Chapter Text
~
Ricky didn’t know how many years had passed. Time had long since lost its meaning in this suffocating, endless void. The only thing he knew was pain—constant, searing pain from the magic shackles that burned against his skin like molten chains. His every breath was agony, a reminder of his humiliation, his powerlessness, his betrayal.
He had been so close.
The throne of the Demon Realm should have been his. He was the strongest demon alive, second only to his late father, the previous Demon King who had died with honor—honor in their world meant fighting off countless humans until their last breath, standing tall in a battlefield soaked in blood. Ricky had been prepared to continue that legacy, to carve his name into history with his strength alone. But he had been denied.
His uncle, that wretched coward, had played his hand well. Ricky had expected challenges, but not this. Not an ambush. Not betrayal. He had been caught off guard, outnumbered, his power sealed before he could even retaliate. Magicians under his uncle’s command had chanted their binding spells in unison, their magic sinking into his very bones, weighing him down like iron chains. His world had turned into darkness before he could even let out a roar of defiance.
And now, here he was—forgotten.
He didn’t know what had become of his loyal subordinates. Had they fought for him until the bitter end? Had they been slaughtered, one by one? Had they bent the knee to his uncle, choosing survival over loyalty? The uncertainty gnawed at him, fed his fury, made him sick with rage.
Ricky exhaled through clenched teeth, his nails digging into his palms. He had to get out. He had to rip his uncle’s head off his shoulders. He had to make them all pay.
But the seal was strong. The magic that bound him was ancient and absolute, designed not to be undone by strength alone. No, the conditions for his release were both cruel and absurd—only the blood of a human virgin who had lived past twenty-five years could break the seal. In this era, that was as rare as finding a dragon’s tear.
Outside the void of his prison, ruins stretched as far as the eye could see—crumbling stone pillars, shattered statues, and vines reclaiming what was once a grand temple. Time had eroded everything, leaving behind only a desolate graveyard of forgotten power.
And deep within its heart, beneath the layers of dust and decay, Ricky remained trapped, waiting.
.
.
Jiwoong sat on a fallen log, absently stroking his horse’s mane as the fire crackled in front of him. The cool night breeze rustled the leaves above, carrying the distant hoot of an owl.
An adventurer’s life was unpredictable, but Jiwoong had grown used to the solitude. His only companion was his horse—his one and only loyal friend, the same horse his father had gifted him for his tenth birthday. Now, at twenty-six, he had wandered far from home, far from the obligations he never wanted—an arranged marriage.
That woman… He still remembered her cruelty, the way she treated others with thinly veiled disgust. She had only wanted him for his looks, his body—nothing more. A decorative husband to parade around like a prized possession. Jiwoong wanted no part of that life. But her family’s rank far surpassed his own, and in this world, status dictated fate. His parents had been powerless to refuse the engagement outright, trapped by obligations and expectations.
Yet, they had still tried to protect him.
His parents had always been kind, even if they lacked the influence to shield him completely. Offering him a choice had been their last act of defiance against a world that didn’t care for personal desires. Marry her, or disappear forever. It had been a cruel choice, but Jiwoong had understood—it was their way of helping him, even if it meant losing him. And he had taken their offer without hesitation.
He missed them. Always. Some nights, the ache of homesickness gnawed at him, and the urge to return to them—to see their faces, hear their voices—became almost unbearable. But he never let himself dwell on it for long. If he did, he knew his foolish heart would betray him, dragging him back to their estate on the other continent. And that was a risk he couldn’t afford. In the other continent, too many nobles knew his face. Too many eyes would be watching.
So he buried the longing, as he always did, and focused on the fire before him, letting the crackling embers drown out the thoughts of a home he could never return to.
Jiwoong needed more firewood for the night. He left his horse after giving it some carrots on its plate.
And that was how he found a ruin.
It was nothing more than a crumbling altar, half-buried beneath vines and moss, its structure warped with time. The air was thick, unnervingly still, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. Jiwoong paused at the threshold, adjusting the grip on his torch—its soft, magical glow flickered against the stone, casting long, eerie shadows.
Weird place, he thought, stepping over a broken slab of rock. He’d come across ruins before, some more intact than others. Most were nothing but remnants of old temples or abandoned shrines, long since forgotten by history. But this one… this one felt different.
He wandered deeper, the silence pressing in around him. The carvings on the walls were old, their meanings lost to time, but they stirred something uneasy in him. Jiwoong wasn’t superstitious, but even he could recognize the heavy weight of something wrong lingering here.
Still, firewood first. Existential dread later.
As he maneuvered through the debris, his eyes landed on a large altar-like structure in the center. It was massive, its stone surface worn down but still holding traces of elaborate carvings. He reached out, tracing the faded patterns with his fingertips—only to hiss as a sharp edge sliced his skin.
Blood welled up instantly, a single crimson droplet rolling down the stone.
Then the world split open.
A deep, guttural crack tore through the air, reverberating through Jiwoong’s bones. The ground lurched, and a violent force sent him sprawling backward. The wind howled, debris scattering, as an ominous dark mist gushed from the altar’s broken surface. Jiwoong scrambled back, heart hammering in his chest as the swirling darkness coalesced into something—someone.
And then, from the depths of that void, he emerged.
The man was tall, absurdly so, his lean yet powerful frame exuding something inhuman. His hair, white-blond and unnaturally pristine, cascaded down his back, untouched by the grime of time. And his eyes—sharp, golden, gleamed with a wild, dangerous light.
But it was his presence that made Jiwoong’s stomach drop.
A suffocating, unbearable pressure radiated from him, thick with something ancient and wrathful. Jiwoong’s instincts screamed at him to move, run, get out—
But then the man inhaled sharply, his eyes flickering in confusion. He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers as if confirming they were real. Then, realization dawned.
And he laughed.
A sharp, unhinged, maniacal laugh.
Jiwoong took an unconscious step back. Then another.
The laughter continued, wild and triumphant, echoing through the ruins like a death knell. The sheer madness in it sent a cold shiver racing down Jiwoong’s spine.
“I’m free,” the man rasped between his chuckles, golden eyes burning with something untamed. “I’m free.”
Then, as if suddenly remembering something, his gaze snapped toward Jiwoong.
The air grew heavier.
Jiwoong stiffened as a sharp smirk curved the man’s lips. “You…” The word was low, laced with amusement.
In a blink, he moved. Too fast. A blur of motion.
Jiwoong’s body reacted on instinct, jumping back just as razor-sharp claws slashed through the space where he had been standing. His heart slammed against his ribs. Shit.
The man—no, the monster—tilted his head. “You freed me.” His voice was almost… thoughtful. But then his expression twisted, predatory once more. “And I should kill you for it, regard this as honor.”
Jiwoong swallowed. His mind screamed at him to do something, but what the hell was he supposed to do against that?
The monster lunged again.
Or—he tried.
The moment he moved to strike, something stopped him.
He jerked back, eyes widening in visible shock.
Confusion flickered across his features. He tried again. The same thing happened—an unseen force yanked him back, halting his movements the instant his intent turned violent. His sharp nails curled into fists, frustration flashing in his golden eyes.
