He knew he had to admit it. No, he already had. The root of the problem lay in bringing Ruth to his side. If he hadn’t shackled him with the contract, Ruth might have moved on to another knightly order after three years, living as a stranger with no ties to him. But Ail had chosen him and drawn him in. Perhaps, from the very beginning, Ail had been drawn to him.

Even in the sweltering heat, Ruth’s neat, composed appearance—his soft brown hair and trembling light brown eyes, as if filled with fear—had caught Ail’s attention. Despite his unease, Ruth had stubbornly tried to mask his emotions, snapping back at Ail’s every word. That defiance had made him stand out. His upright nature that allowed him to accept deals but reject threats, his kindness toward those around him, even his occasional impudence—storming out, face red with frustration when teased too harshly—had all been endearing.

When Ruth smiled at others, it made Ail’s stomach churn. When Ruth declared he would leave, Ail had genuinely wanted to kill him. At the time, Ail thought it was just anger at being disregarded. Misunderstanding the true nature of his emotions, he had driven Ruth into a corner. And when Ruth finally left with his lover, Ail had despaired. Only in that moment did he clearly realize what Ruth meant to him.

If it hadn’t started, it wouldn’t have mattered. But it had, and there was no turning back. Ail admitted it—Ruth was his one weakness. He was Ail’s singular refuge, his irreplaceable treasure.

“I missed you,” Ail repeated, inhaling Ruth’s scent deeply. It was mixed with the salty tang of sweat and the metallic trace of rain, but it was undeniably Ruth’s scent. The familiar, cherished scent he had longed for so desperately.

As Ail breathed in deeply, a sigh of relief and regret escaped him, causing Ruth to shiver slightly. The tenderness and yearning in Ail’s words, breath, and touch reignited a fragile hope in Ruth.

This time, he thought, he had to ask. He had to face Ail with all sincerity.
“Do… you want me to stay by your side?”

His voice was low and trembling, but the question carried his earnest heart. Ail raised his head and met Ruth’s eyes, gazing at his pale, strained face before finally speaking.
“I never wanted you to leave. Not once… and if I ever made it seem otherwise, it was a lie.”

Ail’s voice, subdued with remorse, made Ruth’s lips tremble slightly. This time, there would be no avoiding the issue. No misdirection. They had suffered and regretted enough. Having brushed against death, there was nothing left to fear.

It was a face he had missed terribly—a face he had grown familiar with and cherished through their time together.

Ruth raised his hand and gently cupped Ail’s cheek. It was the first time Ruth had willingly touched him.
“Do you know?”

The hand that held his cheek was cold, but its touch burned hotter than any fire. Ail grasped Ruth’s hand and pressed a kiss to it. On his palm, the scar Ail had once inflicted remained. He kissed that scar and held the cold hand tightly as Ruth struggled to speak.

“I… love you.”

Ail froze at those words. Watching him, Ruth’s eyes glistened with tears as he spoke in a trembling, pleading voice.
“If you want me at all, even just a little… if you could truly love me even a fraction, I would stay by your side. But you never said anything to me. So, for the last time, I want to ask you…”

His voice faltered, and Ruth paused, his composure barely holding. His tears, on the verge of falling, were held back as he opened his eyes wide and asked, with a cracked, tense voice,
“Do you love me?”

Ruth’s voice was heart-wrenchingly desperate, and Ail let out a hollow sigh. His chest swelled with emotion at Ruth’s confession, but it ached just as deeply at the misunderstanding behind the question. Memories of his cruel words and actions came rushing back, filling him with regret.

Why hadn’t he realized sooner? Why hadn’t he seen it, recognized it, before acting so harshly? The answer had always been right in front of him—within reach. And yet, he had denied it, driven Ruth away, and come to this point.

If he had been just a bit more honest—if he had listened to his emotions more wisely—things wouldn’t have turned out this way. Neither of them would have been hurt, and they wouldn’t have ended up here.

A wave of regret for his foolishness and stubborn pride washed over him. The hatred he felt for his own pitiful behavior was suffocating.

He had driven away the one who loved him. That was a regret that would haunt him until his dying breath.

Feeling a dull ache in his chest, Ail lowered his head and whispered as he embraced Ruth’s neck.
“I’m sorry…”

The words, spoken in a lifeless murmur, made Ruth’s heart drop with a heavy thud. “I’m sorry”—those words meant Ail didn’t love him. Even though he had braced himself for this, hearing it confirmed by Ail’s own lips was unbearable. His body went rigid, pale as if all the blood had drained from it. But then Ail continued.

“Not once… not for a single moment… have I let you go from my heart. You were the only person breathing in my world.”

It wasn’t a declaration of love, but it was the truth of Ail’s heart. In a world drained of color and filled with lifeless beings, Ruth had been the only one who stood out in vivid brightness, alive and breathing before his eyes.

Ail had been blind. He had tried to avert his gaze from the one so clear and vibrant before him.

