The Clinic was packed to the point there wasn’t a place to put a foot.
The Security guard carrying Jiwon swept his eyes around the ward, then toed the suit lying on the bed. Judging from how the masked suit was wet too, he must’ve been in the same studio.
“Move.”
The guard said.
The voice was familiar to his ear.
“What the hell, you?”
“I said move. Can’t you see the patient?”
“Do you know who I—”
Before the suit could finish, the guard shouldered him off.
The suit slid all the way to the bed’s edge in a daze, and before he could steady himself, the guard set Jiwon down.
Seeing Jiwon naked and caked in mud, filthy from head to toe, the suit got off the bed. He clicked his tongue and frowned.
“Where are you assigned? Who do you work under?”
Pointing up at the tall guard, the suit jabbed a finger.
“Fuck. Talks too goddamn much.”
He definitely knew the guy.
“This mask is a pain in the ass.”
Grumbling, the guard tugged off his soaked mask. He tried with one hand, failed, then used the other and barely got it off.
The moment Jiwon saw the face, he laughed.
Relief.
It was Number 3 who had saved him.
They told him not to trust anyone, told him to think only of himself, and yet here he was, immediately relaxing at the sight of Number 3. Pathetic.
So what if it felt good.
“But... why...?”
The question hit him.
Why had Number 3 come to pull him out?
If he knew his face, why bother with a mask?
“They had us digging our asses off and suddenly go, ‘Emergency, deploy.’”
Number 3 griped, flapping the wet mask. Water dripped off him in sheets, not just the mask but his whole body.
Come to think of it, Number 3 wasn’t in Security gear. Boots, sure, but otherwise he wore the one-piece work suit they’d put on for the quiz show.
Number 3 said he’d been digging in a black work suit when the siren went off, got the order to assist Security, and rushed down to Basement 3. They told him to put on a mask, so he did. Simple as that.
“You’re scraped.”
Number 3 pointed at Jiwon’s face.
“Ah....”
“Nose is bleeding, too.”
At that, he wiped under his nose; blood came away mixed with mud.
It must’ve started when Park Geonwoo ground his face into the floor. It had been life-or-death—he hadn’t even realized he was bleeding.
“Anywhere else hurt?”
Number 3 moved around Jiwon, checking what he could see first. Following that gaze down his own body, Jiwon finally registered he was still naked. He wasn’t embarrassed.
“Looks fine. How are there no scratches? You wearing armor or something?”
Mixing in a flat joke, Number 3 checked every last mark on Jiwon and then said,
“Move over. I’m tired.”
He flopped onto the narrow bed.
Jiwon got shoved to the side by that, almost dumped to the floor like the suit had been.
Whether he realized it or not, Number 3 spread his fingers and stuck the fingerprint side in Jiwon’s face.
“Look. Pruned again.”
He whined like a kid over being a little waterlogged.
Right—he’d done that waiting outside the Counseling Room, too. He’d swum all morning and showed off his pruned fingers, grumbling.
Pft, Jiwon laughed. Then coughed.
He tried to speak, but his voice wouldn’t come out right. Fighting to live, he’d screamed, swallowed muddy water, and clogged his throat.
He wanted to rinse with clean water first. Then shower. But even if he wanted to ask, there was no one to ask.
No one had expected an accident mid-game, so the Clinic had only one doctor and two nurses. Even they were busy going back and forth between the cots with staff and “associates,” putting the crew second. When they treated those people, they actually drew the curtains. Probably because of their faces.
“Don’t just lie there—go get someone. Or at least bring water.”
The one who should’ve been lying down was him, but Number 3 had gone starfish on the bed. He was a big man to begin with; on a single cot, it was ridiculously cramped.
“Get up.”
Jiwon shook him.
“I’m tired.”
Number 3 whined.
This bastard, seriously.
“Hey, you’re tired, but I almost died. Go get someone. I can’t even open my eyes.”
He kept shaking him, and Number 3 reluctantly opened the eyes he’d clamped shut. His soaked lashes trembled, and the water beaded on his lashes dropped like tears.
Art.
Jiwon stared at Number 3’s face like a lecherous uncle, then snorted.
It had been only minutes since he’d brushed past death, and here he was savoring another man’s handsome face. It was funny. Embarrassed for no reason, he looked away.
Through the gap in the curtain he saw the host’s feet in a yellow suit. Even his socks were dyed bright red—looked like he was badly hurt.
Ah. I really did almost die.
