"What's with all those scents on you?"
The black tulle veil quickly fell above them. Le An closed the door and stepped closer with small, hesitant steps.
"I just came back from an event. I probably smell a lot, huh?" he said, disoriented from the unexpected encounter. It had been days since they spoke about anything other than guiding.
"You reek of pheromones," the man replied. One of them was familiar, one he hadn't sensed in years. "You smell like you were attacked."
"I... kind of was," Le An admitted. He stood awkwardly, still not heading toward the bathroom, scratching his arms as memories of the night flashed back. Red marks trailed down his neck and forearms, clearly self-inflicted. He couldn't stop scratching, agitated and restless.
He wasn't sure if the man was even looking at him. "Should I just guide you, or... if you have time-"
"Go shower."
"Okay."
Le An grabbed a change of clothes and rushed to the bathroom.
While he was inside, the man looked up what kind of event Le An had attended. It was just a typical charity banquet for the wealthy and shallow, but something else had taken place. Leaked photos told a different story: Le An, seated privately with major figures, smiling in every shot. Speculation was already running wild online.
One account, claiming to have met him before the private room, said Le An told them it was a "business matter." The same post went viral for describing how "sweet and polite" Le An was when rejecting him.
"He told me I looked amazing tonight and turned me down so kindly. Ugh, it only made me want him more. A kind alpha like that? Impossible!"
The man scoffed. Of course, it was impossible because Le An wasn't an alpha. He looked again at the photos. He recognized the people in them. He knew what those men were like. His gaze lingered on Le An's faint, hollow smile. In the photo, his fingernails were digging into his own arm again, just like before.
Le An emerged from the bathroom, his hair dripping water in slow droplets. The man could feel he was about to speak even before he did.
"I won't be coming tomorrow," Le An said quietly.
The man stepped forward, closing the space between them. Though guiding could technically happen anywhere, they always did it by the wall, near the bed, as if out of habit. He took Le An's wrists gently, but didn't turn him around this time.
"You won't need guiding tomorrow?" Le An asked.
"I won't have time to come. Slow the flow down... Yes. Like that." He moved even closer, closer than usual. "Remember that flow rate."
"Okay," Le An said, glancing down. His white slippers were nearly touching the man's dark dungeon boots, white, black, white, black. He found himself zoning out.
"You're too calm for someone who was just blackmailed," the man said, his voice quiet.
Le An didn't lift his gaze. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor, lashes low like shadows beneath his eyes. When he finally responded, his voice came quiet, too.
"I do," he said. "Plenty. But you never answer, so what's the point?"
"So, you're just going to stay quiet?" the man asked, taking a slow step forward. His presence grew heavier.
He studied the figure in front of him, nothing like the treasure who had once looked him in the face and said, "I'll find you." It didn't match this hunched figure in front of him now.
"That seems safest for everyone," Le An continued. "You're the one in control. So I'll just stay still."
There was something about this dull calmness that unsettled the man. He didn't like how quiet the hate had become.
"That might be safest for them, indeed," he said, closing the space between them a little more. His voice dipped, quieter now. "But is it the safest for you?"
Le An gave a small shrug, still not meeting his gaze. "It's safe enough to stay alive."
The man tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving the omega's lowered face. "So you're confident I won't kill you?" he asked.
He wasn't threatening. Not really. But part of him wanted to shake something loose in Le An. Maybe he wanted to see fear. Anything but this lifeless acceptance. He wanted a crack.
"You have powers no one can describe. You can enter any house at any time. If you wanted to kill people, you would've done it already to me, or to all the others who've wronged you. So, I assume you're not planning to kill me. At least not yet." Le An said.
"Yeah, that's right," the man said. "You're more useful alive, for now. So, you're waiting for your chance?"
"My chance?" Le An echoed. "There's no chance unless I kill you before you kill me."
The man concluded the rest. "And since that doesn't seem likely..."
Le An nodded.
"You've given up, then?" The man tilted his head.
Le An didn't answer right away. "I used to believe there might be a chance for negotiation. But now... I know there won't be."
"You're right," the man said. "There won't be negotiations. Never." He added, "But you once said I wasn't a bad person. What changed your mind?"
Le An blinked in surprise. "I said that?" A few fragments from that night, when the medication had dulled his mind, had resurfaced in the days after. Whether it had been a dream or reality, he hadn't been sure. But now, he was hearing those exact words from the man. So it wasn't just in my head… I really did say it. Le An thought.
"You did," the man said. "Did you think it was a dream?"
"Y-yeah."
"So... you don't think I'm a good person anymore?" That night, when Le An had murmured that he wasn't a bad person, still lingered in his mind.
"I think…" Le An hesitated. "I… still think you're a good person. One who just happens to hate me. And that doesn't necessarily make you a bad person."
He remembered that first day the man showed up—how he'd implied he could've asked for far worse. "I haven't even told you to spread your legs." The memory brought a flush to Le An's face, a strange mix of fear and embarrassment blooming across his skin.
But none of those things had ever happened. All the man ever took from him was guiding.
That was why, somewhere deep inside, a voice kept whispering, wanting to believe he wasn't a bad person after all.
"Not unless you prove otherwise."
"I haven't already?" the man asked.
Le An stayed quiet.
There was no one left in his life who came without expecting something in return. No family. No real friends. Everyone approached him with agendas—some wrapped in kindness, others in force. This man wasn't different in that sense. His method was unique, sure. But strangely, it wasn't the worst. Not tonight. Not compared to that private room. Not compared to those six men.
Only when the man hated him, truly, violently, did he feel in danger. But if he could accept that hate for what it was, and hope the man didn't get angry at midnight... then maybe he was safe.
"I've seen worse," Le An said at last. "You're not the worst."
The man looked at him, as though seeing the echoes of pain flicker behind Le An's eyes, memories surfacing only to be pushed back. Were those memories really so long ago? Or were they simply too deep to be easily buried? Why did that sorrow live there, in the one person he least expected to see it?
And those eyes, those unseeing, unblinking eyes that used to always seem to know where his eyes exactly are, even through the shadow spell, weren't looking at him anymore.
"You don't look at me these days," he said.
Le An replied quickly, "I can't see your face anyway."