“Wow… we’re home.”
Cha-hyeon murmured in a voice that was both drained and oddly cheerful. Under the pallid glow of the entryway light, his face looked even paler than usual.
“……”
Though they’d only been gone for a day, the house already felt cold and hollow. Cha-hyeon slowly inhaled and slipped off his shoes. He naturally stepped into one of the two pairs of slippers by the door, then glanced around as if seeing the place for the first time.
The moment recalled the time Cha-hyeon had come home after losing his memory. The only difference now was that the version standing here had all of his memories intact…
But even with his memory untouched, his mind seemed a little… off. Clutching a bouquet in his arms, he walked forward at a slow, deliberate pace. The place he instinctively headed for was Se-min’s room, closest to the entrance. He knocked on the door out of habit—but sensing Se-min standing just behind him, he gave a sheepish smile.
“Mind if I come in for a sec?”
When he saw Se-min’s expression soften into quiet permission, he opened the door. The room was silent, yet carried an odd chill. The blackout curtains were still drawn, leaving the room cloaked in pitch-black darkness despite the midday sun.
Cha-hyeon flicked the light switch. Click. With that tiny sound, the lights turned on and the room lit up. Puffing out one cheek with his tongue, he took a moment to quietly scan the space. Then, with a barely-there smile, he pulled the door shut again.
Was he checking something?
Se-min, watching the closed door with a puzzled expression, soon realized what Cha-hyeon had been doing. Because right after, Cha-hyeon moved to the guest room, opened the door, and walked straight toward the window with purpose.
Without hesitation, he drew the thick blackout curtains over the sheer inner ones. Once the room was plunged into darkness, he moved on—living room, kitchen, dressing room, even his own bedroom—methodically closing every curtain in the house.
“……”
Like a baby duckling, Se-min trailed behind him, his face growing more and more bewildered. It was the middle of the day, sunny and clear outside, yet the house was turning gloomier by the minute.
And yet, when he’d finished pulling the last curtain closed, Cha-hyeon looked completely satisfied. That proud, contented smile on his face made it hard to say, but honestly, he looked like someone with full-blown OCD…
“All done.”
“…All done? So it’s safe now?”
“Yeah. I think so?”
Cha-hyeon glanced slowly around the darkened home, then froze in place. A long, tired sigh spilled out of him. Like the smile from earlier had never happened, exhaustion once again settled deep into his features.
“Haa…”
The way he sighed, it was like even holding the bouquet had become too much. He passed it back to Se-min, then collapsed onto the sofa like someone who’d burned through their last ounce of strength.
“……”
Sprawled out across the couch, Cha-hyeon flung an arm over his eyes. He went completely still, like he’d turned to stone. The only sign of life was his chest rising and falling with barely audible breaths.
Se-min stood motionless, just staring at him. His mind was spinning. One minute Cha-hyeon had been paranoid about being bugged, claiming lip movements could be read—then he’d closed every curtain in the house like they were under surveillance. Now he was lying there like he’d completely short-circuited.
He didn’t… go back again, did he?
A sudden, sickening worry crept in. Cha-hyeon had said there was still time. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t himself anymore. Maybe all they’d done today—this domestic nonsense—was all they’d get before he disappeared again.
“Hyung… are you asleep?”
“I’m not sleeping.”
The reply was groggy, the strength gone from his voice. He groaned quietly, then let his arm fall from his eyes.
“Not the time for sleep yet…”
Slowly, using minimal effort, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He gestured for Se-min to come closer. Se-min placed the bouquet on the coffee table and walked over.
He sat down next to Cha-hyeon without really thinking. They were close—close enough to feel each other’s body heat. Just the smallest shift and their shoulders would touch. Cha-hyeon’s dark eyes drifted to Se-min’s knees, close enough to brush against his own.
Se-min’s knee flinched instinctively. His throat moved in a hard swallow.
“Ah—right. I forgot to check the front door.”
As if he’d just remembered something critical, Cha-hyeon muttered the words and jumped to his feet. Se-min watched with a disapproving look as he went to the entryway. After double-locking the latch and securing the deadbolt, Cha-hyeon returned—this time taking the single armchair across from him instead of sitting by his side.
“Uh…”
Se-min let out a tiny sound. Why didn’t he sit next to me? Did the other seat look more comfortable or something? He scratched his cheek awkwardly, unsure how to react. It wasn’t a big deal… just weird.
“…So, can I ask you the things I’ve been curious about now?”
“Ask away.”