Even without Park Geonwoo, he could’ve been crushed under the collapsed ceiling and badly injured or dead. That’s how dangerous it had been. Yet somehow it felt like someone else’s problem.
Is Kim Yunho okay? The others?
Jiwon hurriedly scanned for the Sailors.
Finding Sailors in the Clinic wasn’t hard. They were the only ones naked, with bandages around their chests.
Without sheets or gowns to cover them, the Sailors had towels over their essentials and were lying or sitting on beds or the floor, waiting. Scattered around the Sailors were guys in the same black work suits as Number 3—his team.
The new guy who met Jiwon’s eyes tipped his chin. Lee Gangjun and Jeong Hamin waved. Han Seoho was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Kim Yunho.
Don’t tell me they’re hurt.
They went out before me.
“Here. Towels.”
Before he could worry, Kim Yunho popped up and handed over two towels. He tossed the other to Number 3.
With a towel over his lower half, Kim Yunho had even put on slippers. Soaked through, but otherwise he didn’t look injured.
“You good?”
Kim Yunho asked.
“Yeah. You?”
“I’m fine as hell.”
He raised both arms and showed off his biceps.
Jiwon deliberately winced. “Eyesore.”
“You’ve got jokes—solid as a rock, as expected.”
Kim Yunho gave Jiwon a thumbs-up and grinned.
“Hang on. I’ll bring water. We stacked it by the door, but looks like it’s all gone.”
“Thanks.”
“If you’re thankful, buy me a drink later.”
“I’m thankful too.”
Number 3, now sitting up at some point, flashed Kim Yunho a quick smile.
“You too—buy me a drink,” Kim Yunho shot back, then headed toward the entrance.
Up to now Number 3 hadn’t even thought to take off his wet clothes; the second he had a towel, he yanked the zipper down to his waist. Then he tried to get his arms out of the suit. The sleeves, soaked through, wouldn’t slide, and after a struggle he asked for help.
“Don’t just watch—help.”
Jiwon had been sneaking side glances, admiring his build, and could’ve helped sooner, but he’d been pretending not to notice out of spite for getting shoved off and crowded.
“You have to say, ‘Please help.’”
At that, Number 3’s eyes went wide.
“Wow. You say that to me? To your lifesaver?”
Loud, too.
Suddenly cast as the ungrateful bastard, Jiwon grumbled,
“It was a joke. If you take a joke like a documentary, what does that make me?”
Reluctantly, he grabbed a sleeve.
“Was it a joke? Sure didn’t sound like it.”
Number 3 nagged as he pulled his arm free.
A gorgeous torso came out. Beautiful, even now. Dazzling.
Hadn’t he just yesterday admired Number 3’s naked body framed by the garden?
A masterpiece. Yeah, as good as a masterpiece.
Thinking that, his eyes suddenly stung red.
I really lived.
Only now did the emotion hit. The fact that he had truly almost died sank into his bones. A shiver ran through him before he knew it.
“Why aren’t you wiping off?”
Meeting his eyes, Number 3 jerked his chin at the towel.
“Mm..., I should... wipe....”
He forced the words out past a lump in his throat.
Jiwon fumbled his hands into motion. His hands shook so badly he dropped the towel again and again, and on top of that, tears threatened, making it worse.
Watching the way he was wiping, Number 3 reached out.
“Why are you so hopeless.”
He plucked the towel from Jiwon’s hand.
With firm strokes, he wiped the filth off Jiwon’s body. In no time, two white towels turned ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) black.
“This only wiped the water off. I swam all morning and showered four times—I’m cleaner than you.”
Jiwon wondered why he said that—then realized it was so he could use the towel he’d already soaked on Jiwon’s face without making him feel gross. He headed him off.
“Wow, you won’t need a mud mask for life.”
Number 3 cracked a flat joke and carefully wiped Jiwon’s face. His touch was mostly rough, but around the eyes he took a little care.
Jiwon’s chest warmed at the small kindness. At the very least, he wanted this man on his side. He knew better than anyone he shouldn’t expect that, and he’d nearly died a moment ago because of a misplaced belief, but he made the same mistake anyway.
So what if it’s a mistake. Worst case, I die.
He snorted.
All at once he craved warmth. He wanted Number 3’s warmth, all of it.
Jiwon reached out and pulled Number 3 into a hug. He rested his head on Number 3’s shoulder. The skin against his was surprisingly cool, but soon Jiwon’s heat seeped in and a soft warmth spread.
His eyes drifted shut.