“…You’re going to try? Try what, exactly?”
Ji Se-min, who had been nervously bracing himself for Cha-hyeon’s answer, now looked confused. Was he saying he’d try to stay in a relationship with him? Or that he’d try to help Se-min move on? It was an answer that could be taken either way, and that ambiguity only made Se-min more anxious as he waited for what came next.
Cha-hyeon’s Adam’s apple bobbed again, visibly and heavily. Se-min, watching him closely, felt his own mouth start to go dry.
“What are you trying to do, exactly?”
In the end, unable to hold back, Se-min was the one who asked first. Cha-hyeon looked away uncertainly, then turned back to meet Se-min’s eyes with what looked like resolve and reached out to him.
The first place his hand landed was on Se-min’s shoulder. The light, steady touch felt less like a romantic gesture and more like encouragement. He didn’t grip hard—just enough for Se-min to feel it—as he slowly opened his mouth.
“It stayed with me.”
Cha-hyeon’s eyes didn’t look at Se-min, but somewhere far beyond him, as though he were tracing the past. His voice, low and strained, barely clung to his vocal cords as he continued.
“That bastard… No, the other Sung Cha-hyeon. The one who lost his memory. The memories he had during that time… To me, they feel like something from a long time ago. Probably because so much time has passed.”
The Cha-hyeon who lost his memories didn’t know what happened during that gap. But the version who regained them—this version—remembered everything that happened while his memory was gone.
It was something Se-min had already known. But maybe because Cha-hyeon had said it so plainly, it landed differently. No—it’d be more accurate to say it stung. Because it was Se-min who’d chosen to date the man who would eventually remember—and might regret—everything.
Cha-hyeon swallowed again, his throat working hard. He spoke with deliberate care, almost as if afraid the words would fall apart.
“I remember that we fell in love. That we promised to get married.”
Se-min’s eyes widened. Hearing the words love and marriage come out of this Cha-hyeon’s mouth felt so unfamiliar, almost surreal.
Cha-hyeon took a deep breath, his chest swelling. His hand, still on Se-min’s shoulder, tightened.
“Nothing will change. Nothing has to be different. I’ll… I’ll make it work.”
Now that Se-min finally understood what Cha-hyeon meant by “trying,” he just stared, frozen.
He’d felt this way before—like everything was too sweet, too blinding. But this time, it wasn’t sweetness. It was a suffocating sense of why?
Se-min knew Sung Cha-hyeon too well. Even if the version who had regained his memory chose to continue their relationship, there was no real chance it would be the same. Practically zero. Like threading a needle with a strand of hair.
But the man in front of him now…
“…Are you serious? I mean—what exactly are you saying…?”
“I’m serious. Every word.”
Cha-hyeon’s voice was firm. The hand on Se-min’s shoulder slid awkwardly down to grasp his upper arm, holding tightly. Like he didn’t want to let him go. Like he needed to confirm this was real.
The grip was strong enough that Se-min’s eyes flicked briefly to Cha-hyeon’s hand.
“Yeah, I know. It’s crazy. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t. But I really mean it. I can do this.”
He spoke like he was making a vow, but his breathing was starting to shake. Se-min said nothing, simply watching as Cha-hyeon’s eyes turned red and his nose flared with emotion.
Everything was tangled. It felt like something had gone wrong somewhere, twisted into a knot. Se-min parted his lips, turning over the words he’d just heard, and then—like someone responding to a confession from a long-time crush—he asked, a little too coolly:
“…Okay. But why? Why are you going so far?”
Cha-hyeon’s lips pressed into a tight line. They trembled faintly before he clenched his fist—not digging his nails into Se-min’s skin, but into his own palm.
“Because…”
Veins rose on the back of his hand. His Adam’s apple bobbed again, sharply.
“I… I love you…”
The soft voice crumbled to pieces. And even then, he couldn’t finish. His lips just twitched faintly, never quite forming the rest.
Silence.
Se-min watched quietly as Cha-hyeon, still unable to meet his eyes, wet his lips.
