Zachary continued walking down the sidewalk, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he tried to convince himself that he didn't care.
He didn't care that Laim had chosen the mutt over him.
He didn't care that Laim had looked at him with disappointment instead of the affection he had expected.
And he certainly didn't care that Laim had refused to believe him.
"...Stupid."
Zachary kicked a small stone across the pavement.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid."
You are aware that insulting yourself won't change anything, right?
Zachary's expression darkened.
Shut up.
You kidnapped him.
"I SAID SHUT UP!"
A passing woman glanced at him.
Zachary immediately straightened his posture, flashed her a charming smile, and continued walking as if nothing had happened.
The moment she disappeared around the corner, his smile fell.
"...I didn't mean to."
For once, there was nobody around to hear him say it.
Nobody to see the way his fingers trembled.
Nobody to notice that the guilt in his chest felt considerably worse than he had anticipated.
Because the truth was, Zachary hadn't expected Laim to look at him like that.
He had expected anger. Perhaps a little fear. Maybe even a few insults.
But disappointment?
That was different.
It was the kind of expression that made him feel as though he had ruined something before he'd even had the chance to understand what it was.
And he hated it.
He hated that Laim had been holding the mutt's hand.
He hated that the mutt had been standing so close to him.
Most of all, he hated that Laim had looked at the mutt before deciding what to say.
"...When did you become so important to him?"
A low growl rumbled from somewhere deep in Zachary's throat.
"That stupid mutt."
Jealous?
"Absolutely not."
You sound jealous.
"I will throw myself into traffic if you don't shut up."
Dramatic.
Zachary stopped walking.
Then, slowly, he turned his head toward the house he'd just left.
He could still see Laim standing beside Marco in the distance.
Laim had one hand wrapped around Marco's, and he appeared to be saying something that made the taller man lower his head to listen.
Marco's expression softened.
Only slightly.
But it softened.
And Laim smiled.
Zachary stared.
His chest tightened.
"...Oh, you have got to be kidding me."
He turned away so quickly that he nearly tripped over his own feet.
He was going to find a way to make Laim trust him again.
He had to.
Because if that mutt thought he could simply steal Laim away from him—
Well.
Zachary had never been particularly good at sharing.
And that was precisely the problem.
He didn't yet understand that Laim wasn't something to be owned.
He was someone who had to be given a reason to stay.
And Zachary had just given him another reason to leave.
### Meanwhile, back at the house...
"Marco?"
"Hm?"
"You're squeezing my hand."
Marco immediately loosened his grip.
"...Sorry."
Laim blinked.
That was unexpected.
He'd anticipated a sarcastic remark, perhaps a growl, or even another complaint about Zachary's existence.
Instead, Marco looked down at their joined hands with a frown.
"Did he hurt you?"
Laim's expression softened.
"No."
"Did he threaten you?"
"No."
"Did he—"
"Marco."
The taller man stopped.
Laim tilted his head.
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Trying to find a reason to bite someone's head off."
Marco's eyes narrowed.
"I don't need a reason."
Laim stared at him.
Marco stared back.
"...That was supposed to make me feel better, wasn't it?"
"No."
"At least you're honest."
Laim laughed quietly.
The sound seemed to catch Marco off guard.
For a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased, and he looked at Laim with an expression that was almost painfully gentle.
Then he noticed Laim rubbing his wrist.
His expression changed immediately.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I was just—"
Marco took Laim's wrist carefully, turning his hand over.
There were faint red marks where Zachary had grabbed him earlier.
Marco went completely still.
The air around him seemed to grow heavier.
"...He did that?"
Laim glanced at his wrist.
"Oh. That? It doesn't hurt anymore."
Marco's jaw tightened.
"That wasn't what I asked."
Laim hesitated.
"...Yes."
For several seconds, Marco said nothing.
Then he released Laim's wrist with surprising care.
"Next time, tell me."
"Marco, I can handle myself."
"I know."
"Then—"
"I know you can handle yourself, Laim."
Marco's voice was quieter now.
"That doesn't mean I have to like seeing someone hurt you."
Laim's lips parted.
He hadn't expected that answer.
Marco looked away, his ears growing faintly red.
