Cha Eui-sung was a deviation. The collapse of routine, the destruction of order—a reckless guide into an uncharted voyage.
When Moon Tae-young thought about how much had changed since that man entered his life, he sometimes found himself deeply startled.
Delaying a dungeon clear schedule he’d once treated as sacred, just to go grocery shopping. Smiling to himself over a meaningless text while walking down the street.
Or, like now, spending an entire day waiting for someone…
Clack!
When the front door opened and he stepped inside, Moon Tae-young’s heart suddenly pounded. Though there was no trace of anything amiss, a vague sense of dissonance struck him like an intruder’s presence.
He quietly unlocked the foyer door—and right there, by the entrance, sat a familiar pair of sneakers, neatly aligned.
They were slightly smaller than what he usually wore—athletic shoes, a bit worn at the toe.
Cha Eui-sung.
The moment he repeated that name in his mind, all the tension left in his body from earlier battles seemed to melt away.
What was it? Maybe they only looked smaller—honestly, they were at least a solid 270mm. And yet somehow, seeing those slightly scuffed-up sneakers felt… adorable.
He glanced at the front door, then without realizing it, the corners of his lips curled up.
The door had opened just fine, so it wasn’t as if someone had broken in. He’d purposely left the key on the biggest window ledge nearest the front, so it must’ve been retrieved without issue.
Moon Tae-young carefully placed his own shoes next to the sneakers and stepped quietly into the house.
The mint-colored beanbag chair, the fuzzy rug, the ugly secondhand monitor with a blanket thrown over it, the remote, the floor chair…
The living room was a chaotic mix of random objects thrown together—but it had become not just familiar, but comforting.
As his eyes swept silently over the space, he noticed the center of the beanbag was sunken in—as if someone had been sitting there for a long time in an otherwise empty house.
Drawn as if in a trance, Moon Tae-young approached and gave the massive cushion a light poke. It felt oddly peaceful. Drowsy.
He reached out to absentmindedly touch it but then yanked his hand back and quietly made his way toward the bedroom.
Srrrk. Slowly, he turned the doorknob and pushed open the door. Just as expected—he heard the faintest sound of breathing, like a sleeping mouse.
The bedspread he’d left neatly folded on the bed was now a bit rumpled and lifted into a mound.
Peeking out from the edge was a tuft of brown hair. Moon Tae-young felt his heart vibrate in his chest.
It was strange. Just having someone else in the room changed the very air.
A cool, sweet scent tickled his nose, and he unconsciously licked his lips.
The mound of the comforter rose and fell ever so slightly with each breath. Drawn once again as if by magnetic pull, he approached, bent down, and gently pressed his forehead to the fluffy blanket.
The moment he did, it felt like he couldn’t breathe. His mind grew quiet and heavy, but his heart was in chaos.
Was this comfort? Or nerves? He couldn’t tell. Still, he pressed his face a little deeper into the blanket.
Thud.
He hadn’t pressed hard—but someone sensitive would surely feel the weight.
“……”
The lump under the blanket made no movement, just steady breaths. Curled tightly into a ball, the figure slept with unnatural stillness.
Moon Tae-young slowly reached out and pulled back the comforter just a little.
Beneath the tangled hair, Cha Eui-sung’s face came into view, fast asleep.
What could’ve exhausted him so thoroughly that he didn’t wake?
It wasn’t just deep sleep—recently, Cha Eui-sung’s condition had clearly been off.
Moon Tae-young started to place a hand on the smooth forehead—but suddenly halted, so visibly it was like a noose had yanked him still.
Ah, my hands…
The lingering scent of death on them bothered him.
He looked down at the sleeping face with a conflicted expression, then tucked his hands behind his back and instead pressed a soft kiss to the forehead.
His unique scent mixed with a faint fever as it touched Moon Tae-young’s skin.
Warm.
No wonder he was out cold—his body clearly wasn’t in great shape. His lips and face did seem more flushed than usual.
After a moment of quiet observation, Moon Tae-young straightened up.
Whether caring for someone or fussing over them, he’d need to wash up first.
Even if he stepped away for a bit, Cha Eui-sung would be fine.
He often fell asleep like this beside him.
Whenever that happened, it was like watching someone who hadn’t eaten in four days suddenly dive into a meal—he would pass out completely, not even reacting if you poked his nose or tapped his lips.
If nothing else, it was reassuring.
It meant he felt safe around him.
But just as he’d expected—when left on his own, Cha Eui-sung barely handled even the most basic needs like eating or sleeping.
Just like Moon Tae-young used to.
With a strange feeling twisting in his chest, he stepped out of the room.
The fact that Eui-sung was sick again was annoying— Yet the fact that the nest he stumbled into in such a state was his home… That was something deeply satisfying.
Shhhhhh—
Moon Tae-young washed his hands obsessively, over and over again.
The stench had long since disappeared, yet all he could see were more places that needed scrubbing.
Being around children for work had made him cautious—and now it had turned into a half-bad habit.
It had started back when he began working dungeons in Cheongseri.
But thanks to Cha Eui-sung constantly rubbing his cheek against his hand, it had only gotten worse.
