The Scent is a Drug

It was the sound of a telephone ringing. The realization that it was a telephone rather than a cellphone brought awareness to where I was.

My mind woke before my eyes, but the throbbing pain throughout my body kept me facedown and groaning for quite some time. All the while, the telephone kept patiently waiting for me.

When I opened my eyes, I was alone in the bed, and the room — curtained by blackout drapes — was so dark I couldn't even guess the approximate time. I had to answer the phone.

"Hello?"

I cleared my throat several times as I crawled to the edge of the bed on my elbows, but my voice was hoarse and cracked — truly pitiful.

The caller was a hotel staff member. He had requested that I wake up, eat something light, and then perhaps go back to sleep.

I tried to gauge whether I had an appetite, but I absolutely did not. My mouth was dry and rough, and my stomach churned as if all my internal organs had shifted from their original positions. And down there… there was still a heavy, full sensation, as if he were still inside me.

However, I couldn't ignore both his kindness and the awkward position that staff member might be placed in if I refused.

We had always gathered in his living room to eat breakfast together — but what about the others? We were supposed to leave the hotel at eleven, but what time was it now? Various problems cluttered my mind, but I agreed for the time being.

As if expecting exactly that answer, the reply came that the meal was almost ready in the living room, and I could just slip on a robe and come out comfortably.

The call ended, but I remained facedown, holding the phone blankly for a while. It seemed preparations for the meal had already been underway in the living room while I was asleep.

I put down the phone and first checked on the state of my body.

As I woke up more fully, the discomfort became increasingly distinct. My whole body ached as if every joint had been knocked out of alignment — not just my organs. While my body felt heavy and sluggish, as if I were suffering from a severe flu, my entrance and the area inside it burned fiercely. It felt as if an independent pulse was throbbing on its own between my legs.

That vivid pain inevitably brought to mind the previous night's intimacy — the passion with him that had culminated in him knotting inside me and coming — and a flush of heat rose to my face even though I was alone.

Clearing my throat with a dry cough, I swung my legs out of bed. The unfamiliar sensation of his semen — which he had tried to clean up but hadn't managed to remove completely — trickling down the insides of my thighs made me Ugh, stop moving, hunch my shoulders, and bite my lower lip.

Startled by the swollen fullness of my lips — much thicker than usual — I touched them with my hand.

I had thought that lips swelling from kissing, or kissing enough to make your lips swell, was something only possible in pornographic videos or cartoons. But my lips were actually swollen — not quite as severely as if I'd been stung by a bee, but close. That tautness brought to mind his suction and kisses, which hadn't left my lips all night.

This was completely different from last time, when there had been no kissing and no penetration, so nothing had remained on my body the next day. Every part of me was evidence of last night.

I had to cup my hands between my legs to keep it from dripping onto the floor before heading straight to the bathroom. I had intended to rush out to the living room, but I realized I couldn't do that without completely dealing with what was inside me first.

After showering, I put on a robe without even drying my hair. I didn't know when he had left the room, but he had neatly folded all my clothes and placed them on the table by the window. However, since all the bottom buttons on my shirt were torn off, I couldn't wear yesterday's clothes.

My underwear was damp in the front from the pre-cum I had released during the kissing and caressing, but I had no choice but to put them back on. Even with a robe on, I didn't have the courage to go without underwear in front of others.

As I was tidying up my clothes, the thought that he had probably seen my wet underwear filled me with a sense of defeat — as if I'd been caught with a dirty book hidden away. This despite knowing we had done far more than just get my underwear wet.

I left the bedroom trying my best not to show the lingering, uncomfortable sensation inside. Seeing the intense summer sun flooding the entire long, vertical living room, I realized it must already be well past noon.

His personal butler — a middle-aged man who had helped us every time we had breakfast here — and two other staff members dressed in uniforms with aprons were waiting beside the dining table.

Contrary to the suggestion that something light to eat and then more sleep might be good, the table — set with both Western and Hong Kong-style breakfast options — had no room for even one more spoon. As if that weren't enough, more dishes were ready on a cart beside the table.

