MLCD Chapter 5.1 || Swamp

The humid wind blowing from somewhere brought Lewellyn back to reality. When he came to his senses, he found himself in a dark sewer where not a single ray of light reached.

Drip, the sound of water droplets falling from the ceiling and creating ripples in the puddle, the damp air, the slimy moss underfoot, the dark shadows of rats crawling up and down the dirty marks on the walls… Lewellyn realized where he was. It was the old Bunch sewers that had been closed four years ago due to the opening of the new sewerage system.

Lewellyn was confused. He had been so preoccupied with his memories of the past nine years that he hadn’t noticed coming all the way to the old sewers, eight kilometers away from the Ira Apartments.

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He checks his watch. It was so dark that an ordinary person wouldn’t be able to see even the watch, let alone the hands, but this wasn’t a problem for Lewellyn, who was no ordinary person.

3:28 AM. He had left the Ira Apartments around one o’clock, which meant Lewellyn had been wandering the night streets for nearly two hours. Lewellyn bit his lip. He bit it so hard that it bled, but he didn’t care. What mattered wasn’t the blood, but the fact that he had been apart from Shavonne for two hours when he didn’t have to be.

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— Do you still like me?

— Yes, I still like you.

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— …Why?

— Because you’re likeable.

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That was all he had said. I still like you. Because you’re likeable. It was just those words, but Lewellyn, afraid of being abandoned again, had rushed out of the apartment.

Those two hours wandering the night streets could have been two hours holding Shavonne. Two hours breathing as Shavonne breaths. Two hours endlessly gazing at Shavonne’s delicate eyelids, dry nose, and pale lips.

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Yes, if it weren’t for Lewellyn’s weak mind, that’s surely what would have happened.

“…”

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I’m disgusting, Lewellyn thought. More disgusting than the Deck Publishing editor who tried to exploit Shavonne, more than August Basch who stalked Shavonne, more than the prison guard who cried and begged for his life in front of Lewellyn, Lewellyn was disgusted with himself.

His life without Shavonne was already too long, and he hated himself for adding two more hours to it. If he could, he wanted to brand himself with a hot poker, cut himself with a knife, beat himself with a baton. He wanted to crush and smash himself like killing an insect.

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But he couldn’t do that.

Because he had Shavonne.

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At least for now, because Shavonne hadn’t abandoned Lewellyn yet.

The wind blew from afar, from Bunch. Unlike the wind in the sewers, it wasn’t humid, sticky, and didn’t give off the lonely stench of abandonment.

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Bunch, visible in the distance, was lit up with lights. Perhaps one of those lights might be in South Bunch. Perhaps one might be on Ira Street. Perhaps one might be in the Ira Apartments.

And perhaps, just perhaps, it might be the light Shavonne turned on.

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It was a moonless night. A shadow emerged from the sewer too far for light to reach. It began to stagger towards the distant lights. One step, two steps, and again, a night without even the moon.

Lewellyn didn’t love himself. It was only natural. Except for the face that Shavonne called pretty, the lips that Shavonne kissed, and the name ‘Lewellyn’ that Shavonne personally gave him, Lewellyn had not a single aspect of himself worth loving.

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If there was a Lewellyn that Lewellyn loved, it would be only one: the Lewellyn loved by Shavonne. Because Shavonne loved him. That was the whole reason. Lewellyn loved the dawn in Bunch because Shavonne loved it, he loved salty omelets because Shavonne loved them, he loved blackout curtains because Shavonne loved them.

Just as he loved anything Shavonne loved, Lewellyn hated anything Shavonne hated. The reason Lewellyn hated literary critic John, hated censorship, and hated the morning newspaper “New Bunch” was, of course, because Shavonne hated them.

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He could do anything if Shavonne wanted. Even if it meant not killing people who deserved to die, if it was Shavonne’s will, he could follow it, albeit with difficulty.

Albeit with difficulty. Yes, albeit with difficulty.

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They all deserved to die. Not because they had branded, stabbed, and beaten Lewellyn with hot pokers, knives, and batons. Not because they had told blatant lies that Shavonne would be happier without Lewellyn, that Lewellyn shouldn’t even dare to meet Shavonne.

It was because they had hurt Shavonne. Because they had bruised his eyes, swollen his cheeks, and left his lips split. Because they had erased his memory and left his penniless on the streets.

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Even if the current Shavonne doesn’t remember, they had to die. For the sake of the Shavonne who was hurt in the past, and for the sake of the future Shavonne who would regain those painful memories.

— Murder. I’d prefer it if you didn’t do it. No, you mustn’t do it.

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That’s why until that day, when Shavonne said those words, Lewellyn had no intention of stopping the killings.

— Murder is wrong.

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Of course, even that didn’t change Lewellyn’s mind. Lewellyn was indeed a bad person.

— You’re going to feel guilty.

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Of course, even that didn’t change Lewellyn’s mind. The only thing Lewellyn wanted to feel was Shavonne’s affection. There was no room for guilt to interfere.

— You’ll go to hell if you kill people.

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Of course, even that didn’t change Lewellyn’s mind. If he ended up there, he could work on the guards there once again. The thought of sending the guards to the hell of hell even made him smile involuntarily.

— You’ll be executed.

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Of course, even that didn’t change Lewellyn’s mind. He had experienced things worse than execution. Losing Shavonne.

— We’ll break up.

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But at those words, even Lewellyn couldn’t remain calm.

— We’ll break up and never see each other again.

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At that moment, he realized. Shavonne had changed. It wasn’t just his dry face, his darkened eyes, his nervously pressed lips that had changed. It wasn’t just his black hair that had lost its vitality or his green eyes that had darkened.

Eight years ago, Shavonne had accepted the Lewellyn who killed people.

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Now, Shavonne couldn’t accept that same Lewellyn.

People change, so their moral standards can change as well. Eight years. A whole eight years. Someone who tried to understand Lewellyn as much as possible eight years ago might now say he should be judged with the harshest of punishments.

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Lewellyn felt how the time had passed.

Eight years. During that time, Shavonne had changed.

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‘What if the current Shavonne regains his memories?’

Suddenly, such a thought crossed his mind.

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The current Shavonne hated murder. Would he still accept Lewellyn if he knew that in the past, he had bitten to death every guard who entered his cell? Would he still accept Lewellyn if he knew that following the orders of the penitentiary, he had killed twelve targets with guns, knives, and poison?

He might accept him. Maybe, and just maybe, he might. But what if Shavonne only accepts it in his head but not in his heart? What if he starts avoiding Lewellyn because he makes him uncomfortable? What if he abandons Lewellyn?

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Then what?

Of course, all of this was just a possibility. But just the possibility of being abandoned made his face turn pale. His frozen lips showed no sign of loosening.

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To avoid being abandoned, Shavonne must never regain his memories. Because the current Shavonne was different from the past Shavonne. Because he might not accept the Lewellyn who had bitten to death every guard who entered his cell. Because he might not accept the Lewellyn who had killed twelve targets with guns, knives, and poison following the orders of the penitentiary.

