“Hhic, hngh… Hyung…”
Like a child seeking comfort, Nabin threw himself into the broad chest before him, clinging as if it were the only thing keeping him afloat. Though the solid body stiffened momentarily, Nabin didn’t notice—too consumed by grief to sense anything beyond the ache in his heart.
He knew it had only been a dream. His mind understood that. But he couldn’t shake the image of his father vanishing—as if his very existence had been erased.
The happiness of being reunited with his father had lasted only a moment. He had promised to protect his mother, only to lead her to her death. And in the end, he had taken his own life.
He could imagine what it must have been like for his father to watch all of that unfold. Just the thought made his chest tighten with unbearable sorrow. Nabin had gone searching for death himself, hoping to see his father again when death refused to come on its own.
He’d close his eyes and pray—pray that he could meet his parents again, even if just in dreams.
But the world he woke to was no longer the same.
He hadn’t been dragged into the horrors of an illegal guiding parlor, raised like livestock. He’d met Hayan—a man he had only brushed past in his previous life—and formed something new.
He’d reunited with Kim Su-hyun, someone who had remained painfully rooted in his heart, and forged fresh bonds with people who slowly began to fill the empty spaces of his life.
But his father… was still gone.
No matter how much had changed, the truth remained: his father had died to save him.
Sometimes, he’d wonder—what if he could go back to the time before his father died? And every time, the thought left him feeling heavy and hollow, like a sponge soaked in sorrow.
Maybe his longing had reached the heavens, because he finally saw his father again, even if it was just a dream. But their time together was as brief as a sigh.
Maybe another miracle would let them meet again. But at that moment, the thought of never seeing him again hurt so much that Nabin wanted to cling to time itself, to stop it from slipping away.
He reached for his father’s disappearing form, desperate not to let go—but his hands closed around nothing, as if grasping at smoke.
The final image burned into his vision was his father’s smile, directed solely at him. And in that moment, he knew—they’d felt the same. His father had smiled brightly, but behind it, his eyes held a depthless sorrow, like a bottomless well.
Alone in the silence of that empty space, Nabin cried until it felt like all the moisture in his body had drained away.
As if crying might somehow bring his father back. As if that was all he knew how to do anymore.
If he hadn’t heard that faint voice calling his name, he might’ve kept destroying himself in that endless white void.
That soft voice reached him across time and space, echoing in his heart like a gentle breeze warming the cold weight of grief.
Slowly, his consciousness peeled away from the dream and returned to reality.
The moment he saw the eyes gazing at him with such tenderness, heat surged into his own.
This was someone who looked at him as if his heart broke every time Nabin cried.
He didn’t want to cause more worry. He tried to hold back the tears, but there was no stopping them.
And the moment a gentle hand told him it was okay to cry, the dam burst.
Nabin had finally learned how to cry aloud.
He had spent so long trying to forget how.
In the past, even when tears spilled over, he had to stifle the sound—covering his mouth until he couldn’t breathe, just to keep from being heard.
But now, someone was there to wipe his tears away. And that alone made him someone who could cry again.
“Ugh… it just… hurts so much…”
Being able to speak even a sliver of what he truly felt—that alone was a change.
In the past, there’d been no one to listen, even when he said he was in pain.
Now, clumsily but honestly, Nabin began to express the grief that had shredded his heart. And the arms that wrapped around him—as if they could see the things he hadn’t even said—held him with quiet warmth.
As if Nabin were something fragile, Hayan held him close, letting his warmth seep into every broken part.
He stroked his back gently and ran a hand through his hair until the trembling in Nabin’s slight frame began to settle.
And with every tear Nabin shed, it was as if the pain soaked into Hayan’s own heart.
He bit his lip, trying to hold back the swelling ache in his chest.
What kind of nightmare had made Nabin cry like this?
He didn’t know. But whatever it was had left a weight on his chest he couldn’t lift. If he could, he would’ve taken the pain in Nabin’s place. But he couldn’t—and the helplessness was suffocating. All he could do was hold Nabin close and quietly comfort him.
