Ji Chanwoo hung his head, looking utterly disheveled. He had been wasting time in a daze, but a sudden presence made him lift his face.
“Ji Chanwoo.”
Min Yugeon was looking down at him. In those dark, feral eyes, there was a killing intent far more intense than usual.
Ji Chanwoo thought this might be the end for him. Perhaps Min Yugeon had finally run out of patience.
“You said you wanted to apologize to Suho.”
But what Min Yugeon said next took him by surprise.
“If you’re that desperate to ask Suho for forgiveness, then do exactly as I say from now on.”
His low, pressed voice was laced with suppressed rage and fear. Min Yugeon revealed to Ji Chanwoo the situation Seo Suho had been placed in at the time, as well as the details of the deal between himself and Min Sanghan.
“I’ve sent coordinates to the building closest to here. My father will be sending people there soon—whether to retrieve you, or to dispose of you.”
“……!”
“So get ready in advance and confront them. Then come to the place I told you about. So you can save Suho.”
“…Does that mean you’re letting me go?”
“Why.”
Min Yugeon stared at Ji Chanwoo blankly.
“Planning to run away?”
“…….”
“Considering how adamant you’ve been about meeting Suho, even if you did run, you’d probably just go to him.”
Min Yugeon had already seen through Ji Chanwoo’s intent.
“Obviously, I still don’t want you anywhere near Suho.”
He spoke each word like he was grinding it through his teeth. Ji Chanwoo responded with silence. From Min Yugeon’s point of view, it was only natural to hold a grudge—after all, Ji Chanwoo had killed Seo Suho’s parents and tried to harm Suho as well.
But Min Yugeon had chosen to compromise, prioritizing Suho’s rescue above all else.
“When Suho has fully recovered from the trauma of this whole ordeal.”
In a frigid tone, Min Yugeon laid down his condition.
“Only then can you meet him.”
After agreeing to turn himself in to the Security Force, Ji Chanwoo ambushed those who had come to retrieve him, just as promised. They, too, attacked with murderous intent when he refused to cooperate, and after a grueling fight, Ji Chanwoo had no choice but to kill both of them.
He had let his guard down and been overpowered by Min Yugeon earlier, but Ji Chanwoo was still a soldier. No matter how bloodthirsty they were, they weren’t trained like he was—they couldn’t win against a soldier.
Taking back Seo Suho’s stolen watch, he reported the incident to the Security Force and immediately made his way to the location where Min Yugeon and Suho were. But by the time he arrived, Min Yugeon had already been injured.
“The only thing I could do was return your watch and run, Suho.”
Ji Chanwoo explained, watching Suho’s expression carefully.
“Originally, I planned to come to you later. But I didn’t have a choice. The Captain was being especially cautious about your safety, and he’d arranged interviews with the people assigned to guard you.”
“……”
“If they found out I wasn’t actually Sergeant Kim Hyun-soo, I wouldn’t even get the chance to see you—I’d be dragged away first…”
Seo Suho stared at him, face drained of color.
“Min Yugeon…”
His pale lips barely moved as he forced the words out.
“Yugeon had you locked up all this time?”
Ji Chanwoo’s circumstances didn’t matter to Suho. His question was focused entirely on Min Yugeon. Ji Chanwoo fell silent for a moment—was it that hard to believe Min Yugeon had imprisoned and tortured him?
“You probably won’t believe it, but it’s true.”
“……!”
Suho’s eyes widened. Underneath his long lashes, his dark irises trembled.
Ji Chanwoo felt a pang of regret at having told the truth. Maybe he shouldn’t have. But Seo Suho had demanded the whole truth—he couldn’t lie or withhold anything now.
Suho’s gaze, frozen and pale as a sheet, slowly shifted to his wrist.
His watch was blinking—someone was trying to contact him.
***
Nightmares always manifested one’s deepest, unconscious fears. And for Min Yugeon, the content was always the same.
Seo Suho leaving him.
“Seo Suho!”
When Min Yugeon opened his mouth, bubbles floated up in little clusters. The cruel setting of the dream was underwater. No matter how desperately he tried to chase after Seo Suho, who was turning his back and swimming away, his submerged body moved too sluggishly to follow as quickly as his heart demanded.
Eventually, Suho’s retreating figure would shrink into the distance and vanish completely—then the dream would rewind to just before he left.