Some might call it a fresh start. A fresh start means starting anew. In other words, it means erasing what happened in the past as if it never happened. He had to bury the memories with Shavonne forever as Lewellyn’s memories alone. He had to bury the memory of Shavonne giving him a name, the memory of Shavonne wiping his blood and pus with a towel, the memory of Shavonne greeting him with a reluctant ‘Hello…?’

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It was a kind of death. The Shavonne who gave him a name, wiped his blood and pus with a towel, and greeted him with a reluctant ‘Hello…?’ would die. The Shavonne who was hurt in the past and the future Shavonne who needed to regain those painful memories would be erased.

This choice was inevitable if he wanted to avoid being abandoned.

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He would hide the past. He couldn’t do anything about the clues he had already noticed, but things he hadn’t revealed yet, like the scars on his body, he would hide them forever. Lewellyn would no longer be the being born and raised as a dog in Lute Penitentiary. He would be a being who grew up in an unknown place, committed murders, met Shavonne and fell in love, and stopped killing at the request of Shavonne as he loves him.

He could do anything if Shavonne wanted. Even if it meant burying his true self forever.

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― I love you so much.

He broke the silence. His voice was hoarse and cracked.

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― I love you so, so much.

I love you too much.

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I love you to an extent I can’t handle myself.

I love you to the extent that’s painful.

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Lewellyn left the house. Lewellyn, who left the Ira Apartments around one in the afternoon, returned at midnight that day. It took half a day straight to find a body, dress it up…, to make it look like he, who was once the dog of Lute Penitentiary and a serial killer, had died. Burying his true self was such a difficult task.

『Loving someone to the point of fully compromising oneself is a difficult thing.』

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The next day, he wrote a letter requesting proofreading and editing under the name of Newell. It was in the form of a letter, but in essence, it was lingering attachment. He inserted his final lingering attachment into Shavonne’s mailbox in the form of an envelope.

The following reply came back. There was only one place where Shavonne had proofread and edited.

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『Loving someone to the point of fully compromising oneself is a worthwhile endeavor.』

A worthwhile endeavor.

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As Lewellyn repeatedly read that phrase, he slowly brought the letter to his face. It smelled of paper, ink, and glue. Amidst those scents, he faintly felt Shavonne’s touch. Shavonne’s touch. A warmth that was hot but not painful.

He closed his eyes and gently pressed his lips to the letter. He murmured.

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“You’re right. It will be a worthwhile endeavor.”

If you don’t abandon me, it surely will be.

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Lewellyn didn’t love himself. It was only natural. Since the face that Shavonne called pretty, the lips that Shavonne kissed, and the name ‘Lewellyn’ that Shavonne personally gave him had been buried forever, Lewellyn had not a single aspect of himself worth loving.

***

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When he arrived at the Ira Apartments, it was five in the morning.

The distant Ira Apartments had no lights on in any of the houses. Room 303 was no exception. Lewellyn smiled bitterly. Of course, there was no way Shavonne would be awake. Come to think of it, even expecting Shavonne to be awake was an unreasonable desire for him. After all, it was Lewellyn himself who had abruptly said “Goodnight¹,” and then rushed out of the apartment without giving any indication of when he would return.

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The whole world was immersed in twilight. If it were summer, it would have been bright by now, but being autumn, the sun still hasn’t gone up. The empty streets, the deserted alleys with nothing but scrap metal and garbage, the unlit gas lamps – everything was tinged blue with twilight.

The city seemed as if it were asleep. The twilight, the faint fog, the silence that filled the entire world might be the dream the city was having. Is it a good dream or a nightmare? A meaningless curiosity flitted through Lewellyn’s mind.

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At the entrance of the apartment building, Lewellyn discovered ‘something.’ It was a human silhouette, leaning against the main entrance of the building. With arms folded and head bowed, it was looking down at a point on the ground. A head. Black hair hanging down and green eyes peeking through it.

Lewellyn stopped walking.

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At the sound of his footsteps stopping, the silhouette raised its head. It unfolded its arms and approached him.

“Did you have fun running away?”

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Messy black hair, green eyes showing signs of fatigue from lack of sleep. And a hoarse, raspy voice.

“You came back just in time. If you were 10 minutes later, I would have gone to bed. I’m dying to sleep.”

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Glancing sideways, Shavonne looked at Lewellyn’s miserable appearance. He reproached him with a deliberately grumpy voice.

“If you’re a runaway, you’re supposed to be out having fun, so why do you look like this? It’s not like you’ve been wandering around in the sewers.”

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He choked up.

Lewellyn didn’t dare ask if he had been waiting for him.

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***

He had taken care of children before.

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Everyone had since the orphanage didn’t have enough staff. Ten year-olds looked after five year olds, and five year olds looked after one year old babies. Shavonne was in charge of seven years old boys and girls. They were the ones everyone avoided looking after because they were the troublemakers.

The director said he assigned them to Shavonne because he was trustworthy, but no one believed it. Everyone knew it was because Shavonne had fallen out of favor with the director and that’s why he was taking on all the tasks nobody wanted.

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The seven year olds were detestable. So detestable that made him want to close his eyes tightly², but he couldn’t. Lewellyn was acting just like those seven year olds.

― Good night.

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Those sudden words.

― Sorry about my hand.

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That apology added without context, it was all just like a seven year old. Even rushing out of the house without giving Shavonne a chance to stop him was exactly like a seven year old. In the blink of an eye, the house was empty. How long have I been staring here, completely in a daze? A hollow laugh escaped through Shavonne’s teeth. What? Good night? He was stunned. I would have understood it if he had left without a sound, but he made all that fuss before leaving, and yet he expects me to go to sleep?

He walked out of his house. He took a bit of time as he had to pick up and put on a shirt and pants and grab his watch. A long night had settled over the world. Lewellyn was nowhere to be seen. He looked around wondering if there might be footprints left, but the road was clean without a trace.

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It didn’t take long to accept the fact that Lewellyn had run away. Fortune and misfortune always come together. If it was misfortune that Lewellyn was acting like a seven year old, it was fortune that he wasn’t actually seven years old.

If he were really seven years old, he might have been murdered, kidnapped, or trafficked. Luckily, Lewellyn wouldn’t become a victim easily because he was an adult. If someone tried to kill him, he might kill them instead. If someone tried to kidnap him, he might gut them instead. If someone tried to traffic him, he might sell them instead. To a circus, or a salmon fishing boat, or to Aachen’s Deichfen where they looked for slaves for large factories.

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And then he might smile brightly and say, ‘Mr. Shavonne, I sold that bastard. Should we use this money to get some grilled meat?’ Because he’s an ex-murderer. Thinking that way, his anxiety subsided. It wasn’t completely gone, but at least he wasn’t crying and wailing like a seven year old who had lost his mother’s hand.

He checked his watch. 1:16. He could see the watch hands moving slowly in the dark night. Since he couldn’t wait indefinitely for Lewellyn who might return at any time, he decided to wait for just one hour. No more, no less, exactly one hour.

