“You haven’t been there yet, right? Let’s go together next time.”
“…Oh. Sounds like you really liked it.”
“Yeah. The fries were just okay, but the burger patty was thick and juicy. Pretty good.”
Lee Han-seo always seemed to be in a better mood after seeing Lee Hye-soo. Park Woo-jun didn’t mind that. He sat on the edge of the bed, casually changing into comfortable clothes, quietly watching Han-seo ramble on about what his noona had said and done. His face wore its usual soft smile.
Han-seo had been happily chattering away when he suddenly paused, a strange sensation pricking at him. “Hm?” He glanced over at Woo-jun, only to find him staring blankly back. His gaze wasn’t unfocused, exactly—it was more like he wasn’t fully grounded, like he was floating somewhere just out of reach. Wondering if it was a lack of Guiding, Han-seo checked, but everything seemed fine.
“What’s wrong? Was training rough today?”
“……”
“Woo-jun.”
“…Yeah?”
Again, the answer came a beat too slow. Han-seo remembered hearing that since the next gate site was near the ocean, they’d put Park Woo-jun—not Julian—in charge as the main striker for training. Maybe that was the reason. What kind of brutal training did they put him through for him to look like this, even without any signs of Guiding depletion?
Hiding his worry with practiced ease, Han-seo reached out and gently stroked Woo-jun’s cheek.
“You look tired.”
“A bit, yeah. I’m fine though. Don’t worry.”
His eyes softened as he smiled, his expression calm and warm as always. But something still felt off. Han-seo studied him, as if trying to read between the lines, but all Woo-jun did was chuckle quietly and smile again.
Maybe I’m just overthinking it. Convinced it was nothing, Han-seo leaned down to kiss him lightly and got up to take a shower.
When he came back out, hair dripping wet, he called out playfully, “Woo-jooon, I’m done—… Huh? Already asleep?”
Woo-jun had passed out completely, clearly exhausted. Lately, he’d been sleeping more in general. Normally, they’d go to bed at the same time, heads resting close together, but whether it was poor sleep quality or something else, Woo-jun had started dozing off wherever and whenever he could. Even during breaks in training—when Han-seo deliberately went to see him—he’d often find him passed out alone in some quiet corner.
Not wanting to wake him, Han-seo carefully dried his hair on the lowest breeze setting. Once he was done, he dove onto the bed and turned sideways, watching Woo-jun sleep.
“Aww… Poor baby, you must be really wiped out… Should I suggest they bring in a different Esper to take the main striker role? Julian was stationed at the rear this time—what if it’s like this again? He shouldn’t have to keep pushing himself like this.”
His voice trembled with concern and helpless affection. It was a stark contrast to the last mission, where Julian had landed most of the major hits while Woo-jun was reassigned to the rear guard.
“Heheh… So cute. How can someone look this pretty while sleeping…”
Even with his eyes closed, Woo-jun’s features were flawless, like something sculpted by hand. His long lashes rested gently against his cheeks, giving him an air of serene innocence. Just looking at him was enough to make Han-seo feel content. He never got tired of it—he kept admiring every detail like it was the first time. He poked his nose, squished his cheek, fussed around playfully… but Woo-jun didn’t stir once. He was completely out.
“Goodnight, Woo-jun. See you in the morning.”
Han-seo pressed a firm kiss to his smooth forehead and, finally at ease, drifted off to sleep himself.
If no one had awakened from a nightmare that night, their not-quite-ordinary, ordinary day would have ended just like that.
“……!!”
Only a few hours later, long before dawn, Park Woo-jun jolted upright in bed with a silent gasp. Cold sweat clung to his skin, his heart pounding like it might burst out of his chest. It felt like he’d sprinted an entire marathon without pacing himself.
Thump, thump, thump—his heartbeat roared in his ears. His vision was still hazy, and the darkness pressing in around him made it impossible to see clearly. Hands trembling, he reached out blindly, searching. The mound beside him under the blanket was still there. Frantically yanking the covers down, he saw Lee Han-seo, buried in the bedding, peacefully asleep.
Only then did he feel like blood was finally circulating through his body again.
“…Ha.”
Woo-jun let out a long, shaky sigh and wiped his face repeatedly with dry hands. He couldn’t even remember the dream. All that remained was a sickening, sticky sensation that clung to his limbs like tar.
It’s okay. He’s here. It’s fine.
Face still buried in his hands, he whispered compulsively, over and over again. I haven’t been abandoned yet. It’s okay. Not yet. He’s still here. He hasn’t hurt me. It’s really okay. Han-seo’s right here.
