When Hye-seong looked at Director Shin in confusion, the man quickly shook his head as if to say he had no idea what was going on.
Yoo Ji-ho was sitting nonchalantly on the office sofa, legs crossed, wearing his uniform. During his rest periods, Yoo Ji-ho wore his uniform more often than his combat gear.
Still catching his slightly ragged breath, Hye-seong stood awkwardly in front of the Director’s Office door and replied,
“I was… just about to step out for lunch with a friend.”
“…Ah.”
Only then did Yoo Ji-ho lower the gaze that had been fixed on the door. Staring off somewhere into empty space, he slowly nodded.
A heavy silence settled over the spacious Director’s Office.
Hye-seong darted his eyes toward Director Shin, but he, too, seemed unaware of what was going on.
Something about the atmosphere felt delicate. The air seemed laced with a chill, making Hye-seong swallow dryly without realizing it.
At the center of it all, Yoo Ji-ho remained perfectly still. He said nothing, seemingly unfazed by the silence.
Blinking slowly, Hye-seong looked at him.
What’s going on with him?
He seemed the same as usual… yet different somehow.
Maybe it was just in his head, but right now, Yoo Ji-ho didn’t seem like the version of himself from recent days—
He looked like the Yoo Ji-ho Hye-seong had first met.
Back then, Hye-seong had thought that was his natural self. But in truth, Ji-ho had been far more tense and sensitive than he’d let on.
That same vibe was now radiating from him again.
“Yoo Ji-ho…”
Hye-seong carefully closed the door and stepped inside.
That was when Yoo Ji-ho spoke.
“I suddenly found myself with some free time, Hye-seong.”
“Ji-ho, that’s your schedule. Hye-seong has his own work hours too,”
Director Shin chimed in from his desk across the room.
“And I’ve got my lunch break to enjoy. Now that you’ve seen each other, go on—both of you. Shoo.”
He even waved them away with exaggerated gestures, but Ji-ho didn’t seem to hear a word. He kept his eyes fixed on Hye-seong.
It was hard to get a read on the situation.
Still staring, Ji-ho finally spoke again, voice low.
“I feel… bad.”
“……”
“I don’t know why I feel this way.”
His voice was so subdued it bordered on dazed.
When Hye-seong just stood there, unmoving, Ji-ho’s brows knit slightly. His eyes, which had looked fine lately, were now faintly bloodshot.
Hye-seong suddenly wondered if he’d slept at all last night.
Then Ji-ho reached a hand out toward him—beckoning.
Still standing dazed, Hye-seong quickly walked over to where he was sitting.
“What’s wrong? Did you overdo it today?”
“I don’t know. Will you hold my hand?”
“…Yes.”
Worried, Hye-seong sat beside him and gently reached out both hands.
The way he held his hands out, asking Ji-ho to place his in them, made Ji-ho smile faintly.
It looked like he was either bracing for a slap or waiting to be given candy.
As soon as Ji-ho placed his hand on top, Hye-seong grasped it carefully and cradled it.
Ji-ho leaned back limply against the sofa headrest and looked at him, seeming utterly drained.
He quietly accepted Hye-seong’s gentle touch.
They no longer spent all their time glued together like before, but Hye-seong still gave Ji-ho a full dose of guiding every single day.
Was his bad mood really because of his wave pattern? That was probably why he’d called, but…
“You’ve been doing fine lately. Did you overexert yourself today?”
“No.”
“Did something go wrong with your wave pattern?”
“Yeah. Wanna see?”
When Hye-seong nodded, Ji-ho held out his wrist as if showing off.
Eyes widening, Hye-seong immediately tapped on Ji-ho’s pager to check his wave data. Ji-ho watched his reactions closely, almost as if amused.
“Gasp—what the heck is this…?”
Hye-seong’s worried eyes stayed glued to the screen.
He bit his lip, glancing back and forth between Ji-ho’s face and the graph.
It had been ages since he’d seen Ji-ho’s real-time wave pattern.
Until now, he’d only checked it briefly for reports—but even this morning, Ji-ho’s levels had been higher than usual.