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He crouched down in front of the main entrance of the apartment building and looked out at the street. The distant Bunch was lit up. One of those lights must be showing Lewellyn the way, making sure he doesn’t take the wrong path, and doesn’t drift into a dark place where not a single ray of light reaches.

Of course, the right path was Shavonne. The wrong paths were bars (‘I hope he’s not drinking too much. If he gets drunk and gets murdered or kidnapped or trafficked… No, let’s not think about that.’) and brothels (‘I’ll kill him! …No, why am I getting so violent…’).

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These weren’t entirely groundless worries, as Shavonne’s ex-boyfriends, the typesetter and the osteopathist, had done exactly that. After a fight, the typesetter got drunk and was robbed, and the osteopathist secretly visited a brothel and contracted a venereal disease. He shuddered remembering how he had to help the typesetter with money from their meager savings, and how he had to break up with the osteopathist before they had sex.

Before he knew it, it was two o’clock. 2:14, 2:15, 2:16… Lewellyn hadn’t appeared. Shavonne added another hour. He decided to wait for exactly one more hour, no more, no less.

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The frosty autumn night was chilly. Shavonne blew on his hands, which were just starting to get stiff, making a ‘hoo, hoo’ sound to warm them. The breath turned into white vapor, rising into the air and disappearing. Should I go in and take a coat? He thought, but only for a moment.

It was because of the worry that Lewellyn might come and go while he was getting the coat. Lewellyn had rushed out of the house without explaining anything. Whether it was because he saw his scarred body or for whatever reason, he must be upset. He couldn’t miss him. He wanted to keep waiting.

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‘…That is, if he comes within the next hour.’

But even when it became three o’clock, Lewellyn hadn’t appeared. Shavonne looked at his watch. 3:16. After some consideration, he persuaded himself. ‘I’ll wait until exactly 4:16, no more, no less,’ he thought.

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Even when it became four o’clock, Lewellyn hadn’t appeared. Shavonne looked at his watch. 4:16. After some consideration, he persuaded himself. ‘‘I’ll wait until exactly 5:16, no more, no less,’ he thought, in a voice that even he couldn’t trust anymore.

Probably because he had been crouching all this time, his legs were tingling. He stood up and leaned against the main entrance. He looked up at the moonless night sky, gazed at the distant lights of Bunch, and looked down at his feet covered in shadows. Why does my shadow always look so lonely? A trivial thought crossed his mind for a second.

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As he aimlessly stepped on his shadow, suddenly, the worry about what to say when Lewellyn came filled his mind. Should I say, ‘You’re back?’ No. There’s no question as pointless as asking if someone has come when you’re already seeing them coming.

Should I say, ‘Are you all right?’ No. That might unsettle Lewellyn again when he’s finally calmed down. Should I say, ‘I missed you?’ No. That seems too much, as if we hadn’t seen each other for ages. He started thinking about whether ‘I’ve been waiting for you’ or ‘Why are you so late?’ would be better. The former felt embarrassing and the latter somehow made him sound like a jealous wife.

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Before he knew it, it was five o’clock. It was time for the blue twilight to color the sky. Should I wait until six o’clock, no more, no less…? His eyes stung. They had to be bloodshot from staying awake when he was sleepy. As he was still lost in thought, he heard a presence from somewhere. Lewellyn.

“…”

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Shavonne, who was about to say ‘Let’s wash up and sleep,’ opened his mouth but then closed it. After waiting for a full four hours to meet Lewellyn, somehow he wasn’t entirely glad. It was because Lewellyn, who was always neat, looked disheveled today. Tangled hair. A carelessly loosened coat. Shoes and trouser hems caked with black dirt.

Suddenly, he felt annoyed. A grumpy voice bursted out.

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“Did you have fun running away?” he blurted out. “”You came back just in time. If you were 10 minutes later, I would have gone to bed. I’m dying to sleep.”

Why is his hair tangled? Why is his coat carelessly loosened? Why are his shoes and trouser hems caked with black dirt? Even though he tried not to think about it, he couldn’t help but do it. Finally, he glanced sideways to check Lewellyn’s condition. He could see his thin and pale face. It was painful to see.

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“If you’re a runaway, you’re supposed to be out having fun, so why do you look like this? It’s not like you’ve been wandering around in the sewers.”

He thought he would respond with his usual eloquent words, saying something like ‘What’s the problem? I’d shine even if I were wearing rags’, but he didn’t. Lewellyn didn’t say anything and just stared at Shavonne blankly. He subtly averted his eyes from his piercing gaze. Then, worried that he might have made the atmosphere awkward, he started rambling as his cheeks blushed.

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“Do you even know how dangerous it is here at night? Even the police officers that are armed are cautious in this area. Even ex-murderers get their wallets stolen here. If you want to run away, try to…”

If you want to run away, try to do it during the day. He was about to finish saying that, but he couldn’t. Because Lewellyn suddenly devoured Shavonne’s lips. Touching noses. Breath. Lips together. Surprised by the sudden kiss, Shavonne pulled back. A startled voice leaked out.

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“Why are you…”

Again, he couldn’t finish his words. Because once more, Lewellyn swallowed Shavonne’s lips. This time, as if to prevent Shavonne from moving an inch, he grasped both cheeks. Rough breathing. Heat. Panting breaths filling his ears.

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He was about to push away but stopped. Shavonne was weak to pleasure. No, to be precise, he was weak to the pleasure Lewellyn gave him. Lewellyn melted his judgment. His dizzy senses became dim.

When the kiss ended, it was around the time when dusk was slowly retreating. It was a moment when half the world was bathed in dawn, and half in dusk.

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“No, it wasn’t fun.”

Lewellyn suddenly spoke. Shavonne had a question mark on his face, but only for a moment. He soon realized that it was the answer to the question ‘Did you have fun running away?’

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“Except for just one thing.”

“What thing?”

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When asked, Lewellyn smiled brightly with the twilight behind his back. His smile is no different from usual, but is it just my feeling that he seems uncomfortable?

“Coming back.”

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“That was the only fun part”, he added, smiling again. Somehow it seemed like the smile was hiding his troubled mind, so Shavonne couldn’t smile back.

All he could do was raise his hand and brush up Lewellyn’s hair. “It’s all tangled,” he said softly.

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That day, Shavonne kissed the scars that densely covered Lewellyn’s body.

– Where are you from?

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– …

– What about your family?

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– …

– …Did you go to school?

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– …

Shavonne didn’t know Lewellyn.

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Of course, to be precise, it’s not that he knew nothing about him at all. He knew that he was young, male, and had a common name that might be his real name or an alias. He knew he had a handsome face and a beautiful voice, and that his eyes were bright yellow, a color impossible for humans, and that he had no body odor. He also knew that he was crazy about onions. But he didn’t know the rest. He was clueless about the basics, like when and where he was born and raised, or how he lived.

