Dusk (BL Light Novel)

It was unmistakable. That voice, coming from those innocent-looking lips—so unlike the brazen eyes that had been staring me down—was unmistakably Retaking’s.
The guy who came at me with a power play the second we locked eyes, who looked all slick and polished… was Retaking.
…What the hell. This guy is Retaking?

My uncle, who knew my in-game nickname, hesitated and looked over at me. His eyes were full of What’s going on? I muttered under my breath, “I know him,” as if talking to myself, and that was enough. My uncle let out a deep sigh and let go of me, apologizing to the surrounding staff for the commotion. Thanks to his smooth handling, all the attention that had been focused on us quickly dispersed and fizzled out.
I tried my best to stay calm, taking a deep breath and forcing myself to accept the situation. That person is Retaking? For real? Isn’t that… game-breaking?
At the very least, I figured I should respond to his question—“Are you Honeybread?”—so I opened my mouth. But the words wouldn’t come. All I could do was fish my lips like a dumbass in front of Retaking, before finally managing to squeeze out the first thing I could say.

“…What the fuck.”
I wasn’t even sure if that counted as a proper response.
Retaking—clearly amused by my reaction—burst out into a bright, open laugh, his voice fresh and clear. Way nicer than how it sounded on stream.

Then, he strode right up to me and gave a gentle tug on the jersey jacket tied around my waist. The pull wasn’t forceful, but it was firm enough to close the gap between us—a space that could’ve comfortably fit one person. We were ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) about the same height, but maybe he was a tiny bit taller, because I had to tilt my head up just slightly to meet his eyes.
“Why aren’t you answering?”
Hearing Retaking’s voice up close like that was… ridiculously sweet. I’d already thought his voice was sweet, but this was on another level—too much for my limited vocabulary to handle. And now that we were closer, I could see his eyes clearly. They were a soft brown, like an animal’s, tinted with gray, and his pupils were so wide they almost looked dilated. A faint lemon scent brushed past the tip of my nose, and it nearly made me forget how to breathe.

All the sensory overload hit me at once—visual, auditory, olfactory—and my brain just stopped processing. I could only stand there, staring blankly into Retaking’s eyes.
When I didn’t say anything, he gave me a puzzled look and stepped back a little. That was enough to ease the sensory pressure, and my body finally started working again.
Seriously… How does someone who already has everything end up with a face like that? The only thing he was missing was money.

“…You’re really Retaking?”
My mouth finally started functioning again, and the first thing that came out was a dumbass question. Retaking just raised his eyebrows slightly, still smiling.
“I asked you first.”

“I mean, you don’t even look real. I can’t get my words out properly.”
“Thanks. I get that a lot. So? Your answer?”
Still smiling, he scrunched up his nose slightly, like he was gently pushing me to answer. Since I had no reason to pretend I wasn’t Honeybread, I scratched the back of my neck and awkwardly replied.
“Calling me Honeybread’s kinda embarrassing… You can just call me Go-yeong. Or Yeong. Whatever’s easier.”

Hearing my answer, Retaking relaxed his nose and smiled brightly again. He held out a pale hand for a handshake. As I reached out to take it, I noticed a long scar across his right palm.
“I’m Kang Jaegyung. Don’t call me Retaking either—just use my name.”
I already knew that, but since this was our first meeting, we went through the formality of exchanging names. We shook hands lightly.

I tried to pull my hand back, but Retaking—Kang Jaegyung—quickly tightened his grip before I could escape, holding on firmly enough that I couldn’t easily pull away. Even as I looked up at him in confusion, he didn’t let go. Instead, he tugged me along.
He led me straight over to the bench by the escalator—the same one he’d been sitting on earlier. A female staff member he’d been talking to earlier stood awkwardly nearby.
“Honeybread-nim is here. Should we wait a little longer?”

Jaegyung pointed at me. The staff member followed his hand to confirm, let out a small cough, and disappeared down the opposite hallway, saying she’d be back shortly.
Only then did Jaegyung release my hand. He gestured for me to sit down, then sat on the bench himself. I declined, saying I was fine since I’d just been sitting in the car, and stood next to him, looking down.
I know it’s rude to stare, but… Kang Jaegyung’s face was straight-up art. There wasn’t a single feature out of balance—it was impossible not to look.

His sharply slanted eyes, perfect for intimidating someone, carried a loose, almost reckless aura. His skin looked like the color had been drained from it, pale and ethereal, and his narrow jawline made his features even more delicate. His lips, though—just the right soft curve—added an unexpected gentleness to his face.
His frame was long and slender, matching the elegance of his face, but it never came off as fragile. The way his white round-neck shirt draped from the collarbone downward—wide and smooth, refusing to crease—made it clear he had a dense, solid build beneath it.
Honestly, if he hadn’t been wearing that oversized cardigan, his smile might’ve felt more indecent than pure.

Taking in the full picture again, I thought: He doesn’t look like a bodyguard—he looks like an actor playing one.
While I was mentally savoring every inch of his appearance, Jaegyung, either unaware or just not caring about my blatant staring, suddenly held out a brown paper bag with that same pristine smile.
“This is for you.”

The thick paper crinkled softly in his hand. As I accepted the surprisingly hefty bag, I felt my uncle—who’d been silently lingering beside me—reach over to check the contents. I waved him off with a small shake of my head.
When I opened the bag, there was a warm yellow bundle inside. I took one out with my hand.
It was slightly squishy and moist.

Chestnuts. Roasted chestnuts.
…Chestnuts?
I blinked in confusion, and Jaegyung calmly explained.

“You joked about chestnuts before, remember?”
I did? About chestnuts?
Holding the chestnut in my hand, I racked my memory. Then it hit me: during the Hidden Dungeon run, when we were dealing with null. He’d been spamming “daynightdaynight” in chat, and I’d made some dumb pun about “gunbam”—roasted chestnuts.

“So I figured I’d try making some this morning. I didn’t think I’d find any vendors open this early…”
“But didn’t you say you got off work at dawn?”
He said he’d worked all day and got home late. When did he have time to make these? I’d been worried about whether he’d even arrive on time. But aside from the faint shadows under his eyes, he didn’t look tired at all.

“If I’m tired, I sleep deep and wake up fast. Don’t worry about it.”
Easy for him to say. Like I could turn off my concern just because he said so. Still holding the chestnut, I glanced at him again. He wasn’t worried about himself at all—he just kept looking up at me, clearly hoping I’d try one already.
I set aside my worry for now and popped the perfectly roasted chestnut into my mouth. As I bit down, the nutty aroma and sweetness of the roasted chestnut filled my mouth.

“Does it taste okay?”
Way better than those dry, sad gas station chestnuts I’d first tried on an elementary school field trip. I nodded and kept chewing. Damn, he’s got skills. He even knows how to roast chestnuts?
Watching me snack happily on the bench, Jaegyung smiled, looking satisfied. Then, with a mischievous twinkle, he whispered just loud enough for me to hear:

“Say nyam nyam. C’mon. Nyam nyam.”
I stopped chewing and shot him a glare. He laughed like it was the funniest thing, brushing it off as a joke. It didn’t sound like one at all. Feeling a bit petty, I picked up another chestnut and shoved it into his mouth.
As we waited for the staff to return and shared the chestnuts, Jaegyung kept staring at me like he’d picked me as his personal object of focus. I was used to being stared at, sure—but not from this close, not like this. I had no idea whether to stare back or pretend I didn’t notice.

In the end, the awkwardness won out, and I decided to steer the conversation somewhere else.
“By the way… earlier. Why were you staring at me so hard?”
“…When?”

“Earlier.”
“When we first made eye contact?”