A Contracted Gangster Who Has to Die to Survive - Chapter 48

Taejoon stood under the shower, letting the icy water cascade over him.

The cold was sharp enough to make him shiver, but it helped cool his heated thoughts.

“I’m scared, I can’t sleep alone.”

A fully grown man, unable to sleep because of a thunderstorm, anyone would scoff at such nonsense. But Woo Kyung was different.

It was the day he had finally accepted that his days were numbered in Terminal. That day, he had shared a piece of his childhood.

“On a night like this, with thunder and rain… my parents died in a car accident.”

Woo Kyung’s voice had been eerily calm, almost detached, but it struck Taejoon deeper than any display of grief ever could.

Neither of his parents had returned home that night. Left in the care of his aunt and older sister, Woo Kyung had grown up, but even now, nights like this made it impossible for him to sleep.

In the original novel, Dong Hyuntae had dismissed Woo Kyung’s fears with a scoff, calling him pathetic and telling him to just sleep. But throughout his time in Terminal, Taejoon had prayed for clear skies.

It was the reason why, even when Woo Kyung claimed he had gone to the 13th floor because of his medication, Taejoon had no choice but to believe the real reason—because thunderstorms still scared him.

He had been too soft when it came to Woo Kyung, making decisions and taking actions unlike his usual self.

Kim, his assistant, had issued a politely worded but serious warning.

“Sir, please reconsider your involvement with Woo Kyung.”

He had phrased it diplomatically, but both of them knew the truth. The real problem wasn’t Woo Kyung. It was Taejoon.

More precisely, it was Taejoon’s growing restlessness—his constant need to confirm something, anything.

He found himself chasing after Woo Kyung’s little habits, the unconscious mannerisms that made him who he was. The familiar texture of his touch, the faint scent lingering in his wake—all of it.

Volunteering for the business trip to Jeju? That had been for Woo Kyung.
Bringing him to the 13th floor?
Not pressing the button for the 9th floor in the first place?

Every decision had stemmed from one hidden truth: Taejoon’s own unspoken feelings.

“What’s your goal?”

Asking Woo Kyung that question had been his last shred of pride.

Maybe it didn’t even matter what Woo Kyung said in response.

Taejoon shut off the water and smacked his numbed cheeks a few times, trying to snap himself out of it.

“Get a grip, Choi Taejoon.”

Even as his skin stung, his mind refused to clear. If anything, the heat he had fought to suppress began rising again.

With a frustrated sigh, he roughly toweled off his hair, threw on a thick robe, and shoved his tangled thoughts deep into the recesses of his mind before stepping out into the living room.

“Woo Kyung?”

No response. Had he gone back to the 9th floor?

His eyes landed on the neatly hung, freshly washed shirt and underwear. If Woo Kyung had really left, he wouldn’t have left them here.

But the living room was silent, and the ice cream they had ordered remained untouched.

“Hyung, I’ll go buy some ice cream. Just wait here for a bit.”

Whenever they drank together in Terminal, Woo Kyung would stop by a convenience store on the way back and shove an ice cream bag into Taejoon’s hands.

More than once, Taejoon had absentmindedly taken them home, only to later return them.

“I don’t like cold things. Last time, I just left them in the freezer until they had to be thrown out. You take them.”

Woo Kyung had tilted his head, a milky ice cream bar between his lips.

“Huh? But your fan café said you liked these.”

“People say a lot of things. Doesn’t mean they’re true.”

“Then what do you like?”

What did he like?

Taejoon had stood there, lost in thought, unable to come up with an answer.

Now, he stared at the melted ice cream sitting on the table.

Outside, raindrops began tapping against the window, a gentle prelude before the storm. The dark clouds that had only been lurking before finally let their weight fall.

And then, as if revealed by the shifting light, Woo Kyung appeared—curled up on the couch, hidden behind the sofa’s backrest.

“…Woo—”

Taejoon barely stopped himself from saying his name aloud.

Instead, he stood there, watching him sleep.

His breath was soft and steady. His eyelashes, long and delicate. His nose, well-proportioned. His lips, gently closed.

He was alive. Healthy. Breathing.

Taejoon hesitated for a moment before leaning down. Carefully, he slid one arm beneath Woo Kyung’s back and the other under his knees, lifting him effortlessly.

“…Mm.”

Woo Kyung stirred slightly, brow furrowing at the shift in position.