That’s when it clicked—what exactly had gone wrong. Rolling the thought around in his mouth, Se-min asked cautiously:
“But if we’re being exact… you’ve never actually dated me before, have you? Can you really accept me… as your partner?”
Se-min’s deepest fear had always been this: That once Cha-hyeon’s memory returned, they’d be left in a limbo of an almost-relationship.
But this Sung Cha-hyeon—he’d never lost his memory. He merely inherited the memories of the version who did.
So could someone like that really see Ji Se-min as a lover?
“…Yeah.”
The answer was soft, but unshakably firm. Still holding Se-min’s arm, Cha-hyeon slowly let his hand slide downward.
Then, as if to prove himself, he gripped Se-min’s wrist instead.
He swallowed. His thumb brushed lightly along the inside of Se-min’s arm—like he was trying to show he could act like a lover.
Startled, Se-min blinked. It only made sense to press further.
“You’re really okay with it? Even if we file the marriage registration? You wouldn’t mind?”
Cha-hyeon’s eyes flinched, but he nodded. Se-min’s brows drew together. His voice got sharper.
“What about guiding? Are you still going to insist on just radial guiding and reject every other kind like before?”
“G–… guiding. No. I won’t reject it. I won’t insist on radial only.”
Like the words were dragging knives across his tongue, Cha-hyeon repeated them and nodded again. Then he turned his gaze toward the curtained living room—clearly dodging something.
They were close—too close for anything to go unnoticed. Se-min could read every flicker on his face. Red eyes. Shaky breath. Confusion. Tension. Guilt.
His gaze dropped. He looked down at his own wrist, still held in Cha-hyeon’s grip, then to the back of Cha-hyeon’s trembling hand.
After a long moment, he looked up again.
“So when you say you’ll try… you mean you’ll try to love me.”
The realization slipped out almost too easily. Cha-hyeon flinched like he’d been slapped, snapping his head toward him.
But maybe Se-min had already known—deep down—that this man would say that. So it didn’t hurt. Not really.
A relationship out of guilt or obligation was always one of the possibilities he’d prepared for.
What did bother him, though…
“You still only see me as your dongsaeng. Even now. Isn’t that right?”
“…No, that’s not—!”
Cha-hyeon cut in quickly, but Se-min held his gaze and asked, softly:
“Is it because I want to be your lover… that you’re trying—just trying—to see me that way? Is that why you’re staying?”
Smack.
The moment those words hit home, Cha-hyeon let go of his wrist with a sharp sound and staggered back a few steps.
His face—once carefully guarded—was now completely shaken.
The question only loomed larger now.
Why? Why go this far?
Se-min stepped toward him, pale and trembling.
“Why? Hyung… why are you doing this?”
***
Because I can do better.
Because I’m sure I’ll do better this time.
Because I’ve been given another chance at a question I got wrong before. And this time, I know the answer.
Because if we don’t want the same future to repeat itself, then I—the one who already knows—should be the one to do it right.
Just like you said—those memories appeared in my mind like they’d been transferred from someone else. The memories of the other Sung Cha-hyeon. And the memories of you as a lover… came with the emotions attached to them, too.
That’s why I’m confident. Even though I’d only ever seen you as my dongsaeng, this sudden feeling blooming in my chest—his and mine both—makes me think I can do it.
It felt like fate had handed me a chance.
Because maybe, if I’d had even the slightest push, just like that other Cha-hyeon in this world…
…I might have fallen in love with you too.
And I regret that I didn’t.
I remember it all—as if I lived it.
The way we kissed. The way we touched each other’s bare skin. The way our guiding energy stirred and teased each other’s wavelengths.
I remember your flushed cheeks, your neck turning red with arousal, your back arching like a bow. Your skin—so easily marked, so sensitive. The dimples that appeared just above your ass when you were really overwhelmed.
I remember the obscene moans I never should’ve heard from you. How hypersensitive your inner walls were, how they clenched at the slightest brush. The positions you liked best. How you moved in bed—everything.
I remember all of it.
“…Urgh…!”
