A sharp, unyielding silence filled the dark room.
Ji Se-min stared at his returned lover. Sung Cha-hyeon, pale and stiff, wore a look of unfiltered turmoil—an expression Se-min had never seen from him before.
“……”
That calm, nonchalant demeanor from earlier—completely gone. His eyes trembled, his jaw was clenched tight, and he looked as if someone had tattooed I’m fucked right across his forehead. Se-min felt his mind beginning to cool.
He had hoped, when he woke up, that things would somehow be sorted out. But he’d never expected the version of his Hyung from the future to vanish, only for his Cha-hyeon to return in his place.
He was relieved to see the Cha-hyeon he knew again, sure. But he couldn’t help worrying about the one who had disappeared. It was like… taking in a shivering stray cat, feeding it, giving it warmth—and then waking up to find it had disappeared without a trace. That kind of hollow ache.
Maybe the future version of his Hyung was never meant to stay. Maybe, just like with the first Conditional Reward, there was a timer ticking down until he was forced to return. The “maybe it’s possible” line had just been a way to offer false hope, hadn’t it? Because that Cha-hyeon… he didn’t want to go back.
Was he okay now? Was he living well? He could’ve at least said goodbye. Or maybe he’d been yanked away before he even had the chance.
The worry was maddening—and pointless. There was nothing he could do about it. And yet, the fact that his Cha-hyeon had returned brought with it a conflicting sense of comfort.
That confusing, tangled knot of emotions—half relief, half unresolved grief—didn’t last long.
“Sorry. I thought you’d be disappointed.”
Se-min could no longer dwell on the Cha-hyeon who had left. Because this Cha-hyeon—his family, his protector, his steadfast Hyung, and his lover—had just looked him in the eye and lied. Boldly. Deliberately.
“I guess getting all the Unclaimed Rewards… doesn’t bring your memories back after all.”
He’d said it with a soft, guilty smile. So natural. So casual. So much so that Se-min hadn’t understood what he meant at first. If he hadn’t already known the truth about the Unclaimed Rewards, he might’ve fallen for it completely. That’s how effortless the lie had been.
The warmth of reunion and sorrow over loss were swiftly crushed by raw, bitter disappointment. They had already exchanged proposals. Yet now he found out that Cha-hyeon had been hiding something from him. He had thought they’d work through it.
But all that joy was swallowed up and reignited—fused with an anger he had once buried and now couldn’t contain.
“…Cha-hyeon Hyung.”
How could he even begin to put this feeling into words? How could someone lie like that—so smoothly, without even a hint of guilt?
He didn’t know how long Cha-hyeon had been back. But the first thing he did was lie to him.
Se-min had told himself there must be a reason. He’d tried to keep calm, tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. But now… that patience just made him feel like a complete idiot.
If Cha-hyeon had just been honest from the start, it wouldn’t have hurt this badly. Now it felt like every layer of trust between them—as lovers, as family—had been shattered.
Se-min had believed in him. He’d been ready to hear him out. Ready to forgive, if there was a reason. If Cha-hyeon had just explained things properly—even if it was late—he probably would’ve understood.
But instead, he chose deception. Calm, calculated deception. And every effort Se-min had made to understand him came back to strike him with tenfold despair.
That despair turned quickly into betrayal. A feeling Se-min had never once associated with Cha-hyeon before. His heart throbbed with sharp, aching pain.
“‘So I got caught,’ huh.”
His voice, unlike his burning chest, came out ice-cold.
“To you… was this just a slip-up?”
A mistake. Se-min had bent over backwards trying to understand why he’d lied. But to Cha-hyeon, was it really just a moment of misspeaking that got caught?
He hadn’t even pressed the future Cha-hyeon for answers. He had waited, patiently, for this Cha-hyeon to say it himself. But instead…
That cold voice ringing in his own ears only intensified the betrayal. Se-min fought to keep the rising emotions down, but his voice couldn’t help growing louder.
“Were you planning to fake it for the rest of your life? Pretend you never got the Rewards?
You really thought there was no chance I’d ever find out?”
How little do you think of me?
That bitter thought burst through like a blade in his chest.
Cha-hyeon, usually so composed, looked genuinely shaken. He swallowed hard, parted his lips—on the verge of offering some kind of excuse.
