The meals Hayan cooked were the very definition of home cooking. From the first bite, he was hooked—so much so that the taste lingered in his mind, tugging at him long after. It wasn’t just flavor; it felt like the food carried the devotion he poured in for Nabin, something store-bought meals could never match.
Even the aroma was different. Today again, the scent drifting in from the kitchen lifted his spirits. He’d eaten a hearty lunch, yet the smell alone made him imagine his stomach rumbling. But his excitement quickly gave way to worry when he noticed the tear stains still faintly etched on Nabin’s face.
“Guide Kim Nabin, what did you do today?”
Kim Su-hyun asked casually, almost like small talk, but really it was because he’d seen the damp towel in Nabin’s hand and the swelling around his eyes. Even after cooling them with something cold, the puffiness lingered—he must have cried for a long while.
It unsettled Su-hyun. Nabin hadn’t cried in front of him in some time. If he were honest, Su-hyun wanted to stay by his side every day, just as Hayan did.
That first encounter still haunted him—Hayan crying as if he already knew him, that sorrowful expression carved deep into his memory. Even in the middle of his day, the image of Nabin’s face would surface and leave him staring off, dazed.
Nabin might not realize it, but Su-hyun looked forward to every meeting, every second he got to spend with him.
“…I just stayed around.”
If anyone else had answered like that, it would have killed the conversation on the spot. But for Su-hyun, the fact that Nabin had answered at all filled him with a warmth that overflowed.
He knew how much effort even simple, everyday responses could cost Nabin. And now, even after replying, Nabin’s expression wavered, worried he might have said the wrong thing. That small, timid look made Su-hyun’s chest tighten.
Every time he saw Nabin’s awkwardness, his feelings for him blazed up like a sudden fire. He’d never felt that way even for his own younger brother.
Nabin was like an aching wound he wanted to cradle. Every word he spoke, every gesture he made, Su-hyun wanted to wrap in kindness.
He wondered if it was only because Nabin was a high-ranked Guide, but the answer was always no. He was certain that even if Nabin were a lower rank—or even just an ordinary person—he would still feel the same.
Perhaps it was because their first meeting had left such a strong impression, when Nabin had looked at him as if they’d known each other forever. Sometimes Su-hyun really felt like they had. Especially whenever he looked into those clear eyes—so transparent they somehow revealed nothing inside.
“I couldn’t even focus on work today because I wanted to see you, Guide Kim Nabin.”
When Nabin’s eyes widened at his words, Su-hyun found himself smiling helplessly. It felt like meeting the gentlest creature in the world.
Maybe it was because he knew just how harsh Nabin’s childhood had been. He’d heard how, instead of being cared for, Nabin had been forced to work as a Miner from a young age to pay for his mother’s medical bills and the loan shark debt his stepfather had abandoned.
Thankfully, he had awakened as a Guide now. But years of breathing the stagnant air of abandoned dungeons must have left his small body carrying scars. He might have suffered as if with lung disease, unable even to receive proper care. Treating someone addicted to Esper narcotics cost more than most people could imagine.
If only they’d met sooner—Su-hyun could have shouldered some of that crushing weight. The thought left him with regret, but even stronger was the relief that at least they had met now.
He’d heard how Nabin had nearly been dragged off by loan sharks. By sheer luck, he had awakened as an Immeasurable Guide then, forcing the Center Director himself to come in person.
And the Esper who appeared had been none other than Lee Hayan. For Nabin, that was nothing short of fate. Among S-rank Espers, there were those so selfish it was hard to believe they were even human.
Some openly defied the Center Director’s orders, some exploited the fact that the Center couldn’t simply discard them, manipulating the system to suit themselves.
The thought that, had the timing been wrong, Nabin might have been taken elsewhere still made Su-hyun’s head spin, even though it never happened.
When his teasing words brought a blush to Nabin’s pale cheeks, Su-hyun’s own heart fluttered.
I should say something too…
While Su-hyun and Nabin drifted into their own little world, Ryu Soh-an nervously bit his lip. He’d spent all morning rearranging his schedule just to see Nabin today.
Even after smoothing things over with his friends, unease clung to him like a shadow. Because of his outburst the night before, Ryu Somin had spent the whole night sick.
Every time he came to, he had cried desperately for his brother, and Soh-an had stayed awake beside him, soothing him until dawn. By first light, he finally gathered his energy and slipped out of the mansion.
Fortunately, with most still asleep, he ran into no one. Though the first floor windows of the mansion were shattered and the space empty, the debris had been completely cleared away.
He let out a heavy sigh at the sight, then forced his unwilling feet toward the Center.
In the group chat with his friends and Ryu Somin, he left a message saying a critical patient had come into the Center and he was heading out first.
It wasn’t entirely a lie. But since Kim Su-hyun had already handled the treatment, there was no urgent need to rush. He had used the excuse simply to wrap up his work before going to see Nabin.
Nabin’s existence was a secret known to only a handful. Even Su-hyun’s and Soh-an’s reports about treating him were disguised as other tasks.
Those reports went directly to the Center Director, who had given them explicit permission to prioritize Nabin’s care. But Soh-an couldn’t dedicate himself only to Nabin—his rare and powerful ability was needed elsewhere too.
So he had started going into the Center at night, finishing his day’s work before dawn, just so he could free his time for Nabin. It was only possible because the Director had drastically cut back their assignments.
Su-hyun did the same. Once their work was finished, the two would ride together to Hayan’s mansion.
The only person Soh-an had told about Nabin’s memories was Hayan. He hadn’t even shared everything with Su-hyun. That was why Su-hyun often wondered about Soh-an’s constant caution whenever they went to Hayan’s.
And though he knew it might look strange, Soh-an couldn’t stop himself from being on edge like a meerkat. Today, more than usual, he scanned for danger. He even went so far as to switch cars with Su-hyun partway through, under some excuse.
He stayed alert all the way, but thankfully there was no sign of anyone following. Maybe the detour had helped.
Even though he saw Nabin every day, maybe because of what had happened yesterday, it felt impossible to pull his eyes away—like seeing someone again after a long absence.
Did Nabin even realize how much it soothed him, knowing he no longer looked at him with fear?
After glimpsing Nabin’s memories, Soh-an had thought such a thing impossible. After all, he and Ryu Somin looked so alike they could be mistaken for identical twins at a glance.
Given the wounds Somin had left, it would have made sense if Nabin feared Soh-an for the rest of his life. Their resemblance was undeniable proof of their blood.
And yet, Nabin had slowly begun to open up even to him. Day by day, his eyes reflected less of Somin’s shadow, and more of Soh-an alone.
It couldn’t have been easy. But step by step, Nabin kept moving forward. And that effort only drew Soh-an in more, irresistibly.
“Guide Kim Nabin.”
Soh-an took a seat beside him, following Su-hyun’s lead. When Nabin’s pale eyes turned to him, Soh-an’s heart pounded so hard his vision blurred.
“I—I couldn’t work properly either… because I wanted to see you.”
Everyone wants to show only their best side to the one they like. But instead, his words tumbled out awkwardly, making him seem clumsier than ever—the unmistakable sign of first love.
A young man caught in the fever of it knew only one way to express himself: by baring his heart, raw and unguarded.
