Nabin’s father looked at his son, who was desperately reaching for him, and pulled his trembling lips into one final smile. He wanted to remain in Nabin’s memory as the father who always smiled the brightest—the smile his son had loved most.
Gazing at his child’s anguished eyes until his own consciousness faded, he poured his last wish into the void: Please, let my Nabin be happy.
When even his hair had dissolved into nothing, only the sound of sorrowful sobbing lingered in the empty air.
***
Hayan drifted into a light doze but soon woke again. What roused him was the faint, stifled sound of weeping pressing against his ears.
Since moving into the mansion with Nabin, Hayan had given him his own former bedroom and taken the room next door.
Though Nabin had protested repeatedly, saying it was wrong for host and guest to switch places, Hayan had insisted. He wanted Nabin to have only the best.
So whenever the subject of rooms came up, Hayan would change the topic in an almost comically clumsy way, and because of that, Nabin still used the space that once belonged to Hayan as if it were his own.
From the time they began living together, Hayan had never slept deeply. He hadn’t been much of a sleeper to begin with, and he was always a light one—on missions, he often volunteered for night watch.
But now, every night felt like a watch shift, and even his resilient mind was beginning to accumulate fatigue layer by layer. Still, the weariness never mattered. What hurt more was the sharp ache in his chest whenever he saw Nabin tormented by nightmares.
“Uh… ngh…”
He had hoped tonight would be different, that Nabin would sleep deeply and peacefully.
But as if his earlier rest had been a lie, Nabin stirred awake, spilling out his sorrow in heartbreaking sobs. Each time he dreamed, Hayan wished he could bear that pain in his place. Since he couldn’t, all he could do was sit by his side and share his warmth.
Hayan quickly rose from his bed and stepped into Nabin’s room. The only change from when he had lived there himself was the rainbow glow that filled the space.
The lights cascading across the walls and ceiling were a gift from Ryu Soh-an—an Artifact that aided with sleep, disguised as simple decor.
After learning its true purpose, Nabin had quietly grown fond of it and now turned it on whenever he went to bed.
Under the rainbow glow, Nabin looked even smaller than usual. The bed was enormous—large enough for five men Hayan’s size to lie down comfortably.
But despite the space, Nabin curled into a corner as if that tiny patch were all he was allowed.
Each time Hayan saw this, he reminded himself: one day, this mansion would truly become a home for Nabin—a place where he could rest easily, wherever he chose.
Thankfully, with Ryu Soh-an’s daily treatments, Nabin was improving. Even his nightmares had begun to subside little by little.
Just last night, he had fallen asleep wearing the most peaceful expression Hayan had seen in a long while. Hayan had dared to hope he would pass the dawn without a single dream.
But tonight, Nabin was crying harder than ever. Not just quiet tears slipping down his face—his sobs were raw, as if his heart itself were being torn apart. The sound struck Hayan’s ears like scattered droplets.
“…Nabin.”
Hayan called to him softly, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to grow deeper with every day he spent by Nabin’s side.
It was just a name, the same as any other, yet every time Hayan said it, the resonance in his mouth made his chest tremble—as if the vibration traveled from his throat all the way to his heart.
Nabin seemed to feel something too. Whenever Hayan called his name, a faint blush like cherry blossoms would bloom on his pale cheeks. Hayan sometimes called it for no reason at all, just to see that sight again.
To call and to be called—it had become something special between them. Now, as Nabin stirred with shallow breaths, his eyelids, tightly shut before, quivered faintly at Hayan’s voice.
Hayan carefully brushed his sweat-damp hair back so he wouldn’t startle. His pale, tear-soaked face was red only at the eyes, raw from how much he had cried. Slowly regaining awareness, Nabin’s hand moved, habitually reaching for the pendant at his chest.
It was the Artifact Hayan had given him: the butterfly pendant, reforged into a necklace he could wear.
“…Mm.”
Though its function of healing the wearer’s mind had been lost, Nabin still found comfort in touching it.
Then, a large, steady hand covered his like a blanket.
Bathed in that warmth, Nabin slowly opened his eyes. The blur in them cleared, and in the dim rainbow-lit room, they fixed on Hayan, who stood out vividly in the dark.
“Hayan-hyung…?”
Just as Hayan’s heart always pounded when he spoke Nabin’s name, it thumped just as fiercely when Nabin spoke his. And when Nabin used “hyung” instead of the distant “Esper Hayan,” the beat grew even faster.
It hadn’t been long since Nabin had begun addressing him that way. Hayan had wanted it—just as he spoke to Nabin freely, he hoped Nabin would do the same.
Maybe it was childish, but every time he heard his name spoken like that, it reassured him: he was someone special to Nabin, unlike anyone else.
But since Ryu Soh-an and Kim Su-hyun had begun visiting every day, their closeness with Nabin was growing too. It was necessary for treatment, of course, but the heavy feeling in Hayan’s chest was something unfamiliar.
Especially with Kim Su-hyun—from the very first meeting, Nabin’s reaction to him had been peculiar, leaving Hayan uneasy.
Even seeing them exchange trivial words was enough to make Hayan’s blood boil, flooding him with a restless heat.
But he couldn’t let Nabin see such pettiness. Instead, he thought of ways to grow closer to him than anyone else.
That was when the idea struck: he wanted Nabin to call him comfortably—not stiffly as “Esper Hayan,” but more intimately, as “hyung.”
“Nabin, could you… call me hyung?”
“…Hyung?”
In the end, he had asked.
When the words first left his lips, Nabin’s wide eyes shone with surprise. Meeting those round, startled eyes up close, Hayan realized how uncharacteristic his own actions were—how he had been swept up by emotions he had never felt before. He scolded himself for making Nabin uncomfortable, already rushing to apologize and dismiss it as a mistake.
“…Hyung.”
Perhaps it had been too much to ask. But instead of refusing, Nabin answered softly, as if he had seen through Hayan’s trembling courage.
That shy voice calling him hyung had made Hayan feel as if he held the world in his hands, while at the same time leaving a sweet ache in his chest.
Since meeting Nabin, strange stirrings had taken root inside him, like tiny creatures gnawing away and devouring everything that was “Lee Hayan.”
It was unfamiliar, but because it came from Nabin, it tasted sweet.
At first, Nabin stumbled awkwardly whenever he tried to say it. But little by little, he had grown used to it. Now, he said it naturally—just like now.
“Yeah, hyung’s here. Did you have a nightmare?”
At his tender words, Nabin’s damp eyes filled again, trembling like dark pools struck by sudden rain.
Startled, Hayan realized Nabin was forcing himself to hold it back, biting his lips until they turned white.
“It’s okay to cry. You’re safe.”
Hayan brushed his sorrowful eyes gently, then cupped his small face in both hands. His thumb pressed against the lips Nabin was biting, coaxing him to ease the tension.
And with that warmth, Nabin finally let go. The tears he had tried so hard to suppress spilled out.
In his nightmares, even his sobs had been strangled, like water held back behind a closed faucet. Only muffled sounds had escaped.
But now, with someone before him who could cradle his loneliness, sorrow, and suffocating pain, Nabin finally released his heart—letting those aching emotions flow freely in tears.