“Mmh… my ice cre—”

Taejoon couldn’t quite make out what he was mumbling, but it sounded like something about ice cream.

“Just sleep. You can eat it tomorrow.”

“Mm… It’s melting….”

“I’ll buy more. Just sleep. I’ll buy as much as you want.”

“Mm… Okay. Got it, hyung.”

Before he realized it, a small smile crept onto Taejoon’s lips, spreading to his cheeks and eyes. The dam holding back his emotions cracked, and for a brief moment, it burst open.

God, this was driving him crazy.

Taejoon suddenly recalled something Vice Chairman Kil Sanghoon had once told him:

“Taejoon, no matter how perfectly you try to hide the truth, the sheer power of something ‘real’ will always make itself known. Even if you do nothing, the truth will naturally rise to the surface, just like something buoyant floating on water. If that truth is something good, then that’s fine—but in our line of work, most of what we deal with is far from ‘good.’ That’s why you need to practice. Learn how to conceal the truth. Master the art of not revealing what you really feel.”

The advice had been about spotting traitors and con artists—definitely not meant to be romantic. In fact, it had felt more like a chilling warning before an execution.

And yet, here he was, perfectly embodying those words.

His feelings for Woo Kyung had already surfaced on their own.

And the fact that he was so anxious about whether Woo Kyung had noticed—he could hardly stand himself for it.

Carefully, he laid Woo Kyung on the bed, adjusting his robe to cover his exposed chest and tucking the blanket around him. Taking a small amount of ointment, he gently applied it to the bridge of Woo Kyung’s nose.

Then, in a quiet murmur, he whispered to himself:

“Just hurt this much. No more.”

“But don’t die.”

“I want you to need me desperately.”

Had I misheard?

Half-asleep, I could’ve sworn someone had been whispering a curse into my ear.

“Hurt more. Suffer. Be in pain at night but wake up fine in the morning to work like an ox.”

Goosebumps. What kind of nightmare was this? Working like an ox during the day and groaning in pain at night—wasn’t that basically hell?

Right on cue, a low rumbling sound echoed from the sky.

The storm that had been all thunder and lightning finally brought rain.

The dim light in the room suggested it was still early morning. How late was it? Reaching out blindly, I searched for my phone.

But it wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

Oh, right. This wasn’t home. I was in Jeju.

I groped for the blanket and pulled it up over myself.

Just a little more sleep. It wasn’t morning yet.

As I tried to tug the blanket over my shoulders, a deafening crack of thunder split the sky, rattling my eardrums.

“Ugh!”

Instinctively, I flailed my arms and grabbed onto something beside me. It should have been a soft, fluffy pillow—but instead, it was something firm and warm.

Warm, soft, and… rhythmic?

A heartbeat?

Slowly, I cracked my eyes open and turned my head.

Was I dreaming? Had I been sent back to the first day of my possession?

Taejoon and I were lying in bed together.

Worse—my head was resting on his arm like a pillow.

Holy—!

The moment I jolted upright, the blanket draped over Taejoon slid down, revealing the loosely tied robe. His bare chest and the smooth expanse of skin extending downward were suddenly in full view.

Wait. Hold on. Why was he naked?

Where were his boxers?!

My eyes widened in horror as I took in the sight of Choi Taejoon’s—everything.

It felt like my brain had short-circuited.

And then it hit me.

I had fallen asleep in Taejoon’s room.

One memory after another came rushing back: the moment I panicked at the mention of medication, the embarrassing admission that I was scared of thunderstorms, and the way I must have dozed off while Taejoon was in the shower.

I had definitely fallen asleep on the sofa.

So why the hell was I here?!

And why was I using Taejoon’s arm as a pillow?!

“……”

He should have woken up by now, given all this commotion. But Taejoon remained sound asleep.

My gaze involuntarily traced the scars scattered across his skin—fine lines, deep gashes, and the unmistakable marks of old wounds that had never fully healed.

His body, covered in these permanent reminders, was proof of the life he had lived—one of survival, one that had demanded everything from him.

For a moment, a pang of sympathy struck me.

And then, all at once, it vanished.

Because my gaze had traveled lower.

Oh, hell no.

The moment I registered what I was looking at, my entire body tensed.

Even without meaning to, I saw it.

I squeezed my eyes shut and violently turned my head away, but the image burned itself into my retinas.

I wasn’t even looking, yet it felt like it was still there.

Big. Solid. There.

Dear god. Someone save me.

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