The thought that if Lewellyn suddenly disappeared one day, he wouldn’t be able to find him made Shavonne anxious. He was frustrated with himself for feeling anxious and disappointed in Lewellyn for not revealing who he was. That’s why he was curt even when he saw Lewellyn bleeding.

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Why didn’t he realize it? That curtness could drive Lewellyn to the edge.

– You’re going to abandon me, aren’t you? You will, right? You’re going to abandon me, right?

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He could still hear Lewellyn’s voice as if he was about to cry. The sight of Lewellyn’s back as he was running out of the Ira apartment complex was still vividly etched in his mind.

He decided not to ask anymore about when and where he was born and raised or how he lived. Pushing him wouldn’t do anything for his anxiety. It only worsens the situation.

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Even today was like that. All Shavonne gained from pushing Lewellyn today was wounds. Just one wounded Shavonne and one wounded Lewellyn.

At this moment, there was only one thing Shavonne could do: love Lewellyn.

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“The sun’s up.”

“Let’s go in. It’s too bright for us to kiss here”, he added. Lewellyn asked, “So I can kiss you all I want when it’s dark? I should keep down the blackout curtains at home then,” he laughed, making a silly joke. Although it was the same playful tone he had as per usual, maybe because of his disheveled appearance from wandering the streets all night, it sounded awkward, like borrowed clothes that didn’t quite fit.

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Shavonne looked at Lewellyn. His shabby appearance came into view one by one. Tangled hair. Loosely undone coat. Shoes and trouser hems caked with black dirt.

“You need to change clothes.”

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“Will you change them for me? My hands hurt.”

Shake, shake. Lewellyn shaked his bandaged hands as if to show them off while acting coy. Shavonne stared down at Lewellyn’s hands. More precisely, at the broken nails at the end of each finger.

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Then his answer came out easily.

“Sure.”

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After saying it, his face felt a little, just a little, hot. As he was about to avert his gaze discreetly, Lewellyn stopped him. He lifted Shavonne’s chin with his finger and turned him to face him. He brought his eyes close and examined Shavonne’s face from various angles. His movements were diligent as he checked the eyelids, temples, cheeks, nose, and lips.

“…What are you doing?”

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He finally spoke. Lewellyn checked behind Shavonne’s ears. Once behind the left ear, once behind the right ear. Just like an orphanage director checking if the children had washed behind their ears.

“I’m trying to figure it out.”

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“Figure out what?”

“Why has my Mr. Shavonne gone crazy.”

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“…I’m not crazy, so let go.”

“Shavonne, no crazy person says they’re crazy.”

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“…”

He didn’t understand why he was being treated like a crazy person just for saying he’d help him change clothes. Is it so weird to say that I’d change him? It wasn’t like we’re some shy boy and girl just giving innocent pecks on the cheek, but a couple that spends nights so passionate that the bed barely survives, so why…

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Ah.

His thoughts stopped abruptly. He remembered Lewellyn’s cracked voice.

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— What did you see?

— You don’t want to be with me anymore, do you? I’m hideous, aren’t I? Repulsive?

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— You won’t touch me anymore, right? Yes, you won’t. Even if they’re hidden under my clothes, you’ll remember them. Even if the lights are off and nothing is visible, you’ll remember!

— …

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Scars.

Lewellyn didn’t want to show his scars.

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He didn’t know why. Probably because he was ashamed. The scars that densely covered Lewellyn’s body were no ordinary ugly sight. No, even calling them ugly was an understatement. They were disgusting. They made the viewer feel instinctively uncomfortable, to the point of turning their head away unable to bear the discomfort.

But that wasn’t enough reason for Shavonne not to love Lewellyn.

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Shavonne wanted to give him assurance. The assurance that there was no way Shavonne would stop loving Lewellyn because of mere scars.

He lowered Lewellyn’s hands that were holding his face, seeing Lewellyn’s face. A face with clear eyes, a straight nose, and fine lips drawn like a picture. A beautiful face. The face of the person Shavonne loved.

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“Let’s go in.”

“But you’ve gone crazy, Mr. Shavonne.”

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“We’ll see whether I’m crazy or not once we’re inside.”

Room 303 was bright even without turning on the lights. It was thanks to the clear morning sunlight coming through the windows. The dust floating in the house reflected the 6 AM morning sunlight. Shavonne sat Lewellyn on the bed. Lewellyn followed obediently. “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to listen to a crazy person,” he babbled with his mouth, but his body was docile.

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“Are you really going to change my clothes? It might be better for both of us if you don’t. Don’t you think so? What do you think, Mr. Shavonne…,” Lewellyn rambled, but Shavonne ignored him and took off his outer clothes. The moment the clothes came off, or more precisely, the moment Shavonne’s hands touched his body, Lewellyn’s constant babbling stopped.

He started unbuttoning Lewellyn’s shirt. One, two…, the tightly fastened buttons slowly came undone. Shavonne’s hands touched the shirt, left it, touched it again. Shavonne could feel that Lewellyn’s body under the shirt was stiff.

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Soon, a scarred body was revealed between the open shirt. Traces of wounds covering the entire body so densely that no clear skin could be seen…

Slowly, he kissed his body.

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“…”

The traces of pain didn’t hurt anymore, as if the pain had never existed. However, it had existed. Shavonne wasn’t truly aware of how painful Lewellyn’s past had been.

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But there was one thing he could know. The fact that behind Lewellyn’s smiles, behind the words he casually said in a light tone, there was a pain that Shavonne couldn’t imagine.

He stopped and faced him. Lewellyn wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t crying either. He just had a blank face, as if he didn’t know what expression to make. That face was so lovable that Shavonne ended up smiling a little., thinking, If there’s a moment when you realize you’re in love, it would be right now.

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It was now fully morning. Bright sunlight lightened the world.

It was much later that Lewellyn, who had been frozen, suddenly opened his mouth saying, “Yep, no doubt that you’ve gone crazy, Mr. Shavonne,” and then out of nowhere, pressed his lips against Shavonne’s. If it had ended with just a kiss, there would have been no problem, but unfortunately, it didn’t. Because eye contact easily becomes a peck, a peck easily becomes a kiss, and a kiss easily becomes sex.

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When he came to his senses, he was already pinned under Lewellyn. How can you be so pretty? Mn? Mr. Shavonne, how can you be this pretty? Along with a voice heated with passion, kisses rained down all over his face.

The sex that started in the blink of an eye only ended when both body and mind were limp. As he lay sprawled out, drained, he caught sight of Lewellyn preparing to mount him again. Good heavens. Not knowing whether to gasp or sigh for a moment, before Lewellyn could pounce, Shavonne hurriedly picked up his clothes and put them on. Because he put them on without washing his skin, which was covered in bodily fluids, his whole body felt sticky, but there was nothing else he could do.

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Sure enough, Lewellyn’s face became incomprehensible. Well, it made sense that he wasn’t satisfied, given that Lewellyn had never finished sex with just cumming once before.

“We’re not going to do it more?”

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“No.”

“Why?”

