Lee Han-seo had no idea how he’d managed to sit through the entire council meeting. Plans for next month’s schedule, regional rotations for long-term staff—important things were being rattled off one after another, but they all passed through him like background noise. He just kept bouncing his leg restlessly, unable to stop.
Ever since he’d snapped at Park Woo-jun in a moment of heated frustration, he’d done nothing but regret it.
It was called a High-Ranking Guide Council, but the only new addition this time was Han-seo, the lone A-Class Guide among them. Given the recent rumors floating around the center, the other members could more or less guess what was going on. No one scolded him for zoning out—they just cast the occasional sympathetic glance his way.
“……Then this concludes the High-Ranking Guide Council. Don’t forget to sign the attendance sheet on your way out. You can each take two souvenirs as well.”
The moment Team Leader Jo Min-soo, an A-Class Guide, finished speaking, Han-seo practically leapt out of his seat and rushed out of the meeting room. He’d sat all the way in the back, blank and disengaged, but still managed to make the fastest escape.
His footsteps quickened without him realizing it, almost turning into a jog. It wasn’t until he pushed through the lobby doors that he froze, shoulders twitching at the sudden chill.
“Don’t wait up. Just go to sleep first.”
“God, what the hell is wrong with me… Why’d I say something like that…”
The weather had turned cold, and the sun was setting earlier now, but it wasn’t even seven yet. With a pained sigh, Han-seo dropped onto the nearest bench like his legs gave out beneath him.
On a whim, he checked his phone and pager. Nothing. As expected.
A wave of emptiness crashed over him.
He kept thinking about the way Park Woo-jun’s face had gone completely blank—how the man who used to poke and prod at his nerves with that sharp tongue had been frozen, lips sealed shut.
“Why did I do that? Seriously, what the hell was I thinking, Han-seo. You idiot.”
No matter what anyone said, Lee Han-seo loved Park Woo-jun. He truly believed that. Even his frustrating personality—his lack of confidence, how he’d shrink away the moment someone raised their voice, the fact that he’d lied to Han-seo for five years under the excuse of protecting him—he loved him despite all of that.
Even now.
Even though people said he’d changed. Even though he hadn’t lost a single memory, hadn’t changed a single feeling.
But Han-seo… couldn’t say for sure that he still loved him the way he used to.
The first few days were fine. He thought, This’ll pass. It’s just temporary. They said he’d be back to normal soon.
He couldn’t deny that he’d been clinging to that naive hope.
When Woo-jun acted rougher than usual, when he exploded over things Han-seo hadn’t even thought to tell him—like his own personal schedule—it had felt strangely exciting. There was a kind of thrill to it.
He’d always been the one leading in the relationship. Letting someone else take the reins for once, getting dragged along for a change—it seemed like something worth trying.
But even the sweetest song gets old after the first verse.
It didn’t take long for Park Woo-jun’s obsessive behavior—his need to control everything about Han-seo, to claim him so unilaterally—to start suffocating him.
Not even a month had passed.
It was maybe three weeks after Woo-jun’s personality change. An A-Class dungeon, expected to be especially large, had been confirmed, and Han-seo had decided to sit that one out.
He’d guided Woo-jun all night, kissed him goodbye, told him to come back safe—and the next morning, when he woke up, the first thing that greeted him wasn’t the sun.
It was the sharp clink of metal.
He honestly thought he was dreaming. He was so stunned, so utterly baffled.
If not for the perfectly timed growl of his stomach, he might’ve stayed there pinching his own cheek, trying to wake up.
Thick, heavy chains—far longer and sturdier than they needed to be—bound his wrist to the headboard.
It was a restraint device made for Espers, used only in extreme situations: when forming an Imprint, or during high-risk contact guiding sessions with Espers on the verge of losing control.
And Park Woo-jun… had never once gone so far. He’d never lost his grip on reality to the point of hurting Han-seo, not even close.
That old restraint hadn’t been touched since the day they first formed their Imprint. It had practically vanished from their apartment.
