Jerome made a motion as if to wipe his pants. He wasn’t wearing a suit today. Instead, he wore a comfortable T-shirt and cotton trousers, like any ordinary young man. Rather than wiping my pants as he’d indicated, I just stared at him blankly. I wondered what he wanted me to do. Did he want me to eat? Or was there some hidden meaning? Perhaps he expected me to have sex with him. I decided I ought to take my pants off. Hesitantly, I undid the buckle.As I lowered the zipper, Jerome tilted his head. He sat with his knees drawn up, watching me silently.“ What are you doing?”“ ………”“ I told you to wipe them. Why are you taking them off?”“ ………”“ Let’s go step by step. Zip up, buckle up, then wipe your pants with the handkerchief.”I felt bewildered. When I stared at him in confusion, he suddenly undid my buckle and zipper. Only after making me zip them up and undo them dozens of times did I finally pull the zipper all the way up. Jerome beamed. Then he fastened the buckle. Again, only after he had me unfasten and refasten it dozens of times did the buckle finally click into place.By then, the stew I had spilled on my pants was already dried and impossible to wipe off. Instead, Jerome spread out a handkerchief on my thigh. He handed me the spoon again. With the same smiling face as when I woke that morning, he said, “ Hold the spoon properly and put it in the bowl. Eat again.”I barely brought the spoon to my mouth even once. I kept scooping until the stew ran out, but most of it fell onto Jerome’s handkerchief. His handkerchief became soaked and my pants were stained all over with stew. Jerome didn’t get angry. He taught me again how to remove my pants, had me wipe the dried stew off my legs with a damp cloth, and then helped me into clean trousers.Next he taught me how to hold a cup and drink water—but I failed. He supported my neck and fed me water himself. When he finished all that, it was afternoon. I still hadn’t understood his intention. He acted as calmly as ever. After clearing away the dishes, he suddenly held out his hand. When I just stared, he said, “ When I reach out my hand, you grab it.”Then he added, “ From now on, whenever I reach out my hand, you must grab it. Understand?”“ ………”“ Grab it.”I took his cold hand. He helped me to my feet. Standing on both legs felt strange. I felt my knees might buckle. Dizziness washed over me, my vision flickered black—and it lasted so long I feared I might never see again. Jerome held my hand quietly, waiting.When my sight returned, I turned and looked at him without a word. Jerome held my hand and took a step. We left the mattress covered with blankets and stood on the cement floor. It felt odd so I looked down: I was wearing shoes for the first time in who-knows-how-long. ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) He waited until I lifted my head. Hand in hand, we walked out of the log cabin.Sunlight poured in. I shielded my face with an arm and stepped back. It wasn’t hot at all, but the glare was blinding. Jerome paused, then took the first step. I followed him onto the grass. The cabin stood alone at the edge of the woods. Jerome led me into the forest.Everything was eerily silent. I should have heard construction noise, people’s voices, something—but it was as if only the two of us existed.Walking felt strange: the firmness of the earth underfoot, the scene advancing one step at a time, the swinging arms, the bending knees—all felt completely unfamiliar. My entire focus went to the act of walking.I didn’t even notice when we returned to the cabin. We went back to the mattress. Jerome patiently taught me how to eat again, then had me brush my teeth and wash my face, and only then allowed me to lie down. He lay down beside me—but I hardly noticed him.Though we lay side by side, I still felt as if I were walking: one step, another step, forward, perhaps forever forward—walking. Jerome murmured a few good-night words, but I barely heard them. My mind was occupied by the endless imagining of walking.That night I dreamed for the first time in a while—of walking slowly through the forest alone. I just kept walking. I could walk.The day I spent with Jerome could be counted precisely. He woke me at morning without fail. I’d slept all day until now, so suddenly staying awake exhausted me utterly. By evening, I fell asleep whether I wanted to or not.Many things had changed besides that. Simon didn’t come. Every night, Jerome slept beside me. Unlike Simon—who only woke when I did—Jerome stayed awake with me and fell asleep with me. The workers no longer came. James didn’t come either. He