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He asked with an innocent face, as if he really didn’t understand. Looking at him, Shavonne felt somewhat annoyed and told a lie.

“Because I don’t like it.”

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The rebuttal came immediately.

“You’re lying, you were moaning the whole time we were having sex.”

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“Me? Do you have any proof?”

“I do. Put your hand on your heart and think about what sounds you made while lying under me.”

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“I don’t remember.”

“Shall I remind you? You were like, ‘Ah, ahh, huk, L-Lewellyn, there…, mmmh.'”

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“You’re not a pervert, are you? Going around memorizing all that?”

“I didn’t memorize it because I wanted to, but because I heard it so many times. You should have been less noisy if you didn’t want that to happen.”

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“…”

Will it hurt to give in just once? As he was thinking this, seeing Lewellyn sparkling as usual made his heart soften. He wished Lewellyn wouldn’t look thin and pale from begging him not to abandon him. He wished he hadn’t looked disheveled from wandering the streets alone at night. He wished he wasn’t in pain.

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“…Anyway, no more rounds. I have to go to work at eight.”

“I was planning to get at least an hour of sleep before going to work, but that plan was ruined because of you”. He added, shrugging his shoulders.

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At that moment, he failed to notice Lewellyn’s lips tightening.

“…Work?”

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“Yes. I found a job.”

He didn’t specify that it was at Krainer Publishing. He didn’t mention the name of the editor, Turner, either. He didn’t want to give Lewellyn any reason to cause trouble.

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He didn’t hide the fact that he had to go to work every morning. Calling Turner “Oscar” was a lie that wouldn’t be discovered (unless Lewellyn went to find him directly), but making excuses for going to work like ‘going to the market,’ ‘taking a walk,’ or ‘going to the post office’ were obvious lies that would be found out. It was better to tell the truth than to tell an obvious lie.

Unexpectedly, Lewellyn didn’t seem to mind. He even carefully saw Shavonne off as he left the apartment for his first day of work.

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“You have to think about me while you’re working, okay?”

“Okay.” When Shavonne answered, Lewellyn’s face became radiant, making Shavonne forget his worries. His face was as bright as the morning sun.

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That day, Shavonne went to work for the first time at the multifamily residential where Turner lived. He didn’t notice Lewellyn’s shadow following him.

The apartment complex was still the same. All the windows closed without any exception, thick iron bars over them, a security booth, impossibly high walls, and armed security guards in pairs of two… The impression that it was more like a prison than an apartment complex hadn’t changed. The system where you could only enter and exit after going through a strict inspection at the security booth was also the same.

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Knock knock. As he knocked on the door of room 211, Turner popped out as if he had been waiting.

“You’re here. I’ve been dying to see you.”

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I’ve been dying to see you… That phrase felt oddly unsettling for some reason. He was about to retort, ‘It’s just coming to work, is there any need to talk about dying?’ but stopped. He remembered Turner claiming to be Shavonne’s fan.

What would Lewellyn do? His thoughts naturally drifted towards Lewellyn. Recently, Shavonne had developed a habit of thinking ‘What would Lewellyn do?’ Even when walking down the street, he would wonder if Lewellyn would walk or take a carriage, and when stopping by the grocery store, he would think about whether Lewellyn would buy this potato or that one.

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It was the same now. What would Lewellyn do? Wouldn’t he say that I should be friendly to a fan, especially to the only fan I have in the whole world?

“Yes, I’ve been dying to work too.”

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He gave an appropriate answer. It wasn’t entirely a lie. It wasn’t that he wanted to work, but it was true that he thought he was dying while arguing with Lewellyn at night, endlessly waiting for Lewellyn who had run away at dawn, and having sex with Lewellyn in the morning.

Turner didn’t point out the difference between “to see you” and “to work.” He just had a faint smile.

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“I hope you didn’t have a hard time getting here. Should I send a carriage to your house every morning?”

“Thank you for the offer.”

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Assuming it was just a polite gesture, he responded with a polite refusal. That’s why the following words caught him off guard.

“I didn’t say it to receive a thank you.”

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Wait, he’s really going to send a carriage to my house every morning? Shavonne looked at Turner with a face that couldn’t hide his bewilderment. How rich must ºthis man be to offer to send a carriage to my house?

He didn’t know how to respond. If he asked for the carriage, Shavonne would feel uncomfortable, and if he said he didn’t need it, Turner would be hurt.

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What choice would Lewellyn make? Would he say, ‘Of course you should accept. It’s always good to be close to rich people,’ or would he say, ‘Refuse. I bet ten pieces of onion that he’s laying the groundwork to exploit you’?

The two opinions clashed fiercely, sparking blue flames, but only for a moment. Soon, Shavonne came up with an answer. It was a politely irreproachable answer that would neither make Shavonne uncomfortable nor hurt Turner’s feelings.

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“If I feel I need a carriage, I’ll let you know then. Thank you for the offer.”

After saying this, he internally shrugged his shoulders. He felt proud of himself for coming up with such a great answer in such a short time. What would Lewellyn have said if he saw this? ‘Wow, Shavonne, you’re really good with words’? Or, ‘That’s too much. You’re kind to him but harsh to me. Are you treating a man that isn’t your lover differently?’ Or perhaps…

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That’s when it happened. Turner’s soft voice penetrated Shavonne’s thoughts.

“What are you thinking about so intently?”

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He was at a loss for words. How did he know?

“You’ve been lost in thought for a while now. It’s written all over your face.”

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“…”

As he was flustered, not knowing how to explain himself, Turner smiled as if he hadn’t expected an explanation in the first place. It was a smile that somehow felt like a glass doll, making it uncomfortable to look at.

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“When you’re working, you should only think about work. At the workplace, only think about the workplace.”

“…”

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When with the editor, only think about the editor? A rebellious thought flashed through his mind, but only for a moment. Shavonne knew he wasn’t in a position to grumble. It was wrong to be thinking about other things while in front of someone.

— You have to think about me while you’re working, okay?

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He remembered what Lewellyn had said when seeing him off. Lewellyn must be happy. Even before starting work, Shavonne was constantly thinking ‘about him.’ Even when he tried not to think, he couldn’t help it. He wanted to concentrate at least while working, but he had an ominous feeling that he would be thinking about Lewellyn even then. It was amazing how Lewellyn had seeped into every aspect of his daily life.

Turner didn’t say anything more. He just led the way for Shavonne, clearing his voice.

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“Now, shall we go in?”

The door to room 211 was already wide open. Room 211 was dark. The lights were off and blackout curtains were layered, blocking out the sunlight. It smelled like a swamp.

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He hesitated before entering. He stepped on the sticky darkness. The sound of the door closing behind him was heard and then disappeared.

***

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In the luxurious room, Shavonne was sitting at an ebony desk, typing on a typewriter. From the black, glossy body, to the gold-plated keyboard, to the stylish decorated space bar, everything about L Company’s top typewriter was luxurious without exception, and it felt different from the moment you touched it.