The night before, Woo-jun had been more intense than usual—almost desperate. Maybe it was because it would be his first time entering a dungeon alone since the accident. The guiding session had dragged on endlessly, and at some point near dawn, Han-seo passed out.
And when he woke up… this is what he found.
The man who used to gently hold him, bathe him with warm water, dry his hair before tucking him into bed—that kindness was absent last night.
His body beneath the sheets still felt clammy and used. Dried streaks of semen crusted his cheek. He hadn’t even been cleaned up.
That alone, maybe, he could’ve endured.
By luck—or misfortune—the restraints developed for Espers could be released by any Guide registered with the Association. Woo-jun knew that. Of course he did.
Which meant he’d gone out of his way to dig up that old thing and cuff it to Han-seo’s wrist while he slept.
A clear message: Don’t do anything while I’m gone. Don’t leave. Don’t move.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Han-seo unlatched the cuff, got up, and stumbled into the bathroom.
As warm water hit his skin, a sharp ache throbbed deep inside him—so vivid it felt like he was still stretched open.
Globs of dried semen slipped out and splattered onto the tile, the pale fluid spiraling down the drain.
Watching it disappear made his stomach churn.
What the hell is this? What am I even doing?
The Park Woo-jun he knew—if he really was still the man Han-seo loved—would never have done this.
No matter how busy he was, the old Woo-jun would’ve brought a towel. He would’ve wiped Han-seo down himself, before even thinking of something like that restraint.
The last thread holding him together finally snapped when he stepped out of the shower and, out of pure habit, opened the fridge.
Five days.
Park Woo-jun had said he’d be gone for five days.
And yet, the fridge—once packed full thanks to Woo-jun’s diligent hands—was completely empty. He opened the lone side dish container, only to find it held nothing but a fuzzy, mold-covered pile of stir-fried eggplant.
His stomach turned violently.
This wasn’t Park Woo-jun.
Not the man who used to follow every word Han-seo said like it was law. Not the man who smiled with that easy, harmless grin. Not the man who spent years clinging to their twisted, messy love like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
This person… wasn’t him.
Han-seo had never once entertained the idea that Park Woo-jun might not love him. The only issue had ever been his poor way of showing it.
That cold, low voice calling his name kept overlapping in his mind with the warm, sweet lilt that used to say “baby.”
Since that night, every minute spent with Park Woo-jun had been torture.
And the worst part? It wasn’t even his fault.
Han-seo knew that.
He knew Woo-jun still cared.
But every time they were face-to-face, every time Woo-jun tried to control what he wore or where he went—like he had today—rage struck without warning, like lightning across a dry sky.
He wanted to grab that pale neck and scream, Where the hell did you hide my boyfriend? Give him back already!
“Where are you going?”
“Why won’t you answer? You’re going somewhere alone, aren’t you?”
But the truth was… this Park Woo-jun was still the same man.
And that was where everything started to fall apart.
“Here. Drink up. It gets chilly once the sun goes down.”
“…Hyung.”
A paper cup of steaming barley tea was suddenly thrust in front of him. Vending machine, probably. Calm expression, but eyes full of quiet concern—Lee Jung-hyuk.
Somehow, that small kindness melted a bit of the weight pressing on Han-seo’s chest. He offered a weak smile and took the cup.
“The meeting ended forever ago. Why are you still out here?”
“Didn’t want to go back yet.”
“Is it really that bad?”
“Yeah. Kinda.”
He ruffled his bangs in frustration, muttering under his breath.
He didn’t know how much longer he could keep doing this.
“If it’s really that hard… want to stay somewhere else for a while?”
“I’m fine. It’s not that bad.”
“That damn Park Woo-jun. How dare he make my little brother suffer like this.”
They weren’t related by blood—not even close—but when Jung-hyuk casually called him my little brother, it hit Han-seo right in the heart.
“…….”
“…….”
They sat side by side, sipping their drinks. The sky was already growing darker.
