“Sir, that looks great on you.”
“…Thank you.”
“Please come again!”
As they stepped out, the shopkeeper’s eyes lingered on Lee Shin’s face, clearly captivated by his features.
Time had slipped away buying him a hair tie. Every minute counted—what the hell was I doing?
“Nice.”
Lee Shin fidgeted with the new hair tie now wrapped around his hair. His smiling face radiated joy.
Even so, seeing that expression made the delay feel worth it. I stared at Lee Shin for a moment before giving his arm a light nudge.
“We really have to go now.”
“Okay!”
Lee Shin readily agreed and took the lead. His steps were livelier than before, like he was in a better mood.
Trailing behind him, I couldn’t help but wonder—was he really retracing the path correctly, just as he remembered it?
Without boarding a train, we kept walking until we reached a place that felt familiar. It was that empty zone—where Min Yugeon once showed me the sky outside the ship, where we had made our promise.
But this time, we walked in the opposite direction of where Min Yugeon had taken me. Soon, I spotted soldiers establishing a perimeter.
“…!”
Before they could spot us, Lee Shin grabbed me and yanked me behind a wall. I blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the sudden shift in view. His grip around my waist was strong—almost painfully so.
“Suho. Just past there. That’s the exit.”
Lee Shin whispered while pointing to the fence sprawling across the area, much like the ones surrounding the research facility. I stared at the location and nodded. It did look like there might be an exit just beyond it.
But I let out a quiet sigh. Neither of us—especially not a suddenly-appearing researcher—would be granted easy access. I had accompanied Lee Shin in case we hit a section that required identification, but now my role seemed utterly pointless.
Not that I hadn’t anticipated this. That was precisely why I’d taught Lee Shin how to use high-altitude drop gear.
“Lee Shin.”
I turned to meet his gaze.
“Promise me just one thing.”
“…?”
“Until you’re outside the ship, don’t hurt anyone who tries to stop you.”
Even without a promise, I knew Lee Shin wasn’t the type to kill anyone. He looked into my eyes and nodded.
“Okay.”
“Focus on avoiding them—get away, not hurt them.”
“Mmhmm.”
I watched him quietly for a moment before lifting my hand and gently ruffling his hair. Careful not to mess up the neatly tied ponytail.
“Then go.”
“……”
“You have to do the rest on your own from here.”
At my words, Lee Shin fell silent. A puzzled tilt of his head followed.
“Why?”
Because I’d only get in the way. From here on, it was something only he could break through. I started imagining what might happen if the escape failed, but I quickly shook my head. This wasn’t the time for negative thoughts.
“We came together.”
Lee Shin’s voice dropped as he spoke.
“It’s hard for Suho here.”
That was the first time I’d heard such firmness in his tone. It stopped me in my tracks.
“…I,”
“And I know. If I go alone, Suho’s in danger.”
Lee Shin shook his head. His words caught me completely off guard. My eyes widened.
“I’m never leaving Suho behind.”
“…!”
Before I could say anything, Lee Shin scooped me up and threw me over his shoulder.
Then, he charged straight toward the heavily secured zone.
***
Kids who hit puberty sometimes storm out in a fit of emotion.
But on the ship, even if they tried to run away, they’d be caught and forced to return the very same day.
After all, with surveillance cameras scattered all over the ship, the chances of not being caught were pretty slim.
Min Yugeon knew it, and yet, he couldn’t keep himself from stepping outside that day.
The insults hurled at Seo Suho’s family, the raised voices clashing in the heat of an argument—everything had become unbearably suffocating. He was furious, consumed by a bitter weariness.
He’d thought he had let it all go, but his emotions had slipped out of control, and the fear crept in that he might actually do something to Min Sanghan. If Min Sanghan had even dared to speak obscenely about Seo Suho, there was no doubt—he wouldn’t have been able to restrain himself.
Min Yugeon left the house without saying a word to Lee Minha. He spent time in the blind spots of surveillance cameras. As the trickle of pedestrians vanished entirely, he realized dawn had arrived.
“Min Yugeon!”
Had Seo Suho not appeared before him, breathless and panting, he might have stayed in that spot forever.
“…Seo Suho?”
“You…!”
Min Yugeon barely had time to be surprised that Seo Suho had found him before the Security Force did. Seo Suho, drenched in sweat, irritably swept his damp bangs back and grabbed Min Yugeon by the collar.
“Do you have any idea how terrified I was, thinking something might’ve happened to you?”
Min Yugeon looked at him wordlessly, then bit his lip. It was obvious Seo Suho had gotten a call from Lee Minha and had searched everywhere for him.
