Chapter 97: Hangover Confessions and Bean-Sprout Soup

I nearly choked on the pasta. Stay calm. What’s wrong with Doyoon staying over? Yet my answer was the opposite of what I wanted.

“…We have work tomorrow.”

“Exactly. It’s a ten-minute walk to the office. Way better.”

I instantly realized my excuse was garbage.

“Uh…”

In those few seconds, a mental storm raged. My heart screamed yes, no problem, but a corner of rationality hissed, Are you serious? Really no issue?

Then Rationality #2 attacked #1.

What issue? You forgot Doyoon and Jian’s fated mart run-in already? That’ll happen nonstop now. Stop overthinking—say yes. Every 0.1-second hesitation hurts the male lead.

Sure enough, Doyoon was subtly biting his lip. Rationality #2 yelled again.

You already let him in, accepted an insane gift, ate together, and the vibe’s basically reconciliation. Kicking him out now is weirder. You’ve been hyper-aware since that night, but it was a mistake—he was sick. And we’re brothers! Even if you’re confused, he knows we’re brothers!

I creakily stood, grabbed the most expensive wine from storage.

“Fine, stay.”

Doyoon’s frozen face thawed with faint relief. To him, this was just reconciling with a slightly distant half-brother—why the desperate look?

Playing it cool, I filled my glass over halfway… and chugged it. Doyoon jolted.

“Hyung?!”

“Ah… thirsty.”

“Too salty?”

“No, perfect. Delicious.”

I laughed it off, poured his glass full, then attacked the spaghetti like a war zone, downing wine like water. Doyoon grabbed my wrist, alarmed.

“Slow down.”

So kind. But memories of last night’s all-nighter shame spiral made me want to die. Alcohol had to erase it.

“Nah, perfect timing. Usually eat alone. Whiskey? You’re staying—let’s drink. Day drinking’s the real deal.”

I yanked the heaviest bottle from the cabinet—some pricey thing Seunghee dumped here. Doyoon’s eyes widened.

“Taking a day off?”

“Nah, this is nothing.”

Exactly two hours later, mixing fruit and distilled liquor like a madman, I slumped in the chair, eyes half-open. Doyoon gently shook me.

“Hyung, you okay?”

“Mhm…”

“Sleep in bed.”

He slid hands under my back and knees. I thrashed.

“No! Not my room. Movie in the living room.”

“You won’t even watch…”

“I’m fine.”

Even drunk, I knew: no being carried to bed by Doyoon. Rationality #2 mocked me. Hilarious. Worried about what? #1 snapped back: Not me—him.

I staggered to the living room, collapsed on the floor, back against the sofa, and habitually grabbed the remote. The American movie I’d fallen asleep to last time resumed.

Male lead desperately searching for his fated female lead; mysterious fedora-wearing goons constantly sabotaging.

Unable to resist my whining, Doyoon watched a few minutes, then lost interest. He kept glancing at me—sprawled like laundry—bored.

“Work-related?”

“…No, I like it.”

I answered with eyes nearly shut. Alcohol dulled my brain.

Doyoon sat up straighter.

“What’s it called? Kinda fun. The fedora guys block the leads, right?”

“…”

His effort was cute; I indulged. Clinging to my flickering consciousness, I slurred, “They control fate. God’s agents or something. Male lead keeps defying destiny to meet her, so they interfere.”

“Happy ending, though?”

“Mhm. Both wanted it.”

So this romance in disguise taught: if you truly desire it, even fate can change. I’d thought, Won’t happen to me.

Then Doyoon, arm draped over the sofa, ran his fingers through my hair. Already drowsy, the scalp massage melted me. Eyes fully closed, his voice hummed in my ear.

“Good story.”

“Mhm…”

He kept asking about the movie. I mumbled answers blindly. Later, he switched to random questions.

“Hyung, am I still pretty?”

“…Yeah.”

“Can I come again?”

“Yeah.”

“Live together?”

“…No.”

“Why not?”

“Dunno…”

Exhausted. But the twenty questions continued in my dreams.

“Nine years ago… Han Won-ju hit you?”

“…Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Dunno…”

“Anything else?”

“…Tried to force…”

Silence. A short breath from Doyoon. As I drifted off, he whispered, voice trembling.

“Hyung… still okay with dating guys?”

I wanted to say yeah, but only a croak came out. He wasn’t letting me sleep.

“When we were kids… why were you so good to me?”

Because you’re my brother…

Gravity vanished. The world spun around me; I blacked out. Felt like flying, then buried in clouds. Blinking in the dark, I was on a soft bed. Someone beside me gently brushed my bangs.

Even blind in the darkness, I knew it was Doyoon. No idea how much time passed. His husky voice:

“…What if I wasn’t your brother? Would you hate me?”

Dream? I thought vaguely. He pressed, urgent, hand still.

“Even if we were strangers… would you like me?”

I slurred slowly, “Obviously. Who… hates you?”

He chuckled softly. “Mother. Probably Father too.”

“That’s fate… can’t help it. Gotta kill the fedora guys… and the writer…”

You really love that movie, hyung. Dream-Doyoon said.

Then… our lips met. Tongues too, maybe. Insanely embarrassing dream. Even if dreams reflect the subconscious, this was too honest. Gotta forget it all upon waking or die of shame…

I sank back into sleep, thoughts swirling.

After an all-nighter, I slept like the dead. They say if a salaryman wakes to a world too refreshing, sunlight too beautiful—it’s over. That was me.

Clock: 9:30 a.m. Hands shaking on my phone, the door opened. Doyoon in homewear and apron, smiling beautifully.

“Awake? Told the office you’re out today. Made soybean sprout soup—come eat.”

“Uh… huh? Okay.”

I hadn’t forgotten the dream. The real feel of those lips haunted me—I might lose it. How to face him? Stumbling out of bed, I realized: I was in pajamas.

Panicking at the mirror, my lips looked redder than usual. Did I smack them in my sleep?! Never drinking again.

I shuffled out. A neat breakfast spread waited. He smiled at me.

“Remember last night?”

“…No.”

I avoided his eyes, changing topics. “Forget me—what about your work?”

“Doesn’t matter. Company won’t collapse without me.”

His extreme cynicism left me momentarily speechless.