The Saint Wants to Rest - vanish into fiction

Alexander would usually never have given a second thought to something like the Korean Administration Bureau, but Yoon Tae-gyeom’s intensely firm attitude forced him to click his tongue in annoyance.

Inside the door, an unidentified monster who had overwhelmed him with pure force was standing guard. Outside, the Bureau was tightening the noose by citing legal procedures. If he caused any more of a scene here, there was a high risk he would be permanently deported from Korea before he could even properly lay eyes on the Saint he so desired.

“…Fine. Fuck, I’ll play along with those petty Korean rules of yours.”

Alexander turned away, grinding his teeth. His cold blue eyes glared at Yoon Tae-gyeom as if to pierce through him.

“I’ll submit a formal visitation request within the day, so make sure you stamp that approval quickly.”

Watching Alexander disappear into the elevator with his entourage, Yoon Tae-gyeom finally let out a sigh and leaned his back against the cold hallway wall.

“Whew, I felt like my life span was shortening. Choi Jae-heon, why on earth did that crazy guy turn his phone off all day and make me run around like this?”

Meanwhile, inside the house, it was so peaceful that the outside commotion was unimaginable. Vermouth was humming a tune as he skillfully handled a knife in the kitchen, as if he had never radiated a murderous aura at all.

“Hey, what are you trying to do with only one arm? It’s dangerous.”

Ian stood up from the sofa and approached him with a scolding tone. The left sleeve of Vermouth’s shirt was empty and fluttering as he concentrated on cooking. It was the arm he had lost while protecting Ian.

“Please do not worry. Even with one arm, I can serve a banquet a hundred times superior to those of Earth’s weak chefs. I will tailor it perfectly to your taste, Saint, so please remain seated.”

“Forget it, move. I’ll chop the onions.”

Ian lightly picked up the knife on the cutting board. Vermouth paced around Ian’s side, acting restless.

“Mr. Ian! It’s dangerous. You’ve never even cooked for yourself before!”

“What do you mean ‘never’? I’m actually quite good at cooking. You’re being noisy, so just go set the table.”

Ian set the knife down and firmly grabbed the wrist of Vermouth’s remaining hand as he continued to be stubborn.

“I almost forgot. Come here.”

Vermouth tried to pull back in surprise, but Ian was faster, tightening his grip and pulling him in. Ian’s gaze moved beneath the skin of Vermouth’s wrist. A faint, dark trace was flowing through the thick veins. It was wriggling inside the blood vessels like a living snake. Because the time between purifications had increased, it had spread to his other arm.

‘It’s still as nasty as ever.’

Vermouth hadn’t just lost an arm. Poisonous energy remained in his body, not yet fully detoxified. It was a deadly poison that would melt the flesh and bones of an ordinary person or a low-ranking hunter upon contact, but Vermouth was enduring it by suppressing it with his superhuman willpower and S-rank aura.

“Mr. Ian.”

“Stay still.”

If Ian put his mind to it, he could instantly regenerate the severed arm and purify the poison that had seeped into his bones all at once. That was the true power of a Saint. However, he had already kissed his brother, and he didn’t want to do anything beyond that. Because he had left it alone, the suppressed poisonous energy had begun to wriggle again.

Ian grabbed Vermouth by the collar to bring their heights level. Then, he pressed his lips against him. He planned to finish this quickly while his brother was out.

“Let’s go to the room.”

At those words, the corners of Vermouth’s mouth turned up.

“Will the meal preparation be alright?”

“It’s fine. This is more urgent.”

Vermouth picked Ian up and headed straight for the bedroom. He laid him on the bed and climbed on top of him.

“How much will you permit me to do?”

“Don’t ask things like that.”

Despite the blunt voice, Vermouth smiled. Even with one arm, he skillfully threw off his shirt and leaned down. He then tried to remove Ian’s loose t-shirt, but Ian refused that part.

“…No foreplay.”

“But it’s more effective that way.”

Ian pulled a nearby pillow and hugged it tightly. At the clear sign of refusal, Vermouth shrugged and moved his body lower. Then, he lowered his head.