A third time.
Nothing.
Jiwoong barely processed his own breathing as he watched the monster’s expression shift from confusion to realization. A dull glow shimmered across the altar’s surface—the faint, pulsating remnants of a spell newly broken.
A bond.
Ricky exhaled sharply, his once murderous glare now replaced with something unreadable. His golden eyes flickered, shifting between Jiwoong and the altar behind him.
“…Interesting,” he murmured, voice low, almost bemused. Then, suddenly, his smirk returned.
“Since you freed me,” he drawled, “I’ll spare you.”
Jiwoong blinked.
Wait. What?
The monster's smirk widened at Jiwoong’s dumbfounded expression, as if thoroughly entertained by his confusion.
But Jiwoong’s mind had caught up now, and more importantly, his instincts were screaming don’t ask, don’t get involved, walk away, right now.
So he did exactly that.
Without a single word, Jiwoong turned on his heel and walked away.
Except…
Ricky followed Jiwoong. Silently. Persistently. Like a shadow that refused to be shaken off.
Jiwoong didn’t acknowledge him. He had no idea what Ricky was, and frankly, he didn’t care. Years of being an adventurer had drilled certain rules into his head— don’t think too much, avoid weird people, and leave immediately if something feels off.
This? This was screaming more than off.
So Jiwoong kept walking.
Through the ruins, over fallen stone slabs, past the eerie altar where an ancient seal had been broken—not that he was dwelling on that particular detail. Ricky followed effortlessly, his steps unnervingly light despite his size.
A quiet chuckle broke the silence. “You’re interesting.”
Jiwoong ignored him.
“My name is Ricky.”
No response.
“What’s your name human?”
Silence.
A sigh. “How rude.”
Jiwoong didn’t so much as twitch. He had perfected the art of pretending things didn’t exist. If he didn’t acknowledge Ricky, maybe—just maybe —Ricky would get bored and leave.
Spoiler: He didn’t.
Ricky’s presence clung to Jiwoong like a persistent curse. The golden-eyed man walked with an air of amusement, as if he found Jiwoong’s silence to be some kind of challenge. His long strides were effortless, his pristine hair barely shifting as he moved.
Jiwoong, meanwhile, had more pressing concerns—like the fact that he still needed firewood.
He veered slightly off course, eyes scanning the forest floor for decent logs. The night was creeping in, and he wasn’t about to freeze just because he had accidentally freed an unhinged, overgrown housecat from a magic rock.
Ricky, of course, didn’t care about Jiwoong’s priorities. “You know,” he mused, “I was going to kill you.”
Jiwoong picked up a fallen branch and inspected it. Too damp. He tossed it aside.
“But then I saw your face.”
A decent-sized log. He tucked it under his arm and kept moving.
Ricky clicked his tongue. “Did you hear me?”
Jiwoong stepped over a root.
“That’s when I decided to spare you.” Ricky’s voice dripped with feigned generosity, his smirk audible in his words. “Because you’re pretty.”
Jiwoong kept walking.
“…You’re not even curious ?” Ricky pressed. “Most people would have at least asked what I am.”
Jiwoong grabbed another log, shaking off the excess dirt.
A low chuckle. “Ah, I see. You know what I am, don’t you?” Ricky drawled, as if indulging himself. “Or at least, you suspect. That’s why you’re pretending I don’t exist.”
Jiwoong didn’t respond. He didn’t even flinch.
He just gathered his last piece of firewood and turned back toward camp, adjusting his grip on the bundle.
Ricky followed, unbothered, his presence warm despite the night’s chill. “Ignoring me won’t make me disappear, you know.”
Jiwoong adjusted the logs in his arms.
Ricky’s smirk widened. “It’s cute that you’re trying, though.”
.
.
.
For two days, Ricky had followed Jiwoong.
Two whole days.
And somehow, despite the constant presence of an absurdly tall, golden-eyed demon trailing his every step, Jiwoong had successfully pretended Ricky did not exist.
It wasn’t easy.
Ricky was not the silent, brooding type—no, he was the opposite. He was talkative, persistent, and seemed to take great pleasure in testing Jiwoong’s patience.
He commented on everything Jiwoong did.
“That’s an awful campsite,” Ricky had drawled the first night, watching as Jiwoong set up his bedroll. “The ground’s too uneven.”
Jiwoong didn’t respond.
“You could at least acknowledge my existence,” Ricky had sighed, lying down beside the fire as if he belonged there. “It’s rude, you know.”
Jiwoong pretended he was alone.
By the second day, Ricky had tried a different tactic—annoyance.
“Are you really going to keep this up?” he mused, walking beside Jiwoong as he scouted the area. “You do realize I’m not leaving, right?”
Silence.
“Do you even talk?” Ricky pressed, narrowing his eyes. “Or are you some kind of mute?”
Nothing.
Ricky huffed in mild irritation. “I could say anything right now, couldn’t I? You wouldn’t react. I could tell you that I used to bathe in the blood of my enemies—”
No reaction.
“You know, I once burned a whole village to the ground in a fit of boredom,” he mused, stepping effortlessly over the uneven terrain as he trailed behind Jiwoong. “It was entertaining, really. The way humans scream? Always so dramatic.”
Jiwoong didn’t react. Didn’t flinch.
Ricky narrowed his eyes. Fine.
“I once ripped a man’s heart out with my bare hands,” he continued, voice casual, like he was discussing the weather. “Felt it beat against my palm before it stopped. You ever feel something like that, adventurer?”
Still nothing.
Jiwoong simply adjusted the strap of his sword and stepped over a fallen log as if Ricky wasn’t even there.
Ricky exhaled sharply, running a hand through his white-blond hair.
Unbelievable.
His golden eyes flicked down.
“…Have I ever mentioned that you have a very nice ass?”
Nothing.
Ricky blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sheer lack of reaction. Jiwoong didn’t stiffen, didn’t trip, didn’t even pause.
Now that was impressive.
Ricky smirked, picking up his pace until he was walking just slightly behind Jiwoong, close enough to let his voice drop lower.
“Your face is nice too, by the way,” he murmured, watching for any sign of acknowledgment. “That strong jaw. Those sharp eyes. I bet people fawn over you all the time, don’t they?”
Silence.
Ricky sighed dramatically, throwing his arms behind his head as he continued to follow. “You know, most people would die to have someone like me giving them attention.”
Jiwoong kept walking.
Ricky scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re either the most disciplined man I’ve ever met, or you’re actually deaf.”
Nothing.
No, actually—Jiwoong’s pace did quicken slightly.
Ricky grinned. Finally, some progress.
.
.
.
Through the forests, across winding rivers, and even when Jiwoong stopped to eat, Ricky remained—a constant, inescapable shadow.
And then, on the evening of the second day—
Jiwoong finally broke.
He had found a secluded river, deep within the trees, where the water was cool and clear. Stripping down, he stepped into the shallows, sighing at the refreshing chill as he sank deeper. The tension of travel eased from his muscles, the weight of the last few days momentarily forgotten.
Until—
Jiwoong turned his head and froze.
