And yet, he couldn't help but wonder. Why does he cook for me? Why does he ask about my recovery? Why does he play piano in the evenings, like it's some normal family routine? Beom frowned, his thoughts becoming more tangled with each passing second. He's a psychopath, isn't he? That's what I keep telling myself. But if that's true, then why do I catch these glimpses of someone else? Someone... who seems almost human?
The thought unsettled him deeply. He glanced at Yaroslav, who was now wiping down the counter with the same calm, focused expression he always seemed to wear. What's going on in that head of yours? What are you thinking, Yaroslav? And why can't I figure you out?
Beom leaned back in his chair, the weight of his thoughts pressing heavily on him. Maybe it's better that way, he concluded with a bitter sigh. Maybe it's better not to know.
Beom let out a long sigh as the warm water cascaded down his body, soothing his tense muscles and washing away the lingering remnants of spice from dinner. The steam filled the small bathroom, fogging the glass door and creating a cocoon of warmth that felt momentarily comforting. For the first time in what felt like ages, he allowed himself to relax, his head tilting back as the water ran over his face. This is nice, he thought, closing his eyes. Just me, the water, and no one else.
But his brief moment of peace was abruptly shattered by the sound of the glass door sliding open. Beom's eyes flew open, his heart racing as he turned sharply to see Yaroslav stepping inside. His bare form loomed in the steam-filled shower, casual and unapologetic.
"What the heck are you doing?!" Beom sputtered, instinctively covering himself with his hands as a wave of embarrassment and irritation swept over him. His cheeks burned, not just from the heat of the water but from the sheer audacity of Yaroslav's intrusion.
Yaroslav, completely unfazed, raised an eyebrow as if Beom's reaction was overdramatic. "Uh, what does it look like?" he replied nonchalantly, grabbing the bottle of shower gel. "I'm showering with you."
Beom's jaw dropped, disbelief and indignation warring within him. Showering with me? Who does that?! Who just decides to walk into someone else's shower like it's the most normal thing in the world? His mind raced as he tried to process the situation, his body instinctively backing toward the corner of the shower in an attempt to put some distance between them.
Yaroslav, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease. He squeezed a generous amount of shower gel into his hands and began lathering it into his hair, his movements methodical and calm, as though this were a routine occurrence.
Beom rolled his eyes, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the sound of the running water. "I can't even shower in peace." Deciding he had had enough, he turned to step out of the shower, muttering, "I'm done here."
But before he could fully exit, Yaroslav's hand shot out, gripping his wrist firmly but not harshly, and pulling him back inside. The sudden movement caught Beom off guard, and he stumbled slightly, his back pressing against the cool tile wall. "Hey!" he protested, glaring up at Yaroslav. "Let go of me! What is your problem?!"
Yaroslav's expression remained calm, though his tone carried a hint of authority. "Relax, Beom," he said simply, as if his actions were entirely reasonable. "You've got soap all over you. You'll just get the floor slippery if you leave like this."
Beom's glare intensified, his frustration mounting. Soap? That's your excuse? Like you actually care about the floor getting slippery? He shook his head, muttering a string of curses under his breath.
As Yaroslav continued to lather the soap in his hair, Beom couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions swirling inside him. There was the obvious irritation—How dare he invade my space like this?—but there was also a flicker of something else, something he wasn't ready to name.
He stole a quick glance at Yaroslav, who was now rinsing the soap from his hair, the water cascading down his defined frame. Beom quickly averted his gaze, feeling his cheeks heat up again. Stop it. Don't even go there, he scolded himself, trying to focus on anything else. But the close proximity, the shared intimacy of the moment, was hard to ignore.
"Look," Beom said finally, his voice tinged with exasperation. "I don't know what kind of weird boundaries you have, but normal people don't do this. They don't just barge into someone else's shower without asking."
Yaroslav tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Who said I'm normal?" he replied, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Beom groaned, running a hand through his wet hair. Why do I even bother? This man clearly has no concept of personal space or decency. Still, there was no point in arguing. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could retreat to his room and pretend this never happened.
