Cha-hyeon hunched over, his hand clamping over his mouth in a panic. But the surge of nausea didn’t subside so easily. The scenes rushing into his mind—vivid, graphic, and violently disturbing—felt too real, as if he had experienced them himself.
“……!”
His eyes widened, the rims reddening. As he convulsed with erratic dry heaves, he gasped for air, panting helplessly.
“Hu… haak… ha…”
“Hyung!”
Startled by the sudden reaction, Se-min rushed toward him. But Cha-hyeon recoiled, thrusting out a hand to keep him away and twisting his body in the opposite direction. If even a single part of Se-min touched him now, he was certain he’d throw up everything in his stomach.
“Don’t come near me!”
He could sense Se-min freezing in place. Even through the overwhelming nausea, the thought that he had to shut this down—right now—gripped him. He had to say something, make an excuse, act like it was nothing.
It’s nothing. Just flashed back to having sex with you a moment ago…
Cha-hyeon squeezed his bloodshot eyes shut. He tried not to think about it, but the scenes had already surged into his mind like a tidal wave, refusing to go away.
“Ugh… huuuk…”
No, this was wrong. He and Se-min were engaged. Lovers who had promised to get married. Intimacy between them was only natural.
…No. Se-min was his dongsaeng. His one and only family left in the world. The person he had to protect. His beloved little brother…
Two versions of himself clashed violently. Guilt? Disgust? Whatever the emotion was, it made his heart pound so painfully he thought it might burst. Trembling, Cha-hyeon clutched his chest and doubled over further.
But he couldn’t allow this. Not now. In a voice thick with self-loathing, he muttered through clenched teeth.
“No… I can do this. I can do this… urgh…”
The other Sung Cha-hyeon in this world had managed just fine. If they shared the same memories, the same emotions—there was no reason he couldn’t do it too.
Yeah. I have to. What, you think you can’t? You’re just gonna go back?
A voice inside him sneered.
That wasn’t an option. If he went back now, everything that happened today would be erased. He’d return to that empty, half-alive existence, dragging himself through each day like a corpse. Gripped by the same dead weight of futility, plagued by the same aimless despair in a world without even Se-min.
If that was living, then he’d rather die. But because he wouldn’t remember any of this, he’d simply want to die without knowing why. He’d be trapped in that limbo of a life, unable to end it, bound by his last promise to Se-min.
So he couldn’t give up this world. In this world, Se-min loved him. And he had accepted that love. Wasn’t this a world crafted just the way he wanted—like the Mindscape?
Ah. So this is the Mindscape after all? But I never wanted to fuck Se-min this graphically… Then is this just some over-the-top fantasy meant to stimulate me?
But no… it hurt too much to be the Mindscape.
His thoughts, which had briefly regained clarity, unraveled again into chaos. Part of him just wanted to surrender to it, to let go of the pain and drift. At least that way, he wouldn’t suffer.
“Uh… hngh…”
His ragged breathing filled the still kitchen, a sound tinged with the edge of sobs. A few steps away, Se-min stood frozen, watching him with anxious eyes. Then, in a voice so small it barely registered, he called out:
“Hyung…”
The raw emotion in his voice—so full of fear, yet overflowing with tenderness—made Cha-hyeon’s heart lurch. He couldn’t hold back anymore.
“…Fuck… seriously…”
A jolt of compulsive guilt swept through him for swearing in front of “the baby.” He shut his eyes tightly and held his breath until his face flushed red. When he finally exhaled, the breath came out rough and shaky, filled with anguish.
His chest still ached, a sharp pain radiating from the pit of his stomach to his heart. He had always been good at enduring pain, had always been the resilient type—but this wasn’t physical pain. This was his conscience, and it was unbearable.
Breathing slowly, deliberately, he forced himself upright. His stomach still roiled with nausea, but at least he didn’t throw up.
Swallowing down the bile, Cha-hyeon looked at Se-min. Younger than he remembered, his face was bright and vibrant, but now etched with concern and confusion.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Did I… did I trigger something?”
Even after watching him struggle not to vomit, Se-min’s first thought was still about him.
That was just who he was. Ji Se-min—hopelessly pure, blindly devoted. His love, so sweet it was almost painful. It had been so long since Cha-hyeon had felt that kind of love. He didn’t want to share it with anyone.
He gasped again and thought about the other Cha-hyeon.
Why did that bastard get to have Se-min? How did he accept Se-min so easily? Why did Se-min fall for him—a Sung Cha-hyeon who’d lost his memories and didn’t even act like a proper hyung anymore?
The jealousy burned so hot it overpowered the nausea. He hated it. He was envious. Desperately envious.
