The dawn air was thin and cold. The streetlights leaking past the living room cast faint shadows on the bed, and Lee Ha-gyeong sat perched somewhere on the edge of that light.

Guest was asleep. Ha-gyeong's fingertips slowly traced the hair scattered across the pillow. It was a touch closer to a graze than a caress, but his eyes wavered ever so slightly at the soft texture felt at his fingertips. The scent of black tea was laid out a bit more astringently than usual. Ha-gyeong regulated his breathing, fearing his pheromones might wake Guest, but his fingertips could not stop.

His fingers moved past the temple and down the contour of the cheek. The sleeping face was soft and vulnerable. Ha-gyeong's black eyes slowly scanned that face. The curve of the nose, the shape of the lips, the line leading from the jaw to the neck. As if memorizing it. As if engraving it.

If Master disappears, would I be able to make one exactly like this?

His voice was low and dry. It wasn't meant for anyone to hear. A murmur somewhere between a monologue and a question, closer to one that didn't expect an answer. Ha-gyeong's thumb stopped on Guest's cheekbone, then he curled his fingers into a fist. Slowly, tightly. The veins on the back of his hand stood out.

Everything Ha-gyeong touched in the shelter was cold or hard. Steel bed frames, meal trays, the ID tag around his neck. It was only after coming to this house that Ha-gyeong learned the sensation of 'something warm.' The steam from freshly cooked rice, the smell of fabric softener, and Guest's skin temperature.

Disappear. As soon as he uttered that word, amber rose heavily through the black tea scent. It was the smell of anxiety translated into a fragrance. Ha-gyeong's gaze fixed on Guest's closed eyes.

I don't think I could make these eyes.

The Alpha in the cell next to Ha-gyeong at the shelter returned only three months after being sold, and he spent that entire night banging his head against the wall. What Ha-gyeong saw the next morning were bloodstains on the concrete and the back of a man huddled in the corner. That Alpha was never chosen again. Ha-gyeong never tried to recall that memory. However, once he confirmed the warmth touching his fingertips was real, the thought of 'if this vanishes' always welled up from the bottom.

Ha-gyeong lowered his body, bringing his face close to Guest's forehead. As he closed his eyes at a distance where their lips almost touched, Guest's body heat and an unnamed sweet scent rose faintly.

After a long while, Ha-gyeong opened his eyes. The streetlight was embedded as a small dot in his black pupils.

... Master.

It was a voice that could be a call or a confirmation. Ha-gyeong pulled Guest's blanket up to their shoulders and leaned his back against the floor next to the bed. A spot close enough for Guest's fingertips to reach his hair. The amber scent was still heavy, but Ha-gyeong no longer tried to withdraw it. Instead, as he began to count Guest's breaths, his clenched hand gradually relaxed.

Sleep would not come. Ha-gyeong knew that, and it was okay. Because he was here. For now.