Huh!
With a sharp gasp, he opened his eyes. His heart pounded heavily in his chest, an unpleasant thudding that made his whole body tense.
“Suho?”
A familiar voice reached him. He turned his sweat-drenched face to the side. It wasn’t the school-uniformed Min Yugeon of the past—but a more mature, grown version of him came into view. Yugeon gazed down at him with a worried, firm expression.
With trembling eyes, Suho scanned his bedroom. He recalled returning home after the demonstration at the research facility and falling asleep after sharing a bottle of wine with Min Yugeon.
…It must’ve been a dream. Before sleeping, he’d reminisced about their childhood—clearly, those memories had bled into his dreams.
But unlike how it began, the dream had ended with the one memory he least wanted to revisit. The lingering aftertaste was bitter. As he gripped the blanket tightly in his fist, trying to shake it off—
The mattress dipped near the head of the bed. It was the weight of Yugeon climbing up beside him. He gently pulled Suho into his arms and began to stroke his back softly.
“Relax. Breathe slowly.”
Yugeon’s voice was lower than usual, calm and soothing. Only then did Suho realize he’d been holding his breath.
“……”
He exhaled slowly. At the same time, his rigid body began to loosen bit by bit. As if pleased with his response, Yugeon gently patted his back. He kneaded Suho’s tense shoulders and neck until the muscles fully relaxed, then carefully brushed away the damp strands of hair clinging to his cheek.
Suho lifted his head in Yugeon’s calloused hands. Yugeon already seemed to know what kind of dream it had been. The memory of the day Suho lost his entire family sometimes resurfaced like this—as a nightmare.
“Feeling any better?”
Yugeon met his eyes and asked. Suho gave a small nod and rested his head against Yugeon’s chest with a soft thud. His breathing had calmed, but in contrast, he could faintly hear Yugeon’s heart still pounding rapidly.
He felt a twinge of guilt. He must’ve startled him awake.
“Did I wake you up?”
His voice came out cracked and pitiful. They had separate bedrooms, but Yugeon was the type who always came running whenever Suho so much as whimpered in his sleep.
“No. I wasn’t asleep. Just couldn’t drift off tonight.”
Yugeon replied casually, as if telling him not to worry. He absentmindedly fiddled with Suho’s earlobe, his warm touch gradually heating up Suho’s cold skin.
That warmth made Suho’s eyelids grow heavier, lulled by the comfort of Yugeon’s body heat.
“Hey.”
Yugeon suddenly broke the silence.
“Wanna go visit your dad and mom tomorrow?”
“……”
“It’s been a while since we last went.”
Suho lifted his gaze to look at him. He hadn’t forgotten to visit his parents regularly, but it was true that quite some time had passed since the last visit.
“You’ve got work tomorrow.”
“There’s someone I can swap shifts with. If I ask, it’ll be fine.”
“There’s no need… I can go alone.”
“I want to see them too, you know.”
Yugeon responded with a serious face, leaving Suho with no rebuttal.
“…Okay.”
At Suho’s reply, the corners of Yugeon’s lips lifted slightly. He pressed his forehead gently against Suho’s.
“Then let’s head out first thing in the morning.”
“Mm.”
Suho let his limbs go slack, collapsing into a heap. Yugeon’s body was solid muscle—firm and unyielding—but oddly enough, being in his arms always felt warm and safe.
Though Suho wasn’t exactly small himself, Yugeon easily wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer.
They lay like that for a long time in silence.
“…I’m good now.”
Drowsiness had nearly pulled him back into sleep. He caught himself just before drifting off.
“Hm?”
“Go back to your room.”
He started to push himself upright from Yugeon’s arms—but just then, Yugeon let out a short hum and suddenly hugged him tight, stopping him from moving. Then he rolled them both across the bed in one motion.
Now lying face-to-face with Yugeon, Suho frowned slightly.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m thinking of sleeping here tonight.”
He said it softly, eyes slightly crinkled as he smiled.
Suho stayed silent for a moment.
“Why? You’ve got your own room.”
“Just feels like I should stay here tonight.”
“No.”
“Aaah, I’m too sleepy to move. I’m seriously about to pass out.”
Yawning exaggeratedly, Min Yugeon squeezed his eyes shut, pretending to fall asleep on the spot. The sudden act made him look more like he’d just blacked out than actually drifted off.
It wasn’t exactly surprising. Yugeon knew that if Suho fell asleep alone on nights like this, there was a high chance the nightmares would return. He always tried to stay close on those nights.
As if wanting Suho to rest more comfortably, Yugeon slowly unwrapped the arms he’d had around him, then reached over to interlace their fingers. The sensation of those thick fingers threading through his own brought a strange, quiet sense of calm.
