Grumbling non-stop earlier, Lee Han-seo was ironically the first of the three to crash—completely knocked out and off to dreamland like he didn’t have a care in the world. Someone had been whining about how annoying it was to share a bed and how unfair it was that he took the middle spot… but who was that again?
Park Woo-jun, meanwhile, didn’t even lie down. He sat upright, hugging a pillow and quietly watching Lee Han-seo sleep, as if he were doing it just to mess with Kim Joon-young.
“Your jaw’s about to unhinge. Is it really that nice to look at?”
Even when teased, Park Woo-jun didn’t flinch. He just kept staring, unblinking. Instead of answering, he gave a big nod and shot back with a grin.
“Isn’t it nice? You don’t think so, Sunbae?”
“Hell no, I don’t. Kid’s a pain in the ass. All he does is bug us every damn day.”
“But how can anyone not like Han-seo? That’s the real mystery.”
“You talk a big game, but if someone actually made a move, you’d kill them on the spot.”
“Heh.”
Park Woo-jun didn’t even deny it. He just let out that signature, airy chuckle of his—a soft, one-syllable “heh” that had practically become his trademark. And that gentle smile? It only ever showed up when Lee Han-seo was within his sight. Kim Joon-young knew that better than anyone.
Grumbling or not, Kim Joon-young was the only Esper who really understood Park Woo-jun. After all, he was the senior who personally taught Woo-jun everything—step by step—when the kid couldn’t even bring himself to step into a dungeon. No one else knew Woo-jun the way he did.
Seriously. The guy was intense.
From the outside, it looked like he was no different from the rest—just another Esper who lost his cool when his Guide was nearby. But Kim Joon-young knew better. He shook his head.
Even if Park Woo-jun guarded Han-seo like a fortress, it didn’t matter. Because the one he was guarding was that Lee Han-seo. Plenty of Espers, after catching a trace of his guiding waves or feeling a bit of that high-purity guiding during the odd desk job, couldn’t help but be tempted. They wouldn’t dare dream of becoming a Bonded Pair, but at least… maybe a handshake? A brush of fingers?
And Woo-jun, ever the picture of innocence, always managed to send those same Espers on missions—with himself. Who knows what they saw in those dungeons, but whatever it was, it scared them off for good. Anyone who came back never looked at Han-seo the same way again, as if they’d been hit with industrial-grade weed killer.
Eventually, it became an unspoken rule among unpaired Espers: no matter what, even if it meant losing control and dying, you don’t get Guiding from Lee Han-seo.
There was no way Han-seo could imagine what Woo-jun was like in the field. When his eyes went half-wild and he tore through monsters like paper, even Kim Joon-young had to admit—it was scary as hell.
“Ahjussi, what’s Woo-jun like on-site?”
“What do you mean, what’s he like? You mean his combat style or something?”
“No, I mean… my baby’s so sweet and gentle, right? And honestly, he’s still kinda low on the seniority ladder among the top ranks. I just worry… what if people are picking on him or making him feel left out, and he’s not telling me?”
Han-seo had asked him that once—looking like he didn’t even know the basics. It was during a rare moment when Woo-jun had gone out on a mission alone. Even now, Joon-young could barely believe it.
“Pfft. Don’t even. Who the hell’s gonna bully him? I’d be scared just thinking about it.”
“Huh?”
“Forget it. Even if I explained, you wouldn’t believe me. Just know your sweet potato isn’t some soft pushover.”
“Ugh, stop calling him that. I’m the only one allowed to call him sweet potato.”
Han-seo still believed his precious boyfriend was just a squishy little pumpkin sweet potato who’d bruise at the slightest touch. He wouldn’t understand Woo-jun’s true nature until he saw it for himself.
“Whatever. You’re both hopeless. I don’t even know why I bother. Just stop staring at your Han-seo and go to sleep. The second we get the summons tomorrow, I’m dragging you out the door.”
“You go ahead first, Sunbae.”
There he goes again. Still can’t say he’ll stop looking. Mentally drained, Kim Joon-young gave up and shut his eyes. The bed was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Not having his usual sleeping companion made it feel even emptier, and he just couldn’t fall asleep.
He kept tossing and turning, until finally—just before dawn—he sat up with a huff, deciding to get some water. By then, even Park Woo-jun had finally laid down properly, head resting on his pillow.
“Should’ve never taken the middle. This is torture.”
Lee Han-seo had turned away, sleeping soundly on his side, while Park Woo-jun had somehow glued himself to Kim Joon-young’s back—clearly trying to inch closer to Han-seo. Just squeezing his way out from between them was already a hassle.
Sure, he could’ve forced his way up, but if he woke them, they’d just start up again with their nonsense. For a second, he thought about just giving up and lying back down. But once he was up, his whole body felt like it had to move.
He slowly slid out of bed, careful not to make a sound. Maybe it was just in his head, but his body felt stiff. After a bit of stretching and a cold drink from the fridge, he finally felt refreshed.
