Episode14
1681 Words
The gentle rush of water cascaded through his fingers, turning the pale knuckles a vibrant shade from the cold. Despite the sticky residue having been washed away, a peculiar sensation lingered, making Logan want to scrub his hands once more. The unexpected encounter with Wolf's sudden heat had thrown all his plans into disarray, leaving him bewildered.
They hadn't communicated properly, yet somehow everything had accelerated beyond reason. What he was doing now aligned closely with what Wolf had previously suggested. After hurriedly updating his knowledge last night, Logan understood—by societal norms, it was the partner's responsibility to help the other through such a time. Regardless of his reasons for bringing Andy back, he felt obliged to support him.
Logan braced himself against the sink, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Well, he thought, one step at a time.
...
When Andy's scent dissipated, Logan left the bathroom and returned to the living room. Andy lay there as he'd left him, curled up on the couch.
The heat had come on strong, but thanks to timely intervention and soothing, it hadn't escalated out of control. The surge had been suppressed before reaching a critical point, receding gently and slowly.
Andy's expression was somewhat dazed, the slight flush at the corners of his eyes softened his features. He looked like a snow leopard sprawled belly-up, covered in scars, licking its wounds in exhaustion.
"Are you alright?"
Logan hated to break the silence, but he needed to check on Andy, "Did the wound bleed?"
Andy, soundless, opened his eyes without answering, possibly still not fully back to awareness, until Logan touched his shoulder and back, trying to check his injuries.
“…Filthy.” Andy trembled slightly, his voice hoarse, “Don’t touch.”
Logan paused, a little surprised at Andy's hesitation, noticing an unexpected crack in the wall he'd thought impenetrable.
“But the bandages need changing, or the wound will get infected.” Logan chose his words carefully, testing the waters, “Or perhaps you'd prefer to take a bath?”
“…No need.”
Andy's voice sounded even more uncertain than Logan's, and after his refusal, he fell silent for a moment before softly offering thanks, “Thank you.”
Logan couldn't fathom the shift in Andy's demeanor, but it was clearly an opportunity to discuss something without triggering conflict.
“What are you afraid of? Could you tell me?”
Andy froze slightly.
What was he afraid of?
Clutching his face, the suffocating feeling threatened to overwhelm him, as if his heart was being mercilessly squeezed. The other had been calm and unruffled from the start, always leaving room to withdraw gracefully.
That was precisely what he feared.
Andy gave a self-deprecating smile, his surroundings veiled in a misty haze, like an endless night refusing dawn. And yet, undeniably, he felt an untimely gratitude.
The other hadn’t punished him physically nor abandoned him to his struggles alone; instead, he’d clumsily yet gently offered comfort, without hesitation in releasing soothing pheromones.
It was more than Andy had dared to hope for.
During that delirium, where intense pleasure turned into pain, he'd thought he was being punished again.
When clarity returned, the disgraceful scenes replayed in his mind like a shameful montage.
In the engulfing shame and self-loathing, he sincerely appreciated the other's kindness.
“…”
Andy breathed softly, fatigue evident.
Beside him, Logan waited patiently without urging for a response.
Andy slowly relaxed the knot in his chest, willing to raise the white flag in their unspoken standoff.
“At least tell me what the price is.”
Andy's voice was low and raspy, “Why did you bring me back?”
“No matter if I can bear it, let me die understanding why.”
Of course, it circled back to that point. It was an unavoidable core issue.
Logan paused, the atmosphere growing solemn. He thought back to his initial reasons, mulling them over.
“At the time, it was purely impulsive—whether it was taking you to the hospital or bringing you home, it was simply because I wanted to; there was no one else influencing me. That I can assure you.”
Logan spoke slowly, glancing at Andy before his eyes dropped again.
“I won’t say it's without purpose; I’m no charity worker, but what interests me isn’t material gain.”
“In other words, I’m seeking emotional fulfillment from you.”
Logan smiled faintly, “I met you three times, and each was perfectly timed, wasn’t it?”
"This life gets too dull, and it needs a bit of excitement injected into it."
“I want to watch you heal, finding joy and satisfaction in seeing you improve. It’s, in a way, something we both need.”
His gaze shifted away from Andy and toward the small balcony at a distance.
Once, he'd kept a cactus there, bought as a consolation for what he felt was his short-lived existence. He’d thought, "If it lives long, so will I," yet the supposedly resilient plant withered in two weeks. He promptly replaced it with another...