Ricky was there.
Standing on the riverbank, arms crossed, golden eyes locked onto him.
Watching.
Jiwoong’s face went up in flames.
“Get lost.” His voice cracked through the trees, sharp and unyielding.
Ricky, completely unfazed, blinked lazily. “Oh, you’re finally talking to me.”
Jiwoong sank lower into the water, barely resisting the urge to dunk himself entirely. “Stop watching me!”
Ricky tilted his head. “Why?”
Jiwoong gaped at him. “I’m obviously taking a bath??”
The talk man looked genuinely puzzled. “I’ve seen plenty of naked creatures before.”
“That doesn’t make it better!” Jiwoong hissed, grabbing the nearest rock and hurling it with deadly precision.
Ricky dodged effortlessly, watching the splash with mild interest. His lips curled in amusement. “…You’re shy, huh?”
Jiwoong groaned and sank under the water, praying the river would just swallow him whole.
Jiwoong stayed underwater for as long as he could, hoping—praying—that Ricky would get bored and leave.
But when he finally resurfaced, sucking in a breath, Ricky was still there.
Still watching.
Still smirking.
Jiwoong clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to launch another rock at him. “You’re still here.”
“You noticed,” Ricky drawled. “I’m touched.”
Jiwoong ignored him, wading back toward the riverbank where his clothes were folded neatly on a nearby rock. But he paused when he realized something—
Ricky wasn’t moving.
Still standing there, arms crossed, golden eyes locked onto him with that infuriatingly unreadable expression.
Jiwoong’s stomach twisted. He was not about to stand up, completely bare, in front of a demon like creature who had already proven he had no concept of personal space or basic social decency.
He narrowed his eyes. “Turn around.”
Ricky arched a brow. “Why?”
“Because I’m changing.”
“...And?”
Jiwoong let out a sharp breath through his nose, glaring. “I swear—”
Ricky sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Fine.” He turned halfway—then stopped. “Wait, what if I peek?”
Jiwoong grabbed another rock.
Ricky immediately turned fully around. “Kidding, kidding.”
Jiwoong didn’t trust him. He stayed in the water a little longer, watching Ricky’s back like a hawk, just in case he dared to sneak a glance. When he was reasonably sure Ricky wasn’t going to pull anything, Jiwoong moved quickly, stepping onto the riverbank and yanking on his clothes with practiced efficiency.
The moment he was fully dressed, he turned back to Ricky—who was already peeking over his shoulder.
Jiwoong chucked the rock.
Ricky dodged, laughing. “You’re really violent for someone so pretty.”
Jiwoong grabbed another rock.
Ricky took that as his cue to start walking. “Alright, alright, I’ll behave.”
Jiwoong exhaled sharply, yanking his damp hair back and twisting it to squeeze the water off of his hair. He should have been used to this by now—Ricky had been following him for two days straight. But the man still managed to get under his skin in the most irritating ways.
When Jiwoong finished packing up his things, he started walking back to camp, pointedly ignoring the sound of footsteps following behind him.
“So,” Ricky hummed, hands casually tucked behind his head. “Now that we’re on speaking terms—”
“We are not on speaking terms.”
“—I was thinking, since you freed me, I should stick around. You know, as a form of gratitude.”
Liar.
Jiwoong stopped so suddenly that Ricky nearly bumped into him. Jiwoong turned, looking Ricky dead in the eye.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said flatly. “In fact, you shouldn’t. You should go. Right now.”
Ricky blinked, tilting his head. Then he grinned. “Nope.”
Jiwoong groaned and kept walking.
.
.
.
Despite everything, Jiwoong soon realized Ricky wasn’t entirely impossible to live with.
Well. That wasn’t exactly true.
He was annoying. Infuriatingly persistent. And completely, utterly shameless.
But somehow, against all odds, Jiwoong found himself getting used to the constant presence. Not accepting it—no, never—but enduring it.
Because Ricky never shut up.
“Oh, your face really is something, isn’t it?” The too tall of a man drawled one afternoon, deliberately walking backward just to keep facing Jiwoong. His golden eyes gleamed with amusement, as if this was all just a game to him. “Sharp, striking, yet somehow beautiful.”
Jiwoong didn’t even blink. He stepped over a large root, adjusting the strap of his pack and continuing forward as if Ricky wasn’t there.
Not that it made a difference.
“And that skin—” Ricky continued, voice smooth and insufferably casual. His gaze swept over Jiwoong’s exposed forearms, lingering a little too long. “Soft, isn’t it? Not a single scar in sight. You must take care of yourself.”
Jiwoong’s grip on his pack tightened ever so slightly.
Ricky grinned, pleased with the almost-reaction. “Your chest too—”
Jiwoong exhaled sharply through his nose, increasing his pace.
But Ricky was right there with him, completely unfazed, hands crossing in front of his chest as he strolled along like they were old friends taking a leisurely walk.
“And those thighs,” he hummed, as if evaluating fine craftsmanship. “Strong. Thick. And juicy, I bet they—”
Jiwoong abruptly stopped.
Ricky nearly bumped into him, but caught himself at the last second, tilting his head with mild curiosity.
Jiwoong slowly turned his head, giving him a look that promised violence.
Ricky’s smirk widened. “Oh? Am I finally getting through to you?”
Jiwoong turned away, get on top of his horse, and mounted his horse.
That was supposed to be the end of it.
But then—
Ricky’s laughter echoed through the trees.
“Running away from me now?”
Jiwoong clicked his tongue, nudging his horse forward, determined to put as much distance between himself and Ricky as possible.
It didn’t work.
Because Ricky, being the insufferable creature that he was, simply walked alongside him—easily keeping pace despite Jiwoong’s horse galloping.
Jiwoong refused to look.
“…I haven’t even mentioned your ass.”
His grip on the reins tightened.
Ricky sighed dramatically. “I mean, it’s not like I need to say anything. It’s just there. Taunting me. Nicely spread when you sit.”
Jiwoong’s jaw clenched.
“…Shaped so—”
Jiwoong yanked the reins. His horse bolted.
For a blissful moment, there was silence.
And then—
A gust of wind, a flicker of movement—
Ricky was right beside him, still wearing that insufferable grin, still not even trying.
Jiwoong stared straight ahead, resisting the urge to stab something.
Ricky chuckled. “So. What were we talking about?”
Jiwoong said nothing.
Ricky smirked. “Oh, right. Your ass.”
Jiwoong nearly swung at him.
.
.
By the time night fell, Jiwoong had managed to suppress most of his irritation.
Mostly.
The fire crackled steadily, casting flickering shadows against the trees. Jiwoong sat on a log, silently tending to his blade, doing his best to tune out Ricky across from him.
Ricky, reclining lazily against a rock, had been remarkably quiet for the past few minutes.
That should’ve been his first warning.
“I wouldn’t mind bedding you, you know.”
Jiwoong’s hands froze.
The words were spoken so casually, so effortlessly, that for a full second, Jiwoong wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly.
Slowly, dangerously, he lifted his head.
Ricky, absurdly tall even while sitting, met his gaze with a knowing smirk.
