After the embarrassment and shame settled down a bit, guilt was the first thing to surface. Thankfully. Uijae ran a hand through his hair.

‘Can I really be thinking like this about someone who's unwell?’

There was no worse thought than this. Uijae rubbed his masked face vigorously, but he still couldn’t shake the memory of the firm body that had clung to him earlier.

Those arms that had wrapped around his waist as if they’d never let go, the subtle rise and fall of Sayoung’s back as he caught his breath, and the small, tear-choked breaths. How could he not welcome that warmth? Uijae never knew how to refuse warmth.

Especially if it was the only warmth that belonged to him.

“Ugh, I’m going crazy!”

But wasn’t this all so messed up?

As he messily tousled his hair, he heard soft footsteps approaching across the wooden floor. Uijae stuck his head out the door. Kkokko, the ceramic chicken, was walking toward him with a wooden tray balanced on her head.

On the tray were two ceramic cups filled with *sikhye* (sweet rice punch), and despite the movement, the liquid remained perfectly still until Kkokko reached the door.

‘That’s as steady as a bed.’@@novelbin@@

When Kkokko reached the room, she stopped in front of Uijae, her black, beady eyes rolling up to look at him. Uijae lifted the tray off her head and placed it on the table, making sure to express his thanks.

“Thanks.”

“Kkok.”

Proud of herself, Kkokko puffed out her smooth, round chest. Uijae glanced at the cups. One of the cups had “For Hong Yeseong” written on it. For a moment, he was tempted to mess with Yeseong’s designated cup, but he refrained. After all, he had come seeking help.

Uijae grabbed the cup that had no label, but he couldn’t bring himself to drink from it.

‘Those eyes…’

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