Chapter 37: Warning Symptoms

He sat perched on the edge of the bed, watching Han-geon without a single expression on his face.

It looked like he had showered—tiny droplets of water still clung to the ends of his hair.

“W-what… what are you doing?

Why are you sitting there like that?”

Eun-gyeol didn’t answer.

Through the naturally parted lapels of the bathrobe loosely draped around his body, his chest—more swollen than usual—was visible.

The rise and fall of his breathing was rough, yet strangely quiet.

He was quieter than ever.

And yet, the languid weariness that usually lingered on his face was nowhere to be found.

His piercing blue gaze was calm, like the stillness before a black storm.

Like a snake lurking in the dark, silently fixing its eyes on its prey.

Even without a word from Eun-gyeol, Han-geon could immediately tell—every nerve of his was honed sharp, like a blade drawn to its limit.

A rut.

Han-geon knew almost nothing about secondary genders, but even so, this was something he could only recognize instinctively.

If things had gone as scheduled, tomorrow was supposed to be the start of Eun-gyeol’s rut.

Officially, that meant today’s shoot would be the last, after which the entire cast and crew would withdraw for a week.

As a dominant alpha, Eun-gyeol’s cycle was said to be precise as a knife’s edge.

Still, a person’s condition couldn’t possibly obey such a clean boundary between today and tomorrow.

Come to think of it, Eun-gyeol had seemed off since yesterday—more exhausted, more irritable.

He had barely spoken at all.

His body and mind had already begun, little by little, to warm up for the change that was approaching.

“…Eun-gyeol.”

The silence was uncomfortable.

Han-geon wanted to break it somehow—say something, anything—and figure out what to do next.

Trying to stay calm, he called out hesitantly.

“Eun-gyeol, why are you—”

“Be quiet.”

The calm voice cut him off.

“Shut your mouth, and just stay still for a moment.”

His exhaled breath trembled.

It looked as if something massive were lodged in his throat.

Eun-gyeol glared harshly at Han-geon, struggling desperately to rein in his breathing.

Han-geon’s mouth shut automatically.

He swallowed dryly.

Beneath that crushing gaze, he felt like he might be flattened alive.

This wasn’t the Eun-gyeol he knew.

He felt more unfamiliar than a stranger.

Eun-gyeol…
Despite the oppressive command, his lips nearly formed the name again.

He bit down hard, forcing the words back.

Then, suddenly, his wrist was yanked hard.

“…Cha Eun-gyeol!”

The name burst out instead of a scream.

His eyes flew open.

A strangled groan slipped through his clenched teeth.

“Ah— it hurts… Cha Eun-gyeol!”

The strength was unlike anything before.

It felt like boulders had been tied to his arms.

He reflexively tried to shake free, but it was useless.

Eun-gyeol dragged him down onto the bed and climbed over him with the ferocity of a beast.

The weight pressing down on his lower body made his back jerk painfully.

“Why— why are you like this…!

Eun-gyeol, Eun-gyeol—”

“f*ck… Han-geon.

I’m seriously in a fucked-up mood right now.”

Veins stood out along Eun-gyeol’s clenched neck.

With eyes that looked closer to murderous intent than lust, he whispered,

“So please… don’t call my name.

Just stay still.”

Something heavy pressed down against his thigh.

The moment Han-geon realized it was Eun-gyeol’s swollen lower body slowly grinding against him, an indescribable chill shot up his spine.

Panting breaths scattered across his body.

Eun-gyeol’s distorted gaze felt like it was strangling his throat.

Locked under that stare, Han-geon couldn’t even swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth.

His breathing grew ragged.

It was Eun-gyeol who was in rut—so why was it so hard for him to breathe too?

It felt like he was trapped in a vicious nightmare.

Watching a rutted Eun-gyeol like this felt utterly unreal.

“Haah… h-ha… f-f*ck.”

Eun-gyeol looked like he was in pain.

Blood vessels burst messily across the whites of his eyes, making him look even more beastlike.

His reddened gaze bore down on Han-geon as his hips ground more blatantly against him.

Han-geon’s trapped wrist had gone numb.

Worse still was his mind—it simply wouldn’t function.

Was this what a rut was like?

Grabbing whoever was there, no matter who, like an animal—

“…Suppressants.”

The low growl broke the long silence.

At the same time, his wrist was released.

Tingling painfully as the blood rushed back, Han-geon felt Eun-gyeol grab him again—only to let go with a bitten-off curse.