He typed. Tatatack, hitting the keyboard. Zirruk³, going to another line. Tatatack, in the middle of the night the protagonist was chased by an assailant who was carrying a knife and discovered a lake. Zirruk, ‘I wonder if Lewellyn is sleeping’. Tatatack, the protagonist jumped into the lake. Zirruk, ‘I wonder if he’s eaten’. Tatatack, having shaken off the assailant, the protagonist belatedly discovered a corpse floating in the lake. Zirruk, ‘If he hasn’t eaten, I should scold him’. Tatatack, the face of the corpse was familiar. Zirruk, ‘He must be tired from all the running away drama, I should make him an omelet later.’

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“What do you mean with ‘Lewell’?”

At the voice coming from behind, Shavonne snapped back to reality. ‘Lewell’? He turned around to see Turner standing there. His face was stern, as if he had been watching Shavonne write all this time.

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“What ‘Lewell’?”

When Shavonne asked, Turner, instead of answering, nodded towards the manuscript inserted in the typewriter. My manuscript? Shavonne looked at it. Dense sentences came into view. In the middle of the night the protagonist was chased by an assailant who was carrying a knife and discovered a lake, jumped into the lake, shaking off the assailant and only then discovered a corpse floating in the lake, the face of the corpse was familiar, and that face…

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“…”

The owner of that face was written as ‘Lewell’.

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“…I wrote it by mistake.”

He had gotten tangled up typing with his hands while thinking about Lewellyn in his head. His face flushed hot like someone caught making a mistake. Shavonne took out the paper that was inserted in the typewriter and threw it in the trash. He hurriedly inserted a new sheet of paper. Even so, the heat burning his cheeks showed no signs of subsiding.

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“You were trying to write Lewellyn, right?”

“Uhm…”

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“The prince’s name. Right?”

“…”

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“The corpse having the prince’s name. I don’t think that’s going to do well for a royal contest.”

Turner smiled. It was a smile that felt like a glass doll, devoid of any feeling. Royal contest. That word felt oddly heavy, so Shavonne turned his eyes to the typewriter.

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Over the blank paper inserted in the typewriter, there was the images of Shavonne winning the royal contest. A future with money, honor, a lover Lewellyn who was ‘on his side’, and the editor, Turner, who always called Shavonne the best writer. Knowing that it couldn’t be obtained for free, the eyes looking down at the typewriter darkened.

***

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He got off work at seven in the evening.

“Shall I give you a ride home?”

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Turner suggested. As Shavonne was about to refuse, Turner’s fingertip brushed past his ear, saying, “There’s something on you.” A hand briefly caressed his earlobe. Shavonne’s body stiffened. An unpleasant sensation spread throughout his body.

Just then, he noticed Turner wearing loose clothing that revealed his insides clearly. How weird. He seemed to be dressed neatly just a while ago, did he change clothes? For what reason? As he wondered, he could see a flat chest through the clothes.

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Shavonne was surprised. For two reasons. First, because that body was so sexy that it perfectly matched Shavonne’s ideal type. Second, because even after seeing such a chest, all he could think was, ‘Isn’t he cold?’

Come to think of it, Turner’s face was very close to Shavonne’s ideal type. Shavonne’s tastes were quite consistent. He had liked black hair, blue eyes, and faces with strong, clear features since 8 years ago, so all the lovers he had dated until now had such appearance. Except for Lewellyn, they were all like that.

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The problem is that now, even seeing a face that looks exactly like his ideal type right in front of him, he feels no excitement at all. It wasn’t just the face. He saw his naked body through the clothes and still felt nothing.

Has my ideal type changed?

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But how?

Someone’s face flashed through his mind, as if they were raising their hand. When working, he should only think about work, and at the workplace, he should only think about the workplace, but that face filled Shavonne’s mind and left him without knowing where he should be thinking about it and where he shouldn’t.

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“…You’re daydreaming again.”

A voice was heard nearby. Turner was looking down at Shavonne with his eyebrows slightly furrowed. “Ah.” Only then did he come to his senses. “I’m sorry. I was just…”

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“You have beautiful eyes.”

His words were cut off.

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“…”

Shavonne stared blankly at Turner’s face, not knowing if “You have beautiful eyes” meant his eyes were actually beautiful or if it meant he wanted to sleep with him. However, Turner offered no explanation. Only a smile as clear as a glass doll, devoid of any feeling, remained.

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Fingers that touched his ears and fell away, loose clothes, ‘you have beautiful eyes’… His head was spinning the entire way home. Even as he tried to brush it off as being oversensitive, the touch on his ear kept coming back to him. The touch had made him uncomfortable, as if a bug had crawled on him.

As soon as he entered the house, Shavonne was greeted by a sound. The sound of humming coming from the kitchen. It was 《Yellow, Yellow, Yellow Squirrel》

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‘That must be Lewellyn.’

Suddenly, he remembered kissing Lewellyn’s scars this morning. Looking back, he didn’t understand where he got the courage to do such a thing. Well, he would make the same choice if he went back, though.

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When you’re in love, you do embarrassing things. When he heard that before, he just scoffed, thinking it couldn’t be true, but now Shavonne was exactly like that. The more he recalled the kiss, the more he felt his face heating up. Shavonne cleared his throat out of embarrassment. Ahem, ahem, as soon as the sound was made, the humming from the kitchen stopped.

“Mr. Shavonne?”

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There was a sound of footsteps crossing the house, and before he knew it, Lewellyn was in front of him. With a spatula in his left hand and a sieve in his right, even wearing an apron. His face was flushed red, probably from being near the fire while cooking.

It was only for a moment that he was stunned. Shavonne thought. Please. Don’t greet me with a corny phrase like “You’re home?”

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“You’re home?”

…Of course he would. He was once again curious why his ominous premonitions never missed.

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“What do you think? What do you think?”

Lewellyn clenched his fists and his eyes sparkled. His voice, urging for an answer, was excited like a child expecting praise. Shavonne replied gruffly.

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“What do you mean?”

“I thought everyone loved this kind of thing.”

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Shavonne stared blankly at Lewellyn’s face. Where on earth does he pick up these strange ideas? Doesn’t he know how troublesome something like that can be?

Lewellyn’s face naturally became gloomy after seeing Shavonne’s cold gaze. “I guess not.” After muttering, he suddenly asked again as if he had found a glimmer of hope.

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“It’s not really that bad, is it? You’re just trying not to show how much you love it, right?”

Shavonne answered flatly.

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“It’s really bad.”

“That can’t be.”

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“It can be. Put yourself in my shoes. If I, who never does this normally, wore an apron, held a spatula and a sieve, and came running to greet you with a corny ‘You’re home?’, wouldn’t you worry like ‘Did he eat something bad?'”

“No. If it were me, I’d be so captivated that I’d pounce on you first and ask questions later.”

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Shavonne glared at Lewellyn. “You didn’t do that when I was wearing a raincoat instead of an apron and holding tax bills instead of a spatula and sieve, did you?”

“Did I? I don’t remember.”