Cha-hyeon smiled, the kind of tender smile Se-min liked most. Familiar—but somehow strange, like seeing something you hadn’t realized you missed. Se-min hesitated a moment, then carefully spoke.
“So… when you came back last time, you remembered everything, right? You mentioned something about a gate or something. How much time passed for you since then?”
“Hmm. It’s been a long time.”
Cha-hyeon gave a docile answer and started folding his fingers one by one, like he was counting the years. But once he got to seven, he tilted his head. At nine, he did it again. After a few failed attempts at calculating, Se-min decided to change the question.
No point waiting around while his probably-a-bit-broken future self tried to do math until it was time to leave again.
“Then how old are you now?”
“…How old am I?”
That didn’t seem to land any better. Watching Cha-hyeon squint slightly, Se-min was reminded of something—how, when people get older, they stop remembering their age and just remember the year they were born. He gave up trying to measure time.
“Alright. So it’s been a while, at least. …Wait. Hold on.”
As he spoke, a contradiction hit him. It was in the question he’d just asked.
Right. That happened too. The boulders. The clearing. Signing up for seven gate clearings… Right. I forgot all about that. Like someone took scissors and snipped those memories clean out…
Weren’t Cha-hyeon and the “other” Cha-hyeon not supposed to remember what happened in between switches? At least, that was true for Cha-hyeon.
But this version—this Cha-hyeon—knew something he shouldn’t: that he’d signed up for seven gate clearings.
“…Wait. You did remember everything when you came back that time, didn’t you? I mean, from after your memory loss up to when you briefly returned from the mountain. You remember… that we did guiding? That we agreed to be together?”
Cha-hyeon smiled wordlessly. But under Se-min’s sharp gaze, he eventually gave in and spoke.
“I guess that was the setup.”
Se-min’s brow furrowed. It’s either yes or no. What kind of half-assed answer is that? Cha-hyeon gave a soft laugh—then launched into something that sounded suspiciously like philosophical nonsense.
“Se-min, human memory isn’t as reliable as you think. What’s true can feel fake, and what’s fake can seem true. It happens all the time.”
As he rambled on with eerie calm, Se-min instinctively leaned back. There was a subtle madness flickering in his eyes—something that made Se-min recoil on a gut level, like a human animal sensing something wrong.
“Ah… uh, sure. Right…”
So if he was following this correctly:
After clearing a bunch of dungeons, there was a sudden return of memory. He regained knowledge of what happened while his memories were missing. Then, before returning again, he forgot it all—until now, when it had come back. But whether it was true or false remained uncertain.
…What the hell was that supposed to mean? Schrödinger’s memory? Some kind of Neapolitan horror story? A Sphinx’s riddle?
Se-min couldn’t bring himself to call his beloved crazy, so instead, he blinked and cautiously asked:
“Then… you must remember what happened after you went back too, right? We talked about Clear Rewards. We said we’d get married. You even proposed.”
The distant smile on Cha-hyeon’s face gradually faded. He stared into the air for a while, then finally answered.
“That too.”
His head tilted once to the left, then once to the right—like he was saying maybe it’s real, maybe it’s not.
At that point, Se-min felt like he was going to scream. And yeah, it hurt. He couldn’t deny it anymore—there was something seriously wrong with the man in front of him.
Se-min let out a heavy sigh from deep in his chest. His heart felt suffocated. When Cha-hyeon first came back, it hadn’t been like this. It was like something had flipped inside him—like a switch had been thrown and the person changed completely…
“…Hyung.”
Eventually, the priority of his questions flipped. With concern etched across his face, Se-min gently asked:
“What happened while you were gone?”
It was a question that sounded so much like something Se-min himself would say. Cha-hyeon slowly blinked in response.
What happened?
So many things. He didn’t even know where to start. Maybe… what Se-min would be most curious about was the part when he forgot everything—forgot the forest, forgot him—and returned to how things used to be. That eerie deletion of their time together.
But even that might be fake. Or true.
Memory is unreliable. It breaks. It can’t be trusted.
What can be trusted is his gut.
And yet—
“Nothing much happened.”
…Of course this was the Mindscape. Him and Se-min, becoming lovers, getting engaged—how could any of that be real? Come on. If this were reality…
“……”
With a soft sigh, Cha-hyeon rubbed at his eyes like they might collapse. Despair he couldn’t mask. Jealousy. Bone-deep fatigue. They all surged at once like a tidal wave.
It would’ve been better if it were a lie.