If only he’d been the one to lose his memories…
“Hey, Hyung… you know, I used to like you, right?”
Suddenly, his entire body went cold. Trembling, Cha-hyeon froze in place.
What the hell am I doing…
He blinked, dazed—like a man waking from a long sleep.Â
You remember how much Se-min suffered because Sung Cha-hyeon forgot everything. And yet you’re calling that memory loss a blessing? You were already given a second chance.
“…That confession. I was serious, you know. Not just joking. But you didn’t get it…”
Of course he’d known. But he could never accept the feelings of someone who would always be his little brother. So he ignored them. Pretended they weren’t real.
He had made that decision himself. And now he stood here, envious of another version of himself who’d gotten lucky.
Jealousy over someone he’d never meet evaporated, like a dream fading with the morning light. He stared blankly at Se-min. He’d been looking at him all along, but only now did their eyes truly meet.
“…Are you okay?”
Maybe noticing the change in him, Se-min asked cautiously. Cha-hyeon, his face still drained and drawn, suddenly opened his arms.
Maybe it was childish of him. Maybe it wasn’t like him at all. But Se-min, even though clearly confused, didn’t resist. He stepped into the embrace.
Warmth filled his chest. Cha-hyeon kept just enough distance so their lower bodies wouldn’t touch, awkwardly patting Se-min’s back. It was a clumsy, brotherly hug—something they might’ve shared during difficult times.
“…….”
His dark eyes dimmed. Still patting Se-min’s back, Cha-hyeon thought back.
Somewhere in the past—or maybe the future—he’d had this exact thought. Remembering Se-min’s confession. Remembering what might’ve been a turning point… maybe even his last chance.
The realization that maybe—just maybe—he’d loved Se-min too came far too late.
And now, even with a chance to make up for that regret, he finally understood: his feelings for Se-min hadn’t changed. What had changed was the form they took.
Se-min wanted to share romantic love. But Cha-hyeon… had always dreamed of a love rooted in family. In permanence. And if that meant giving Se-min the kind of love he desired just to stay together… then so be it.
But even after all that regret, he realized—it was still impossible. He, the Sung Cha-hyeon who had never once lost his memories, couldn’t cross the line he himself had drawn.
Even if another Cha-hyeon lived in his head—even if he’d accepted Se-min—this version of him couldn’t. Because in the end, Se-min was still his baby brother. His one and only family.
So rather than try the impossible again, he steadied himself. Focused on the second plan.
He would stay in this world. Admit he couldn’t be Se-min’s lover. Ask for understanding. As long as he could keep Se-min close, that was enough.
That turning point he might’ve missed before—it had been when Se-min said he wanted to live alone, and Cha-hyeon hadn’t stopped him.
Of course he knew what would happen if he went through with this plan. He remembered how exhausted Se-min had become right before declaring his independence. He remembered pretending not to notice. He remembered clinging to their fragile relationship, taping it together piece by piece, hoping it would hold.
No matter how hard he tried, Se-min would grow disappointed. He wouldn’t get the love he wanted. And this time, after having tasted what it meant to be truly loved… that disappointment would come faster.
But at least he wouldn’t die. He’d stay alive. Protected. Not by a pathetic Esper who couldn’t even protect his lover, not by an amnesiac version of himself, but by this Cha-hyeon—who had seen it all. Who would stay by his side. Forever.
…But.
“…Hah…”
A brittle laugh escaped his lips. Something inside him—something stretched taut—snapped without resistance. Clean. Complete.
But this way… you’ll never be happy.
If he stayed in this world, it would only repeat.
But what if… just what if… in this strange, possibly fake world… he chose a third path?
If he killed his emotions, silenced his ego, and picked the option meant only for “clearing” the path ahead…
The third option: return. Yield this world to the other Cha-hyeon. Kick aside his morals. Hand Se-min over to the version of him who could give him the love he wanted.
Then maybe—just maybe—his future wouldn’t be so wretched. Se-min might live. Might be happy.
And so, Sung Cha-hyeon and Ji Se-min lived happily ever after.
Cha-hyeon and Sung Cha-hyeon were the same man. Equally selfish. They hated each other because they couldn’t accept why Se-min had chosen the other.
But there was one difference.
The Cha-hyeon who had never lost his memories… had truly loved Se-min. In his own way. And maybe, if that love had a name, it would be something like a parent’s love—unconditional, instinctual, absolute.
And a parent… never wins against their child. A parent does everything for their child. Even giving up what they want. Even letting go.
Even returning… to a wrecked future…
If it meant Se-min could be happy.