no longer tied me up. But he did stop washing and feeding me.Jerome surprised me. I’d never imagined him this way. Like Simon in some respects, yet unlike him, Jerome was astonishingly devoted in a perfectly normal way. He never lost his temper and treated me as a person from start to finish. For instance, when I needed to use the bathroom, he never followed me in. Instead, from behind the curtain he explained, “ Pull your pants down, wipe yourself with the tissue, pull your pants back up. Simple, right? Just do that.”The same went for my shower. He neither washed me nor tried to peek at my naked body. From behind the curtain he continued instructing, “ Lather up and rub gently. Shall we start with your arm? Shoulder, underarm, inner upper arm, elbow—slowly rub and clean. How’s that? Done? Now the other arm.”He repeated the same instructions dozens of times, sometimes until his mouth went dry, explaining from beginning to end, never leaving my side, teaching me everything he could see.“ Raymond (레이몬드), hot, isn’t it? You’re sweating a lot.”He wiped the damp sweat from my forehead with a handkerchief and said, “ If you sweat that much, you have to drink water, okay? Keep it with you and sip.”He handed me the water bottle—and then spent an hour in the heat teaching me how to twist open its cap. When I finally managed to open it and drink, he drank the remaining half himself, flashing a wide smile that made dimples appear on his sunburned cheeks.“ Really hot, huh?”“ ………”Jerome’s daily routine was simple. He slightly adjusted our schedule as we went. In the morning he made me eat first—he’d realized that changing clothes before breakfast only meant getting dirty again afterward. After our struggle to finish breakfast, we washed, put on clean clothes, and by the time we’d laced up our shoes, it was afternoon.Every day we went for a walk. We said nothing and only walked. Jerome often yawned as if bored, hummed tunes I couldn’t recognize, and murmured unintelligible sounds, but mostly he was silent. When the walk ended, we had a very late lunch. Then came the most important task: Jerome taught me to knit.We sat facing each other on paint cans, knitting wool in mid-summer heat. The patience he poured into teaching me was endless. When I finally succeeded in completing the first row, Jerome hopped around the cabin’s living room, cheering so loudly it hurt my ears.When the yarn left over from knitting tangled behind the first stitch, he patiently tried again and again. If I got bored and tucked my hands under my bottom, the lesson ended.At dusk we had dinner. Jerome and I sat facing each other under multiple electric lamps. After dinner came the tedious act of washing and changing clothes once more.Each night as I lay down beside him, Jerome’s face always wore a smile. I wondered what delighted him so. He always bid me good night with a smiling face.It was the eleventh night with Jerome when, despite hearing his good-night greeting, I couldn’t close my eyes. That night, for the first time, I felt a chill. After days in which I’d felt neither heat nor cold—only Jerome’s warmth—suddenly I shivered violently. I felt as if I’d been thrown into a midwinter blizzard—or rather, locked inside an industrial freezer. This artificial cold seeped to my bones. It felt like dreadful, lethal chill… no, a dreadful fever chill.I forced my eyes open. By the dim moonlight I could just make out Jerome’s face. He slept soundly beside me. I reached out with trembling fingers. Though I’d struggled so much to open the bottle cap earlier, now, driven by the sudden chill, I unexpectedly grasped a handful of Jerome’s hair. As if he’d never fallen asleep, he lifted his eyelids naturally, but I could still see the faint sleep in his eyes.In those few seconds of locking eyes, Jerome collected himself and smiled, baring his teeth.“ Already awake?”“ ………”“ Aren’t you tired of lying?”He murmured, lowering his voice, laughter still in his tone.With him awake, I thought he would do something—whatever it was. The grip on my hair loosened as if by magic. My arms dropped and I exhaled, my limbs still trembling from the chill. Jerome’s eyes widened. He blinked a few times, then placed a hand on his brow. His round eyes narrowed.He sat up and switched on an electric lamp. The sudden glare made me shut my eyes tight. Jerome stayed still. I felt his hands scanning my body. My skin had grown so cold that even Jerome’s usually chilly fingertips felt warm. Wherever he touched, it hurt so badly I flinched, but the movements were too slight to avoid—nothing to do but shrink in on myself each time his hand brushed me.Beyond my tightly closed eyelids, I heard his voice:“ You’re late, but you recover quickly. There’s hope, Raymond.”