"I said, what can you do in the meantime to make it subside? A cold shower perhaps?" Byeong Ho asked, trying to sound casual, though the faint edge of worry in his tone betrayed him.
"Hm. A cold shower does help to some extent. But I can't have that here right now," Doyun replied, his voice calm but laced with exhaustion.
"Why? Don't you have a washroom here?"
"We do, but the showers don't work at this time. There's some maintenance going on, and the taps are temperamental at night."
"Hm. What about the tubs? They work, right?"
"I can't tell. I don't know if water will even flow consistently," Doyun answered, shifting slightly on the floor. He had been leaning against the wall for a while now, feeling the migraine slowly ebb but still lingering.
"Go and check then. You have a bucket, right?" Byeong Ho suggested firmly, his brows furrowing.
Doyun nodded wordlessly. "There's some at the common bathhouse," he said, finally pushing himself up. He grabbed his shower gel and towel, his movements sluggish. Even though he had bathed earlier, before his unexpected collapse into this bizarre sequence of events, the thought of walking all the way to the bathhouse made him groan inwardly.
By the time he arrived, navigating the narrow hallway and the creaking wooden steps, Doyun felt like he had already expended half his strength. The cold air of the corridor made his skin prickle, but he forced himself onward, hoping the warm water might finally ease the residual tension in his body.
Meanwhile, back in the main room, Byeong Ho sat waiting. The minutes stretched into thirty, and still, there was no sound of water, no splash or faint echo of a shower turning on. Unease began to creep in, gnawing at the back of his mind.
The night was unusually silent. Too silent.
He debated whether to arm himself. His phone and gun had been left behind, carefully hidden but dismissed the thought after a pause. No, that was unnecessary. The boy was fine. He had to be.
He decided to check for himself. Quietly, he descended the stairs, scanning the hallway and peeking into the bathhouse.
The middle section, where the stairs landed, usually held the common tubs and cubicles. That's where he expected to find him.
Yet the bathhouse was empty. Not a splash, not a drip, not a hint of movement. Panic crept in, and his imagination ran wild, conjuring all sorts of unlikely and unpleasant scenarios.
Breathing sharply, He began opening each cubicle door in succession. One by one, they were empty. Not even the faint reflection of the overhead lights bounced off damp surfaces. Just as he turned to leave, frustrated and unnerved, his eyes caught a small clue. A blue towel draped over a cubicle wall, a bottle of shower gel balanced precariously atop.
A faint hope sparked.
Perhaps the boy had gone elsewhere to fetch water. Moving quickly, Byeong Ho opened the taps at the nearest sink, and the flow of water confirmed his theory. Relief washed over him, heavy and physical, as if he had been holding his breath without realizing it.
He descended the few steps further, and his heart nearly stopped. There, just below, against the wall, sat Doyun, slumped, eyes closed, the blue bucket resting beside him. The boy's chest rose and fell in shallow, irregular breaths.
"Hey," Byeong Ho said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Doyun's eyes opened slowly, vacant for a moment before recognition sparked. "Why are you here? Won't you go up and wash? Or do you want to sleep here?"
Doyun's gaze wavered. He attempted to rise but felt weak, his legs trembling slightly. He collapsed back against the wall.
"Here, let me help you," Byeong Ho said, taking careful hold of Doyun's shoulders. One hand steadied his waist, the other helped support him as he shifted him onto a higher platform, a veranda-like ledge just above the floor level.
He went to retrieve the bucket of water and carried it up, setting it beside the cubicle along with Doyun's shower gel and towel. "I'll be waiting here," Byeong Ho said, settling back on the ledge, keeping a watchful eye on the younger boy.
Time dragged, the silence punctuated only by the occasional sound of Doyun's soft breathing. But no splash, no movement.
Concern gnawed at Byeong Ho, and after a few minutes, he rose and approached again.
"Are you going to bathe quickly, so we can go back in? It's quite chilly," he asked gently.
Doyun mumbled something but the big guy didn't catch it.
"Or do you need help? Should I help you?" Byeong Ho persisted, leaning a bit closer.
Doyun finally lifted his head just slightly. "I…I'll need help," he admitted softly, voice barely above a whisper.
Byeong Ho sighed and stepped closer. "Alright. Take off your top, but leave your shorts. Keep your boxer shorts on."
The younger boy moved slowly, almost lethargically, peeling the shirt over his head. Even though Byeong Ho had seen Doyun's body earlier, he couldn't help but notice again the contrast—the strength of his muscles, the defined lines of his torso, the almost porcelain whiteness of his skin.
He swallowed, aware of himself ogling, though he quickly looked away, cheeks warming. The boy's body was a puzzle: sturdy yet delicate, strong yet soft, a combination that left him feeling oddly protective and oddly vulnerable at the same time.
Doyun adjusted the towel in his hand, draping it carefully across the bucket. The night air of the bathhouse made the exposed skin shiver slightly, and Byeong Ho's instinct was to step closer, to shield, to comfort. He didn't move too quickly, mindful of boundaries, but his presence was close enough to be reassuring.
"You're… very different from how you look in person," Byeong Ho admitted quietly, more to himself than to Doyun. The words slipped out before he could stop them.
"Different?" Doyun asked, curiosity piqued, though he didn't look up fully.
"Yes… in a lot of ways. Your body… your face… your energy. It doesn't match how I imagined. You're… unique," Byeong Ho said, fumbling slightly with the words, unsure whether he was paying a compliment or simply stating a fact.
Doyun's lips curved into a faint, yet enigmatic smile. "I guess people tend to be different when they're not performing for anyone."
Byeong Ho nodded, feeling a strange warmth in his chest at the casual confidence in the boy's voice. It was reassuring, grounding, yet slightly disorienting.
The way this boy carried himself, even tired and feverish, had a quiet dominance that unsettled him just enough to keep him on alert.
"Are you ready?" Byeong Ho asked finally, extending a hand. Doyun grasped it, albeit weakly, allowing him to guide him into the cubicle and set the bucket on the floor.
As Doyun began to bathe, the water sloshing gently in the bucket, Byeong Ho stood nearby, a silent sentinel. The scents of soap and the faint freshness of Doyun's skin filled the cramped space, mixing with the cool air of the night.
He watched, careful not to invade the boy's privacy, yet acutely aware of every subtle movement, every slight shift of muscles.
Doyun's shivers slowly eased as the water warmed his skin, and he sighed softly, leaning slightly against the tiled wall. The tension in his shoulders seemed to melt, and Byeong Ho allowed himself to relax slightly, relieved that the boy was okay.
"I… didn't expect this," Byeong Ho muttered under his breath. The quiet intimacy of the moment, the vulnerability, the unspoken trust. It was more intense than he had anticipated.
Doyun heard him but didn't respond immediately. He focused on rinsing off, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, faint but noticeable.
The night stretched on, a delicate mix of tension, relief, and silent understanding. No words were necessary. Both were acutely aware of the other's presence, the subtle rhythms of breathing, the quiet hum of the night.
Finally, Doyun finished, shivering slightly as he wrapped the towel around himself. Byeong Ho helped him step out, steadying him as he returned to the veranda ledge.
Both men settled, quiet now, the chaotic energy of the previous hours finally fading into the calm of a shared, wordless moment.
For now, there was only the faint scent of soap, the lingering warmth of proximity, and a sense of trust slowly weaving between them—fragile, new, but undeniable