Startled enough to hiccup, the employee stared in disbelief as Kim Sibaek tilted his head at the ever-composed Tae Woon.
“Want me to give you a piggyback ride like the old days? You’ve gotten a lot bigger—won’t your legs just drag?”
“I’m a lot heavier than I look. It’ll probably be tough for you.”
“You look heavy enough just from all that muscle.”
Even under a three-piece suit, his solid, tightly packed physique was obvious—it must’ve had some insane muscle density. Still, it wasn’t even that cold in October. Why was he draping a coat over his shoulders? Was this just fashion now?
Tae Woon slid his fingers out from beneath his sleeve cuffs and placed his hand over the back of Kim Sibaek’s. Then he turned to the employee.
“Let’s go with this number. 01X-XXXX-0804.”
“0804?”
A number impossible to forget—a date, in fact. Kim Sibaek clicked his tongue, looking up at Tae Woon with renewed surprise.
“Isn’t that the day we first met? How do you even have that number?”
Tae Woon gave him a warm-eyed smile.
“I bought it.”
Then he leaned in close, lips brushing against Sibaek’s ear. The whisper came in softly, like it was licking the fine hairs of his earlobe, making Sibaek instinctively twitch his shoulder.
“All my passwords are the same.”
The way he said it carried an oddly intimate weight, like a confession. Well… in a way, maybe it was one.
“You’re unbelievable.”
It was a little ridiculous—but it felt good.
When the employee returned with the documents needed to complete the registration, another issue came up. Sibaek didn’t have an ID—specifically, not one issued on Earth. His biometric chip from Mak Slechth was implanted beneath his skin, but that wouldn’t help here.
Kim Sibaek took Tae Woon by the wrist and led him to a quiet corner of the store, lowering his voice. It wouldn’t be good if anyone else overheard.
“Can I just take the phone and activate it later?”
“Why?”
“I don’t have an ID. Isn’t that illegal?”
It had been a long time, but as a former detective, Kim Sibaek knew the law. After the attempted presidential assassination, Korea had required national ID cards for all adults. Even after the Cataclysm, the government still functioned, so the laws likely remained intact. And twenty-one years ago, activating a phone without an ID was illegal.
“I’ll just register it under my name for now.”
“That’s basically a burner phone.”
“But hyung, it’s not like we’re doing anything shady. It’s just a phone between family. That kind of thing is usually overlooked, right? Aren’t we family?”
“Strictly speaking, not legally.”
“We’re really not……?”
“……”
The way Tae Woon looked down, clearly hurt, and spoke in that subdued voice, melted away Sibaek’s resolve to argue the legalities. Tae Woon slipped in without missing a beat.
“Then once you get your ID, I’ll register as your adopted son. That way we’ll legally be family.”
“……?”
Sibaek squinted. He felt like he’d heard of same-gender adoption being used for… something…
He didn’t catch the look of shock on the employee’s face, who had been nervously eavesdropping and nearly choked at the words your adopted son—Wait, isn’t that the workaround people use instead of same-sex marriage?!
In the end, half-led by Tae Woon, Sibaek gave in and registered the phone under Tae Woon’s name. He still felt it was unnecessary, but holding the new phone in his hands, he couldn’t deny—it didn’t feel bad.
“Hyung, this is the messaging app. I’ll sign you up. I’ll use the ID ‘un-iS2S2’ for everything so it’s all unified.”
“Oh.”
“This one’s the camera.”
“Oh.”
Tae Woon wrapped an arm around the still-bewildered Sibaek, took a selfie with him, and set it as the background image—without asking.
“Use this to get online.”
“Oh.”
“And like this, you can play music.”
“Oh.”
[Death and Beauty asks if ‘Oh’ is the only word you know.]
Even back in Mak Slechth, Sibaek had been an analog guy. Tae Woon’s fingers darted across the screen so quickly that he couldn’t keep up with what was happening.
“I’ll save my number here too.”
With his large hands, Tae Woon gently tapped out his number into the contact list—making it the first one saved.
♥Woonie♥
“Hyung, send me just one message. It’ll be the first one you’ve ever sent me—I want to keep it.”
“How do I type a heart?”
Sibaek followed Tae Woon’s instructions and sent a single heart. When Tae Woon checked the message, he beamed with a sweet, fluttering smile. With that innocent grin, he looked like an actual angel.