“ ………”“ That’s why I admired you back in the Bluebell days—your strong mind and body… your resilience.”“ ………”“ It’ll feel cold, but there’s no choice. Come here. You must endure.”After a moment, my body moved. Jerome was removing my shirt. When I writhed in resistance, he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. Then he pulled me into an embrace—surprisingly, his naked body pressed against mine. Opening my eyes, I saw that he too had removed his shirt.Holding me from behind, he circled my waist with his arms, pressing his body so closely that I felt his ribs shift as he breathed. Though I trembled with chill, feeling Jerome’s breath against me slowly calmed me—except for the terrible cold itself. He drew the blanket over us and whispered, “ Shh, it’s okay. You can endure this. It’s okay.”Then absurdly, he began to sing a lullaby once more. And once again, despite the shivering chills, I succumbed to sleep.For the next two days I fell ill. Jerome tended me, wiping my sweat and caring for me. Except when feeding me or washing me, he stayed naked, holding me close. At one point, turning to look at him behind me, I saw that he too was sweating profusely, his cheeks flushed from the heat. The difference was that I shook in chills and cold sweat, while he perspired from heat until almost fainting.I barely slept. I’d wake repeatedly and vomit anything I tried to eat. Jerome cleaned up all my mess. It was astonishing—he who appeared so aristocratic, so princely, actually cared for the sick so well. Like Simon in some ways, but entirely different in every respect. Yet any sense of strangeness vanished in my suffering.In summary, over those two days he held me, fed me, cleaned up my vomit, washed me, and sang me lullabies. It was painful for me, but surely also agonizing for him. Finally, the chills subsided. Not completely gone, but on the morning two days later, I woke and suddenly felt stifled by the blanket. I opened my eyes and quietly gazed beyond the window frame. It wasn’t morning—it was dawn.There is dawn before morning. I awoke at dawn. I know the word dawn. I know what it is. Watching the sky just beginning to brighten, I threw off the blanket. Under it lay a naked body and an unfamiliar arm draped across my waist. I studied it closely. The hand was rough.On impulse I grasped the hand and lifted my gaze. It wasn’t an ordinary hand. Large and thick, scarred from past injuries. The knuckles were especially chunky and tough. The bases of the fingers showed signs of ripped skin. Nails were cut short, with traces of lost thumbnails and index nails. I knew people with hands like these—soldiers, boxers, fighters. A princely hand, used only for holding a riding crop, would not look like this. I carefully examined the forearm, then the biceps—well-developed muscle with almost no fat, not bulky like a wrestler’s, but solid.Cautiously, I turned my body. There, right in front of me, Jerome lay asleep. Hilarious—he wasn’t asleep at all. He must have woken when I stirred, but he didn’t force me to open my eyes. Instead, I scrutinized his face: delicate and noble, yet his jaw and cheekbones strong, stubble darkening overnight.I traced his bare torso with my eyes. This was not the body tanned for vanity, but a sun-bronzed physique shaped by labor. With my fingertip I circled his navel, felt his firm abs and swept upward over his chest, pressing slightly on his nipple, then moved past his armpit to rest on the nape of his neck.I followed the strong line of his neck up to the sharp jawline, along the rounded rim of his ear, across his cheekbone—until Jerome opened his eyes and met my gaze. I paused at the tip of his nose and stared back.“ How did you survive?”I flicked his nose with my fingertip. Jerome’s eyes went wide then slowly curved into a grin so wide it almost split his face. He seemed genuinely pleased I spoke. He still looked a bit mad, and after seeing his devotion these past two weeks, he now seemed completely insane.Yet, in a way, he felt human to me for the first time. I could never have imagined this from the image of him waving his hand atop the dormitory in flames, but now I had a human certainty: if I drove a blade into him, he would die. But that was all. I didn’t want to kill Jerome. The reason I lay here so peacefully in his arms was that I would no longer fight him or run from him—or kill him.Jerome spoke again.

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