Jiwoong stared. “…What.”
Ricky’s smirk widened. “I said, I wouldn’t mind bedding you.”
Jiwoong blinked.
Then, very calmly, he placed his sword down and stood.
Ricky watched him, amused, tilting his head as if studying a particularly interesting specimen. “What? Offended? You shouldn’t be. It’s a compliment. ”
Jiwoong took a single step forward.
Ricky’s grin remained. “You do have the kind of face that would look gorgeous underneath—”
Jiwoong swung.
Ricky dodged effortlessly, laughing as he leaned away.
Jiwoong turned on his heel and marched toward his bedroll, jaw clenched so tight it ached.
Behind him, Ricky—ever persistent—stretched lazily and followed.
“Aw, don’t be shy,” Ricky purred. “I meant it.”
Jiwoong grabbed his sword again.
Ricky, wisely, took a step back.
“…Fair reaction,” he conceded.
Jiwoong glared, every muscle in his body coiled with tension.
Ricky finally went silent.
Jiwoong exhaled and lay down, shutting his eyes, willing himself to ignore the Ricky's presence.
The silence stretched.
And then, just as Jiwoong thought he’d have peace—
“You’re still really pretty when you’re mad, though.”
Jiwoong groaned.
The night was quiet–supposed to be. The fire crackled softly, a warm glow flickering against Jiwoong’s face as he lay on his side, eyes closed, doing his best to pretend that the persistent nuisance near him did not exist.
And yet, despite all his efforts, Jiwoong could feel Ricky’s presence.
Ricky had settled far too close, crouched beside him now with the effortless grace of a predator at rest. The weight of his stare was unbearable, piercing through the thin veil of Jiwoong’s attempted ignorance.
A deep, considering hum broke the silence.
“You know,” Ricky mused, voice rich with amusement, “being an adventurer must bring along a fair bit of… frustration.”
Jiwoong’s brow twitched.
Ricky leaned in slightly. “And by frustration, I mean—”
Jiwoong’s eyes snapped open.
Ricky smirked. “Sexual frustration.”
Jiwoong inhaled sharply through his nose.
Do not react.
Do not react.
But Ricky, damn him, kept going.
“I mean, all that traveling, all that exhausting work,” Ricky continued smoothly, resting his elbow on his knee, chin propped against his palm as he stared down at Jiwoong with the expression of someone thoroughly enjoying himself. “No real comfort, no… companionship- except for that horse. Must be lonely.”
Jiwoong clenched his jaw.
Ricky grinned. “I could help, you know.”
Jiwoong stared at him. Blankly. Murderously.
Ricky, utterly unaffected, spread his hands in a slow, casual shrug. “Not because I want to fuck your plump ass, obviously. That would just be a… fortunate side effect.”
For a full second, there was silence.
And then—
“AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Jiwoong’s scream echoed through the entire damn forest.
Birds scattered from the treetops. A distant animal let out a startled cry. The fire even flickered as if recoiling from the sheer force of Jiwoong’s rage.
Ricky blinked, tilting his head. “…So that’s a no?”
.
.
.
Sure, Ricky was invasive, arrogant, and had absolutely no concept of personal space.
But, strangely enough… he was obedient.
In the most annoying way possible.
If Jiwoong told him to leave, he would—only to return moments later, grinning like he had just done something clever, with something utterly ridiculous in tow.
Like now.
The sun hadn't even fully set yet, for heaven's sake.
Jiwoong stared.
Ricky stood beside the fire, smug, arms crossed, exuding satisfaction, while at his feet lay a corpse.
Not just any corpse.
A massive, nightmarish beast, its slick, dark scales gleaming ominously under the firelight, its limbs unnaturally long and spiked, sprawled out in an eerie, twisted heap. A single, gaping wound carved deep into its throat.
Jiwoong slowly dragged a hand down his face, inhaling through his nose. He didn’t want to ask. He really didn’t.
But, against his better judgment—
“…Do you know how to gut it?” Jiwoong asked, voice flat, already expecting disappointment.
Ricky, still watching him like a particularly entertaining pet, peered lazily at the corpse, tilting his head in mock contemplation. Then, with zero shame—
“No.”
Jiwoong inhaled sharply.
Of course.
His eyes flicked back to Ricky, unimpressed. Unmoved.
“Do you expect me to do it?”
“Yes.”
Jiwoong closed his eyes, pressing two fingers to his temple. He needed patience. He needed strength.
“Ricky.”
“Yes, adventurer?”
Jiwoong opened his eyes and stared at him, hard. Ricky only smiled.
A long silence. A battle of wills.
Jiwoong exhaled heavily through his nose and pulled out his knife. Fine.
Fine.
At least the materials would sold well.
Annoyingly, ridiculously well.
The claws, the fangs, the scales—every part of these absurd creatures Ricky kept dragging back could be traded for an obscene amount of money.
Jiwoong had sold them to his guild, where the merchants had nearly drooled over the quality.
“These are in perfect condition!” one of them had exclaimed, holding up a gleaming, razor-sharp fang. “Where the hell did you find them?”
“A rare find, and fresh, too,” another had murmured, inspecting the deep red of the beast’s heart.
Jiwoong had grunted in response, offering no details. He wasn’t about to explain he had an overpowered, persistent, and insufferable demon like creature tossing monster corpses at his feet every few days like a hunting dog.
Instead, he took his payment—a ridiculous sum of gold—and left without another word.
He had never made this much money in his entire adventuring career.
And that was exactly why, despite all of Ricky’s bullshit, Jiwoong found himself putting up with it.
Still.
Ricky was a walking, talking disaster.
Every now and then, Jiwoong would glance over and see him casually levitating entire trees for absolutely no goddamn reason, as if gravity was merely a suggestion.
Or summoning fire—as big as an estate—just to watch it burn the forest, arms folded, lips curling in mild amusement.
Or crushing things with inhuman strength, reducing boulders to fine powder with a flick of his wrist, like it was second nature.
And then there were moments like last week.
Jiwoong had blinked—just once.
And suddenly—
An entire goblin village was gone.
Not burning. Not under attack.
Gone.
Reduced to dust and scattered bones in the wind.
Jiwoong stood at the edge of the wasteland, staring at the ruins that had once been a settlement—small, but functional—housing dozens of goblins.
Now? Nothing. Not even the embers of a dying fire. Only silence.
And at the center of it all stood Ricky, rolling his shoulders, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve as if he had just finished something mildly inconvenient.
He turned, meeting Jiwoong’s gaze, expression blank, bored.
"What?"
Jiwoong said nothing.
He only stared.
Ah.. Exhausting.
But Jiwoong didn’t know.
Didn’t know that this hadn’t been some careless show of power.
That this wasn’t random.
It started the night before. The night Jiwoong’s horse had been attacked.
Ricky had been preparing to rest when the sharp cry of an animal tore through the trees. He turned just in time to see Jiwoong’s horse collapse.
The goblins scattered, snickering, small hands clutching stolen food, weapons, whatever they could carry. One of them held a bloodied dagger.
Ricky took a single step forward—
But Jiwoong beat him to it.
He ran.
