“That crazy bastard says he just came to see his Guide.”
Mihyun, who had been writing an incident report because she was the person in charge of the Ji Gwan-young–Choi Tae-hoon Pair, finally hurled the keyboard away and once again exploded with fury toward Ji Gwan-young.
The faint sympathy she’d felt yesterday when she saw him limp and collapsed in Choi Tae-hoon’s arms in the reception room had now completely transformed into fuel for her anger.
“And after doing all that, he actually went to sleep? How the hell could he sleep?!”
“It must’ve been hard on him.”
“Why?! That bastard’s life is practically made now!”
“There hasn’t been any contact lately.”
At Oh Yeon’s words, Mihyun’s face tilted for the first time in confusion.
She too had been carefully monitoring the progress of the Pair as their assigned researcher. Starting from the days Ji Gwan-young had desperately kissed Choi Tae-hoon over and over again, the compatibility rate between the two had stabilized.
At minimum, high 90s. At maximum, 150%.
No—even the lowest point had begun climbing past 100%, an entirely positive trend. So what did he mean there’d been no contact?
“Doesn’t Ji Gwan-young practically stamp attendance at Tae-hoon-ssi’s quarters every day?”
“He stamps attendance, sure. But that’s probably all.”
“…How do you know that?”
At Lee Mihyun’s question, the stiff eyebrow stretched across Oh Yeon’s face twitched faintly for the first time.
In truth, no matter how renowned an Intelligence-type Esper Oh Yeon was within The Center, there was no way he could know every detail of a Pair’s sex life. This wasn’t the result of the rational deduction he normally prided himself on.
It was closer to an extremely personal impression and private speculation along the lines of:
‘Even I, as an Esper, end up exhausted for hours after sleeping with Park Seungwon. So if it’s Choi Tae-hoon and Ji Gwan-young…?’
Instead of answering, Oh Yeon skimmed through the incident report Mihyun had thrown aside, then began reconstructing the reluctant excuses filling it into smoother, more polished wording. But Mihyun leaned close to the silent man’s ear and whispered quietly.
“…Does Tae-hoon-ssi maybe get counseling?”
“What kind of counseling?”
“You know. That.”
Growing cautious, she glanced around before making a vulgar hand gesture.
The man’s gaze turned icy as he watched her curled hand move its index finger back and forth.
“…You should retake the special sexual ethics training.”
“Ah—ahhh, sorry! Sorry! Sorryyy! I’m sorryyyyy!”
Lee Mihyun desperately clung to him after seeing a window titled ‘Report of Internal Regulation Violations Within The Center’ appear on Oh Yeon’s monitor instead of her incident report.
But the man’s hands began typing far faster than her pleading.
It was a speed befitting the Esper known as the brain of The Center.
***
A stereotypical eldest son who laughed and played around easily enough, yet habitually suppressed and endured negative emotions as though it were ingrained in him. A somewhat conservative man who wasn’t comfortable displaying his emotions openly.
That was the Guide now sitting in front of him with an expression so blunt it bordered on cold.
“What about filming? Aren’t you going?”
“…I’ll be fine for a few days.”
It wasn’t just “fine.”
Right now, Ji Gwan-young was practically banned from outdoor filming. Thanks to the crowds swarming toward him like a pack of wolves, it was obvious even other people would end up suffering because of it.
In the end, Gwan-young had even revised the script so that most of his scenes could be filmed in the studio instead.
If the drama writer hadn’t already been completely enamored with Ji Gwan-young, this would’ve wrecked his reputation.
Ji Gwan-young quietly watched his Guide’s brow crease slightly.
For the past few days, Choi Tae-hoon had been like this the entire time. No matter what happened, he’d seemed strangely sulky in a way that didn’t suit him.
Naturally, during all that time, the Esper had used his sharp mind to come up with countless hypotheses in search of the reason.
But he still hadn’t found the answer.
The only thing he knew for certain was that it started after he lost his temper on that sweating minister.
Watching Choi Tae-hoon irritably brush back his hair, Ji Gwan-young took a sip of coffee.
Honestly, it wouldn’t have been difficult to smile politely and deal with that minister appropriately. After all, he’d lived that way for a very long time.
But now that there wasn’t a single person left who didn’t know he was an Esper, he didn’t see any reason to continue doing that.
Especially not for pathetic people trying to climb above both him and The Center.
And yet, Ji Gwan-young was very rarely regretting his actions.
It wasn’t because he’d been awkwardly trying to act peaceful in front of this strict Guide by dragging out his words unnecessarily.
Ji Gwan-young wished he could take back what he’d said.
…He should’ve secretly dragged that minister away where Choi Tae-hoon couldn’t see and snapped his neck backward.
Instead of the newspapers, he could’ve made him appear as breaking news headlines.
“Ji Gwan-young-ssi. Aren’t you on an empty stomach right now?”
Instantly pulled back to reality, Ji Gwan-young narrowed his eyes at Tae-hoon.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re obviously not. The kitchen looks exactly the same as before I left for training.”
Tae-hoon quietly clicked his tongue to himself as he looked over his Pair.
Ji Gwan-young had definitely lost weight, making his features sharper. He had no appetite.
Drinking coffee out of habit while calming his frayed nerves was probably all he could manage.
In truth, Choi Tae-hoon knew perfectly well how to neatly resolve this entire situation. It was something he’d heard repeatedly during the Guide training he attended all morning.
‘Appropriate physical contact and emotional support.’
Exactly as the words implied, he needed to become that man’s Guide.
…It’s not even the first time, so what the hell is wrong with me?!
Choi Tae-hoon was frustrated with himself for not being able to reach out first so easily. It made him angry too. Honestly, he almost wanted to just blurt out, ‘Ji Gwan-young-ssi, let’s have sex!’
