Tap, tap. When he patted his back, the grip around him tightened. The hand clutching his shoulder made him acutely aware of the difference in their builds. Sihyeon slowly reached up and grabbed onto Haru’s clothes. He wanted to hold his shoulders, but his hand wouldn’t go that high, so gripping his collar was the best he could do.
“Hyung.”
“…Can’t you… just not do any more engravings?”
“…What?”
“…I thought you weren’t going to wake up.”
“…….”
“If you disappear… what am I supposed to do?”
His voice trembled. Recently, Sihyeon had collapsed or disappeared more often, but this was the first time Haru had looked this anxious. The unease in his voice came through clearly. “Hyung,” Sihyeon called again, and only then did Haru pull away. His eyes, now visible, were wet with tears.
At the worst possible timing, Haeun—who had just woken up—looked at him and accused him of making Haru cry. Sihyeon, who had already been thinking the same thing, couldn’t find anything to say in his defense. He had only seen Haru cry twice—and both times, it had been because of him. Worse, those instances hadn’t even been a week apart. The thought that he’d made him cry again filled him with guilt.
“…….”
Haru’s shoulders trembled once as he wiped his tears with the back of his hand and turned his head away. Feeling his guilt deepen, Sihyeon thought to himself—next time something like fainting might happen, he’d warn him in advance. Even if it made no sense—how could anyone predict fainting?—he’d at least say something. Standing in front of someone crying like this made him feel like the worst kind of person. Someone who looked like they could charm anyone was trembling to their fingertips, wiping away tears—at this rate, even a demon would raise a white flag and tell him to apologize.
“I’m sorry.”
When he apologized quietly, Haru turned back. Seeing his reddened eyes made Sihyeon’s conscience sting. He didn’t know how to comfort him. Should he hug him and apologize for making him anxious, or promise it wouldn’t happen again…? The latter wasn’t something he could guarantee, so as he debated, Haru suddenly grabbed his hand. It was rare enough that he initiated contact—but now he even interlocked their fingers. It seemed he had been very anxious while Sihyeon was unconscious.
Feeling guilty, Sihyeon offered both hands as if to say take them all. Haru fiddled with them. If this was enough to comfort him, then it was a small price to pay. As he stayed still, Hamin gagged theatrically behind them. Sihyeon, regretting the lack of a nearby pillow to throw, shot him a look to cut it out. It wasn’t until Hamin stopped retching that Haru finally spoke.
“…Can’t you just not do the next engraving?”
“Hmm.”
“I heard it hurts because of the engraving. So…”
Hm?
Still holding Sihyeon’s hand, Haru brought it closer to his face as he spoke. Resting his cheek against Sihyeon’s palm like Pia, Sihyeon stared at him. It struck him again just how good-looking he was.
Did he learn that from Geonwoo?
Seeing him try to persuade with his face, Sihyeon glanced at Geonwoo—only for Haru’s grip to tighten, forcing his gaze back to him. Meeting the eyes that demanded an answer, Sihyeon slowly rolled his gaze in thought. Kang Sihyeon had only helped him up to the third engraving. So ideally, he wouldn’t go for a fourth—but there was always the possibility of just in case situations.
“I’m thinking of not doing it either, but there could be dangerous situations, so I can’t guarantee—”
“I’ll protect you.”
“…….”
“If you’re ever in danger, I’ll protect you…”
Haru squeezed his hand tightly. His red eyes lowered, as if recalling something. “…So it won’t be like before…” he murmured. Even then, Sihyeon was still letting him hold both hands. He let out a sigh.
He really couldn’t win against this.
“I won’t do it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Have I ever lied to you, hyung?”
In the end, he raised the white flag. Thinking there was no way he could win this, he said it—but Haru didn’t respond. Sihyeon’s eyes flickered.
Have I?
With how chaotic his life had been, he couldn’t even be sure of his own past actions. Wondering if he had ever deceived him too, he searched his memory—until Haru lowered their joined hands and spoke slowly.
“If you don’t keep it…”
“If I break it, I’ll grant you one wish.”
“Anything?”
“Yeah, anything.”
He figured—how much could this pure, innocent kid even want? At most, something like getting patted twenty times. Thinking that, he said it, and only then did Haru release his hand, blinking his red eyes. Looking closer, there were dark circles under them. It seemed he hadn’t even slept after hearing Sihyeon collapsed.
Feeling a swell of emotion, Sihyeon patted his head. Haru quietly told him not to get hurt. Not dying was one thing—but not getting hurt? That, Sihyeon couldn’t promise. Still, he nodded and resolved to grind his healing skill proficiency to the extreme.
“Wow, you two should just film a drama already.”
“If you’re jealous, just say so, Min-ah!”
“I’m not jealous!”
Even after being unconscious for half a day, nothing had changed about Hamin and Haeun bickering.
“If you’re that jealous, want me to hug you too?”
“Ah, forget it!”
Hamin, who had picked a fight for no reason, got caught by Haeun and shouted. Watching them, Sihyeon looked at Haru. If Hamin had Haeun, then Sihyeon had Haru glued to him. From the looks of it, Haru had no intention of leaving his side anytime soon. Letting out a breath, Sihyeon simply offered his hand to the boy, who was awkwardly clutching his sleeve. Seowoo, who had been quiet until now, smiled faintly at the sight.
“If someone saw you two, they’d think you’re deeply devoted to each other.”
“We’re actually secret brothers.”
“…!”