Time stretched around them, like a protective cocoon.
Hayan felt frustrated that he couldn’t do more—but for Nabin, Hayan’s presence alone was enough.
If he had faced this parting with his father alone, it would’ve been unbearable. But wrapped in sincere warmth, the pain softened, if only a little.
***
“Your eyes are seriously swollen. Here—use this.”
Nabin took the cold towel handed to him and hesitantly placed it over his eyes.
Just like Hayan had said, his eyelids were so swollen they felt like stones weighing them down. The cool touch sent a shiver through his shoulders.
He had just come downstairs with Hayan after crying his eyes out. Hayan sat him down on the sofa and went into the kitchen, returning with a towel that had been chilled in the freezer.
In one corner of the freezer, a neat stack of frozen towels sat like permanent residents—prepared just for times like this. In the quiet space where only the two of them existed, a sudden noise cut in like an unwelcome guest.
Startled, Nabin bolted upright, the towel slipping from his eyes. Hayan caught it mid-air and gently placed it back over them.
“I think Esper Ryu Soh-an just arrived. Keep that on—I’ll go check.”
“…Okay.”
At Hayan’s words, Nabin forced his body to relax and leaned back against the sofa.
He was embarrassed by how easily startled he’d been. Thankfully, the towel was big enough to cover his flushed cheeks.
Hayan opened the front door.
Moments later, the sound of two sets of footsteps approached—one light and quick, the other steady and composed.
“Hello.”
“Good to see you again, Esper Lee Hayan.”
It was Ryu Soh-an and Kim Su-hyun.
Recognizing the voices, Nabin pulled the towel from his eyes.
Their visits had become part of his daily life now.
Ever since he began staying with Hayan, the two of them had shown up almost every day.
“Hello, Guide Kim Nabin.”
“Still happy to see you, even if it’s every day!”
Both of them were naturally sociable, and their presence always brought a spark of energy into the quiet mansion. Since both Nabin and Hayan were the quiet type, that liveliness stood out all the more. Like a gentle spring drizzle softening hardened soil, they took their time, easing closer at a pace Nabin could handle.
“…Hello.”
Nabin rose and offered a quiet greeting.
The first time he had met Ryu Soh-an, he had panicked. Because his face so closely resembled Ryu Somin’s. The resemblance had triggered a flood of memories and overwhelming emotions.
Thankfully, after seeing Ryu Soh-an every day for treatment, Nabin had grown to distinguish him from Somin. Sometimes, when he looked into those sky-colored eyes—so similar to Somin’s—he still felt himself being pulled somewhere far away in his mind. But the panic attacks had grown less frequent.
At Nabin’s shy greeting, Ryu Soh-an’s face lit up with a radiant smile. His large eyes curved into crescent moons, and something about it made Nabin’s lips twitch upward ever so slightly. It wasn’t quite a smile—barely even noticeable. But it was his expression. And for Ryu Soh-an, that alone was enough to make his heart swell.
“…Esper Kim Su-hyun, pinch me. Did I just imagine that?”
Still dazed, Ryu turned to Su-hyun with a goofy smile, needing confirmation that he hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing. Su-hyun shook his head at him, clearly unimpressed, and ignored the request. Instead, he walked over and sat beside Nabin.
“Guide Kim Nabin, just ignore him and sit. Your legs must be tired.”
It was almost dinnertime.
Hayan had already gone into the kitchen to start preparing the meal. Despite his aloof appearance, he was an incredible cook. Su-hyun shamelessly ate dinner at Hayan’s house almost every night.
At first, he’d felt a little awkward, but after getting used to Hayan’s cooking, nothing else tasted right anymore. Living alone, his cooking skills were a disaster, and he mostly survived on delivery food.
The Center cafeteria offered packed meals too, but they couldn’t compete with Hayan’s warm, home-cooked meals.
