I Just Wanted to Avoid Death - Chapter 77
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Eldis reached into his robes as he stepped out of the tent, fingers brushing over his chest.
He had thought that talking would ease the tightness in his chest, but somehow, he only felt more unsettled—more unpleasant.
‘Then I assume you also realize there’s no way I’d believe that coming from you?’
That slightly raised brow as Yeshion asked the question—it was infuriating.
The way he spoke, so certain that there wasn’t a hint of affection in Eldis’s feelings—it grated on his nerves.
‘If it had really been the old Yeshion…’
If the one in that body now were simply the real Yeshion who had lost his memories, he wouldn’t be feeling this way.
After all, someone you want to kill is still someone you want to kill, memories or not.
But Eldis remembered the warmth he’d once received from him.
That warmth, as if it had been crafted to show him what kindness was—something he’d never known in his entire life.
How could one forget a warmth that erased what could’ve been a lifelong weakness?
“…Interest.”
That was why he kept looking his way.
Because Yeshion had pulled him up from the depths of despair so casually, so effortlessly.
The kindness he offered—just enough to keep him close.
No more, no less.
Perhaps another time would come when Eldis would need his help again.
The power Yeshion held was beyond belief, and it was something Eldis required to maintain his position as Archpriest.
“Necessity…”
Yes, that was all it should’ve been. That was ideal. Rational. Within bounds.
‘Then why…’
Why did this feel so miserable?
Instead, he found himself wanting—desperately—to know how Yeshion had felt after kissing Adelio.
Did he realize afterward that Adelio was disappointing? Or that his constant pestering only made things worse?
Eldis had been hoping for something negative.
‘…Damn it.’
And yet, in the end, he hadn’t asked a single thing.
He hadn’t dared press further, afraid that those small lips would spill words like, “Why does it matter to you, Archpriest?”
“…Haa.”
Furrowing his brows, Eldis swept a hand through his hair. This feeling—this undefinable storm in his head and heart—was making a mess of everything.
‘Did the Crown Prince see that face?’
Objectively speaking, Yeshion had a pretty face. Without it, he probably would’ve died a hundred times over by now.
And the person now living inside Yeshion’s body always wore a blank expression. Only when talking to Rosaline did his face soften slightly. But overall, he remained detached, indifferent.
Still—there were moments when that mask melted.
When he was drowning in pleasure, gasping for breath. Then, and only then, he wore an expression Eldis had never seen before—an expression drenched in sensuality.
For a moment, the image of Yeshion moaning flashed through Eldis’s mind.
His face flushed deep red, golden eyes hazy and unfocused, lips parted with a trembling whimper.
At the thought, Eldis felt a heavy pull in his gut. His chest grew tight with discomfort, and his fists curled on instinct.
Even if Adelio hadn’t gone so far as to touch him indecently, he must have seen that face.
‘If he did see that face, there’s no way the prince would walk away.’
No—he’d become obsessed.
He’d start to wonder what kind of expression Yeshion would make when those slender legs parted, when he pushed past tightly sealed flesh.
He’d start to fantasize about what kind of sounds he could draw out if he teased him further.
That was the kind of man Adelio had always been, at least in Eldis’s eyes.
Grit.
His teeth ground together.
Then came the question:
“Why?”
Why did this matter to him at all?
Who Yeshion kissed, who he slept with—none of it had anything to do with Eldis.
He could admit it—those moans, that undone expression, it stirred a potent kind of lust.
But it wasn’t enough to make him want all of Yeshion.
At least, that’s what he’d told himself.
Then why…
“Why does it feel so frustrating?”
Disgusting emotions coiled around him like smoke.
If Adelio were in front of him right now, he would’ve grabbed him by the collar and snarled, How dare you lay a hand on a priest.
But the real issue lay somewhere deeper— the fact that he was even thinking like this at all.
‘Could it be… that I like him?’