As the water continued to pour down around them, Beom's thoughts raced. I can't believe this is my life now. Trapped in this house, sharing showers with a man who kidnapped me, and yet somehow... somehow it feels less terrifying than it should. What's wrong with me?
He closed his eyes, letting the water wash over his face as he tried to push the conflicting emotions out of his mind. Just get through it, he told himself. One day at a time. One moment at a time. And maybe, just maybe, I'll figure out how to escape this madness.
The hot water cascaded over Beom's body, soothing his tense muscles as he tried to steal a moment of peace in the shower. The steam rose around him, a temporary cocoon of solace. He closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh, savoring the warmth and solitude. That was until he felt a pair of hands snake around his waist, strong and unyielding. Beom jolted, his eyes snapping open in alarm.
"Let go of me, asshole!" he snapped, his voice laced with both anger and panic. He tried to wriggle free, but Yaroslav's grip was firm, unrelenting. His heart raced as he felt the heat of Yaroslav's chest press against his back.
"Relax," Yaroslav said in a low voice, almost a purr, ignoring Beom's protests. In one swift motion, he turned Beom around to face him. The sight of Yaroslav's intense eyes, smoldering with mischief and something darker, made Beom's breath hitch. Before he could protest further, Yaroslav smirked and leaned in closer, his fingers gripping Beom's hips with an iron-like strength.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Beom demanded, his voice trembling, a mix of anger and something he didn't want to acknowledge. His body tensed as Yaroslav bent slightly, his arms sliding lower before lifting one of Beom's legs effortlessly.
Yaroslav's grin widened, the kind that sent shivers down Beom's spine. "Since the doctor gave me the go-ahead," Yaroslav murmured, his voice thick with unrestrained hunger, "why don't I make use of the time?" His lips curled into a smirk that Beom wanted to slap off his face—if he could move.
Beom's mind reeled, his thoughts spiraling as he tried to process what was happening. This bastard is insane! he thought, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His skin flushed under the combined heat of the water and Yaroslav's proximity. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to push away, but his strength seemed to falter under the sheer dominance radiating from Yaroslav.
"Get off me!" Beom spat, his hands pushing weakly against Yaroslav's shoulders, but it felt like trying to shove a wall. His leg, now held firmly in Yaroslav's grasp, left him vulnerable, unbalanced.
Yaroslav leaned closer, his breath ghosting over Beom's ear, making him shiver despite the warmth. "I can't wait to get you pregnant," he murmured, his tone dripping with arrogance and unrestrained desire. The words sent a jolt of both fury and embarrassment through Beom, his cheeks burning.
"You're insane," Beom hissed, his voice trembling as much from anger as from the confusing heat pooling in his stomach. "I'd rather die than let you—"
"Oh, Beom," Yaroslav interrupted, his grin never faltering. "You can fight all you want, but we both know how this ends. You'll be carrying my child, and you'll look damn beautiful doing it."
Beom's heart thundered in his chest, his mind a chaotic swirl of resistance, fury, and an unfamiliar heat he desperately tried to suppress. As Yaroslav's grip tightened slightly, Beom felt the cruel reality of his situation pressing down on him like the suffocating steam in the air. Why do I feel so... powerless? he thought, his teeth clenching in frustration.
The moment Yaroslav raised Beom's other leg, time seemed to freeze. Beom's heart thudded wildly in his chest as he realized the full weight of his vulnerability. His legs dangled helplessly in the air, and he fought against the iron grip that held him suspended. The cold shower tiles pressed against his back, in stark contrast to the scorching heat radiating from Yaroslav's body.
"Put me down!" Beom shouted, his voice echoing against the walls of the bathroom, mixing with the sound of cascading water. He squirmed furiously, his hands shoving at Yaroslav's shoulders, his legs kicking weakly in a desperate attempt to free himself. "You're going to drop me, you idiot!"