Rubbing my robed arms, I offered an awkward greeting and hesitantly took my seat.

They first offered fresh juice, so I accepted the orange juice — which looked freshly squeezed, pulp still visible — and drank the whole glass in one swallow, realizing I must have been thirsty. When I said I had no real appetite but would take wonton soup if possible, a covered bowl appeared on the empty white plate as soon as I finished speaking.

Next, they asked if I would like to speak briefly with the Director before the meal, and I agreed.

I suddenly found it amusing how I was moving exactly as suggested, like a well-behaved child. Or perhaps I was moving as he wished, through the butler. He might not have dictated the menu, but it still felt as if he were issuing directives to me via the butler.

The butler handed me a phone connected to him. Even after taking the simply designed business cellphone, it took me a moment to respond.

"Yes."

[You… didn't sleep well, did you?]

He seemed to have started with the usual polite inquiry, then realized mid-sentence it was a foolish question and shifted direction. I could almost picture the slight awkwardness on his face.

"No, I slept soundly. I didn't wake up even once."

[How is your body? I can arrange for a doctor to see you right away, anytime.]

Even assuming they couldn't understand Korean, I broke into a cold sweat at the thought of discussing my condition after intimacy in front of other people.

"I'm fine. Other than some soreness… there were no specific injuries."

I fiddled with the warm ceramic spoon resting beside the wonton bowl, bowing my head to hide my flushed face. It wasn't just awkward talking in front of the three people around me — discussing my current physical state with him while completely sober was just as embarrassing.

He let out a long sigh, clearly unconvinced I didn't need to see a doctor, but he seemed to accept it for the moment.

[I've changed your flight to this evening. The butler will go over the schedule with you. Rest a little longer and get ready slowly. I had an urgent matter come up that required me to leave first… but I'll take you to the airport myself.]

An explanation followed that his return to Korea had been rescheduled to tomorrow due to the "urgent matter."

"What about the others?"

[They left according to the original schedule. So don't worry about what excuse to make — just rest well.]

Just like last time, he had probably made some excuse about my condition. Likely the same one as before — that I was unwell. I realized this meant I was now firmly established within Phantom as a weakling prone to frequent illness. It wasn't an image I desired, but I understood there probably wasn't any other plausible excuse. It wasn't illness — but I genuinely wasn't well, either.

I told him he didn't need to drive me since the hotel ran a shuttle bus, but he cut the conversation short, saying he needed to hang up. Along with an admonition to eat a proper meal, even if I had no appetite.

I remembered what he had told me last time — to eat at least a little for my own sake, even without an appetite — and tried to finish at least the wonton bowl. However, the awkwardness of dining alone while strangers watched, combined with the growing physical discomfort below, made it increasingly difficult to remain seated.

After finishing just enough to slightly appease my stomach lining, I excused myself and took only a cup of coffee before getting up from the table.

The butler suggested I get a massage — mentioning that this too was the Director's idea, and that it would help me feel much lighter. A therapist from the hotel spa could be called to my room for a comfortable massage. But there was no way I could feel comfortable in that situation.

It was enough simply knowing that he had anticipated my condition and made considerations in advance on my behalf.

No — I was certainly grateful, but receiving this kind of luxurious treatment after spending the night with him gave me a feeling of something jarring, as if gears were turning wrong.

It was my own fault for falling asleep without hearing an alarm, but after spending the night with him — having a meal served by others in his hotel room, having him rearrange the schedule in consideration of my physical state — that level of care was unnecessary. Especially if this was simply the standard courtesy he habitually extended to everyone he spent the night with. There was no need to extend it to me. I hadn't sacrificed myself to his desires in exchange for anything; I had agreed to that night because I wanted it too.

The luggage from the room where I'd been staying had been completely packed, and the carry-on I had borrowed from Manager Han was placed in the hallway by the entrance. It seemed his final instruction was for me to rest in this room until he came to pick me up.