……
The dream was unbearably realistic. And every time it restarted, Seo Suho would simply stand there in silence, without uttering a single harsh word. He’d just gaze quietly at Yugeon with those strange eyes filled with the gloom and glow of the water, then slowly turn his back.
And drift away again.
Once. Twice. Three times… Ten times. No matter how many times the same scene replayed like a looped video, Min Yugeon never gave up for even a moment.
It wasn’t out of some steadfast resolve or willpower. He simply couldn’t bring himself to let go of Seo Suho—not even in a dream.
He reached out with his arm, struggling again for what felt like the hundredth time to grasp Suho—
“Kuh…!”
Suddenly, his consciousness was yanked to the surface, and a tortured groan escaped him. His eyes flew open, only to be pierced by a blinding light that made his face twist involuntarily. After being shut for so long, they couldn’t adjust to the bright surroundings right away.
“Patient!”
Whether it was from the light or the torment of the nightmare, tears welled up and spilled from his eyes. The unfamiliar mechanical beeping, the voices calling out to him, the busy medical staff rushing around—it took time for his dizzy head to piece together the situation.
Min Yugeon instinctively searched for Seo Suho. He desperately hoped Suho would be somewhere within sight—but he wasn’t. The hospital room held only one patient: himself. Voices tried to calm him down, but Yugeon pushed himself up from the bed, whispering Suho’s name under his breath.
“Ah! You can’t move like that—!”
“Mr. Min Yugeon!”
He shoved aside the hands trying to restrain him and managed to plant his feet on the floor. Suho-ya.
Gasping with fear and panic, the name escaped his lips in a desperate call
‘Where are you?’
“Even if you hate me… Can’t you stay with me?”
That pathetic plea he’d made before blacking out suddenly returned to him. He shouldn’t have passed out like that back then.
‘What happened to Suho? How long have I been out?’
Panting, Min Yugeon clutched his head. It didn’t even occur to him to ask someone—anyone—what was going on. His heart pounded so fiercely it felt like it might explode, his throat squeezed tight, and panic surged so violently he couldn’t even feel the pain tearing through his upper body.
Curled up on the cold, hard hospital floor, Min Yugeon didn’t even register the voices of the flustered medical staff murmuring around him. All he could do was tremble in a cold sweat, paralyzed by a terror that had him gripped by the throat. He couldn’t think rationally. His mind spiraled, consumed by the thought that something might have happened to Seo Suho.
Then—quietly—the door to the room opened.
Footsteps approached quickly, urgent. A moment later, he could feel the breath of someone kneeling close by. The clamor of the medical staff slowly faded away.
Still slumped over, Min Yugeon felt a pair of arms gently envelop him.
“Min Yugeon.”
The voice he had longed to hear.
His entire body, which had been visibly trembling, slowly relaxed, and his ragged breathing came to an abrupt stop. The murky brown of his eyes began to clear.
He lifted his gaze from the floor, and there was Seo Suho’s face. Min Yugeon stared blankly at him, face soaked with tears he hadn’t even realized were falling.
“…Seo Suho?”
Trying to get a better look, Min Yugeon sat up and cupped Suho’s pale face in his hands. That familiar, faint chill unique to Suho seeped into his palms. Suho allowed it silently, his eyes fixed on Yugeon’s tear-streaked face.
As if he were handling something infinitely precious, Min Yugeon gently stroked Suho’s cheek, then asked in a daze:
“Are you okay? You didn’t get hurt again, did you?”
“……”
Seo Suho gave a silent nod.
Even though he had been the one with life-threatening injuries, Min Yugeon let out a breath of relief, unconcerned about his own condition. He swept his eyes over Suho’s body. Other than looking a bit thinner, there didn’t seem to be any issues. The bruises on his face had also faded significantly—now, only faint traces remained.
But the parts of his body that had been beaten by the kidnapper were covered by his clothes. Min Yugeon clenched his fist, suppressing the urge to pull up Suho’s shirt right then and there to check whether the wounds had healed properly. If it hadn’t been for the shred of reason that had returned the moment he saw Suho, he might’ve done it already.
Gritting his teeth, Min Yugeon pulled Suho into a fierce embrace—one that screamed never again.
It was nothing like the way Suho had once held him.
“Suho…”
He whispered, resting his forehead against Suho’s. Then suddenly, he paused.
Suho’s eyes—so close, right in front of him—looked… different than usual.
