to it, just reflex.
But to Jeremy, the switch was deafening.
The loss of the nickname—the soft familiarity—felt like a door quietly closing.
His head lifted slowly, and for a moment, Okjin caught a flicker of something raw and broken in his eyes. A question that had already been answered. A truth confirmed not by cruelty—but by indifference.
Okjin turned back toward the door, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve.
"I should go. He's waiting."
He didn't see how Jeremiah's gaze followed him.
Didn't see the way his throat worked around words he didn't say.
Didn't hear the soft inhale of someone trying not to break.
To Jeremiah, it was clear.
Lirien had finally made his choice. Not with cruelty, but with that same serene detachment he gave to all things he didn't care for. It was the most elegant rejection imaginable.
And gods help him—Jeremiah loved him more for it.
As the door shut behind Okjin, Jeremiah closed his eyes, breathing in the lingering scent that remained in the room. That subtle trace of pear blossom, rain, and something heartbreakingly familiar.
He would serve. Still. Always.
Even if he was no longer needed.
.・゜-: ✧ :- -: ✧ :-゜・．
Okjin stepped through the door and heard the latch shut. He had just begun to gather himself when a shadow moved—swift and deliberate.
Thud.
Okjin barely had time to react before he was pinned; arm against the cold stone wall, a body far too close.
Sebastian.
His red eyes gleamed like embers in a storm, sharp with mischief and something darker underneath. His palm rested beside Okjin's head, the other arm low by his waist, caging him in without touching him. The space between them felt charged. Electric.
Okjin blinked, perfectly calm on the outside.
"…Is this necessary?"
Sebastian's lips curled. "Fascinating. Even when startled, you don't flinch. But your mana does."
He raised two fingers and flicked them through the air just beside Okjin's shoulder. There was a shimmer—a subtle ripple of magic.
"Instinctual, isn't it?" Sebastian murmured, "A protective barrier… even when you let your guard down."
Okjin's breath caught. Had his body really reacted on its own?
That was dangerous.
In a world where magic was power, defense meant distrust. And to someone like Sebastian—sharp, proud, used to obedience—it was more than instinct. It was rejection. A warning. A sign that Lirien saw him not as a suitor, but a threat.
The last thing he needed was to offend a male lead—especially one like this.
Starting a war over a flicker of instinctual magic was unthinkable.
He inhaled quietly and, with focused intent, manipulated the veil of mana—not just to shield himself, but to gently enclose Sebastian too. Like being inside the eye of a storm, all warmth and quiet hush.
Sebastian stilled.
The moment the barrier embraced him, something shifted. His breath hitched—barely audible, but it rippled through him like a crack in polished glass.
The heat in his eyes dulled into something softer. Reverent. Disarmed.
He didn't speak. Didn't move.
He simply felt—the magic that swirled around them, silken and quiet, like the hush of snowfall in a forgotten forest. It wasn't just protection. It was presence. Warm, unyielding, and unshakably calm.
He hadn't realized how cold he was until this.
His fingers brushed the fabric at Lirien's waist, thumb grazing the edge of his belt as if grounding himself. Testing the moment.
Okjin stood still. His heart raced, but his expression didn't flicker. Porcelain. Composed. Just like he thought Lirien would be.
Then—softly, Sebastian leaned forward.
Not a kiss. Not yet.
His forehead rested briefly against the slope of Lirien's shoulder, the scent of him hitting hard and fast.
Rain.
White tea.
Pear blossom.
Clean. Delicate. Aching.
Sebastian exhaled, a tremor rolling down his spine, a sound caught somewhere between relief and something darker. His nose brushed the line of Lirien's neck—hovering. Never quite touching.
Smells like peace, he thought.
Like everything I was taught not to crave.
He didn't speak the words aloud. They felt too dangerous.
Okjin remained still, unsure of what this moment meant, only that it was heavy with silence. Loaded with breath and unsaid things.
Sebastian's hand shifted, cradling the back of his neck—not demanding, but sure. The other stayed at his waist. A gentle tether. A silent stake in the ground.
He wanted to sink in. He wanted to stay there. To forget the world outside the curve of this warmth.
But he knew better.
His lips hovered close to Okjin's skin, and then—a pause.
He pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. Hunger burned there, yes—but so did something quieter. A plea he hadn't yet named.
Okjin's voice came, quiet but steady.
"Let go."
There was no edge to it.
No heat.
Just finality—light and clean, like a door quietly closing.
Sebastian didn't answer at first.
He simply looked at him, as if memorizing the shape of the moment.
His hand stayed where it was—resting at Okjin's waist. Still. Suspended.
His fingers twitched slightly, a barely-there movement, like his body wasn't ready to obey.
And then, with a kind of reluctant reverence, he let go.
But not completely.
His hand hovered for a breath longer, just above the silk. As if transfixed by something only he could feel.
The warmth. The scent. The quiet magic that clung to Lirien like second skin.
Sebastian took a slow step back.
The air felt colder for it.
His voice, when it came, was soft.
No flourish. No venom.
"…You feel like something I shouldn't touch."
A pause.
His eyes dropped briefly to Okjin's lips, then back up—searching, starving.
"And... I hate how much I want to."
He turned without another word—one hand briefly curling at his side, like it missed the weight of him already—leaving behind a silence louder than any goodbye.