Heavenly Army, Doraon dorai_ By Ooahan JS

He was definitely a man.

Now that I thought about it, of course, he was—he was huge, broad-shouldered, and absurdly tall.

Slowly, I let the blanket fall back down.

I turned my head and looked at his face.

Still asleep. Still blissfully unaware of the world.

Thank God.

If he had woken up mid-investigation, I could’ve been sued for sexual harassment.

Imagine that—getting sued by a trespasser for harassment. The irony was almost laughable.

I shook my head and reached for my phone to call the police.

But… why was it sitting on the nightstand next to his head?

I moved carefully, crawling forward on my knees so that my shadow wouldn’t fall across his face.

This whole situation was absurd.

Finally, I reached the nightstand and picked up my phone—

Only to put it right back down.

I should’ve called the police.
I had to call the police.

This was a home invasion, plain and simple.

And yet… I didn’t.

Because I had fallen in love.

Hopelessly. Instantly.

That’s just who I am—a fool for love. A total sucker.

And I swear, if anyone else had been in my shoes, they would’ve done the exact same thing. Or worse.

Because this man was fatal.

The oxytocin flooding my brain had hijacked my logic, my common sense—my very soul.

That reckless, irrational hormone that makes fools out of people in love.

That’s why I was sitting here, staring.

He was beautiful.

And up close, even more so.

“Touch it.”

“What?”

“His hair. You want to touch it, don’t you?”

“How do you know that?”

“Are you an idiot? I am you.”

Right.

Everything inside my head is me.

I’ve always had a thing for fur. Any kind of fur.

Ever since I was little, I’ve been obsessed.

When I was five, my entire family lost their minds searching for me.

They scoured the neighborhood for hours, only to find me curled up inside the doghouse.

Because Mom refused to let me keep a dog inside the house, I had moved in with the dog instead.

That’s how much I loved fur.

My ideal type?

A man covered in hair. Thick beards, luscious locks, just—the more, the better.

As I got older, I stopped liking mink or fox fur—learning how much suffering went into making fur coats ruined it for me.

No. Fur is at its most beautiful when it stays on a living creature.

After confirming that he wasn’t a ghost, and after checking his gender, my entire focus had shifted to his hair.

Have you ever run your fingers over a cat’s back? That soft, soothing, addictive feeling?

That’s what I imagined his hair would feel like.

His hair was pure Elastine.
Like velvet. Like silk. Like the strands of a high-end porcelain doll.

Meanwhile, my hair? A stiff, rebellious mess.

This man made me feel inferior in every possible way.

But touching someone’s hair without permission wasn’t just rude—these days, it was a crime.

I was a rational, modern woman.

So why was my hand reaching for his hair?

I shouldn’t do this.

And yet—

My hand was faster than my brain.

Is this what they call an unconscious impulse?

“Just a little closer.”

“Stop.”

“It’s already over.”

“Don’t.”

“You love fur, don’t you?”

“…Yeah.”

Just before my fingertips brushed against his hair, a deep, commanding voice shattered the silence.

“If you touch it, that will count as a contract.”

I snapped my eyes away from his hair.

He was awake.

And staring straight at me.

At that exact moment—

THUD.

My heart plummeted straight into the abyss.