Sky's employer was a far cry from the typical cold-blooded Mafia leaders or ruthless Billionaires found in romance novels. No, the Young Master was in a league of his own—a peculiar blend of a 26-year-old's physique and a six-year-old's mischievous, often "naughty" mind.
It was barely sunrise when the first command of the day arrived: a demand for ice cream. Sky sighed, wondering what strange gears were turning inside the man's head this time.
Upon reaching the bedroom, Sky knocked firmly. "Young Master?"
No response.
"Young Master! Young Master!" Still nothing.
Testing the knob and finding it unlocked, Sky pushed inside. "Young Master, here is your—"
The words died in Sky's throat. Eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, Sky took in the scene: the Young Master was sitting there, staring intently at a screen displaying... adult films.
CLANG!
Sky slammed the ice cream onto the table and lunged for the TV, heart racing. This was strictly forbidden! Where on earth did he even find a CD like that?
"Sky! Why did you turn it off?" the Young Master grumbled, his lip curling into a pout that would have looked adorable on a toddler but was purely exasperating on a grown man.
"Give back what I was watching!" he demanded, scowling.
"Young Master, those kinds of shows are not allowed for you," Sky lectured, trying—and failing—to maintain a calm professional demeanor.
"But I like it!" he protested, his frustration boiling over into a full-blown tantrum as he stomped his feet against the mattress.
"Give it baaaaack!!"
Sky massaged a growing tension headache. "Young Master—" The reprimand died when Sky noticed the shimmer of tears in his eyes.
With a heavy, defeated sigh, Sky softened. "Young Master, I'll put it back on, okay? Just... please don't cry anymore."
Surprisingly, the man shook his head vigorously, sniffing back his tears.
"T-that's not it," he whispered.
Sky's worry spiked. "Then what is it, sir?"
"M-my lower abdomen suddenly hurts," he sobbed, clutching at himself.
Sky froze. Realization hit like a freight train. He was "stimulated" from the video, but in his innocence, he had no idea why his body was reacting that way. This was a disaster.
As the Young Master continued to cry, Sky felt a wave of pity and approached the bed, pulling the "baby giant" into a comforting hug. "Does it really hurt that much?"
The Young Master nuzzled into Sky's chest, a habit Sky had long since grown used to. "Sky... it huuuuurts," he groaned, writhing in discomfort.
Sky's mind raced. He was a child in a man's body; he knew nothing of carnal desires or how to "release" the tension. And since they were the only two people in this massive, empty house, the burden of a solution fell squarely on Sky's shoulders.
"Young Master," Sky said, pulling back slightly. He buried his face in Sky's chest further. "D-do you know what... masturbation is?"
Sky silently prayed for forgiveness. Lord, please don't let me be the one to stain this innocence.
"W-what's that? Is it edible?"
Sky facepalmed. Of course he thinks it's food.
"S-Sky, I feel something getting hard," the Young Master whispered, his voice trembling with genuine terror. "Sky, am I going to die?"
I'm the one who's going to die of embarrassment, Sky thought.
"You're not going to die," Sky said, adopting a serious tone. "But... if that pain isn't treated, you might actually die," Sky added with a dramatic shrug.
The man sat bolt upright, his face pale. "W-what is this sickness called?"
"Cancer," Sky answered without missing a beat.
"C-cancer?"
"Yes. Cancer of the brain! What on earth were you thinking, watching that show?" Sky asked, eyebrow raised.
"Porn?" he repeated, looking utterly lost.
"Skyyyyyy, help meeeee!" He began rolling around the bed in a dramatic display of agony.
"Young Master, come here for a second."
He stopped instantly and crawled over.
Sky took a deep breath. "Listen. To make the pain go away, you need to go to the bathroom and... and—"
The words wouldn't come. How do you tell a man who thinks he has "stomach cancer" to go handle his business? Sky looked at him—really looked at him. Despite his mind, he was undeniably handsome, with a powerful, muscular frame that made the situation all the more confusing.
"Young Master, you need to—"
"Can you just be the one to do it?" he interrupted.
Sky blinked. "Huh?"
"Y-you just do whatever it is you want me to do," he said shyly, looking down at his hands. "I won't understand it anyway. Mommy said... I'm stupid."
Sky's heart twinged at the mention of the Madame's harsh words. Reaching out, Sky brushed a hand over his shoulder. "You're not stupid; you're handsome."
There was no other way. Sky bit a lip, heart hammering against ribs like a trapped bird.
"Young Master, please forgive me for what I'm about to do."
"Why would—"
His question was cut short as Sky's hand disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers.