“I was the shelter leader, so I saw him a few times from afar. But we never talked. Not even once.”
His calm reply only deepened the confusion. But then again, it had been twenty-one years. Who would remember a single conversation from that long ago?
Kim Sibaek set aside the question for now and focused instead on the fleeting connection with Detective Park, which was already beginning to fade.
On his way back after parting ways, a message popped up from Tae Woon.
[Hyungㅠㅠ]
[Why did you leave me all alone… That’s so mean… I’m not eating dinner until you come backㅠㅠ]
Even the tearful capybara emoticon attached to the message oozed with cuteness. Explaining everything over text would’ve taken at least an hour, so he just called. It was around the time Tae Woon usually got off work anyway.
There was no longer any need to hide the truth, so he confessed everything. Tae Woon’s answer came in his usual slow drawl.
“…Ah, so you met Detective Park too?”
“He said he doesn’t remember ever meeting you. Maybe it’s just been too long.”
“Yeah, probably. I asked him about it back when he was super busy cleaning up after a monster attack. That was the only time he had.”
Of course he wouldn’t remember if he was in the middle of all that chaos. Kim Sibaek brushed it off easily and turned his thoughts to a more pressing concern—what if Woonie really did wait? He’d already eaten.
***
He was a good kid. Well, he said he was in his 40s, so maybe not a “kid.” Detective Park chuckled as he walked toward his car.
Sometimes, fleeting connections from the past had a way of circling back, just like today. Some people showed up by pure chance. Others came looking, asking around until they found him at a neighborhood police station.
They’d bow their heads and thank him for guiding them through rough times. But in truth, he was the one who felt grateful—grateful that they’d survived, grown up strong, and hadn’t let this brutal world break them.
“Ah, shoot. I forgot to ask for his number.”
It would’ve been nice to exchange a few messages now and then. Clicking his tongue in regret, Park got into the car.
Man, I really couldn’t remember him at all. Even if I don’t recognize someone at first, I usually remember after we talk a bit…
Maybe it was the guilt, or maybe just regret, but Kim Sibaek’s question lingered: Had he ever met Tae Woon?
Park sat there for a moment, forgetting to start the engine, as memories from 21 years ago drifted back. Back then, he hadn’t been stationed at Jaewoo University with Tae Woon. He’d been under Justyna—at her shelter.
Justyna was a Polish mercenary who had come to Korea on vacation and ended up stranded by the Cataclysm. When the monsters started appearing, she quickly seized a police station and armed herself. Park had also been trying to evacuate people near the station, and through a series of events, ended up joining her.
Her shelter had been the second safest place in Seoul after Tae Woon’s, and Park was one of the last to join. Even though they were both Seoul refugees, he and Tae Woon had never actually spoken or met in person. It wasn’t that strange.
Unless Tae Woon had made the first move—which he hadn’t—there was no way they would’ve crossed paths. There were so many refugees back then; Tae Woon probably didn’t even know he existed.
Yeah, guess we really didn’t meet.
And it’s not like Kim Sibaek asked with any real conviction. If people knew you were a Seoul refugee, they’d always ask if you knew Tae Woon. This was probably the same kind of question.
With a quiet sigh and a vague hope that they might meet again someday, Detective Park finally started the car and drove off.
***
“I know. You’ll always protect me. You’ll always help me.”
There was a time when someone had whispered that to him.
Maybe it was hearing Detective Park’s name again after so long, but Tae Woon awoke from his sleep, memories from a long-buried past surfacing like dust caught in sunlight.
Yeah. That was how it used to be—those innocent days when he truly believed even a clumsy first love could last forever.
Lying on his back, Tae Woon stared silently at the ceiling.
Other memories from that time had long since faded, but his memories of Kim Sibaek remained. All that was left now were fragments of emotion, shattered and swirling endlessly in his mind. Only now did he begin to recall, vaguely, what he and Detective Park had talked about after the fight with Pi Minhyung.
His lips, pale and bloodless, parted slowly as he whispered the last words.
“…You’ll help me.”
That much hadn’t changed.
He still believed Kim Sibaek would come to his aid.
Even if his Divine Power hadn’t fully returned… should he just go for it now? The urge clawed at him—dark, almost manic, rising like a sickness in his blood.
He grabbed his left arm with his right hand and dug in, almost tearing his own skin. The dangerously volatile impulse finally began to recede.
Not yet.
He didn’t know how long he could keep holding back. He’d already crossed that line once, a long time ago. But for now, just a little longer.
He only had one shot. He had to wait until Kim Sibaek’s Divine Power recovered completely.