Not after the goblins.
But straight to his horse.
And Ricky—who had seen Jiwoong face monsters two times his size, seen him unsheath his sword without hesitation, seen him wipe blood off his cheek with an unreadable expression—froze.
Because Jiwoong was crying.
Not loud. Not broken.
Just silent.
Tears slipped down his face, hitting the dirt below, his fingers pressing against the wound on his horse’s side, trembling slightly.
He wasn’t panicking. He wasn’t calling for help. He was just crying.
And Ricky—who had spent a lifetime seeing bloodshed, who had been the cause of most of it, who had never once found a reason to care—felt something twist inside him.
Unfamiliar. Unsettling.
"...It'll live," Ricky said, stepping closer. His voice came out quieter than intended.
Jiwoong ignored him.
"Adventurer," Ricky tried again, watching as Jiwoong carefully cleaned the wound, fingers slow and precise. "You're wasting your tears. It's not dying."
Still, nothing.
Only the quiet, only Jiwoong’s head bowed as his shoulders trembles, a tear slipping off his chin and landing onto his horse.
"...Are you even listening?"
Jiwoong’s hands didn’t stop. His tears didn’t stop.
Ricky’s jaw tensed.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, watching the rhythmic motion of Jiwoong’s hands—clean, press, wrap—until eventually, exhaustion won.
Jiwoong’s body gave out.
His head rested against his horse’s side, eyes fluttering shut, hand still weakly gripping the bandages.
Ricky stared.
The twisting feeling returned.
And Ricky—who had never been gentle in his life, not once, not for anyone—reached out.
His palm pressed against the horse’s side, warmth spreading from his fingertips. The wound began to close, the skin knitting together, smooth as if it had never been touched.
Then, his hand moved.
Up.
Fingertips brushing over Jiwoong’s face. Thumb swiping a stray tear from his cheek.
Soft. Careful.
The night passed, and Ricky sat there, unmoving, watching Jiwoong’s chest rise and fall, rise and fall—watching the slight furrow in Jiwoong’s brow even in sleep.
And by morning when they passed by the goblin village—
Ricky didn’t hesitate.
That’s what this was.
Absolutely exhausting.
And yet…
Despite his overwhelming presence, despite his arrogance and sheer disregard for common decency—
Ricky listened to him.
It was subtle. Barely noticeable at times. But Jiwoong saw it.
If Jiwoong told him to stop something, he would. If Jiwoong set a boundary, Ricky wouldn’t cross it.
(Unless he was deliberately trying to annoy him, which was often.)
It was ridiculous. Infuriating.
And—
Strangely comforting.
Jiwoong didn’t know why. Didn’t know why the knowledge that Ricky would listen to him—even in the most annoying, roundabout way—settled something in his chest.
Maybe it was because Jiwoong had spent years surrounded by people who only saw him as a passing by adventurer and nothing more.
And Ricky, for all his invasive arrogance, paid attention.
At least, until—
"So, adventurer," Ricky’s voice drawled, sudden and low, right by Jiwoong’s ear, "Are you always this silent around everybody, or are you just playing hard to get?"
Jiwoong didn’t flinch, but it was close.
Ricky had moved in quietly, his presence looming over Jiwoong’s shoulder, warmth pressing at his side like he had no concept of personal space.
Jiwoong exhaled slowly.
Here we go.
Ricky’s grin was nearly audible. "I mean, I'd be heartbroken if you’re just naturally boring."
"Then be heartbroken," Jiwoong muttered, not looking up.
A chuckle. Low. Pleased.
Then—
A warm breath against Jiwoong’s ear.
"See?" Ricky murmured. "That’s better, you're talking to me now."
Jiwoong stilled.
His fingers twitched against his knee, and for a moment, just a moment, something in his chest tightened.
And that was enough.
Enough to make Jiwoong sigh, to make him close his eyes briefly before finally tilting his head, meeting Ricky’s amused gaze.
"I swear," Jiwoong muttered, "you are the most annoying creature I've ever met."
Ricky smirked. "Then I'm doing something right."
Jiwoong huffed, shaking his head.
"Jiwoong."
Ricky blinked. "What?"
Jiwoong looked away, his expression unreadable. "My name."
Something in Ricky’s expression shifted.
Not much. Just a flicker.
A pause.
Then, slowly—
"Jiwoong," Ricky echoed, testing it on his tongue.
Something about the way he said it made Jiwoong regret everything.
.
.
.
Jiwoong regretted it.
Deeply.
Because now, Ricky had a name to use.
And oh, he used it.
Relentlessly.
For every reason. For no reason.
It was like handing a blade to a man who lived for destruction and expecting him not to use it.
Jiwoong should’ve known better.
Like this morning.
Jiwoong had barely finished setting up the fire for breakfast when he felt it—that presence.
A heat creeping up his back, looming, waiting. He didn’t need to turn to know who is this insufferable, not knowing personal space—bastard is.
"Morning, Jiwoong."
Jiwoong closed his eyes. Exhaled. Counted to three.
"Go away."
A low chuckle.
"Oh? But I don’t wanna, Jiwoong."
Jiwoong inhaled deeply.
He knew, without looking, that Ricky was grinning—all smug and lazy, like a wolf toying with prey it didn’t even need to chase.
Still, Jiwoong stayed focused on the fire, stirred the stew with far more force than necessary.
It didn’t matter. Ricky had already won. Because he wasn’t leaving.
Instead, he leaned in—so close that Jiwoong felt the warmth of his breath ghost along his ear.
"What are you making, Jiwoong?"
"Stew," Jiwoong muttered.
Ricky hummed. "Smells good, Jiwoong."
Jiwoong gripped the spoon tighter.
He was going to kill him.
.
It didn’t stop there.
Later, while Jiwoong was sharpening his sword, Ricky dropped down beside him, uninvited. Completely comfortable, as if he belonged there.
Jiwoong barely spared him a glance before going back to his blade.
"Hey, Jiwoong."
"No."
Ricky ignored him completely. "I was thinking—"
Jiwoong let out a long-suffering sigh. "Terrifying."
Ricky smirked. "—I should take you hunting next time. You know, Jiwoong?"
Jiwoong paused, blade resting against his knee.
Then, slowly, very slowly, he turned his head.
"You’re not calling my name because you like it," he muttered. Not a question—just a fact.
Ricky tilted his head, all mock innocence and feigned confusion.
"Of course not, Jiwoong."
Jiwoong squinted at him.
And Ricky—that smug bastard—grinned even wider.
"I just think it suits you. Jiwoong."
Jiwoong stared. His expression completely blank. Unmoving.
Then, after a long moment—he looked up at the sky. And exhaled, as if he just aged 10 years older in a second.
Oh, for heaven’s sake.
.
.
.
The fire crackled softly, sending embers floating into the night air. The smell of roasted meat lingered between them, mixing with the crisp scent of the forest. Somewhere in the distance, crickets chirped, a slow and steady rhythm that should have made the atmosphere peaceful.
Should have—emphasize that.
Because Ricky—as always, was talking nonsense.
"You know, Jiwoong," Ricky drawled, stretching lazily beside him on the log, "sometimes I feel like we're a little family."