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Lewellyn’s face was nonchalant as he shrugged his shoulders up and down. How shameless. Shavonne was about to criticize him, asking if there was something wrong with his frontal lobe, but stopped. Maybe it was because it was his first day at work, but he didn’t have the energy to argue.

Work was tiring. He thought it wouldn’t be that tiring since all he had done for 8 years was writing, but that was a mistake. There was a world of difference in the weight of fatigue between writing at home and writing at work. At home, he could easily write ten pages, but at work, he was exhausted after writing just three lines.

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It’s no wonder, the sound of typing, tatatak, the sound of going to another line, zirruk, even the ticking of the clock hands from afar made Shavonne’s nerves sensitive. As it is said, sensitive nerves are a recipe for fatigue.

He collapsed onto the bed. As soon as he lay down, his eyes closed. A world of stars poured down before his dark eyes. Although Shavonne has insomnia, today he feels like he could fall asleep in 5 minutes. No, 5 minutes is too long. He feels like he could fall asleep in 3 minutes.

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Lewellyn’s voice was heard above his head.

“Aren’t you going to eat? I’m preparing onion steak and onion bagels.”

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The desire to sleep won versus his hungriness. Shavonne didn’t answer. To be precise, he didn’t have the energy left to answer. He just buried his nose in the pillow, as if closing his ears.

“Shouldn’t you take off your shoes before getting into bed?”

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Those words were barely audible, buried under the sleepiness. Shavonne only wiggled off his shoes. Thud, thud. The left shoe fell to the floor below the bed, followed by the right shoe. A pair of shoes lay sprawled. Lewellyn said something more, but his voice sounded distant, like a sound coming from very far away. Sleep crept in under his eyelids. It was a dreamless sleep.

***

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He woke up because he heard a strange sound.

Night. The dark apartment was so pitch black that he couldn’t see an inch in front of him. Is that the sound of wind? Shavonne, lying on the bed, shifted his sleepy gaze to look across at the window. But the window was closed. There wasn’t even the usual rattling sound of the window that typically occurred when the wind blew.

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What’s that sound?

Shavonne was about to throw off the blanket when he suddenly stopped. Lewellyn was sleeping beside him. That itself wasn’t a problem. The two often slept together. It wouldn’t be strange to say that they rarely slept separately. The problem was that the sleeping Lewellyn seemed somehow strange.

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Lewellyn was pale and gasping for breath. His body, drenched in cold sweat, was shaking slightly. His head twisted sideways, as if saying, No, no. A desperate moan, barely audible, escaped between his lips. It was the identity of the sound that Shavonne had thought was the wind. It seemed like he was saying something, but it was too faint to hear clearly.

“Mr. Lewellyn.” He called. No response. “Lewellyn.” Still no response. Perhaps he was having a terrible nightmare, Lewellyn, who wouldn’t wake up no matter how much he was called, only opened his eyes after Shavonne shook him.

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“Are you okay?”

Shavonne carefully examined Lewellyn’s face through the darkness. Lewellyn made a sound in his throat, “Ah.” It was a sound that could have been either affirmative or negative. Then silence. Shavonne patiently waited for Lewellyn to show a reaction.

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It was a long time before Lewellyn regained his senses. Lewellyn answered while brushing up his sweat-soaked bangs. “Yes. More or less.”

“Did you have a bad dream?”

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“Maybe.”

“What kind of dream was it?”

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He intended to comfort him. If Lewellyn had dreamed of dying, he wanted to tell him that it wouldn’t happen for about 60 years, and if Lewellyn had dreamed of being sick, he wanted to tell him that since the Lewellyn in the dream was sick, the Lewellyn in reality didn’t need to be sick.

However, Lewellyn’s next answer made it impossible for Shavonne to even comfort him.

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“I don’t know… I forgot, so I’m not sure…”

Then, he smiled briefly at Shavonne, who couldn’t hide his worried expression.

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“I’ll tell you if I remember.”

Shavonne knew that it wasn’t a genuine smile. But he decided not to say anything out of respect for Lewellyn’s wish not to talk about the dream. He only said this,

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“Let’s sleep.”

As he said this, he held out his hand. “You mean like holding hands while sleeping?” Lewellyn laughed out loud. It was a laugh that seemed deliberately made. Shavonne didn’t respond and instead grasped both of Lewellyn’s hands. After giving short kisses to each of the ten crushed fingernails, he held his hand. Cold hands and hot hands were together.

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“Let’s hold hands.”

He said, as if making a declaration with his eyes closed.

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“Why did you kiss my hands…?”

“Go to sleep. Don’t add comments.”

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“I love you.”

“I said don’t add comments.”

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“You should set an example first, my beloved Shavonne.”

“…”

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That night, Lewellyn woke up several more times. Because of the sounds Lewellyn made every time he had a nightmare, Shavonne couldn’t sleep at all. But he never let go of his hand.

Lewellyn’s nightmares continued that day, the next day, and the day after that, but it was on the fifth day that Shavonne realized what Lewellyn was desperately muttering as if moaning.

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Shavonne, don’t go.

That’s what Lewellyn, suffering from nightmares, was saying.

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***

Turner said Shavonne’s eyes were red.

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“I couldn’t sleep.”

He answered without thinking, then added, lest Turner might misunderstand. “I’m having nightmares.”

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Turner said he would give him sleeping pills. Shavonne agreed, imagining Lewellyn sleeping peacefully after taking the sleeping pills. He didn’t know that this choice would make Lewellyn lose consciousness.

***

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The sound of rain could be heard.

Rain poured down over the detention center. Wherever the raindrops touched, mist formed. It was a pale mist so thick you couldn’t see an inch in front of you. It looked like the hazy smoke in the solitary cell that used to turn off his consciousness.

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Although the rain and mist were things he had never seen before, having just left the solitary cell, he had no time to be amazed. He needed his god. Because he couldn’t be without pain for even a moment without his god. He intended to find Shavonne and bring him back to his side.

The dog is loose! The dog is loose! A shouting voice sounded from somewhere. The guards rushed in, disappeared, rushed in again, and disappeared again. Eventually, the scene before him cleared. Only one person, Shavonne, remained.

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― Shavonne, have you ever loved me?

His voice trembled as he asked. Shavonne looked at him steadily and answered.

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― Never. Not even once.

The sight of Shavonne’s back as he turned and left pierced his eyes. Shavonne, don’t go. He wanted to say it, he wanted to beg, but no voice came out, as if someone had cut off his tongue. Probably, it was because he was a dog.

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Yes, because he was a dog. For a dog, sharp teeth to bite the target were enough. A tongue to pray to God not to leave was a luxury.

Gradually, his consciousness began to fade. Darkness creeped into his vision. Slowly, Shavonne’s back was buried in the darkness. He could no longer see Shavonne. He couldn’t see his god.

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Shavonne, don’t go. Still, no voice came out. Words that wouldn’t come out were stuck in his throat. Shavonne, don’t go. Don’t go. Only his desperate wish faded into the rain.

