Chapter 131 : Side Story 1: First Time #2

I knew he’d say that. I’ve asked him a dozen times what he wants for his birthday, and every single time he gives me that same soft “just being with you is enough.” How am I supposed to work with that? The guy is impossible.

He chewed thoughtfully, then suddenly put on the saddest face in the world.

“Honestly, if everyone at the office just listened properly, the work would be done in half the time… Why does nobody ever get it on the first try?”

I had to laugh. Not everyone’s a genius like you, babe.

I remembered what Seunghee told me: before she became vice chairman, Doyoon didn’t just help take down Choi Younggil; he systematically cleared out every single one of Younggil’s loyalists afterward. That’s not just being smart; that’s knowing exactly how to move people like chess pieces.

No wonder Seunghee’s a little wary of him now. Well… nothing I can do about that. I’ll just keep spoiling him.

So I nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, that sounds rough.”

“The reports keep coming back wrong. I’ve pointed out the same mistakes a million times.”

“Terrible.”

“And their solutions are all so vague—”

“Must be exhausting.”

“And you’re not at the company either…”

I snorted. “Nice segue.”

“It’s true!”

“I’m coming back in a few months anyway.”

I’m currently on leave. When I suddenly fled to Canada, Doyoon quietly changed my resignation to a leave of absence. When I asked why, he said, “Because you might want to come back someday.” Perfect boyfriend behavior. Terrifyingly perfect.

He broke into the biggest, goofiest grin—like the kid he used to be—and wiggled in his seat.

“I knowww. Imagine us going to work together, coming home together… like a married couple.”

COUGH COUGH COUGH—

I choked on water so hard I nearly died. Doyoon shot up from his chair.

“Hyung! You okay?!”

“Y-yeah… cough… fine…”

I wasn’t fine.

That was the problem.

We decided to be together. We even exchanged rings on a moonlit beach. All very romantic.

But… we still haven’t gone all the way.

Everything except penetration? Done. Repeatedly. Enthusiastically. The final boss level? Still locked.

Excuse: I’m terrified.

Reason, if I’m being brutally honest: he’s huge.

We’ve tried. After Canada, I moved straight into the Han River-view apartment he’d prepared for me. His eyes were so eager I wanted to make up for lost time. But the moment actual penetration was on the table, my entire body locked up.

Once—just once—the tip went in. I made this strangled dying-cat noise. Doyoon panicked, saw my face go white, and immediately stopped. I couldn’t even fake a “I’m fine, keep going.” The mood died a solemn death.

In my previous life I only dated women, and I’d assumed this life would be the same. Turns out bottoming is a bigger mental hurdle than expected. Sometimes I think, If we’d just done it that first night in Canada…

We tried again after—drunk, swept up in the moment—but the mental wall wouldn’t crack.

Doyoon never pushed. He’d just smile like a saint and say, “If it hurts, we don’t have to,” then finish between my thighs or with our hands. I felt more relief than guilt, which made me feel even worse.

I thought we were both okay with the current arrangement.

Until my birthday on that private island.

He whispered, cheeks red, “I’m okay with anything you want… so if you want… I can bottom…”

The world went silent. I swear the waves stopped moving.

“…Huh?”

He looked shy. “I just… really want to be connected to you.”

Connected. The word hit like a nuclear bomb of smut.

My brain blue-screened.

I almost said, “Aren’t we satisfied already?” but his hopeful puppy eyes shut me up. And then the truth I’d been ignoring spoke loud and clear:

You knew this day would come. Normal couples would’ve done it ages ago. You’ve literally done everything else. And now he’s offering to bottom because he thinks that’s what you need? So what—are you actually going to top him? Your seven-years-younger, 193 cm ex-romance-novel male lead boyfriend?

I panicked and blurted, “No! I—I’ll bottom!”

His eyes lit up like the entire Milky Way.

“B-but only when I’m ready!” I added hastily.

He practically dove into my arms, making the happiest little whimpering sounds while trying not to scream in victory.

And that’s when I knew: he totally didn’t mean it about bottoming. He was just saying whatever he thought I wanted to hear.

…Whatever. I never had any desire to flip a 6’4″ giant anyway. And he is (former) romance-novel male-lead material. The idea of topping him still feels sacrilegious.

So now—three months after that island confession—I’m sitting here on the eve of his birthday, gripped by a weird mix of duty and performance anxiety.

I mechanically shove the gorgeous breakfast he made into my face, then flee to my study.

I open the laptop.

Search bar.

[how do two guys do it]

Same phrase I’ve typed a thousand times stares back at me. I’m alone in the room and still look around like a criminal.

I’ve read every article, every forum post. Nothing new. My mouth is dry.

If tomorrow’s the group dinner… today is literally the only day left.

Just 24 hours earlier than planned and I’m already sweating ice.

I Alt-Tab away, sigh, bury my face in my arms.

I can do this. I have to do this.

But first he has to leave the house so I can prep.

It’s not even about the gift getting discovered anymore.

There’s… procedure. Emptying everything out. Lube. Stretching. Delicate, mortifying ritual.

It’s his birthday present. I can’t mess this up.

Just thinking about it makes me want to die a little.

I rest my forehead on my clasped hands like I’m praying.

“…What do I do…”

Head in arms, I stay like that—who knows how long.

Then—clink. A coffee cup settles beside me. Rich aroma fills the air.

“Stuck on the script?”

“GAH!”

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