Jiwoong, who had been quietly chewing his food, paused.
His grip on his fork tightened. He didn’t look at Ricky. He refused to. He had learned his lesson by now.
But Ricky was relentless.
"I'm the husband, obviously," Ricky continued, voice oozing with amusement. "You're my lovely, devoted wife."
Jiwoong’s chewing slowed.
His brow twitched.
What the fuck?
"…And the horse," Ricky went on, nodding toward Jiwoong’s horse—who stood peacefully a few feet away, chewing on some grass, oblivious to the madness happening here—"is our beloved pet."
Silence.
The fire popped. Jiwoong finally swallowed his bite and, with as much composure as he could muster, replied, "The only accurate part of that is the horse being the pet."
Ricky gasped dramatically. "Jiwoong, how could you? After all we've been through?"
Jiwoong didn’t respond.
Which, of course, meant Ricky took it as an invitation.
The shift was almost imperceptible at first—just a subtle change in energy.
“Jiwoong,”
The playful tone in Ricky’s voice lowered slightly, his usual teasing edge melting into something smoother, more deliberate.
Then, warmth touch.
Jiwoong stilled.
Ricky’s fingers had found his forearm, gentle, slow, tracing lightly along the veins. His thumb smoothed over Jiwoong’s knuckles, pressing lightly, like he was testing the feeling of Jiwoong’s skin.
"Jiwoong," Ricky murmured, voice dipping dangerously low.
Jiwoong ignored him.
So Ricky tilted Jiwoong’s chin up—bold.
Jiwoong inhaled sharply, instinctively jerking his head back—but Ricky didn’t let go. His touch remained firm yet coaxing, his fingers grazing along Jiwoong’s jaw, guiding his gaze forward until their eyes locked.
Golden eyes, glowing slightly in the firelight. Smug. Inviting.
Jiwoong’s stomach tightened.
Ricky smirked, leaning in. "See? That’s better."
Jiwoong narrowed his eyes. "Ricky—"
Ricky moved closer.
And not just slightly.
He closed the gap entirely, his body pressing subtly against Jiwoong’s side, heat radiating between them. His arm slid around Jiwoong’s waist, deliberate, slow, encircling him as if it were natural—as if Jiwoong wouldn’t notice.
Oh, he noticed.
Jiwoong’s breath hitched.
Ricky’s grip was loose, not restrictive, but the intention was there. The weight of Ricky’s palm resting on Jiwoong’s hip, the way his fingers curled just slightly as if he were restraining himself from pulling Jiwoong in even closer—
It was—
Jiwoong exhaled sharply.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Without hesitation, he picked up Ricky’s plate, turned it upside down, and dumped his food into the fire.
Ricky stared.
Jiwoong dusted his hands off like he had just taken out the trash.
"No dinner for you."
A beat of silence.
Ricky scoffed, amused. "Wow. Is this how you treat your husband?"
Jiwoong, finally regaining his composure, shot Ricky a glare. "I don’t recall getting married."
Ricky smirked. "Not yet."
Jiwoong let out a long-suffering sigh.
Why is this my life..
.
.
.
The next morning, Jiwoong woke up to something strange.
Not the usual strange—like Ricky suddenly appearing too close, breathing down his neck, or trying to flirt in the most exhausting ways possible.
No, this was a different kind of strange.
Because Ricky was… acting suspiciously.
At first, Jiwoong didn’t think much of it. Ricky had gone off hunting again, dragging back some grotesque monster that looked entirely too large for one person to take down. Which, okay—common occurrence. Jiwoong had long accepted that Ricky was a walking disaster with a bloodthirsty streak.
But then—the diamond.
A shimmering, deep-blue diamond, roughly the size of a chicken egg, sitting in the middle of Jiwoong’s palm.
Ricky had handed it to him so casually, like it was nothing.
“Here,” Ricky had said, wiping his hands clean on his clothes, voice nonchalant. “It’s for you.”
Jiwoong had blinked. Stared at the diamond. Then at Ricky.
"...What?"
Ricky had raised an eyebrow. "What, what? Just take it."
Jiwoong had frowned, examining the gem. Where the hell did Ricky even find this? A diamond of this size and clarity would sell for a fortune. "You’re just giving this to me?"
"Yeah. So?"
Jiwoong had narrowed his eyes.
Suspicious.
But whatever. If Ricky wanted to give him free riches, then fine. Jiwoong wasn’t about to complain.
That is—until the next day.
And the day after that.
Every single time Ricky returned from a hunt, he brought back another one.
Not just beast corpses. More diamonds.
Red, violet, deep green, pure white—a different color every time.
Each one, without fail, he placed into Jiwoong’s hands.
And at this point, Jiwoong was officially concerned.
"...Are you robbing a dragon’s hoard?" he had asked one evening, holding up the latest perfectly cut golden-yellow diamond.
Ricky, lounging lazily against a tree, had just given him a look. "If I was, you’d know."
"...Then what the hell is this?"
"Diamonds."
"I know they’re diamonds," Jiwoong said, exasperated. "I mean—why are you bringing them to me?"
Ricky had blinked at him. As if the answer was obvious.
"Because they’re for you."
"...Okay," Jiwoong had muttered, rubbing his temple.
Sure.
Fine.
Whatever.
Let's just sell them.
He had already planned it out—go to town, find a merchant, make a shit ton of money. Simple.
But then—Ricky happened.
Jiwoong had barely mentioned he'll be out of to the town to sell the diamonds when Ricky’s entire expression dropped.
Like someone had just stabbed him in the gut.
"You’re…" Ricky’s voice had gone flat, almost betrayed. "You’re selling them?"
Jiwoong frowned. "Uh. Yeah?"
What other purpose it could be if not selling them for fortune?
A slow, painful silence.
Then—
Ricky scoffed, shaking his head. His usual arrogance was nowhere to be found, replaced instead with something sulky, deeply offended.
"Unbelievable," Ricky muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was the one suffering. "How could you be so cruel, selling the courting diamonds?"
Jiwoong had stopped breathing.
What?
What the fuck!??????
"The—the what?"
Ricky shot him a look, like Jiwoong was being purposefully dense. "The courting diamonds. Duh."
Jiwoong’s brain short-circuited.
"...You’re joking."
Ricky crossed his arms. "Do I look like I’m joking?"
Jiwoong stared at him.
Then at the pile of glistening diamonds sitting inside his bag.
Then back at Ricky.
Oh, for the love of—
Jiwoong sold all of them. Immediately.
.
.
Jiwoong had expected Ricky to be mad.
He had seen the look on Ricky’s face when Jiwoong sold the diamonds. That flash of betrayal, the way Ricky had muttered something under his breath before turning and walking away without another word.
Jiwoong wasn’t sure what was worse—the silence or the scoffing.
Both were driving him insane.
Ricky had made it his life’s mission to be as petty as humanly possible.
The whole day after Jiwoong sold the diamonds, Ricky had strutted around their camp, loudly sighing whenever Jiwoong was in earshot. Occasionally, he would pick up a random rock, turn it over in his hand like he was inspecting a precious gem, and then—dramatically toss it away with a disappointed shake of his head.
