Morning came late.
Not because the sun was slow—but because neither of them moved when it arrived.
Smyle woke first.
He realized it slowly, the way you do when you're afraid that even breathing might break something delicate. Rayden was still asleep, his head resting against Smyle's chest now, one arm loosely wrapped around Smyle's waist like it had found its place there sometime during the night and decided not to leave.
Smyle didn't remember when that happened.
He only remembered waking up to Rayden crying.
Remembered holding him.
Remembered whispering I'm here until the shaking stopped.
Rayden's breathing was steady now. Deep. Real sleep.
Smyle stared at the ceiling.
His arm was numb. His neck hurt. His leg was cramping.
He didn't move.
If I move, he'll wake up.
And something inside Smyle didn't want that.
Rayden shifted slightly, brow furrowing, like even sleep wasn't kind to him. Smyle instinctively tightened his hold—just a little—and Rayden relaxed again.
Smyle swallowed.
"…What are we doing?" he whispered to no one.
The villa was quiet. Not heavy like before.
Peaceful.
Later
Rayden woke to warmth.
Not heat.
Not urgency.
Just… warmth.
For a second, panic flickered—his body tensing, mind snapping awake—but then he registered the steady heartbeat beneath his ear.
Smyle.
Rayden froze.
Memories of the nightmare tried to rush back, but Smyle's presence anchored him. Solid. Real. Still here.
Rayden exhaled slowly.
"You're awake," Smyle murmured.
Rayden lifted his head slightly, wincing at the pull in his back. Smyle noticed instantly.
"Don't," Smyle said, hand pressing gently to Rayden's shoulder. "You're not allowed to be dramatic before breakfast."
Rayden huffed a quiet laugh. "That's discrimination."
Smyle looked down at him, unimpressed. "You cried on me last night."
Rayden stilled.
"…I did?"
Smyle nodded. No teasing. No embarrassment. Just honesty.
Rayden looked away, jaw tightening. "I'm sorry."
Smyle frowned. "Why?"
Rayden didn't answer immediately.
"I don't… do that," he said finally. "People don't see that."
Smyle shrugged lightly. "People aren't here."
That hit harder than Rayden expected.
He glanced back at Smyle—really looked at him—and something in his chest shifted. Not fear. Not control.
Trust. Small. Fragile.
"You should rest today," Smyle said gently. "No calls. No meetings."
Rayden smirked faintly. "You confiscating my phone again?"
"Yes."
Rayden sighed dramatically. "Cruel."
Smyle smiled despite himself.
Breakfast, Again
Smyle insisted on cooking.
Rayden protested weakly, then watched from the couch as Smyle moved around the kitchen—focused, quiet, careful.
It felt… domestic.
That realization unsettled Rayden more than any threat ever had.
When Smyle returned with a tray, Rayden tried to take it himself—and hissed softly when pain flared.
Smyle immediately pulled it back. "No."
"I can—"
"No."
Rayden looked at him. "…You like telling me no."
Smyle scooped a spoonful of soup. "Open your mouth."
Rayden hesitated.
No one had done this for him. He never experienced this much care .
Smyle noticed the pause. "You don't have to."
Rayden met his eyes—and opened his mouth.
The soup was warm. Simple. Comforting.
Rayden swallowed—and something in his eyes glassed over before he could stop it. Again !
Smyle saw.
Didn't say anything.
Just kept feeding him, slow and patient, like this wasn't strange at all.
Rayden looked away, blinking hard.
"…Thank you," he murmured.
Smyle replied softly, "You're welcome."
AFTER THE CHANGE
Smyle went to university that day.
Alone.
Not in a black BMW.
Not with a driver waiting at the gate.
Not with whispers following him like shadows.
Just Smyle. His backpack. His steps matching the rhythm of the morning crowd.
And somehow—that felt… good.
When he reached campus, Ohm was the first to spot him.
"Ohhh," leo drawled, grinning as he walked backward in front of Smyle, "look at him. Walking in like a cute wife who got permission to go out."
Smyle groaned. "Don't start."
William laughed. "Too late. You're married now. You're officially soft."
James added, dramatically, "If this is marriage, I want one too."
Smyle rolled his eyes—but he was smiling.
Really smiling.
Then Ohm spoke.
"So," said casually, hands in his pockets, "how's married life?"
Smyle paused.
Not because of the question.
But because of who asked it.
Ohm used to tease him the most. Before the marriage, before everything got complicated. After the wedding, though—Ohm had gone quiet. Serious. Distant. Like he didn't know where the line was anymore.
Smyle turned to him. "It's… different."
Ohm smirked. "You look happier."
That simple sentence hit harder than all the jokes.
Smyle laughed softly. "You noticed?"
Ohm shrugged. "Hard not to."
For the rest of the day, things felt light.
Classes passed easily.
Conversations flowed.
Laughter came without effort.
Smyle hadn't realized how much tension he'd been carrying—until it wasn't there.
On his way home, he called his mother.
She answered on the second ring.
"nuuu? Is everything okay?"
Smyle smiled instantly. "Yeah. I just… wanted to hear you."
She laughed gently. "You're eating properly, right?"
"Of course," Smyle lied smoothly.
"And resting?"
"…Mostly."
She sighed. "You sound happy."
Smyle looked out at the passing streets. "I think I am."
"Good," she said warmly. "You deserve that."
When the call ended, Smyle held his phone for a moment longer.
His chest felt full.
The villa gates opened silently.
Smyle stepped inside.
"Rayden?" he called out.
No answer.
He frowned.
Rayden was always here by now. Even if he was resting, even if he was quiet—he was present.
Smyle checked the living room.
Empty.
The kitchen.
Nothing.
Rayden's room.
Undisturbed.
A strange tightness crept into Smyle's chest.
"He probably stepped out," Smyle muttered to himself.
Still—he reached for his phone.
One call.
No answer.
A message.
Unread.
Another call.
Straight to voicemail.
Smyle swallowed.
Why am I panicking? he thought.
But the worry didn't listen.
He changed into comfortable clothes quickly, fingers clumsy, heart beating faster with every unanswered ring.
"Rayden," he whispered, trying again.
Nothing.
Finally, he grabbed his jacket and moved toward the door.
The handle didn't budge.
He tried again.
Locked.
Smyle stared at it.
"…What?"
He checked another exit.
Also locked.
His breath hitched—not fear exactly, but something close.
Something unfamiliar.
Something that had Rayden's name wrapped around it.
And for the first time since the contract began—
Smyle realized he wasn't worried because Rayden was powerful.
He was worried because Rayden mattered.