Taking a deep breath, Tae Woon sat up. The clock on his phone read 4 a.m. Way too early to be awake—but staying in bed wouldn’t bring sleep either.
And he was a little thirsty.
Slipping on the slippers beside his bed, he stepped into the hallway.
The house was dark and still.
As he made his way through the familiar shadows, his knee slammed hard into something.
“….”
He looked down, then reached out to feel it.
A chair.
One of the dining chairs, slightly pulled out from the table—probably the one Kim Sibaek had sat in yesterday.
A quiet laugh slipped from his lips.
The penthouse interior never changed. Everything stayed exactly where it was. Maintaining that uniformity made it easier—not having to focus so hard just to see clearly. It was exhausting, constantly forcing his eyes to interpret space and distance. So Tae Woon kept every piece of furniture in the same spot. If he couldn’t find an identical replacement, he’d use something nearly the same in size and shape.
That unchanging order was broken the moment Kim Sibaek entered his life.
He’d bought a microwave just so they could enjoy meals together. The dining chairs, which used to collect dust in perfect stillness, started shifting slightly each day. One day askew, the next a little further. The TV remote ended up on the couch one night and on the floor the next. The drying rack sometimes stayed out on the balcony, sometimes ended up inside.
Every time he opened his eyes, some part of the house had changed—without him doing anything. And whenever Kim Sibaek was away and Tae Woon lowered his guard, he’d always bump into something. Always get hurt.
But instead of annoyance, he welcomed it.
Each bruise, every stubbed toe, was proof. Proof that Kim Sibaek existed here, with him.
He didn’t bother pushing the chair back in. Instead, he turned toward the fridge. The moment the door opened, a wash of artificial light spilled out—but Tae Woon didn’t blink. Without flinching, he reached in and grabbed a bottle of water.
The cool liquid slid down his throat, washing away the thirst. Then, suddenly, he let out a dry laugh. Even though his sense of taste had long since vanished, he still ate, still drank—how absurd.
His body still craved energy. It still demanded sleep. Still required hydration like he was some normal, living person. Tae Woon found it funny—laughable, really—that his body still went through the motions of being human.
“Hey, Woonie? You’re up too?”
A sleepy voice, muffled by a yawn. Tae Woon turned around, slipping his ungloved left hand into his pocket with the easy rhythm of someone who’d just gotten out of bed. Sibaek’s face was soft with drowsiness, his steps slow as he padded over.
Tae Woon’s brow furrowed slightly. He focused his vision to get a clearer look at him—and immediately regretted it. The refrigerator light flared in his eyes.
“Woke up thirsty. You too, Hyung?”
“Yeah. Guess the room’s a little dry…”
Still yawning, Sibaek rubbed the back of his neck. Then he noticed the water bottle in Tae Woon’s hand and started in with the usual lecture.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t drink straight from the bottle.”
“I didn’t put my mouth on it.”
“Doesn’t matter. Just use a glass next time, okay?”
But even the nagging sounded like affection to Tae Woon. He smiled and watched Sibaek shuffle toward the sink.
“Okay. But there’s only a little left. You might as well just finish it.”
He gave the bottle a quick shake. Just a couple sips. Sibaek gave in and took it without protest.
Tae Woon’s gaze followed the movement of his throat as he tilted his head back to drink. His Adam’s apple stood out, moving with each swallow.
His lips were dry.
Tae Woon licked his lower lip, voice dropping to a murmur.
“Indirect kiss.”
“Pfft—!”
Sibaek choked, water catching in his throat. He coughed, sputtering, a thin stream of water running down his chin. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he finally realized—Tae Woon hadn’t said anything until now.
“…….”
Tae Woon stood quietly with one hand resting on the fridge, his gaze not on Sibaek’s face, but somewhere lower.
Sibaek instinctively followed his line of sight.
Water. A faint stream that had trickled down from his lips, over his chin, down his neck. It had dampened the collar of his shirt—just barely. It would dry within minutes. Still, Tae Woon’s eyes didn’t move, fixated on the droplets glistening faintly under the fridge light.
The drowsiness evaporated in an instant.
It hit him all over again—what had never changed.
The heat simmering in those shadowed eyes was still there.
Desire.
Tae Woon stepped forward—just once.
One step. That was all it took to close the distance. That craving had always been only one step away.
“Hyung.”
As he leaned in, his voice brushed against Sibaek’s skin like a whisper. Quiet, intimate.
Tae Woon’s lips parted slightly.
A breath—warm and shallow—drifted over his lips.