Jiwoong ignored it.
At lunchtime, when Jiwoong set down a plate of food in front of Ricky, Ricky didn’t even look at him. Instead, he let out a long, slow exhale—just loud enough to be noticeable—before turning away and eating with exaggerated disinterest.
Jiwoong’s fingers twitched.
Later, when Jiwoong sat by the fire sharpening his sword, Ricky stretched lazily on the other side, completely relaxed—except for the fact that every time Jiwoong so much as breathed in his direction, Ricky would let out another loud, dramatic scoff.
It was pointed.
Intentional.
Like he wanted Jiwoong to know he was mad but was too proud to actually talk about it.
By evening, Jiwoong felt like he was balancing on a frayed rope.
Because he was about to snap.
Jiwoong tried.
He really, really tried.
He ignored the sighs. The scoffs. The way Ricky made a grand display of dusting off his hands every time Jiwoong walked past, like he was done with something—done with him.
He even ignored Ricky sitting cross-legged by the fire, back turned to him, stirring the flames as if Jiwoong didn’t exist.
But when Ricky let out the loudest, most obnoxiously pointed scoff yet—one that might as well have been a personal attack—something in Jiwoong finally snapped.
Fine.
If Ricky wanted to be petty, then Jiwoong would show him petty.
Without thinking, he turned on his heel, stalked across the camp, and—
Plopped himself right onto Ricky’s lap.
Not facing him.
Just. Sitting.
Ricky went completely rigid.
His entire body locked up, his brain short-circuiting so violently that for a full five seconds, he forgot how to breathe.
Jiwoong—on his lap?
His prideful, stubborn, impossibly ignorant adventurer-just plopped himself down, unprompted, unbothered, completely pressing against him like it was nothing?
Ricky's brain short-circuited again.
Jiwoong’s plump ass is pressing down on him.
Oh.
Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.
His anger—his carefully cultivated anger–had been so well maintained all day. He had made sure of it. He had spent the whole day ignoring Jiwoong, making a point of his sulking, making sure Jiwoong knew how cruel it was to just—just sell the courting gifts like they were nothing.
And now?
Now Jiwoong was sitting in his lap like a damn reward.
And worse–worse–he was comfortable.
This was—this was not supposed to happen.
Ricky was mad. He was supposed to be mad. Jiwoong had sold the courting gifts. He had tossed aside Ricky’s efforts, Ricky’s intentions, Ricky’s—
Jiwoong shifted slightly.
Fuck.
Ricky clenched his jaw so tightly it ached. His hands twitched at his sides, fighting the overwhelming urge to grab Jiwoong’s waist and pull him closer.
He was not going to give in.
This was a punishment. Jiwoong was supposed to be suffering. Jiwoong was supposed to regret selling those diamonds.
And yet—
Jiwoong’s scent filled his nose, the warmth of his body settling against Ricky’s front, pressing in like he belonged there.
Ricky swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
“…What,” he finally muttered, voice dangerously close to Jiwoong’s ear.
Jiwoong didn’t answer.
He just stared at the fire, still and calm, while Ricky’s insides twisted into something far from calm.
From this position, Ricky’s face was level with the back of his hair.
Good.
That meant Jiwoong wouldn’t have to look at whatever ridiculous expression was probably forming on Ricky’s face right now—because it was definitely there.
Fucking unfair, Ricky corrected.
Ricky’s grip on his own stubbornness wavered. The warmth of Jiwoong’s body against him, the weight settling on his lap like it belonged there—it was too much. His pride screamed at him to hold onto his grudge, but his instincts—his stupid, traitorous instincts—urged him to pull Jiwoong closer.
And he did.
Slowly, hesitantly, his arms came up—one wrapping around Jiwoong’s waist, then the other, until there was no space left between them. Jiwoong’s back was now flush against his chest, and Ricky let out a quiet, pleased sigh at the feeling.
Jiwoong, however, stiffened.
Ricky felt it immediately—the slight tension in Jiwoong’s muscles, the way his fingers twitched, like he wasn’t sure if he should pull away or stay. But then—after a long, slow exhale—Jiwoong’s shoulders relaxed.
His hands, previously idle at his sides, moved.
Resting lightly over Ricky’s arm, fingers brushing against the fabric of his sleeve. Not pushing him away. Not rejecting. Just… settling. Accepting.
Ricky’s grip instinctively tightened at the silent permission.
His lips parted, as if to say something—but instead, he leaned in. Dipping his head lower, Ricky nuzzled against the crook of Jiwoong’s neck, pressing in fully now.
Jiwoong’s breath hitched.
Ricky felt it. Heard it.
The tiniest, almost imperceptible catch in Jiwoong’s breathing, like his body had reacted before his mind could stop it.
Ricky smirked against his skin.
"...You’re lucky I like you," he muttered at last, voice quiet, amused—but undeniably fond.
Jiwoong exhaled, the heat of Ricky’s breath against his neck sending another shiver down his spine.
And Ricky? He only burrowed in closer.
"You’re terrible at being courted, you know that?" Ricky grumbled, his breath warm against Jiwoong’s neck. His voice, though laced with complaint, held no real bite—only a petulant sort of fondness and the remnant of sulking.
Jiwoong exhaled through his nose, feeling the way Ricky’s long arms stayed firm around his waist, keeping him pressed close, as if he’d let go for even a second, Jiwoong might slip away again.
Jiwoong tilted his head slightly—not much, just enough that the soft strands of Ricky’s hair brushed against his cheek. A light touch. Barely anything.
But Ricky felt it.
And he took it as permission.
With a slow, deliberate movement, he nuzzled in with intent.
Not just resting against Jiwoong this time. Pressing in. A purposeful rub of his nose against the side of Jiwoong’s neck, a slow drag of warmth, the kind that made Jiwoong’s fingers unconsciously tighten against Ricky’s arm.
Ricky smirked. He knew what he was doing.
"...I never asked to be courted," Jiwoong murmured, his voice quieter now, as if the atmosphere had shifted into something softer.
"Yeah, well." Ricky’s arms pulled him in, chest flush against Jiwoong’s back. "You could at least try not to break my heart."
Jiwoong sighed, his fingers tracing idle patterns against Ricky’s sleeve. "Selling the diamonds wasn’t personal."
"It was incredibly personal," Ricky shot back, his grip tightening as if Jiwoong might try to escape.
Jiwoong’s lips pressed into a thin line. "...It was not."
"You sold my love, Jiwoong."
Jiwoong let out the longest breath of his life.
This was stupid.
So.
So stupid.
But—at least Ricky was talking again.
The tension that had clung the whole day, the unbearable weight of Ricky’s cold shoulder, was finally lifting. The warmth between them now, the playful lilt in Ricky’s voice—it was better.
Jiwoong stroking his thumb over Ricky’s arm, feeling the solid warmth beneath his fingertips. A grounding touch. A silent acknowledgment.
"...Are you done sulking?" he asked, voice mild.
Ricky huffed dramatically. "Only if you promise not to sell the next diamond I give you."