He repeated the words like a mantra, anything to soothe the chaos swirling inside him.
Having Lee Hye-soo visit had been a good thing. No matter how cheerful and resilient Han-seo acted, there were times when homesickness pulled him under. In those moments, Woo-jun had felt helpless—powerless to do anything but watch. But now, seeing how just Hye-soo’s presence had seemed to ease half of Han-seo’s loneliness… that had warmed him, genuinely.
But with that warmth came something else. The unease he’d been trying so hard to ignore began to stir again, crawling back to the surface like something rotting beneath the floorboards.
No matter how much Hye-soo pretended she was okay, Woo-jun could see it. He was an Esper too—he could sense the shadows others couldn’t. The deep, invisible darkness that clung to the heart of a discarded Esper. He could see it all, and in seeing it, he couldn’t help but wonder—Will I end up like her someday?
People’s feelings changed without warning. And when they did, there was no one to blame. There was no way to see inside someone’s heart, no way to grasp it. That truth—the fleeting, intangible nature of human affection—was terrifying in a way that left him breathless.
The moment Lee Han-seo turned around, waving casually and saying, “Let’s meet up after training,” it felt like someone had wrapped a hand around Park Woo-jun’s throat.
It wasn’t just longing or missing him—it was far more suffocating than that. Even in the middle of training, Woo-jun found himself imagining, over and over again, Han-seo walking through the door only to say, “I’m sick of this. I’m done with you,” and ending things on the spot.
Hadn’t something similar happened before? After Charlotte and Claire’s deaths, he’d overheard some story about a Guide, and for a few days, Han-seo’s attitude had felt… off. Another emergency had erupted right after, so the moment passed unaddressed, but that was the thing about people—you never knew when they’d change. One moment everything felt fine, and the next, it was over.
He’d thought the Imprint would be enough. That, like in the stories, it would guarantee a happily-ever-after. That love would be pure and radiant, and nothing could shake it.
But watching Hye-soo and Woo-joo fall apart reminded him again—an Imprint might bond two bodies, but it couldn’t bind their hearts. Maybe that’s why Han-seo could guide other Espers so easily, without hesitation. All that talk about doing it for the greater good, for the sake of the world… Park Woo-jun couldn’t buy into it. He didn’t want to.
He simply kept his mouth shut, burying every complaint, every fear, deep inside. Letting them slowly eat him alive. And truth be told, he didn’t even know what, exactly, was rotting him from the inside out.
“Hngh… Woo-jun… nooo… I’m full…”
Han-seo mumbled in his sleep, lips twitching like he was enjoying a dream. There was a time when moments like that made Woo-jun’s heart swell. He’d be overwhelmed with happiness, sure that Han-seo loved him back. But now… all he felt was dread.
He loves me now. But what about an hour from now? Tomorrow? The day after?
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Han-seo. It was that he had zero faith in himself. And because of that, he couldn’t even bring himself to say he was scared. Even though he knew—he knew—Han-seo would try to understand. But still, he couldn’t say a word. That kind of honesty only existed between equals.
And Park Woo-jun knew exactly where he stood.
They might call it the same thing—love—but that didn’t mean they were on equal footing.
From where Woo-jun stood, Han-seo’s affection felt like charity. A kindness granted from someone higher to someone lower. And what he gave in return? It wasn’t just love. It was closer to worship. Devotion so fierce, it bordered on obsession. The kind of blind faith that made you want to shatter your god’s limbs and lock them away where no one else could touch them.
So how could he ever show how he really felt? When Han-seo wasn’t around, he was suffocating from the fear of being abandoned. And when he was, Woo-jun found himself constantly gauging his every word, every move.
The tension never let up. It gripped his chest from morning to night.
What if I say something wrong and he gets sick of me? What if I act weird and he thinks I’m creepy?
So in the end, all he did was smile gently and nod—pretending everything was okay. Luckily, it seemed Han-seo still found his face passable enough to keep around. For now.
What did he talk about with Hye-soo today? Did they talk about me? Did she say I was strange?
He’d tried to avoid Hye-soo as much as possible, terrified that she’d see through him. She was sharp. What if she noticed something and warned Han-seo?
Every waking moment, his mind swirled with thoughts—How can I get just one more piece of him? How can I make him see only me? How do I keep him? How do I keep from being thrown away?
It was disgusting. Shameful. But he couldn’t stop. He was afraid someone would tell Han-seo to toss him out while he still had the chance.
The fear made his teeth chatter. His thoughts chased each other in endless circles, a poisonous current pulling him deeper and deeper. And all night long, he drifted in it, unable to find shore.
