MYFL | Chapter 3.4

He never really understood what was so entertaining about these kinds of shows, so he didn’t particularly watch them. But since this one was insanely popular, he had a rough idea of the plot.

A revenge story about the devoted first wife finding out that the old chairman had been secretly keeping a second household. Overcome with fury, she decided to take revenge, enlisting the help of a young and handsome man who was utterly devoted to her. That was the last part of the story Beomchan had heard.

“…Haa.”

Beomchan roughly wiped his face with his palm.

So it was just the drama.

He groped around for the remote by his bedside and immediately turned off the TV. As silence settled over the room, an annoyed sigh slipped out.

Even after shutting it off, the emotions and sensations from his dream were disturbingly vivid. Holding Seungjae in his arms, the thrill he had felt in that moment—it was dangerous.

Was his fondness for him really that twisted?

No way.

Feeling a sense of crisis, Beomchan slowly shook his head.

It was just because of the drama. That had to be it.

He checked the time on his phone. It was still too early to wake up, but he got out of bed without hesitation. He wanted to erase every trace of that dream from his mind as soon as possible.

He headed straight to the bathroom and doused himself with cold water. Since his body ran hot, a cold shower was always the best way to wake himself up.

After roughly towel-drying his hair and changing into his workout clothes, he stepped outside. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the biting winter air that smelled vaguely metallic, like cold steel or frozen glass.

Because of his job, he had no choice but to tailor his schedule around the kids’ after-school hours, so his lifestyle was naturally shifted later. It had been a long time since he had gone out for exercise at dawn like this.

He started running, letting the early morning wind whip against his face.

He had wanted to shake off both his sleep and the dream along with it. But the more he ran, the more the dream replayed in his mind.

His pace quickened.

What had started as a light jog turned into an all-out sprint before he even realized it.

He was worried that the lack of sleep from that strange dream would affect his work. But fortunately, he got through the day without any problems.

Just as he finished turning off all the lights in the dojo and was about to step outside, his phone buzzed in his hand with a long vibration.

It was Seungjae.

Beomchan flinched, startled like a guilty man caught red-handed.

What’s this about?

He quickly cleared his throat and pressed the call button.

“Yes, teacher.”

— Master… It’s Woojoo.

The voice on the other end wasn’t Seungjae’s—it was Woojoo’s.

“Oh, Woojoo. What’s up?”

— Um, I was wondering… Have you seen my sketchbook at the taekwondo dojo?

“Your sketchbook? Hang on.”

— Okay….

Beomchan took off his shoes again and stepped back into the dojo. He had just finished tidying up the training hall and the office a little while ago.

Since he hadn’t noticed anything resembling a sketchbook there, it was likely in the locker room.

Without hesitation, he headed straight for the lockers and began searching around.

And there it was.

“Found it. A yellow sketchbook. You left it here?”

— Yes! I thought I lost it somewhere else. Um, Master, can I pick it up tomorrow?

“Of course. I’ll keep it safe until then.”

— Thank you so much!

“Dad, I found my sketchbook!”

With that excited exclamation, the call ended.

Even after hanging up, Beomchan stood there for a moment, staring at his now silent phone, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. He could still hear the way Woojoo’s voice had suddenly brightened the moment he realized his sketchbook wasn’t lost. Just a second ago, he had sounded so down.

Beomchan grabbed the sketchbook and headed to the office. He could have just left it where he found it, but since he had boldly declared he’d keep it safe, he couldn’t just leave it lying around carelessly.

Turning on the office light, he looked around for a suitable place to put it. He ended up heading to the waist-high storage cabinet behind his usual chair. Books and ledgers were neatly stacked there, leaning against the wall for support.

Beomchan placed the sketchbook upright at the outermost edge. But maybe because it was too thin, it didn’t stand properly and slowly bent inward before toppling over.

After several attempts, he finally managed to prop it up, though it looked precariously unstable.

And sure enough, the moment he turned away, the sketchbook slipped and fell to the floor with a loud thud.

“Ah…”

Startled, Beomchan quickly reached down to pick it up.

Or rather, he was going to pick it up—if only he hadn’t seen the page that had flipped open when it fell.

“…What the hell.”

His pupils trembled as he stared at the sketchbook in his hands.

A crayon drawing.

The artwork was rough, as expected from a five-year-old, but the shapes were clear enough to recognize.

A house with a triangular roof.

Inside, two figures—one big, one small—stood hand in hand, smiling.

And at the bottom of the page, scrawled in black crayon, was the title.

Beomchan muttered the words in a shaky voice.