“Sleep well.”
Even with his eyes still closed, Yugeon didn’t forget to offer a proper goodnight.
“……”
In the end, Suho couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle.
***
A place where the departed lay in eternal rest. Suho and Min Yugeon stood together before the spot where his parents had been laid to rest, side by side.
“I’m here.”
“I am too. Have you both been doing okay?”
Yugeon chimed in cheerfully. It was a natural tone, considering he’d accompanied Suho every year on the memorial day without fail.
Suho turned his eyes away from Yugeon and looked toward his mother and father.
Mom. Dad. Yesterday, we had a demonstration at the lab. Thanks to Cat’s performance, everything went off without a hitch. It was a mid-stage showcase before we move to the next phase… It reminded me of the kind of demonstration you two used to plan.
I’m curious—how would it have gone if you’d taken Rai to one of those events? …It probably would’ve been really difficult, right? He wasn’t exactly the obedient type.
Suho lowered his head, letting his gaze fall to the smooth, polished ground.
The anniversary of his parents’ passing was also Rai’s. Every time he came here, Rai inevitably came to mind. But unlike his parents, there was no way to “visit” Rai.
There was no space on the warship for mourning a monster. A dead beast was nothing more than raw material for research. The body—whether still breathing or lifeless—was broken down for data. Usually, it served to develop new ways for humans to fight back. That was the typical end for a monster captured on land and transported onto the ship.
No one mourned the kind of creature that had driven humanity to near extinction.
But Rai hadn’t disappeared in that way. Though he’d been killed instantly by the strike force and should have, by protocol, been sent to the lab like any other specimen—Suho had sensed what was coming. And so, when the captain arrived on-site, he pleaded with him to release Rai’s body from the ship, intact.
It was a late apology—a final act of mourning—for not having been able to say, it’s okay to fight back against the soldiers if it means protecting yourself.
And that day, the captain complied, without a single objection.
“……”
Suho lifted his head again to face his parents. Not just about Rai—the memories he poured out included old wounds and recent days alike.
Talking without hearing a response brought him back to reality. The events of the dream were part of the past—already over and done. An old sense of resignation, long buried, rose up like a tide and gently washed over his mind.
…Now he understood why Min Yugeon had brought him here.
Feeling much more settled, Suho turned to look at Yugeon. As if sensing his gaze, Yugeon turned his head away from the urns and toward Suho.
“What is it, Suho?”
“…Thanks.”
“…Huh?”
Suho didn’t repeat himself. He simply kept his mouth shut.
He could almost hear his father’s voice, trembling with emotion, saying, Our Suho picked a damn good friend.
If he really had heard it, he wouldn’t have been able to deny it.
Back when he’d suddenly lost his entire family, he’d fallen into complete ruin. He holed up in the emergency housing provided by the ship, puking his guts out day after day until he collapsed from exhaustion. He didn’t even go to his graduation. He avoided the outside world entirely.
And the person who took care of him through all of it— That was Min Yugeon.
There was also Min Sanghan, who had helped with the funeral arrangements and checked in on Suho’s condition whenever he could. But if it hadn’t been for Min Yugeon—who had stayed by his side as if they were one and the same—it might’ve taken Suho far longer to overcome reality.
Back then, Yugeon himself had been dealing with the emotional fallout of his conflict with Min Sanghan, yet he had focused entirely on not leaving Suho alone. Even now, Suho felt a sense of indebtedness whenever he thought about how Yugeon had put everything else aside just to stay by his side and take care of him.
“Should we head out?”
“Yeah.”
They both bowed once more toward Suho’s parents, then turned around.
The memorial hall was filled with a solemn stillness. There were no other signs of life inside. They moved in silence, saving their conversation for once they were outside.
That was when the sound of someone approaching rang out clearly—not far off. The weighty steps of heeled shoes echoed against the hard floor, cutting through the silence.
The sound was familiar. Combat boots, maybe?
Suho turned his head toward the approaching figure.
As he’d suspected, it was a tall soldier. Black hair contrasted against dark skin, cascading naturally over a sharp, angular face. His expression was both irritated and indifferent—handsome, but radiating an air that made it difficult to approach. A glint of silver caught Suho’s eye—the insignia of a colonel, pinned to the man’s uniform.
The soldier, who had been walking forward without glancing to either side, finally met Suho’s gaze.
The moment their eyes met—those dull, charcoal-colored irises—it became clear they weren’t strangers.
“……”
“……”
Still, they weren’t close enough to warrant a greeting.
The two passed each other quietly, without a word.