“Just kidding—go ahead and hold my hand again, hyung.”
Startled, Haru let go immediately. What was meant to tease Yoo Seowoo ended up teasing Haru instead. Sihyeon took Haru’s hand again, then, narrowing his eyes slightly, extended his other hand toward Seowoo, who was humming.
“…What’s this?”
“You said you wanted it.”
“Ah.”
At the calm reply, Seowoo let out a small exclamation. His platinum-colored eyes looked down at the offered hand before curving into a smile.
“So this is what you meant?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m second, then.”
With a light laugh, Seowoo declined, saying he’d take it later. He said he wanted to be treated equally, yet he kept changing his stance. It was hard to keep up. Thinking it’d be easier to befriend a stray cat than deal with that, Sihyeon shook his head and headed from the infirmary to his training room.
“Where are you going?”
“Training room.”
“You’re not even going to eat?”
“You don’t even take care of yourself, yet you’re worrying about me.”
“I think you need to put on some weight.”
What are you, some witch fattening me up to eat later?
At Seowoo’s casual remark, Sihyeon shot him a dumbfounded look. Smiling, Seowoo pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to him. It was a cookie. When Sihyeon asked if he really carried stuff like that around, Seowoo replied that it was for him. Though suspicious, Sihyeon was actually hungry, so he reluctantly accepted it.
“You eat like a squirrel.”
“Stop before I spit it all out.”
“So sensitive.”
His voice was playful. Sihyeon had thought Seowoo would make the biggest fuss, yet he seemed the most relaxed. Wondering if he somehow hadn’t heard about him collapsing, Sihyeon kept glancing at him while walking. Eventually, Seowoo asked if he had something to say. Sihyeon swallowed the words Don’t you have anything to say? before they could leave his mouth. He didn’t want to dig his own grave.
If it’s fine, it’s fine.
If Seowoo wasn’t going to nag him, that was good enough. Even so, the discomfort lingered, like a thorn stuck in his throat. Shaking his shoulders once, Sihyeon stopped in front of the training room.
“Do you really have to do this today?”
“Yeah.”
Even after coming all this way, Geonwoo seemed to be trying to stop him. Sihyeon answered and opened the door. Thinking about it, this was the first time so many people had come to his training room. He was usually the one wandering into others’ spaces—this felt new.
“You sure you’ll be okay?”
“If you collapse again, it’s confinement. Keep that in mind and go ahead.”
Some friend.
What was meant to be encouragement sounded more like a threat. Though they had followed him here, now that he was about to use his ability, they all looked anxious. Sihyeon glanced at his hand. Mentally, he wasn’t unstable. If that were the case, he wouldn’t even be able to recall being captured by the Titan—it had been that terrifying, suffocating.
But this wasn’t that kind of trauma. It was more like a physiological reaction.
Like someone who almost drowned being fine most of the time, but flinching when they’re about to enter water again. His case was just a bit more severe. This kind of fear could only be overcome through gradual exposure.
Under their worried gazes, Sihyeon swallowed and extended his hand. Soon, a small, neatly condensed droplet of water formed above his palm. Haeun gasped in admiration.
“Wow, it’s pretty! The color’s exactly like Sihyeon’s eyes!”
Water, which should have been transparent, had taken on a faint blue hue. Perhaps, like buffs changing color depending on the caster, this was similar. Nodding to himself, Sihyeon looked at the palm-sized droplet. For now, there was nothing unusual.
As he slowly exhaled, the people behind him flinched. They looked ready to jump in at any moment. Wondering if it was because of him, Sihyeon pushed the thought aside and focused on his skill.
As he gradually increased its size, the droplet grew from fist-sized to the size of a bathtub. It continued expanding until it filled a quarter of the training room. Only then did Sihyeon feel resistance, and he lifted the massive sphere of water into the air.
Watching it float, his palms began to sweat. Frowning, he flicked his hand.
Pop!
The sphere burst, scattering shimmering blue lights through the air. He had expected it to disappear instantly—but for some reason, the effect was ridiculously flashy.
“Wow, Sihyeon’s eyes are sparkling!”
“Say that properly.”
Hearing Haeun say something creepy in such an innocent tone, Sihyeon scolded him. Grinning playfully, Haeun asked if he was okay. Clicking his tongue at the delayed concern, Sihyeon nodded.
“That size just now is fine.”
“No issues with your body?”
“No.”
“Good! Then you can do it!”
“…Do what?”
“Talent show!”
“What?”
Sihyeon’s eyes widened. The talent show was supposed to have been canceled along with the field trip—so why was it back? As he stared in confusion, Haeun placed his hands on his hips and smiled brightly.
“We worked so hard preparing, it felt like a waste to cancel it—so they’re holding a separate recreation night on Friday at 8!”
Haeun, who had been the most enthusiastic about the talent show, looked genuinely happy. But Sihyeon wasn’t. Watching Haeun say how glad he was to be able to include him in the lineup, Sihyeon turned pale.
“Good thing—you almost had to perform alone.”
Seowoo added with a smile. Feeling his fingertips tremble, Sihyeon squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. He couldn’t tell whether the trembling was from trauma—or from Haeun’s words.
I should’ve just said I was dying sick.
I should’ve just stayed in bed.
Thinking of excuses that were now too late to use, Sihyeon sighed.
With only one day left until Friday, Sihyeon fell into despair—while Haeun bounced around in excitement.
Inside the training room, joy and sorrow sharply contrasted.