Startled, Han-geon looked to the side and spotted an emergency suppressant.

Unopened.

Come to think of it, Eun-gyeol wasn’t wearing pajamas—he was dressed to go out.

Where had he even gotten the suppressant?

Had he gone all the way to the chief manager in this state, while Han-geon slept soundly through it all?

A thick wave of guilt crashed over him.

But there was no time to dwell on it.

As if possessed, he fumbled open the package.

His hand trembled as he took out the capsule, which looked no different from an ordinary cold medicine.

Holding the pill, he looked for water—but Eun-gyeol urgently reached out, grabbed Han-geon’s wrist, and dragged his hand straight to his mouth, dumping the pill inside.

The sensation of Eun-gyeol’s lips rubbing against his palm made his fingers curl involuntarily.

His lips, his breath—everything was scorching hot.

“Water… drink some water.”

Panicking, Han-geon grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and handed it over.

Eun-gyeol swallowed the two pills Han-geon gave him, then tore open another and took that as well.

Three suppressants in total.

Panting, Eun-gyeol sank down onto the bed.

He leaned his head back and squeezed his eyes shut.

Han-geon didn’t know how many minutes passed.

Pale light began to seep into the room.

Dawn was breaking.

He stayed silent until Eun-gyeol finally collapsed fully onto the bed.

Watching him rub his face as he exhaled heavily, Han-geon cautiously spoke.

“…Where did you get the suppressants?”

“Emergency supply.

Normally the manager carries one, and the chief manager carries one.”

His voice was calm as he continued.

Since Han-geon hadn’t had one on him, that meant Eun-gyeol had gone to get it himself.

There was no accusation in his tone, but Han-geon still bit his lip.

“I almost never take them, but this rut’s been weird.

The warning signs were bad, and it came early.

Anyway, I still have to shoot today…”

He fell silent and closed his eyes.

Fatigue clung thickly to his voice.

And this is just the prelude…?

The thought of what the real rut might be like made Han-geon dizzy.

Now he understood why Eun-gyeol had said they wouldn’t be seeing each other during it.

“With things like this… are you really okay to shoot?”

“I’m fine.

We’ve still got some time, right?”

“Yeah, about thirty minutes… Still, should I call the chief manager?

Ask them to push it back a bit—”

Eun-gyeol frowned and shook his head.

“Leave it.

In about thirty minutes, it’ll settle down.”

With that, he closed his eyes again.

Whether the medicine was really working or not, the harsh breathing from before had already quieted.

Watching Eun-gyeol drift into a shallow sleep, Han-geon couldn’t help replaying what had just happened.

He had imagined it countless times—darkly, obsessively.

What Eun-gyeol might look like holding someone.

Gentle and affectionate, like in the mellow romance roles that made the entire nation swoon.

Gazing at his partner sweetly and hotly, like melting chocolate.

That was what he’d pictured.

Reality was nothing like it.

The desire boiling inside him felt threatening, like a blade pointed straight at someone.

His vivid lust wasn’t so much disgusting as it was terrifying.

Maybe—if he’d truly resolved himself—he could have pushed Eun-gyeol away.

But Eun-gyeol’s presence stripped him of even that resolve.

From the start, it was an overwhelming force that crushed the very idea of resistance.

No—maybe he wouldn’t have been able to push him away at all.

…My wrist…

Han-geon lowered his gaze and stared at the inside of his wrist.

His skin was dark enough that marks didn’t show easily—yet the imprint of Eun-gyeol’s grip was still clearly visible.

It was a completely different level of strength.

If Eun-gyeol hadn’t stopped himself, Han-geon realized, he might not have been able to overpower him even if he tried.

A slow shiver crawled over his skin.

It had only lasted a few minutes.

Just a few minutes of Eun-gyeol straddling him, grinding his lower body against his.

And yet it felt as though lightning, storms, and torrential rain had all swept through him at once.

When he looked back, there was only devastation.

Staring at Eun-gyeol’s neatly lowered lashes, Han-geon swallowed a groan.

After stirring someone’s heart into this state, the man himself lay there sleeping like an angel.

That had always been Eun-gyeol’s specialty—for seventeen years now.

…Get a grip.

He squeezed his eyes shut until his eyelids twitched, then opened them again.

This wasn’t the time to sink into soft, useless emotions.

If Eun-gyeol had needed suppressants, Han-geon would have to keep a close eye on him all day.

To make sure Eun-gyeol didn’t ignore his condition and push himself too hard during filming.