Not a Cold — In Heat
Morning sunlight spilled across the living room.
Dabin had no schedule today — a full, unbroken holiday. I opened my door at an easy pace and stepped out.
Whirr— whiiirr—
The washing machine was running. I glanced toward the utility room.
"Mom. You're already doing laundry when you don't feel well?"
"Huh? Oh my — P-Peace. You're up?"
Lee Seolah startled and hastily shoved something behind her back.
It was the T-shirt I'd worn yesterday.
"Isn't that my clothes?"
"Y-yeah. It just… smelled pretty strongly of sweat, so…."
"You could've just thrown it in the machine."
"Th-that's… there seemed to be some stains, so I was checking…."
Seolah's cheeks were flushed to bursting. Her breath came short and sharp, and beads of sweat stood out along her forehead.
The vicious imprint I'd planted yesterday.
Thirst for her Master's scent.
Right before I'd opened the door, she had clearly had her nose buried in my clothes.
And her free hand….
"Mom. Are you hurting somewhere?"
"Ah — no! I'm not!"
"Then why are you standing with your legs crossed like that?"
"Huh…?"
Seolah's gaze dropped. One of her hands was groping over the loose fabric of her pajama pants — pressing hard against her most private place. The moment she saw her own hand, her eyes shook wide.
"Hhk…!"
Startled even by herself, she yanked her hand away. Her face went pale, then flared up again as if set on fire.
"I — I should have… male phobia…."
"Sorry?"
"N-nothing! Just talking to myself!"
Seolah scrambled to cram my T-shirt into the washing machine.
"Looks like your fever still hasn't broken. Go rest a bit."
"Mm… sorry. I'll finish up myself."
"I'll handle it. Don't worry — just go in."
Seolah fled the utility room like she was running from something. Her hips swayed with a strange, uneven twist.
Realizing she'd been touching herself must have hit her pretty hard.
That iron wall called male phobia — crumbling piece by piece under nothing but my scent. How chaotic must it feel, watching her own body get wet on pure instinct.
I held back the smirk trying to crawl onto my face and hit the washer's start button.
Creak.
Then the door across the hall opened.
"Ah, shit… I'm losing my mind…."
Eunha. Hair a complete mess. Dark circles sunk deep under her eyes.
"What's with that look?"
"Don't talk to me. Everything's been pissing me off lately."
"You still not over your cold?"
"The cold isn't the problem — aargh!"
Eunha clawed at her hair and dropped heavily onto the sofa. She sat with her legs clamped tight, spine curled into a tight hunch.
"Stomach hurt?"
"Uh. No — it doesn't hurt, exactly…."
"Then?"
"I don't know! My lower belly's been weirdly heavy and aching since earlier!"
Of course it had.
I'd jammed a magic wand into her and made her hold the standby pose.
"Take some medicine."
"Medicine doesn't feel like it's gonna fix this."
"Want to go to the hospital?"
"Forget it! Ugh, and my dreams have been so messed up…."
Eunha's face flushed red as a beet in an instant.
Must've been pretty vivid.
When she dismissed her transformation, the magic wand vanished without a trace. No physical evidence left behind. But the body remembered — every ounce of that overwhelming pleasure and fullness, burned clean into her flesh.
"What kind of dream?"
"Why do you need to know, oppa!"
"What, did you have a dirty dream or something?"
"A-are you insane?! Have you lost it?!"
She jumped and yelled — but she couldn't hide the violent tremor in her pupils.
"Fine, whatever. Why so touchy."
"Who's being touchy! You're so annoying first thing in the morning!"
"Okay, okay. What am I gonna do, pick on a patient."
I grinned and headed for the kitchen.
"Want some water?"
"…Ice water."
"Hang on."
I pulled cold water from the fridge and poured it into a cup, then walked over to the sofa and held it out to her.
As I put the cup in her hand, I deliberately dragged my fingers deep across her fingertips.
"Hhk…!"
Eunha's shoulders jerked. Water sloshed hard inside the cup, nearly spilling.
"Careful."
"W-why are you suddenly touching my hand!"
"Your hand felt hot. I was checking your temperature."
"What kind of idiot checks a fever with their hand!"
"Then I'll do it properly."
Before she could push back, I planted my palm flat against her forehead.
Hot. But this wasn't ordinary cold fever.
"Haa… nn…."
The second my hand touched her, a lewd little breath slipped between Eunha's lips. Her legs twisted and rubbed against each other.
"Your fever's really bad."
"T-take it off… hurry…."
"Hold still. Let me check if your neck's hot too."
I slid my hand down from her forehead and closed it around the soft nape of her neck.
"Aah…!"
Eunha's back arched like a drawn bow. She slumped against the sofa cushions and started panting in short, shallow gasps.
"O-oppa… take your hand off…."
"Why. Feels nice and cool, doesn't it."
"It's weird… keep — nn — my whole body's going tingly…."