But now? While not yet critical, his wave pattern was clearly all over the place.
It was just like how he’d been when Hye-seong first became his Guide.
Is it because I reduced the guiding…?
Since returning from Jeju, they hadn’t once… done that.
Outwardly, their relationship didn’t seem to have changed.
After his long vacation, Ji-ho had gotten busy again. Hye-seong hadn’t pressed him about anything either—he didn’t want to bring it up when Ji-ho had so much on his plate.
Ji-ho still treated him kindly, just like always—patting his head casually, sharing meals together.
He even kept bringing desserts that Hye-seong liked.
More than once, Hye-seong forgot those desserts were even in the fridge—but Ji-ho never did.
The only real change was that they no longer slept in the same bed—and naturally, they weren’t engaging in sexual contact for guiding anymore.
Everything else remained the same.
Still… for things to get this bad even without combat…
He hadn’t expected Ji-ho’s condition to decline this quickly.
Thoughts he hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on for a while came creeping back.
Seeing once again the unbridgeable gap between their ranks and compatibility made his chest tighten.
As he looked at Ji-ho with troubled eyes, the man, silent until now, suddenly joked,
“You keep trying to leave me—that’s why I’m like this.”
“Don’t joke around.”
There was no way that was true.
Hye-seong knew Ji-ho liked to tease people, blaming others for things that clearly weren’t their fault.
If only I were a more capable Guide.
If just holding hands could give him more than enough energy…
He wasn’t even that kind of Guide, yet here he was—daring to harbor feelings for someone like Yoo Ji-ho…
“I told you. I was just going to meet a friend.”
“…Huh?”
But Ji-ho seemed preoccupied with something else.
“Were you really just going to have lunch?”
“Yes, he texted me right around lunchtime.”
“I see. What kind of friend?”
“…Um.”
Why was he asking questions he usually never did—especially when Hye-seong was clearly worried sick?
Still clutching Ji-ho’s hand, he answered gently.
“He’s a high school friend—my best friend. He had something to do near here, so I thought I’d finally get to see him again… it’s been a while.”
“Guess you didn’t, because of me. Damn.”
“It’s fine! Luckily, Ha-jin was totally cool with it. He’s really sweet.”
“Mm.”
Ji-ho smiled faintly, and the deep worry on Hye-seong’s face eased ever so slightly into a relaxed smile.
“Your friend’s name is Kim Ha-jin?”
“Oh—no, it’s Jung Ha-jin. We lived nearby, so we used to walk to and from school together. But we’ve barely seen each other since we both got busy.”
“Sounds like you two were close. Is it a girl?”
“Nope. He’s a guy.”
Ji-ho paused, looking down at the hand Hye-seong was holding.
Then he looked back at him with a soft smile.
“Now that I think about it… doesn’t make a difference either way, huh?”
“Huh?”
“Nothing.”
What was that supposed to mean?
Hye-seong blinked, confused, but then let out a small laugh and shrugged.
Ji-ho was smiling, after all.
It was a relief that he didn’t seem to be in too much distress.
Still, he made a mental note to treat Ha-jin to something really good next time they met.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Director Shin stood frozen, jaw practically unhinged.
He couldn’t believe the scene playing out in front of him.
“What the hell…”
This was supposed to be his precious, oh-so-precious lunch break.
He’d fully intended to kick them both out so he could enjoy it in peace—but somehow, he’d completely forgotten about that.
Director Shin had asked Hye-seong multiple times to confirm that things with Ji-ho were going okay.
Things had been so chaotic in Jeju, and all he could remember was coming face-to-face with the dark, twisted depths of Yoo Ji-ho’s mind.
In Shin’s head, the dynamic between the two had always been: the sweet, innocent kid… and the mean older guy who dragged him around and tormented him.
But more than that—
“I feel bad. I don’t know why.”
He almost snorted aloud in disbelief.
Since when has that bastard ever needed a reason to feel shitty?
Yoo Ji-ho was the type to go around saying his mood was “fucked” every other sentence.
And whenever his condition improved, he brought his top-tier bullshit to everyone at the Center.
But this… this was…