Now, he admitted it. He had tried to block Ruth out, knowing that his presence would be a fatal weakness. He had locked his heart, pushed Ruth away, and merely observed from a distance. Accepting Ruth would have made him vulnerable—an easy target for those who sought to exploit his ambitions and dreams by using Ruth against him.

It had been fear. Fear of Ruth’s overwhelming presence, strong enough to shatter everything he had built, that had driven Ail to push him away. By refusing to acknowledge his feelings and masking them with cold words and stubborn defiance, he had believed he could bury them. He had believed the feelings would fade.

But instead, they had grown stronger—vivid, unrelenting, and inescapable.

Only after losing Ruth did he realize the truth. Only then did he understand that Ruth had already embedded himself deep in Ail’s heart, a part of him that could not be removed.

Clenching his fist tightly as if in pain, Ail bit his lip and, still holding Ruth’s neck, whispered again.
“Just this once… I’ll say it. There might never be another time where I tell you these words. But believe me. This is my truth, and it is eternal, unchanging until the day I die. I’m a villain, but I never lie.”^[1]T/L note: No joke but this is the sweetest confession I’ve ever read other from I love You. Deym, I understand Ail confession like this: his confession is truer that his other truths.

With those words, Ail leaned closer, pressing his lips near Ruth’s ear. In a voice so soft that no one else could hear, he whispered something.

It was a confession that could only be made once in a lifetime.

Unlike the trivial declarations others might make, it was different. It was a confession meant for one person, spoken only once in an entire lifetime.

Hearing Ail’s quiet voice in his ear, Ruth fought back the sobs that threatened to escape. This time, it was Ruth who embraced Ail’s neck.

Even if it was only once, it didn’t matter. Even if he only heard it a single time in his life, that was enough.

Ail was not the type to repeat sentimental confessions. He made countless promises he didn’t intend to keep, sacrificing others for his own gain. But when Ail said something was once in a lifetime, he meant it.

He might deceive others, but he never lied. Ail always left room for possibility—but not this time.

He had spoken, closing off all other possibilities. A confession he declared would happen only once—a truth he assured would never change, even if he never said it again.

That was enough. With those words alone, Ruth could live the rest of his life.

As their gazes met, they instinctively leaned in, their lips meeting. The heat began to rise in their once-cold bodies, and their breaths grew ragged. What started as a light kiss quickly transformed into an intense prelude. Ail devoured Ruth’s lips with fervor, his tongue exploring every corner of his mouth.

The desire Ail had been suppressing ignited like a wildfire. His hands wrapped around Ruth’s waist, sliding up his sides. They slipped beneath Ruth’s damp clothes, caressing his skin as Ail gently pressed him down. On the soft rug before the fireplace, Ruth gasped as Ail’s hand slid over his chest.

In that moment, Ail paused, his attention drawn to the scars on Ruth’s chest. Three long marks, left by a sharp blade, stretched across his skin—not deep, but unmistakably painful. Ail frowned as he examined them. Then his gaze fell on a silver pendant resting above Ruth’s chest.

It was the necklace Ail had given him long ago. At the time, Ail had dismissed it as meaningless—a trinket with no value. But now, seeing Ruth still wearing it gave the object a significance that words couldn’t capture.

As Ail silently stared, Ruth followed his gaze and saw the pendant around his neck. With a bittersweet smile, he chuckled softly. Once, he had resolved to discard it. Now, he realized he never would. It would remain with him, over his heart, forever.

“We should treat that wound first,” Ail said.

Though his body was alight with desire, Ail understood they couldn’t go further. The bleeding had stopped, and Ruth wasn’t in critical condition, but the wounds weren’t trivial either. It wasn’t the right time, no matter how much Ail wanted otherwise.

As Ail tried to restrain himself, Ruth placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

“I’m fine,” Ruth said firmly.

“I’m not,” Ail replied.

“…I’m fine,” Ruth insisted.

That unwavering tone reminded Ail of Ruth’s stubbornness—a trait he realized he might never overcome. Reflecting on their past, Ail acknowledged he had never truly won against Ruth. He had managed to hold on to him, but never to break his will. And the painful experiences of forcing him to stay had taught Ail never to make that mistake again.

He was beginning to learn that persuasion, not force, was the only way to handle Ruth’s resolve.

“I can’t hold back right now,” Ail admitted, his voice tinged with bitterness. “I might end up killing you.”

Ruth gave a faint, tired smile in response. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

That provocative smile was too much. It had been a month since Ail had last seen him. The longing had been unbearable, driving him mad. Now, with Ruth right in front of him, Ail couldn’t resist any longer. Both of them were injured, yet Ruth’s presence was undeniable—real and close.

Now that Ail had acknowledged his feelings, there was no reason to hesitate any longer. But before anything else, there was one thing he needed to make absolutely clear.

Running a hand through Ruth’s short hair, Ail whispered in a voice full of tenderness, “If I end up killing you… I’ll make sure to die with you.”