But when he got back, Park Woo-jun had somehow wormed his way over and was now clinging to Han-seo like a koala, sound asleep. Seeing that, Joon-young didn’t even bother trying to squeeze back in. He just flopped down on the couch, lying on his side and stretching his legs out.
“Unbelievable. How is that not uncomfortable?”
Even completely wrapped in a death grip, Lee Han-seo was sound asleep, mumbling nonsense in dreamland. His face looked softer—almost babyish. Not even the blackout curtains could hide the view. In the darkness, he could still make out the delicate lines of Woo-jun’s lashes and the fine downy hair on Han-seo’s cheeks.
“Can’t believe that little kid who used to bawl for his mom grew up this much… Tch. His sleeping face hasn’t changed one bit since then.”
It wasn’t anything new—people who’d known Lee Han-seo for a long time at the Center often found themselves overwhelmed with a strange sense of nostalgia whenever they looked at him. Even regular staff, who’d only ever seen him from a distance, felt it. So imagine how it was for Kim Joon-young, who, just because he was also an S-Class, had been stuck cleaning up after the brat who showed up once a month like clockwork.
The first time ten-year-old Lee Han-seo met twenty-year-old Kim Joon-young, his very first words had been, “Ugh. You suck, ahjussi.” From the start, the kid had been nothing but consistently rude.
“Waaah! Go away, ahjussi! I want my mom! Moooom…”
The experiments were brutal—designed to artificially boost compatibility between mismatched Espers and Guides. Even adults struggled to endure them. And yet, Han-seo, who only got to enjoy a few scraps of freedom, had to show up at the Center for a full week every month. His cheeks red with fever, he’d cry like the world was ending.
He was just a child—not even old enough to graduate elementary school. And because the whole thing was classified, he was always dropped off without a guardian. No one. Nothing.
The Center tried to make up for it by assigning Kim Joon-young as a sort of stand-in guardian, but at the time, Joon-young could barely hold himself together. He had his own issues to deal with—there was no way he was equipped to comfort a kid clinging to a teddy bear the size of his body, begging to be sent home.
At some point, that kid who used to throw tantrums like his life depended on it… learned to give up. When he realized every painful test was for Ryu Ho-yeon’s benefit, he stopped crying—for the sake of the friend who always looked so sorry. The guilt made him grit his teeth and endure it all in silence.
There were days when he couldn’t take it, though. Joon-young had caught him more than once sneaking off to cry alone in a bathroom stall. That loud, bratty habit of yelling first and asking questions later probably took root then—his way of hiding how fragile he really was.
But the first time Lee Han-seo completely lost control and cried in front of others was when he was fifteen—the day he officially joined the Center.
Forced into it by a dozen tangled circumstances, he arrived with nothing but a backpack slung over his shoulder, his steps slow and heavy. His entire face was swollen with tears. He knew exactly what it meant—that he’d be living apart from the parents he loved more than anything.
Media outlets scrambled to capture the scene of Asia’s only S-Class Guide entering the Center. Cameras flashed wildly every time he sniffled. Pictures of him in his school uniform, face drenched with tears, flooded the headlines like it was a spectacle to celebrate.
Kim Joon-young didn’t feel pride or admiration. Just sorrow.
He knew the pressure. As Korea’s first S-Class Esper recognized by the government, he’d been grilled by the media more times than he could count. But at least he’d been lucky enough to have a semi-normal high school life. That had been his one saving grace—awakening at eighteen.
Han-seo wasn’t so lucky. Diagnosed at just seven. And not A-Class or B-Class—but S-Class.
He was just a kid who wanted to go to school like everyone else, to stop by for tteokbokki on his way home. But he paid for it all with unwanted fame and relentless scrutiny.
Everyone at the Center who remembered that day, who saw it unfold with their own eyes, agreed: for Lee Han-seo—born into a loving, well-off family as a cherished only child—being an S-Class Guide wasn’t a blessing. It was a curse that shackled him to a fate he never asked for.
Even after that, Han-seo wandered around the Center with red, swollen eyes, acting like everything was fine. Kim Joon-young and Lee Jung-hyuk let themselves be fooled—because what else did Han-seo have left besides his pride and that sharp, stubborn temper?
Honestly, it might’ve been easier to watch if he’d just bawled like he used to—crying that he missed his mom and that everything hurt.
By sixteen, he was old enough to feel embarrassed about crying in front of people—but still too young to fully protect his fragile heart. He was just a kid playing tough. The way he kept wearing his school uniform long after he stopped attending school said it all. He held on to it like he couldn’t let go of that last shred of normalcy.
“They say other people’s kids grow up fast…”
Or maybe—just maybe—at this point, he could call him his own.
Of course, if Han-seo heard that, he’d absolutely lose it, screaming, “Since when did you raise me?!” So Kim Joon-young just swallowed the thought and chuckled quietly to himself.
His soft laughter rippled through the pitch-dark living room like gentle waves.