Jiwoong went completely, utterly silent.
Ricky groaned. "Gods, you’re impossible."
Jiwoong closed his eyes, the corner of his lips twitching just barely.
At least he is back to normal.
"Now let go," Jiwoong murmured, giving Ricky’s arm a light pat. "I should cook dinner."
Ricky made a noise that was somewhere between a scoff and a whine, tightening his hold instead.
"Why?" he drawled, nuzzling deeper into Jiwoong’s neck. "We’re perfectly comfortable like this."
Jiwoong sighed. "You’re comfortable. I can’t even move."
"That sounds like a you problem," Ricky muttered, his voice muffled against Jiwoong’s skin.
Jiwoong exhaled sharply through his nose. "Ricky."
"Mmh."
"Let go."
"No."
Jiwoong pressed his lips together. He should’ve known. Ricky was like this— dramatic, unreasonable, impossible.
"Do you want dinner or not?" Jiwoong asked, shifting in Ricky’s lap, trying to pry himself free.
Ricky hissed through his teeth. "First you sell my diamonds, and now you’re threatening me with starvation? You really are cruel, Jiwoong."
Jiwoong stilled, his patience hanging by a thread.
"If you let go," he said, slow and measured, "I’ll make extra."
Ricky paused. Considering.
"...Double portion?"
Jiwoong sighed. "Fine."
The arms around his waist finally loosened, and Jiwoong pushed himself up, feeling the warmth of Ricky’s body lingering against his back.
As he stood, Ricky leaned back on his hands, watching him with a lazy grin. "You’re lucky you’re cute."
Jiwoong didn’t dignify that with a response.
.
The crackling fire was the only thing keeping Jiwoong sane.
He focused on the food in front of him, stirring the pot with steady, practiced movements after adding some spices. He was calm. He was composed. He was not going to snap tonight.
Then—
"Jiwoong," Ricky sighed dramatically from where he sat, one hand pressed to his forehead, the other wiping at invisible tears. "I already miss your plump juicy ass pressing onto me."
Jiwoong gripped the wooden spoon tighter.
Patience. Patience. Patience.
"Jiwoong," Ricky continued, and Jiwoong could hear the smirk in his voice. "Turns out your waist is so small, huh? It was perfect for me to hold."
Jiwoong exhaled through his nose. Deeply. He ladled the steaming food into bowls, setting them down with a bit more force than necessary.
Ricky’s bowl was comically huge—easily four times the size of Jiwoong’s. Not surprising, given how ridiculously large he was.
Seriously, how did one man get so big?
It was unnatural.
Is he some kind of ancient monster?
Jiwoong pushed Ricky’s bowl toward him. "Eat."
But, of course, Ricky wasn’t done.
"Jiwoong," he said, a coaxing lilt in his voice now, "sit on my lap again while we eat."
"No," Jiwoong said flatly.
"Oh, come on," Ricky whined. "Just for a little bit."
Jiwoong shot him a look.
Ricky pouted, dramatically shoveling food into his mouth like he was suffering some great injustice.
Jiwoong turned back to his own meal, taking deep, steady breaths.
He was not going to snap.
.
The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the ground as the night settled around them. The remnants of their meal were gone, their bowls cleaned effortlessly with a flick of Ricky’s wrist—his water spell swirling briefly before disappearing into the air.
Jiwoong leaned back slightly, resting his weight on his hands as he observed Ricky in the quiet that followed.
Ricky sat with one knee propped up, his elbow resting lazily against it. His usual smirk had faded into something calmer, almost thoughtful as he absentmindedly rubbed his fingers together. A trace of magic still lingered there, a faint shimmer of water droplets catching the firelight before vanishing.
Jiwoong tilted his head.
"Ricky."
Ricky glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "Mm?"
Jiwoong hesitated for half a second, then asked, "What are you, exactly?"
Something flickered in Ricky’s golden eyes—just for a moment. It was brief, but Jiwoong caught it. A hesitation.
Then, Ricky exhaled, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking something off. "...A demon," he said, voice light but firm.
Jiwoong frowned. He had called Ricky a demon before—but always in the heat of frustration, in a way that meant infuriating menace, not actual demon race.
"...Demon race?"
Ricky nodded once, watching him carefully.
Jiwoong let the silence stretch for a moment, processing. His gaze flickered over Ricky’s frame—his tall, broad-shouldered build, the way his presence seemed to command space effortlessly.
"...No wonder you're huge," Jiwoong muttered.
That was apparently the wrong thing to say.
Because Ricky’s lips twitched into something far too familiar.
"You wanna see other things that are huge?"
Jiwoong blinked. "Huh?"
Ricky didn’t answer, instead he just lowered his gaze. Right to his own crotch.
Jiwoong followed his line of sight, and then promptly regretted everything. Jiwoong slowly, very slowly, lifted his gaze back up to Ricky’s face.
Ricky was already watching him, his golden eyes practically glowing with amusement. His lips curled into a smirk, like he was holding back a laugh.
Jiwoong exhaled through his nose.
He should’ve known.
Of course this was where Ricky would take the conversation. Of course.
Jiwoong schooled his expression into something blank, unimpressed. “You’re disgusting.”
Ricky let out a dramatic sigh, wiping at his imaginary tears. “And yet, you still sat on my lap.”
Jiwoong inhaled.
Don’t snap. Don’t snap. Don’t snap.
"...That was once."
"Should’ve been forever," Ricky shot back immediately.
Jiwoong clenched his jaw. "I'm going to sleep."
He moved to stand, but before he could fully get up, Ricky's hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Jiwoong's wrist.
"Wait."
Jiwoong stilled, there was something different about Ricky's voice—less teasing, more serious. Jiwoong glanced down at him, eyebrow slightly raised.
Ricky was still smirking, but it was softer now. His thumb brushed against Jiwoong’s wrist absentmindedly, tracing light circles.
"...I wasn't lying, you know," Ricky murmured.
Jiwoong narrowed his eyes. "About what? Your cock being huge?"
Ricky chuckled, shaking his head. "Not that."
His grip on Jiwoong's wrist tightened slightly, just enough to keep him there.
"I'm really a demon."
Jiwoong met his gaze.
The fire crackled beside them, its glow casting shifting shadows across Ricky’s face. His usual arrogance was still there, but beneath it, there was something else. Something real.
Jiwoong wasn’t sure what to do with that. So, instead of responding, he just stared.
Waited.
Ricky tilted his head, his smirk barely there anymore. “That doesn’t freak you out?”
Jiwoong exhaled, letting his body relax. “I don’t know. Should it?”
Ricky’s fingers twitched against his skin. “…No.”
Jiwoong nodded, as if that settled things. “…Then it doesn’t.”
Ricky blinked, clearly not expecting that as an answer. But then he huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You're weird."
"And you're annoying."
"And you are very pretty."
Jiwoong sighed. "...Go to sleep, Ricky."
Ricky grinned, finally letting go of Jiwoong’s wrist.
"Only if you promise to dream of me."
Jiwoong turned and walked away without another word.
He could hear Ricky’s self-satisfied chuckle behind him.
~