“What?”
Of course, naturally, when he looked at that face, his mouth refused to open.
Choi Tae-hoon let out another long sigh.
The handsome face making eye contact with him tilted slightly to the side.
“Choi Tae-hoon?”
“…Ah, seriously…”
Tae-hoon unconsciously swallowed dryly while watching the muscles in the man’s body flex beneath a single sweater as he set down his mug and crossed his arms.
Because now he knew far too well how the man in front of him would pull him close and kiss him—what that feeling was like.
Ji Gwan-young blinked silently, speechless, as Tae-hoon suddenly dropped heavily onto the sofa and lowered his head deeply.
One moment he seemed angry, and now suddenly he was restless again.
‘Did The Center say something because of all the noise outside?’
Thanks to that, Gwan-young’s thoughts were already beginning to rampage toward the researchers for no reason.
Fortunately, Tae-hoon fulfilled his duty as a Guide and extinguished the spark early.
“Ji Gwan-young-ssi.”
“Yeah.”
“Come over here.”
Still covering his eyes with one hand, Choi Tae-hoon tapped the seat beside him on the sofa.
After traveling distances of 300 kilometers, a few steps hardly mattered.
The Esper obediently followed his Guide’s words.
The sight of the two tall men sitting side by side was strangely adorable in its own way.
Conscious of the man’s knee lightly touching his, Tae-hoon shifted slightly in his seat.
Ji Gwan-young noticed and pretended not to.
There were no words between the Pair.
Tae-hoon bit his lips anxiously, burdened by the silence, while Gwan-young quietly listened to his Guide’s heartbeat gradually quickening.
Thump. Thump-thump.
The sound steadily accelerated, ringing in Ji Gwan-young’s ears. And then—
“Why exactly aren’t we doing it?”
Ji Gwan-young turned his head lazily.
Immediately, he saw Choi Tae-hoon, red all the way to the tips of his ears and neck. It was quite a pleasing sight, so instead of answering, Gwan-young first satisfied himself by simply looking.
In the end, it was Tae-hoon who pressed on impatiently.
“Isn’t that why you collapsed?”
“I didn’t collapse.”
“You did collapse! Right in the middle of talking to me, too!”
At last, Choi Tae-hoon turned his head fully toward him. The way the reddened corners of his eyes trembled delicately was beautiful.
Ji Gwan-young liked his Guide’s dark brown eyes, so deep they almost looked black.
Seeing him lying in The Center’s hospital ward after leaving the Gangnam scene behind, he remembered wishing those eyes would hurry and hold him within them.
A small laugh escaped Gwan-young’s lips as Tae-hoon’s heartbeat became impossibly loud.
“Why are you laughing?!”
“Then why are you angry, Choi Tae-hoon?”
“…What?”
“Haven’t you been upset with me these past few days?”
‘Upset.’
Rebound—rejection.
Choi Tae-hoon recalled the reason that had briefly stopped his breathing. Then indignation surged through him.
Is this person an idiot or what?!
Meanwhile, Gwan-young noticed the faint heat rising from Tae-hoon’s body and clicked his tongue inwardly.
Because Tae-hoon was so rigidly upright, Gwan-young had overlooked the fact that if he became unstable, Tae-hoon would blame himself for it as though it were the fault of a Guide failing in his duties.
Ji Gwan-young was about to smile the way he always did and joke that if Tae-hoon was so worried, he should just hug him instead.
But before he could, his vision suddenly went black.
The movement was slow enough that he could’ve avoided it easily, yet he failed to push it away because the person covering his eyes with a hand was Choi Tae-hoon.
The warmth of the heated palm enveloping his eyes made Gwan-young forget to breathe for a moment.
As expected, ‘contact’ with Choi Tae-hoon was good enough to blow every other thought away instantly.
“…You can’t look.”
With his oversensitive vision blocked, his hearing sharpened further.
Choi Tae-hoon’s breathing. His heartbeat. The movement of blood through his veins. The rustling of fabric.
Even after the hand covering his eyes fell away, Ji Gwan-young obeyed his Guide’s words.
He heard the man kneel between his legs.
Though he couldn’t see it, he could clearly picture the trembling hands awkwardly undoing the hook of his pants.
“Keep your eyes closed. Don’t open them. Absolutely not.”
Choi Tae-hoon’s voice sounded slightly muffled.
His mouth had gone dry.
***
Guide training at The Center was generally conducted alone through computers and holograms inside private one-person booths in a data room.
Because of that, rather than feeling like an educational process, it resembled a completely solitary activity devoid of all human contact.
At first, Tae-hoon had even been mildly dissatisfied, wondering why such boring training had to be conducted this way.
But his thoughts changed when the dull, predictable training finally moved on to the ‘contact’ section.
The moment Choi Tae-hoon heard the plain mechanical voice state, “We will now begin the theoretical explanation regarding sexual relations between Espers and Guides,” he finally understood The Center’s consideration.
The gap that existed between simply being a Guide and actually living as one.
It was an adult world as different as an all-ages movie and a restricted film.
The sentences explaining endlessly obscene methods were delivered in a voice devoid of any emotional inflection whatsoever, yet the Guide repeatedly had to pause the playback midway and gulp down cold water.
The “practical simulation” that began after the “theoretical explanation” ended was even more shocking.
Tae-hoon barely managed to keep watching the vivid 3D footage transmitted through the high-resolution monitor while desperately trying to cool his burning face.
No matter how long he’d spent at The Center, Choi Tae-hoon was still a man who had lived all twenty-eight years of his life as an unwavering heterosexual without once questioning his sexuality.
Techniques for giving pleasure to another man, or methods for opening himself up for penetrative sex—no matter the situation, those were impossibly difficult things for him.