Shavonne, don’t abandon me.

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His god was gone. The sound of rain erased the world.

His eyes opened.

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The long eyelashes surrounding his golden eyes trembled slightly, and a droplet that had been forming falled. Plop. The droplet falling near his eye made a light sound.

He thought it was a tear, but it wasn’t. It was a bead of sweat. Only after wiping his eyes with his sleeve did Lewellyn realize. His whole body was drenched in cold sweat. He was damp.

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Room 303 of the Ira Apartments. Looking around, the bed space next to where Shavonne should be was empty. It wasn’t surprising. It was now 10 AM. It had been at least three hours since Shavonne left for work. As Lewellyn lowered his gaze, he suddenly noticed something on the pillow Shavonne usually used. It was a note. Clumsily folded into the shape of a boat.

You seemed to be sleeping soundly for once, so I’m leaving first. Don’t sulk like a child because I didn’t wake you up.

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P.S. How on earth do you do origami?

After reading the postscript, Lewellyn’s lips, which had been ‘sulking like a child because he wasn’t woken up’, finally relaxed. Thinking about how Shavonne, who had probably only ever used paper for writing, must have struggled with the unfamiliar origami, his sadness naturally subsided.

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He briefly kissed the note. Thinking of it as a message from Shavonne made it incredibly sweet. Then he crumpled the note and shoved it deep into a desk drawer. Thinking of it as something that had received Shavonne’s touch in his place made him incredibly jealous. Either way, because it was Shavonne’s note, he didn’t dare throw it away.

He washed up and left the house. These days, Lewellyn was visiting all the publishing houses in Bunch. Sometimes pretending to be an errand boy, sometimes a police inspector on patrol, sometimes an eccentric aristocratic lord interested in books.

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The publishing houses were easily fooled. They were so completely deceived that they rattled off their company history, marketability, and vision to secure investment from ‘Lord Allium’. Deception was more effective when pretending to be upper class than when pretending to be lower class.

‘It’s probably because of my face,’ Lewellyn thought. Lewellyn knew he was handsome. A beautiful appearance was a prerequisite for a ‘dog’. To eliminate a target, one must first approach them, and a beautiful appearance made that approach easier. Beauty makes people let their guard down. Nothing was as effective as beauty in thoroughly leading people’s attention away.

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The reason for visiting publishing houses was simple. The suspicious editor who claimed to be Shavonne’s fan. He intended to find out if this person was really an editor, and if so, what kind of scammer they were.

Some might call his way of doing things inefficient and they would not be wrong. Visiting each of the 573 publishing houses in Bunch was indeed inefficient. But there was no other way.

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The security at the multifamily apartments, where the editor lived, was too extreme. There seemed to be at least twenty guards on patrol. There was a way to take them down and break in. But the problem was that breaking in wouldn’t automatically reveal the identity of the editor.

After breaking in, to find out the editor’s identity, he would have to immediately locate the editor’s apartment among hundreds. He would have to pick locks and search inside. He might even have to catch and threaten the editor himself.

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But what if the police came in the meantime?

Arrest means execution. Execution means separation from Shavonne. Lewellyn didn’t want to be separated from Shavonne ever again. That alone was reason enough to refrain from taking the risk.

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That day, as ‘Lord Allium’, he visited two publishing houses but nothing came up. Well, trying to find someone with only the information of 8 years of experience was like looking for a needle in a haystack. It would have been good if he at least knew the hair or eye color, but he didn’t even know that.

In the evening, Lewellyn returned home empty-handed. He met Shavonne, who had returned from work, an hour later. He lost consciousness and collapsed two hours after that.

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He mixed the sleeping pills with water and made him drink it. That was all.

The twilight softly seeped into the cozy gas lamps, the giant platanus trees swaying in the evening breeze, and the Ira Apartments with lights on in every home. The smell of baking bread wafted from somewhere, and the sounds of playful children running through the streets and a policeman shouting, followed by shouted responses and spontaneous laughter, could be heard. It was a calm evening.

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Less than 30 minutes after taking the sleeping pills, Lewellyn fell into a deep sleep. Not gasping, not trembling or twisting his head. Not moaning, ‘Shavonne, don’t go.’

Shavonne sat on the bed, looking down at Lewellyn’s sleeping face. A peaceful face. Closed eyes, a nose and lips without even a twitch, pretty cheeks. He wanted to caress him but stopped, worried he might wake him.

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As he looked down, the thought crossed his mind that the drug Turner had given him must be quite something. It would have been good if he had known about the existence of sleeping pills just a week earlier. Then he wouldn’t have had to helplessly watch Lewellyn grow gaunt day by day, suffering from nightmares.

Hoping that peaceful dreams would visit Lewellyn, Shavonne got up. When he wakes up, Lewellyn will look restful. His eyes won’t be bloodshot from lack of proper sleep, and there won’t be dark circles under his eyes.

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Thinking about this made him feel lighter. Shavonne went to the typewriter and began to finish the writing he couldn’t complete at the multifamily apartments. The sound of the typewriter was loud.

Lewellyn didn’t wake up. It was an eerily quiet sleep. Like death.

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The amount of sleeping pills Turner gave was 3mg.

‘Can I sleep soundly for just four hours with this?’

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This is what Shavonne had said when asking for 10mg. Turner replied that with this, even if he slept for an hour instead of four, it would be a deep sleep. Turner’s explanation was that for the first use, one should take a small amount, and when tolerance develops, then increase the dose. ‘You could die if you’re not careful.’ Turner’s face as he warned him was vivid in his mind.

3mg. He said that for an adult male, they would wake up in three hours at the earliest, four hours at the latest. In other words, Lewellyn should have woken up by 10 PM at the latest.

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But.

“…”

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The clock on the table that his eyes happened to fall on as he looked around was pointing to twelve o’clock.

Shavonne’s hands, which had been tapping the typewriter, stopped abruptly.

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“…”

A dry swallow went down his throat.

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Lewellyn was still sleeping. There was no sign that he had woken up or had been awake. A chilling anxiety wet the nape of his neck.

It’s past ten, why isn’t he waking up?

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…Why?

A deep night where you couldn’t see an inch in front of you was covering the entire Ira Street. Room 303 was also pitch black. If it weren’t for the candle he had lit to write, nothing would have been visible.

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When the sound of the typewriter stopped, what filled the house was silence. The silence made all sounds louder. The creaking of the rotten wooden floor, the ticking of the clock, the sound of breathing.

There was a loud, rapid breathing sound. Shavonne thought it was Lewellyn’s breathing, but it wasn’t. It was Shavonne’s breathing. Lewellyn wasn’t making any sound. Not even the sound of breathing.

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Lewellyn was sleeping soundly. Not gasping, not trembling or twisting his head. Not moaning, ‘Shavonne, don’t go.’ He was exactly the same as six hours ago. Looking at Lewellyn, who wasn’t moving at all, anxiety crawled up his throat like a bug.

“…Mr. Lewellyn.”

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He called, but there was no response.