"And before you start, no, I'm not going to chase after him."
Laim slowly smiled.
"Really?"
"Really."
"You're not going to threaten him?"
"No."
"Growl at him?"
Marco gave him a flat look.
"I cannot believe you're enjoying this."
"A little."
"Laim."
"Sorry."
He didn't sound sorry at all.
Marco sighed and reached up to brush a stray strand of hair away from Laim's face.
The gesture was so unexpectedly tender that Laim forgot what he had been about to say.
Marco seemed to realize what he'd done a second later.
His hand paused near Laim's cheek.
For once, the usually confident man looked uncertain.
"...What?"
Laim blinked.
"Nothing."
"You're staring."
"So are you."
Marco's mouth twitched.
"Fair enough."
Neither of them moved.
Laim could feel the warmth of Marco's hand against his cheek, and for one strange moment, the entire world seemed to shrink until there was nothing left but the two of them standing in the doorway.
Then Laim's stomach growled.
Loudly.
Grrrrrrr.
They both froze.
Laim closed his eyes.
"...I hate my life."
Marco stared at him.
Then he laughed.
Not his usual mocking chuckle.
A genuine laugh that escaped before he could stop it.
Laim's face turned bright red.
"Don't you dare!"
"I didn't say anything."
"You're laughing!"
"Am I?"
"MARCO!"
Marco laughed harder.
Laim promptly shoved his shoulder.
"You're the worst!"
"And yet you're still holding my hand."
Laim looked down.
He was.
He immediately tried to let go.
Marco caught his fingers—not tightly, not forcefully, but gently enough that Laim could pull away if he wanted to.
"Hey."
Laim glanced up.
Marco's smile had faded into something softer.
"You don't have to let go just because I noticed."
Laim's heart gave an inconvenient little flutter.
"...You're making this difficult."
"Making what difficult?"
"Everything!"
Marco's grin returned.
"Then I suppose I'm doing a good job."
Laim groaned.
He was beginning to suspect that Marco was considerably more dangerous when he wasn't angry.
Because when Marco was angry, Laim knew exactly what to expect.
When Marco was gentle?
Laim had absolutely no idea what to do with himself.
### The unexpected visitor
They had barely made it back inside when someone knocked on the front door.
Three sharp knocks.
Marco's amusement vanished.
Laim looked toward the entrance.
"Are you expecting someone?"
"No."
Another three knocks followed.
Then a voice called from the other side.
"Marco? Open up."
Marco's expression became murderous.
Laim blinked.
"...Who is that?"
"Someone I would rather not deal with today."
"That doesn't narrow it down."
"Unfortunately."
The voice outside called again.
"Marco! I know you're in there!"
Marco closed his eyes and inhaled slowly.
Laim watched him.
"Please don't bite anyone."
"No promises."
"Marco."
"Fine."
Marco strode toward the door and yanked it open.
Standing on the doorstep was a young man with messy dark hair, a jacket hanging loosely off one shoulder, and an expression of absolute delight.
He looked past Marco.
His eyes landed on Laim.
Then he looked at their joined hands.
Then back at Marco.
A slow, wicked grin spread across his face.
"Oh."
Marco's eye twitched.
"Don't."
"Ohhh."
"I said don't."
The stranger leaned sideways, trying to get a better look at Laim.
"So this is him?"
Laim raised an eyebrow.
"This is who?"
"The reason you've been acting like a rabid guard dog for the past week."
Marco grabbed the stranger by the collar.
"Do you want to die?"
"See? Exactly like that!"
"Marco," Laim interrupted, gently tugging at his sleeve. "Put him down."
Marco looked at Laim.
Then at the stranger.
Then back at Laim.
With visible reluctance, he released the collar.
The stranger straightened his jacket, looking deeply offended.
"Honestly. No manners."
"You broke into my house last month."
"I knocked!"
"After climbing through the window."
"The front door was locked!"
"BECAUSE IT WAS THREE IN THE MORNING!"
Laim slowly turned toward Marco.
"...You have interesting friends."
"He's not my friend."
The stranger placed a hand over his heart.
"I'm wounded."
"Good."