Until fifty-four pots crammed the corner.
A life devoid of spiritual sustenance is bleak, and Logan suspected that bringing Andy home might have stemmed from a playful notion: "If plants die too easily, maybe a resilient partner won't."
He hoped Andy would survive robustly, like unyielding weeds, giving him courage to keep going.
Logan gestured for the assistant to bring the suppressant, “That’s about it. If there were more, I'd tell you outright.”
Only when the cold needle pierced the skin and injected the medication did Andy finally come around.
Was it really… like this.
Keeping him, like tending to a pet if only to gain a satisfaction from the process.
A promise not to impose oppressive demands—it sounded fanciful, yet for Andy, it was gently comforting.
For now, at least, it was the best path available.
"By the way, do you cook?” Logan pondered for a moment, speaking suddenly.
Andy blinked, “...What?”
“The assistant’s cooking program malfunctioned, and everything tastes burnt. I’d rather not replace it.”
Logan envisioned their post-recovery life, sketching an idea for Andy, “You can stay here, once your wounds heal, and handle three daily meals to pay off rent or food.”
“In essence, I’d be hiring you in advance to cook, or do something else, working off the debt through labor for food and shelter. Once it’s cleared, you decide whether to stay or leave.”
His voice was resolute, “That way, it’s a fair transaction.”
As Logan’s words hovered in the air, a quiet descended, and nearly the sound of a heartbeat echoed in the room.
Andy opened his mouth but seemed to choke, unable to utter a word.
Between “being cast out to perish” and “imprisoned for gain,” Logan presented a third path.
Was he genuinely male? Andy had questioned often.
"What do you think of this arrangement?"
Andy's perplexed expression made Logan consider another possibility, surprised, “Surely it won’t taste worse than charred?”
Andy snapped out of his daze, wetting his parched lips, “No, I’m quite a good cook.”
“That’s reassuring.”
Logan’s nerves perceived the waning aggression, prompting a breath of relief.
Only now did he realize the chilled sweat on his back, chilling him as a breeze blew past, leaving him shivering.
It felt as though he'd walked a tightrope made of silk thread, holding flawed porcelain over a vast chasm, finally stepping onto solid ground.
His heartbeats gradually steadied.
*
The soiled couch cover was swiftly cleaned and dried, laid back over the sofa.
The sofa was small, leaving no comfort for slumber, so Logan carefully measured dimensions and ordered a new, longer couch, pushing two together to craft a bed.
Although Andy hadn’t fully healed and remained hampered in mobility, without chains, he seemed bound to the couch. Fortunately, the assistant station was nearby, and Andy could find it if he needed anything.
But since that night—
Logan yawned as he left his room, the morning light casting a cool glow across the living room, seeing Andy straightening his collar.
“How come you're up before me? You’ve no work to attend.”
Logan lazily reclined on the other end of the couch, propping his chin on a hand, chuckling drowsily.
Andy, with regimented habits, did everything with neat efficiency. Each morning Logan awoke, he found Andy already composed.
Besides, a neatly folded blanket was stacked beside.
The particularly soft quilt lying crisp and tight, like obedient new recruits’ in the hands of stricter officers.
Logan enthusiastically patted the folded quilt, its compressed neatness bouncing back like a jiggling jelly.
“Good morning, sir.”
Andy turned, his face expressionless, though neither cold nor harsh, just his usual slight stiffness.
He wetted his lips again, his voice low, “It's simply a habit to rise early... can't quite shake it.”
After that night, Logan had belatedly realized—
Andy wasn’t a particularly stolid personality; on the contrary, he was vigilant and perceptive, possessing a soldier’s ingrained steadiness and seriousness, occasionally too earnest.
That’s a… warmly amused demeanor. Logan thought with a smile.
But for now, it had to remain a thought; Andy was marginally better than when Logan first found him, but his body still fragile, requiring care.
“Sir?”
Andy, not receiving a reply, puzzled, tilted his head.
“Hmm?” Logan, lost in his thoughts, stared dreamily at Andy’s features, “You said something?”
“I was saying…”
Andy intended to repeat but was cut off—
The other’s hand reached over, gently smoothing his hair, fingertips warm skimming the hairline, coming to rest on the scar at Andy’s ear.
“I forgot to tell you,” Logan’s eyes shone with laughter, his voice tender, “Good morning.”
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At the author's note:
Enthralled with the epic~ (Returns to smiling at first sight)
- Writer