[Death and Beauty shudders, hastily turning away from your younger brother’s face.]
The employee, forced to witness the entire interaction at close range, squirmed invisibly in place, silently pleading for the two to just leave already.
The moment they walked out with the newly purchased phone, the employee shot off a message to a group chat: “Is Tae Woon gay??? I think he just brought his boyfriend??” Unfortunately, the message was also seen by a longtime fan of Tae Woon who worked at MA Department Store.
Typing a single word on the unfamiliar keypad was a struggle. As soon as he accessed the internet, Kim Sibaek frowned at the small, palm-sized screen—it felt cramped and inconvenient. Straining to recall from hazy memory, he slowly typed the most obvious search term first: T…a…e…w…o…o…n…
He’d suspected it—and sure enough, articles and profiles about Tae Woon flooded the results. Looking through them, Sibaek felt a surge of pride for how well his little brother had grown.
Must be an old photo. He looks so young. His bangs are down, and he doesn’t have the scar.
It was a version of Tae Woon from before Sibaek had known him—a tender mix of joy and quiet regret swirled together at the thought of missing out on that younger version of him.
As he scrolled and skimmed article titles, one headline caught his eye. It was a movie ad.
“Wait, didn’t this movie come out twenty years ago?”
Tae Woon, driving, glanced down at the screen.
“Ah, that one? The sequel just came out.”
“After twenty years?”
“The first one was released when I was in sixth grade, so it’s actually been twenty-two years. It should still be playing. Want to go see it? You watched the first one like four times in theaters.”
“I don’t remember a single thing from it, though.”
“There’s a spin-off series too. And it was turned into a drama. We can watch everything—if you’re interested, want to watch at home?”
“At home? How? Are they rerunning it somewhere? Oh—was it released on DVD?”
Tae Woon’s eyes crinkled with laughter. He’d always smiled a lot around Sibaek, but since their reunion, he’d barely stopped smiling at all.
“You think I’d tell a former detective to download videos illegally? These days, it’s easy to find old shows and movies online. Even foreign ones.”
“Oh.”
Even though Lord Biendeoé had pointed out his ignorance, Sibaek’s reaction to modern technology wasn’t one of awe—just a simple, Well, that’s convenient.
Tae Woon, who had secretly reserved a table at a hotel restaurant, turned the wheel.
“How about we get takeout and eat while watching the movie?”
***
They bought assorted sashimi and a bottle of soju for dinner. The sharp, industrial-alcohol-like taste—long forgotten—stung down Sibaek’s throat.
“You… drink now?”
Even as Tae Woon poured himself a glass, Sibaek looked at him like a parent catching a kid sneaking out of school.
“I’ve had my ID for a while now, so I can drink, but it doesn’t really sit well. Maybe because Tae Chul-hoon drank so much when I was a kid.”
“My dad was just as bad—except he didn’t even drink.”
“Well, sounds like your dad was worse.”
They could laugh about their painful childhoods like this only because Tae Woon shared similar memories. Sibaek ruffled his neatly combed hair and drank both his own soju and Tae Woon’s.
Since he remembered nothing but the lead actor’s face, the movie felt entirely new. After it ended, they started watching the drama that had spun off from it.
The sashimi platter had long been wiped clean, and the soju—meant as a casual accompaniment—was now an empty bottle. While absently petting Biendeoé, who had curled up like a cushion and fallen asleep, Sibaek watched the drama in a daze and eventually clicked his tongue.
The screen—nearly the size of a bed—exploded with flesh and gore.
“This is way more brutal than the movie…”
“The drama’s rated 19+. Want me to turn it off?”
He wasn’t worried for himself—he was worried about Tae Woon’s mental state. But he steeled himself with effort. Tae Woon wasn’t a child anymore. He was an adult.
When he glanced over, Tae Woon—previously watching with a neutral expression—noticed and smiled brightly. At least he wasn’t squeamish about the gore.
But there was something Sibaek had overlooked. If the violence was 19+, the sexual content probably was too.
When the male and female leads locked eyes for a few lingering seconds, an inexplicable chill ran down his spine.
A long-forgotten rule of American TV suddenly hit him: If the characters make prolonged eye contact… they’re about to have sex.
He fumbled around for the remote—too late.