Where had the usual haughty tsundere little sister gone. She couldn't even handle her Master's ordinary touch without falling apart like this.
"This won't do. Go lie down properly. I'll make you some porridge."
"Hhk… mm…."
Too drained to argue, Eunha just nodded. When she staggered to her feet, the seat of her pants was strangely damp.
Excellent.
Even without the machine, their everyday lives were already collapsing. I strolled back to the kitchen and pulled out a pot.
Bubble, bubble.
A savory smell filled the living room.
"Mom. Eunha. Come eat porridge."
Both women emerged carefully from the master bedroom and the room across the hall. Cheeks flushed. Eyes wet and shining.
The three of us sat facing each other at the table.
"Even if you don't have an appetite, force a little down."
"Mm… thank you, Peace."
"For an oppa, you've got a couple of useful corners."
Eunha picked up her spoon with her usual sniping. But her eyes kept flicking toward my fingertips. Seolah, for her part, barely touched her food — too busy being conscious of my scent.
"Dabin has a photoshoot tomorrow, so I'll be home late."
"Dabin? Ah, right — the shoot's tomorrow."
Mid-sentence, I glanced under the table at Eunha.
"Eunha. Keep your legs still."
"Huh? W-when did I!"
"You've been twisting them under the table this whole time. It's distracting."
"I-I have not! My thighs are just… kind of sore."
Eunha flinched and clamped her thighs together hard. The sensation of the magic wand being driven into her would still be vivid.
"Mom, your face is really red too. Is the porridge too hot?"
"Ah… mm. A little warm."
Seolah hurriedly lowered her head. But her gaze clung, sticky and unmoving, to the water glass my lips had just been on. She must have been remembering that morning's little deviation — stealing my scent when I wasn't looking.
"Hey, oppa."
"What."
"Is Dabin unnie's shoot ending late tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Photoshoot, then an interview after. She'll be late."
"Really? Ah… well, okay."
Eunha let a strangely disappointed look slip through.
Then Seolah carefully caught the sleeve of my shirt.
"Peace."
"Yes, Mom."
"Tomorrow… could you try not to come home too late?"
"It's a work schedule — there's only so much I can do. Why?"
"Just… without you here, the house feels so cold… and empty…."
An attachment that was hard to believe coming from a patient with male phobia. I put on a deliberately gentle smile and patted the back of her hand.
"I'll wrap up as fast as I can. Don't worry."
"Mm… okay."
Ding—.
My phone, sitting on the table, chimed short and sharp. A message from Seo Dabin.
A threat from my rude top-star childhood friend. I looked down at the screen and dragged the corner of my mouth up high.
"If you're done eating, go rest. I'll handle the dishes."
"Ah — okay. Thanks for the meal."
"I'm gonna go lie down too."
They stood and walked to their respective bedroom doors. I watched their backs and spoke — low, but perfectly clear.
"Good Mother. Good Sister."
Thud.
In that instant, both women froze mid-reach for their door handles, as if someone had cut a string.
Sway.
They turned to face me at the same time, then lifted both hands and clasped them above their heads.
Sway. Sway.
The selves that had been blushing and sniping moments ago evaporated on the spot. Empty-eyed, they began the mechanical standby pose.
I leaned casually against the table, savoring that perfect display of obedience, and gave the order.
"Hold. Hands down. Go straight into your own rooms just like that."
"…As you command…."
"Close the door, and hold the standby pose alone for exactly five minutes."
"…I will hold the standby pose for five minutes…."
"I might open the door at any time to test whether you're doing it properly. Don't let your guard down — keep swaying correctly."
"…I will keep that in mind…."
"And when exactly five minutes are up, what's left of this domination mode will slowly release, and you'll fall into a deep sleep."
"…I will keep that in mind…."
"However — even after the brainwashing lifts, the instincts carved into your flesh will still bind your unconscious. All night long, you will dream of holding that shameful standby pose and craving me. Understood."
"…Even after falling asleep… I will dream of holding the standby pose according to instinct…."
Creak, click.
Without a single error between them, the two bitches opened their doors in perfect sync and went inside. I stood where I was and counted under my breath.
One minute. Two minutes.
I walked slowly to Eunha's door. Silently turned the knob and cracked it open a sliver.
Sway, sway.
In the dark room, she had both hands raised toward the door that might open at any second, bouncing her hips. Because of her Master's warning about the test, her thighs were locked rigid and trembling hard.
So vulgar. I love it.
The crack of the master bedroom door on the other side was no different. Seolah, too, was panting short breaths while rolling her pelvis with fluid ease — a perfectly lewd dance that made the diagnosis of male phobia look like a joke.
Slump. Thud.
The exact moment five minutes passed, both women collapsed onto their beds as if someone had flipped a switch, out cold.
"Master… mm…."
Even in their dreams they were still swaying their hips. Sticky, feverish moans leaked through the doors.
I turned my back on the two closed doors and walked away.