The stranger ignored him and offered Laim a bright smile.
"Name's Adrian. Marco's oldest headache."
"That part is true," Marco muttered.
Adrian extended his hand.
Laim shook it.
"I'm Laim."
"I know."
Laim's smile faltered.
"...You know?"
Adrian's grin disappeared for just a moment.
It was brief.
So brief that Laim might have missed it if he hadn't been watching carefully.
Then Adrian glanced at Marco.
"Actually, that's why I'm here."
Marco's entire posture changed.
"What happened?"
Adrian reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
"I found something this morning. Something I thought you should see before our favorite idiot makes another mess."
"Who are you calling an idiot?"
Adrian looked directly at Marco.
"You."
Marco snatched the paper from his hand.
Laim leaned closer as Marco unfolded it.
At first, the page looked ordinary.
There were a few lines of handwritten text, a date, and a name written at the bottom.
Zachary.
Laim's stomach dropped.
Marco noticed immediately.
His hand moved instinctively to Laim's lower back, steadying him.
"What is this?" Marco demanded.
Adrian's expression had turned serious.
"A list."
"A list of what?"
"People Zachary has been looking for."
Laim stared at the page.
There were six names.
Five had been crossed out.
The sixth was still visible.
Laim.
Silence filled the doorway.
Laim felt the blood drain from his face.
"...Why is my name on there?"
Adrian didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at Marco.
And for the first time since arriving, he seemed genuinely concerned.
"Because Zachary wasn't looking for you by accident."
Marco's fingers curled around the paper.
"What does that mean?"
Adrian swallowed.
"It means the story he told you about mistaking Laim for someone else?"
He looked directly at Laim.
"That part might actually be true."
Laim's breath caught.
Marco's expression darkened.
"Explain."
Adrian pointed at the name written beneath Laim's.
A name that had been scratched out so violently that the paper had nearly torn.
"I don't know who this person is," Adrian said. "But Zachary has been searching for them for months."
He hesitated.
"And apparently, he believes Laim is the only person who can lead him to them."
Laim stared at the page, his thoughts racing.
The kidnapping.
Zachary's strange behavior.
The way he had looked at Laim with guilt, confusion, and something that almost resembled desperation.
It all suddenly felt different.
Not excusable.
Never excusable.
But different.
Marco folded the paper slowly.
His expression was unreadable.
Then he looked down at Laim.
"Listen to me."
Laim raised his eyes.
"Whatever this means, you are not going anywhere with him. Not unless you decide you want to, and not until we know what's going on."
Adrian nodded.
"For once, the mutt has a point."
Marco growled.
"Call me that again."
"See? Ruined it."
But Laim barely heard them.
He was staring at the scratched-out name.
Something about it tugged at his memory.
A faint image.
A voice he couldn't quite recognize.
Someone standing in a doorway, reaching toward him.
And a whispered sentence that seemed to come from somewhere very far away.
You promised you wouldn't forget me.
Laim staggered.
Marco caught him immediately.
"Laim?"
Laim gripped Marco's sleeve, his breathing suddenly uneven.
"I..."
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold on to the fading image.
"I think I've seen that name before."
Both men went silent.
Adrian slowly lowered his hands.
Marco's voice softened.
"Where?"
Laim shook his head.
"I don't know."
He looked at the paper again.
"I just know..."
His fingers tightened around Marco's sleeve.
"...that I think Zachary was looking for me long before we ever met."
And somewhere down the street, out of sight of the house, Zachary stopped walking.
He had felt it.
A strange, sudden pull in his chest.
Like a thread that had been severed years ago had just tightened again.
His smile vanished.
"...No."
He pressed a hand against his chest.
For the first time that morning, he wasn't thinking about Marco.
He wasn't thinking about jealousy.
He wasn't even thinking about whether Laim would ever forgive him.
He was thinking about the name he'd spent months trying to forget.
The name he had crossed off every list.
The name he had sworn never to search for again.
Because if Laim was beginning to remember—
Then the person Zachary had mistaken him for might not have been a stranger at all.
Zachary stared toward Marco's house.
His face went pale.
"Oh, Laim..."
His voice trembled.
"What have you remembered?"