“Sorry.”
Head bowed, Min Yugeon withstood the intense scrutiny of Seo Suho’s gaze. He could hear the rhythm of Seo Suho’s breathing gradually return to normal.
Min Yugeon was afraid. Afraid that someone like him, with a man like Min Sanghan as a father, had no right to wish for someone like Seo Suho.
Ever since he realized how he felt, his emotions leaned closer to fear than sweetness.
Even if he bared his heart, Seo Suho would probably just say, “It’s okay,” like he always did. Min Yugeon felt his fingers tremble and drew in a shaky breath. Seo Suho should’ve been the one drenched in sweat after running around like that, but for some reason, it was his own back that felt soaked.
“Yugeon.”
That familiar, gentle voice always came when he was on the verge of breaking. Min Yugeon could feel the burning at the corner of his eyes. He’d grown taller, stronger, more capable—but he hadn’t changed at all.
Seo Suho took another step closer and knelt down in front of him, where he was curled up on the ground.
Min Yugeon thought, just maybe, like he sometimes did in the past, Seo Suho would reach out and lift his face. If their eyes met, what expression should he make? What should he say?
The panic swelled inside, and he clenched his fists tight.
Then, Seo Suho wrapped his arms completely around Min Yugeon’s curled-up body.
“You really are an idiot.”
He sighed the words out.
“Why are you here alone? You should’ve come to me.”
Rather than asking why he’d left the house, he scolded him for not coming to him instead.
“…!”
To someone else, the question might’ve sounded selfish or clueless, but Min Yugeon understood immediately.
Seo Suho had noticed that he was too scared and cautious to even speak. He’d sensed there was something preventing Min Yugeon from leaning on him so freely.
Except when it came to one particular blind spot, Seo Suho was always quick to notice things. Especially when it came to his oldest friend.
Because the only one who ever wiped away Min Yugeon’s tears was Seo Suho.
“Next time, don’t overthink it. Just come to me. Got it?”
But it was always Seo Suho who made Min Yugeon cry, too.
Min Yugeon’s throat tightened at the painfully kind warning.
He buried his face in Seo Suho’s now broader chest, his shoulders trembling. As Seo Suho gently stroked his back, the soft sound of suppressed sobbing escaped him—like a child being comforted after a fall.
Seo Suho didn’t understand.
He didn’t realize why Min Yugeon was like this, or how overwhelming it was to hear those words—telling him to come lean on him, to seek comfort.
“…How did you know I was here?”
After resting against Seo Suho for a long while, Min Yugeon mumbled the question. Seo Suho patted the back of his head and replied.
“You told me before, remember? That you’d found some places that surveillance cameras didn’t cover.”
Min Yugeon blinked back tears as the memory resurfaced. He had mentioned it once—recommending a few blind spots for when you needed time alone.
Surveillance played a major role in keeping peace on the ship, but sometimes it felt suffocating.
Home was meant to be shared with family, but if you wanted to be alone, these hidden spots were all you had.
Seo Suho must have remembered every single place he mentioned and gone looking for him.
Min Yugeon looked up at him with a dazed expression.
He always seemed so indifferent when Min Yugeon spoke, but apparently, he was listening—really listening. The realization overwhelmed him with emotion.
“What’s with that face?”
Seo Suho, now flustered, tried to pull away as if he felt awkward.
But Min Yugeon instead clung tighter, rubbing his cheek against Seo Suho’s shoulder.
“I’m happy.”
“……”
“Thank you, Suho.”
Seo Suho froze mid-motion, halfway through trying to let go.
“You too.”
Min Yugeon’s voice wavered slightly as he said it sincerely.
“If you’re ever struggling, please… come to me too.”
…But the one who had hurt Seo Suho—was none other than Min Yugeon himself.
Min Yugeon opened his eyes, now damp just like they had been in that memory.
He no longer even felt pathetic for obsessively clinging to the past. He didn’t have the strength for self-contempt anymore.
Where had Seo Suho gone, fleeing like that?
He hoped Seo Suho had someone—someone he could rely on—but the fact that it wasn’t him tore him apart.
Lying still in the quiet hospital room like a corpse, Min Yugeon suddenly felt the vibration travel up from his wrist.
Expressionless, he glanced at his watch—and his eyes widened.
WIIIIIIIIING!
A piercing siren echoed through the hospital, sharp and unmistakable.
[Emergency Announcement (new)
Research subject has abducted a researcher and escaped the facility.
Any witnesses must report to the Security Force immediately.]