I returned to the bedroom with a rather heavy feeling, leaving behind the staff who were clearing away the meal I had barely touched.

I started to pull the curtains open but stopped, turning on the lights a little instead.

Looking around the room anew, various items of his remained as they were. Files related to the fair piled on the display cabinet. The tablet PC on the nightstand. The robe draped over the sofa — probably taken off just before he left.

And on the table by the window lay a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, placed neatly.

Five or six cigarette butts were stubbed out in the ashtray — he must have smoked them while I slept. I had slept so deeply I hadn't noticed him smoking that much, finishing getting ready, and leaving the room. Or perhaps he had moved carefully so as not to wake me.

I wondered if he had managed to get even a little sleep after I fell asleep.

The last thing I had seen before closing my eyes — his fragile gaze mixed with confusion, futility, and a trace of self-fear — came back to me, and along with the clamor in my body, my mind grew complicated as well.

If I turned on my phone, there were probably worried messages from Yuni nuna, Juhan hyung, and Manager Han waiting for me, and I also needed to contact Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung, with whom I was supposed to have dinner after arriving back in the country today. Even though these were trivial matters, they felt overwhelmingly complicated to handle right now.

"Don't think about anything, and don't worry about anything. Just like flipping a switch in your brain off. You can do that, right?"

Recalling what he had told me that night, I switched off the thoughts in my brain for the time being.

I set the coffee down on the table, sat on one of the two single-person sofas, and picked up the cigarette pack. The cigarettes were from a common global company, easily found anywhere in the world. I took one out and lit it.

Even if it was just a single cigarette, I wasn't the type to touch someone else's belongings without permission… No — having already done it, it turned out I was apparently the kind of person who could, depending on the situation, touch another's things without permission.

Having already witnessed myself treating even self-pleasure with mechanical indifference, clinging with hot passion and boldness to union with him — this was hardly surprising.

"I'll buy you a new pack when we get to Seoul."

I muttered idly to the empty room and took a drag. My throat still stung, and my lungs tightened, making me squint. I didn't cough, but it didn't go down smoothly either.

I rested the cigarette, after two or three puffs, in the groove of the ashtray. I preferred watching the thin smoke rise slowly. The smoke, appearing gray or sometimes blue depending on the angle, resembled his eyes.

Inevitably, my thoughts drifted to him. It was a topic I couldn't avoid.

Last night, he had been kind — even restraining his urge to run wild, considering my inexperience. He had knotted inside me, but judging by his reaction, that hadn't been intentional on his part either. Besides, I was a Beta, so there was no risk of pregnancy even if he had come while knotted. He hadn't injured my inner walls, contrary to his fears, and I didn't want him to feel excessive guilt or responsibility over that.

He had even gone to the trouble of preparing various things out of concern for me, so as someone he had spent the night with, he certainly hadn't lacked in manners.

However, the night had marked no fundamental change in our relationship.

Two adults had slept together consensually, and I had come to this room myself because I wanted it — so I wasn't about to blame anyone for not getting more out of it.

It was actually the opposite. I wanted to mock and ignore the part of myself that was trying to find hopeful hints or meaning in a coupling that had been purely impulsive, driven by sexual attraction.

Despite such meticulous kindness, if no explanation followed — what did that imply? Though I lacked experience in this area, I wasn't naive enough to misconstrue it and get carried away with false hope alone.

If only I hadn't known. If I could have indulged in a foolish, sweet dream for just a moment — would I feel better now, sitting alone in this room, recalling his gaze through the smoke of a cigarette I couldn't even properly smoke?

The fact that I was thinking such things meant I was already foolish enough.

I picked up the robe draped over the back of the chair and buried my nose and lips in it. The cigarette resting in the ashtray had burned down close to the filter. I gently rubbed the ash — about the length of one knuckle — into the tray and rose from my seat.

I could no longer smell his scent anywhere in the room — not even on the robe he had taken off and left behind.