“Family…”

Family.

Which meant… this was Woojoo’s drawing of his family. It was a drawing of Seungjae and Woojoo together.

Then what about the other guy? Where the hell was the husband?

No matter how much he wanted to deny it, everything surrounding Seungjae kept pointing to the same, unpleasant conclusion.

Suddenly, the scene from his dream overlapped with Woojoo’s drawing.

If Seungjae was someone who quietly endured his husband’s affairs, desperately holding onto the idea of love or family, then it made sense why he had reacted so sensitively that night when Beomchan brought up the topic while drunk.

Besides, Beomchan had never once caught another alpha’s pheromones on Seungjae.

Sure, these days, people were more conscious about not leaving traces on their partners out of respect. But even so, to not have a single lingering scent? That was odd.

“…What the hell are you thinking?”

Beomchan shook his head.

He was overthinking things.

A dream was just a dream.

Even after pushing down the rising doubts, the uneasy feeling refused to fade. Maybe his suspicion of infidelity was just his own wild imagination, but one thing was certain—he really didn’t like that nameless person by Seungjae’s side.

He used to think pathetic guys clinging onto their first love were someone else’s problem.

Yet here he was.

Someone he thought he had long forgotten had shown up again, and it was proving impossible to ignore.

Marriage… Honestly, he would’ve preferred if Seungjae hadn’t gotten married at all. But since he had, Beomchan had at least hoped he was happy.

Seungjae was a good person—he deserved someone just as good.

If that had been the case, maybe Beomchan would’ve been able to let go of his lingering regrets and move on, watching Seungjae live a happy life.

If only he had never found out how he was living now, he wouldn’t have been this tormented.

He knew this wasn’t something he had any right to meddle in. He knew he should just let it go.

But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

It was only then that Beomchan realized his hand had been clenched too tightly.

Before he accidentally ruined Woojoo’s sketchbook, he flipped it over and set it back down on the cabinet.

⋆˚🐾˖°

The next morning, Beomchan was woken up by a phone call. Without even checking the screen, he blindly fumbled for the answer button, pressing it as he brought the phone close to his face, still half-buried in his pillow.

He had barely gotten any sleep last night, tormented by thoughts about Seungjae. His voice, thick with exhaustion, was a complete mess.

“Hello…?”

— Ah, looks like I woke you up.

Seungjae’s voice came from the other end.

Beomchan instantly bolted upright.

Roughly rubbing his messy bedhead with one hand, he hurriedly tried to shake off the last traces of sleep.

“No, ahem—no, I was already awake.”

— Doesn’t sound like it.

Seungjae chuckled.

“It’s just… morning voice.”

Even to himself, his excuse sounded ridiculous. Realizing it was pointless to keep up the pretense, Beomchan gave up and awkwardly changed the subject.

“What’s up?”

— Ah, I was planning to stop by on my way to work to pick up Woojoo’s sketchbook. Just wanted to check if that’s okay. I should be there in about an hour.

“Oh, yeah, of course. I’ll head down around that time.”

— Thanks.

Right. Woojoo had said he’d come to pick up the sketchbook.

Beomchan had been so caught up in the drawing itself that he had completely forgotten. As soon as the call ended, he rushed to the bathroom, but the moment he saw his reflection in the mirror, a low curse slipped out.

His hair, which he hadn’t properly dried before sleeping, was sticking out in all directions, flat in some places, wild in others. His face, still puffy from lack of sleep, looked dull and exhausted.

Good thing Seungjae had called ahead—if he had still been sleeping when he arrived, he would have had to answer the door looking like this.

Horrified.

A shiver ran down Beomchan’s spine as he quickly turned on the shower. By the time he had washed up, dried his hair, and had a quick bite to eat, about thirty minutes had passed.

He figured he should get some housework done before heading out to meet Seungjae, so he slipped on a pair of rubber gloves, ready to start cleaning—

Knock, knock.

There was a knock at the front door. Beomchan pulled off the gloves and checked the time on his phone, which he had left on the dining table.

He’s here already?

“Yes, just a sec!”

He called out as he hurriedly threw on a gray hoodie over his t-shirt. As he made his way to the door, he used his feet to kick any stray clutter to the side, pushing them against the walls.

Bang, bang, bang!

The sudden, forceful knocking made Beomchan flinch mid-step, his shoulders jerking up.

What the hell?

A bit wary, he reached for the doorknob and turned it.

“Hurry up and open the damn door.”

The person standing outside wasn’t Seungjae. It was his older brother, Beomjin.

“…What the hell?”

The words slipped out in disbelief.