After draining the last few drops, Han-seo smacked his lips and let out a breath.
He’d stayed by Jung-hyuk’s side through all those messy, bitter days with Kim Joon-young. He never expected that kindness to come back around like this.
“Hyung. Be honest. Kim Joon-young’s not exactly a nice guy, right?”
“…Yeah. He’s not.”
“Then why do you like him?”
He’d heard the rumors, sure. Seen things for himself, too.
Even with how twisted Woo-jun had gotten after the accident, he still hadn’t reached Kim Joon-young’s level of nasty.
So Han-seo couldn’t help but wonder.
Was there some secret to loving someone who was… kind of an asshole?
“No idea. Guess it’s just habit now. You know how long I’ve liked him.”
“Right… Didn’t you say he was your first love? From middle school? If you were sixteen, that means it’s been… what, years and years?”
Maybe that was it. Maybe it took that long—years of loving someone—to accept every version of them, no matter how messed up.
Han-seo’s shoulders slumped.
He used to think five years meant something.
Used to feel proud of it.
Used to think it meant he could love Park Woo-jun through anything.
But that confidence… was slipping.
It wasn’t even that he blamed Woo-jun.
What hurt more was how disappointed he felt in himself.
Maybe the truth was, he’d only been ready to love the version of Woo-jun who listened to him, who stayed soft and easy.
That realization stung.
“Hyung… I feel like shit.”
“Where’s that coming from?”
“Because… because he doesn’t feel like himself anymore. And if this is how he is now…If he never goes back…What then? Can I really handle that? The truth is, when I first fell for him, I didn’t know a thing about his personality. If this had been the version I met back then… would I have still chased after him? Would I still have fallen in love?”
“How the hell should I know?”
Jung-hyuk scoffed, totally unfazed.
Han-seo shot him a glare, but it didn’t faze him in the slightest. He just plucked the empty cup from his hand with a casual flick.
“‘What if’ this, ‘what if’ that… I don’t know about any of that. But here’s what I do know: You’re already in too deep. Even if he never goes back to the way he was… You’ll keep loving him. That much, I’m sure of.”
“No, you don’t get it. I blew up at him earlier. Lost my temper. Yelled at him. It was bad.”
“Please. I’ve known you how long now? The fact that you’re this torn up about it already proves my point. And seriously—when haven’t you yelled at Park Woo-jun? When haven’t you gotten snappy with him?”
“…Okay, yeah, that’s fair.”
“It’s cold. Quit overthinking and go back inside already.”
Jung-hyuk stood up and pushed him toward the dorms.
He’d been sensing an Esper’s presence circling nearby for a while now, and it was getting on his nerves.
“Wait, I told him to sleep without me! How can I go back now? Hyung! Stop pushing! Jung-hyuk hyung!”
“Get moving, already.”
Just behind the streetlamp marking the path to the dorm, a familiar figure stood barely visible in the shadows.
Even Jung-hyuk had gotten used to recognizing Park Woo-jun’s silhouette by now.
Only after seeing Han-seo trudge off toward him did Jung-hyuk turn to go.
Watching that kid—someone who used to be no bigger than a chestnut—struggle with such grown-up thoughts made him smile, despite how serious the situation was.
He let out a small chuckle and started walking.
Only to be yanked back by the wrist.
There was only one person who’d do that.
Jung-hyuk didn’t even flinch. He just turned his head.
“Just a habit, huh?”
“…Hyung.”
“Seriously? That’s all you’ve got? ‘Just a habit?’”
Kim Joon-young’s eyes curved into a deceptively sweet smile—the kind he wore more often the angrier he got.
Still completely calm, Jung-hyuk casually shook off the grip and laced their fingers together.
“You ordered chicken, right? It’s gonna get cold. Let’s go.”
“Oh? Not even gonna try to explain yourself?”
“Why would I? I told the truth.”
“…….”
“I like you. What’s the problem?”
“…No problem.”
One way or another, both of their love lives were still very much intact.