Still, considering the guy seemed to like the scent of his hands, it was worth the trouble.
Moon Tae-young dried his dripping hands and hair with a towel and slipped into loose clothes.
It wasn’t until he felt clean that he had the courage to return.
Back in the bedroom, he gently pressed his hand to Cha Eui-sung’s still-sleeping forehead.
Then he brushed the hair back, lightly touched the eyes and lips, cradled his cheek, and softly stroked it with his thumb.
He knew this was probably in the territory of weird— But doing this made it feel like Cha Eui-sung was fully within his grasp, and it gave him a strange sense of satisfaction.
They really ought to eat dinner soon.
Should he wake him?
Moon Tae-young hesitated, then carefully lifted the comforter.
He climbed into the bed slowly, careful not to disturb the mattress too much.
Sliding under the blanket, he pulled the warm body gently into his arms.
The guy was frail, but his frame was broad—he filled the space completely, making the embrace feel full and secure in a way that deeply satisfied him.
“Mmm…”
Even in his sleep, somehow, Cha Eui-sung responded—squirming into his arms.
Moon Tae-young felt lightheaded.
He stifled the urge to press kisses all over that feverish body, and instead held him tighter.
Four hours of sleep, on average.
And even that wasn’t guaranteed.
He’d always been far from well-rested, yet for the first time in a while, he felt his body loosen with drowsy relief.
There was still so much to do.
Adjust the difficulty for the 5th graders, write the next newsletter for the parents, keep an eye on Jo Tae-jong’s transfer, pick the right day, plan the extraction…
Ah… not tired, just sleepy.
The soft breath and body heat gradually dulled his consciousness.
Come to think of it, when was the last time he got a proper night’s sleep?
Moon Tae-young mentally ticked off the mountain of pending tasks— But before he could get far, he slipped into an early-evening doze.
***
He had a dream.
Cha Eui-sung found himself suddenly sitting at a matseon—a formal matchmaking date—with about ten minutes left before his supposed partner was due to arrive.
He had no idea why he was even there, let alone why he was waiting for someone he didn’t know and wasn’t remotely interested in. But he sat there anyway.
Sipping coffee on a tacky sofa that looked straight out of some old-school tearoom, a random thought crossed his mind.
Wait… I have a boyfriend. Should I even be here?
Right? Come to think of it, there was Moon Tae-young.
That stray, awkward realization sparked something, and just like that, a narrative began to unfold in his head.
Ah. Right. The reason Cha Eui-sung was here was because of work.
He’d tried to arrange a meeting with this person before, through more formal channels, but had been rejected. Then he caught wind that the person was going on a matchmaking date.
So he staged a minor car accident to lure the original match away—and took their place instead.
Moon Tae-young probably wouldn’t like this, but hey, sometimes these things happened in the course of work. Social obligations weren’t always clean-cut.
“Sir, your hair’s a little messy.”
Out of nowhere, a server walked up and commented on his appearance.
Not even thinking it was strange, he muttered, “Is it?” and picked up a compact mirror on the table to check.
Sure enough, his hair was a mess.
Cha Eui-sung immediately started flattening it with his hands, smoothing it down, when he suddenly noticed—his reflection looked like his Second Life self.
Brows shaped at just the right angle.
Slicked hair, somehow set neatly despite being done without product—though it seemed like a touch of gel had been used to fill in the gaps.
The tailored suit he wore regularly back then, with a slim, dark green tie he had personally picked out during the second round of his life.
…This is the Second Life.
He didn’t even question how naturally he’d accepted it.
Instead of checking the time on his phone, he instinctively rolled up his left sleeve to look at his wristwatch.
The Hunter Association’s commemorative timepiece glinted in the light—its outdated emblem replaced with a sleek gold-embossed logo.
A luxury item, produced in limited quantity to celebrate the inauguration of the new Association President, Cha Eui-sung—handed out only to key figures.
So I’m the Association President now… and I still have to rely on dumb tricks like matchmaking dates just to meet someone?
Shit. That was pathetic.
At this level, shouldn’t someone else be doing the seducing and bringing them to his office?
Just what kind of important figure was he meeting that the Association President had to go through all this?
He was ready to find out.
Someone began walking toward him from afar—slow, steady steps.
He immediately knew.
That’s the guy. That’s the one.
Cha Eui-sung tugged his already perfect outfit into even crisper lines and waited as the figure approached.
The man was dressed in a sharply tailored suit and polished, high-end shoes.
His posture and gait were flawless, elegant and unwavering.
Strangely, a faint fog clung to his shoulders, so he couldn’t quite make out the face—but whoever it was, he was clearly someone of significance.
Tension straightened his spine as he waited for the man to arrive.
Finally, the person sat down silently across from him.
The fog began to lift.
“It’s been a while, Mr. Cha.”
There, dressed to the nines, was Oh Se-dan—his face leaning in close with a smirk.
That sharp-featured, too-perfect face. Not a single strand of hair out of place.
FUCK.
Cha Eui-sung jolted in horror—and in that moment, realized it was a dream.
A trashy, bullshit nightmare.
“Ugh…!”
With a groan, he snapped awake—only to find himself tightly wrapped in someone’s arms.
