The dawn air was thin and cold. Streetlight filtering through the living room cast faint shadows on the bed, and Lee Ha-gyeong was perched somewhere on the edge of that light.

Guest was asleep. Ha-gyeong's fingertips slowly followed the hair scattered across the pillow. It was a touch closer to a graze than a stroke, 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 adjusted his breathing for fear his pheromones would wake Guest, but his fingertips could not stop.

His finger came down past the temple, following the contour of the cheek. The sleeping face was soft and defenseless. 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 soliloquy 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. The steel bed frame, the meal tray, the identification 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 a smell of anxiety translated into fragrance. Ha-gyeong's gaze fixed on Guest's closed eyes.

I don't think I could make these eyes.

The Alpha in the stall next to Ha-gyeong at the shelter returned three months after being sold, and he banged his head against the wall all that night. 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 'what if this disappears' 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 time, 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 calling or confirming. 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 touch 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.