But Se-min cut him off before he could speak.
“Don’t even try to say, ‘Maybe you misheard,’ or ‘Did I really say that?’ Don’t bother pretending this is some kind of misunderstanding.”
And as soon as the words left his mouth, it hit him. This wasn’t the first time Cha-hyeon had deflected like that.
The memory-erased version of him had been full of denials—so many that Se-min had memorized the script. It was so ridiculous, it almost made him laugh.
And once that trust began to crack, the doubts came flooding in.
Was this really the only lie? Or had he hidden the truth before, just as easily?
Like when he’d sweetly asked to marry him.
Se-min squeezed his eyes shut.
Was that a lie too?
No. It probably was.
There had never been a Conditional Reward to begin with. The gentle hints that he’d still love Se-min even after regaining his memories—those were probably fiction too.
Then… did Cha-hyeon ever really love him?
That thought, a question he had never allowed himself to ask, tore through his chest like a blade.
One doubt bred another. Then another.
Did he actually love me? Did he even like me? Were any of those things he said, as a lover, ever real?
They’d become a couple. Promised to marry. Built memories together.
But now, everything—every single moment—felt tainted.
The shadows of doubt, invisible yet enormous, crept in like darkness growing behind a flickering candle. The more he questioned, the more suffocating it became.
“I’ll explain. I can explain.”
At last, Cha-hyeon spoke. His voice came out tight, like something was wrapped around his throat. He was ghostly pale, his breathing erratic. But Se-min wasn’t in a place to listen calmly.
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Se-min—”
“No. No matter what you say right now… I don’t think I can believe you. So I don’t want to hear it.”
Se-min threw off the blanket. He moved like he was about to leave—like he couldn’t stand being in the same room anymore. Cha-hyeon reached out in panic, grabbing his wrist.
Startled by the sudden contact, Se-min instinctively smacked his hand away.
Cha-hyeon flinched. His hand, awkward and out of place, hovered in the air before falling limply onto his knee. His nervousness, his unease—clear in every tremble of his fingers.
Suddenly, Se-min couldn’t take the air in the room anymore. What reason did he have to believe Cha-hyeon wouldn’t lie again?
Just imagining himself sitting here, listening, trying to make sense of more carefully worded half-truths… It didn’t just piss him off. It felt exhausting. Like some chore he had to force himself through.
“…Let’s talk later. Right now… I’m not in the mood.”
“Se-min…”
“Please leave, Hyung.”
Se-min pointed at the door. His voice was quiet—resigned.
For a moment, Cha-hyeon’s pupils shrank. He stared at Se-min, wide-eyed, then bit down on his lower lip. His hands twisted together in his lap, trembling.
“……”
Then, suddenly, he shot to his feet—like someone who’d been doused in ice water. His face was colorless, his breath ragged. He turned and left quickly, almost like he was running away.
“…Haa.”
Even though he got what he asked for—watching Cha-hyeon leave didn’t bring Se-min any peace. He rubbed his face with both hands, dry and tired.
Only the faintest glow of light from outside dimly illuminated the dark room.
When the future Cha-hyeon said he wanted to stay, Se-min hadn’t even known how he felt. And now, even with his Cha-hyeon back, he still didn’t know.
They’d promised to marry. But now… he wasn’t sure of anything.
He remembered something that had once passed through his mind— Back on their first date, when a Rift transformed into a Gate.
The chaos was the kind that would leave any normal person shaken. But Cha-hyeon had seemed completely unaffected.
Like someone who couldn’t empathize. Like someone who could be selfish, without the slightest bit of guilt.
Could a person like that really be different with him? Cha-hyeon always treated him like he was the exception. But now, after forgetting even that he was like a real younger brother to Se-min—
Did he still think of Se-min as an exception?
That single sprout of doubt unraveled everything.
Did Cha-hyeon love him enough to marry him? Or was it just that someone who could provide Guiding affection was wagging their tail—and he’d toyed with him out of boredom?
Maybe Se-min had just loved him too much. Been too happy, too content, too blinded by love— To see what Cha-hyeon was really feeling.
For the first time ever— Ji Se-min doubted their love.
