Trash Can Guide 121

Ryu Soh-an didn’t need a mirror to know his face was burning red from his neck up. When Kim Su-hyun twitched his lips as if stifling laughter, Soh-an’s own mouth drooped into a frown.

Humiliation weighed heavy in his chest. And when he saw Nabin looking at him with those clear, unreadable eyes, even the frantic pounding of his heart dulled into a hollow thud.

He couldn’t hold Nabin’s gaze any longer. It felt as if a heavy weight dragged his eyes down, forcing him to look away.

The once-empty living room, furnished only with a lone sofa, had at some point gained a warm ivory rug. Soh-an tried to anchor his restless gaze to the soft weave of the rug—when he heard it.

“…I missed you both, too.”

The voice was as light as feathers drifting in the breeze, brushing against him like wind grazing his ear. His heart, which had just fallen still, began to pound again—fiercer than ever, like the warm gusts of the gentlest day of spring.

His blue eyes wavered as they snapped toward Nabin. Su-hyun, too, stopped blinking, staring fixedly at him.

This time, Nabin lowered his head. Fine strands of hair shifted, hiding the flush spreading to the tips of his ears.

Fidgeting with his fingers, Nabin spoke again, his trembling voice steady only through sheer will. For him, these words took tremendous courage.

“I was waiting today… wondering when you’d come.”

So faint it could barely be heard—but to Soh-an, the words struck like thunder, shattering the quiet of his world.

He wished he could take back what he’d said earlier, swallow down the petty complaint he’d tossed toward Nabin.

Su-hyun had likely been half-serious, half-playful when he spoke before, simply hoping to grow closer to Nabin.

But Soh-an had spoken first, driven by childish jealousy at how close Nabin seemed to Su-hyun. To Nabin, it could only have been bewildering, maybe even burdensome.

Yet instead of ignoring their words, Nabin had held them close in his heart—only to return them now with gentle sincerity.

“Soh-an, you’re about to drool.”

Su-hyun’s teasing voice broke through the strange silence. Only then did Soh-an realize his mouth was hanging open, that he’d been staring at Nabin like a fool.

He snapped his mouth shut and scrubbed his face with both hands. His skin stung under the rough motion, but it was the only way to keep himself from blurting out something ridiculous.

From the first time their eyes met, Nabin had been drawing him in, detonating feelings he’d never known—each moment another explosion in his chest.

He had thought he’d already given Nabin everything, that there was nothing left to surrender. But he was wrong. Again, he found himself falling helplessly for Nabin’s shy kindness.

“Nabin, let’s eat.”

Nabin ducked his head, shy and flushed, while Soh-an fidgeted in restless awkwardness. Su-hyun, watching them both, looked on with a fond smile—like an older brother watching much younger siblings play at make-believe.

It was Hayan who broke the spell. Having finished preparing the meal, he called out to Nabin.

Nabin’s world was small. For him, forming bonds with others wasn’t optional—it was essential, something that needed to be welcomed.

Hayan had never wanted to cage him like a bird. The reports he’d seen painted Nabin’s past as barren and bleak.

Condensed into words, his life was a record of everything he’d been denied—experiences most boys his age would take for granted.

He hadn’t even been able to attend school properly. Time with friends had never been part of his life.

While other children, cared for by their parents, wore school uniforms and worried over grades, Nabin had worried about his next meal. He’d worked his hands and feet raw to keep from suffocating beneath hospital bills and loan shark debts.

The past couldn’t be changed—not even by Hayan. But from now on, he wanted to stand by Nabin’s side, to let him experience the rich, ordinary joys he’d missed.

He wanted Nabin to forget the years of hardship and live a life happier than anyone else’s. For that, he needed more than just the two of them together—he needed new connections, a wider world.

In his head, Hayan knew this. It was right, even necessary. But watching Nabin grow closer to others in reality… it wasn’t easy.

Even while cooking, Hayan’s senses never strayed far from Nabin—his breath, his voice, every word. He worried: was he tired, was he secretly crying from some painful memory?

That morning, Nabin had woken in tears, crying harder than usual. Since then, Hayan had been on edge, every nerve tuned to him.

“…I missed you both, too.”

Nabin’s gentle reply to Su-hyun and Soh-an pierced Hayan’s heart. It was proof that Nabin’s world was widening, just as Hayan wanted.

And yet, the rush of emotion overwhelmed him until the knife handle in his grip warped under the pressure of his hand.

When Nabin added that he’d been waiting for them, unease took hold. Was spending time alone with him becoming a burden?

Maybe Nabin found him dull, starved for conversation. The thought made it impossible to sit still.

In the end, Hayan cut down the number of dishes he’d planned. He’d meant to add another mushroom dish—Nabin liked mushrooms—but the fear clawed at him: if he let Nabin linger too long with them, maybe the place he held in Nabin’s heart would be stolen away.

He stripped off his apron and stepped into the living room, where Nabin’s cheeks were still pink. Neither Soh-an’s foolish expression nor Su-hyun’s curious gaze mattered to him.

“Esper Lee Hayan, is there food for us too?”

“…Yes.”

As Nabin looked up at his voice, Hayan reached out a hand. Meanwhile, Su-hyun rose first and headed toward the kitchen, even though he already knew four portions had been prepared. It was courtesy.

Su-hyun wasn’t ungrateful; he sent fresh ingredients to Hayan’s house every morning, sourced from all over the country. Soh-an helped stock the fridge and pantry, making sure Nabin always had the desserts he loved.

“There’s quite a feast today. This one looks like seasoned cockles—probably from Beolgyo, right?”

As Su-hyun said, the four-person table was overflowing with food, so much that the wide tabletop seemed too small for it all.

Day by day, Hayan’s cooking had improved, and because of that, Su-hyun was enjoying the richest meals of his life.

“Nabin, sit here.”

At Hayan’s gesture, Nabin carefully took his seat—his seat, the one always kept for him. When it was just the two of them, he and Hayan sat across from each other. When Su-hyun and Soh-an joined, Nabin sat beside Hayan, but his place never changed.

It was one of the small shifts in his daily life. Once, at that same eight-person table, his seat had always been off to the side, apart from the others.

Now, though the table looked similar, there was one key difference: every dish had been chosen with Nabin in mind.

“Why don’t you try this one first?”

Sitting beside him, Hayan began portioning food from the dishes too far for Nabin to reach, placing them neatly on his plate.

The truth was, Nabin didn’t even know what foods he liked. Since his father’s death, he had eaten only to survive.

Choosing what to eat, savoring favorites—that had been a luxury far beyond him. In those days, having something to eat at all was enough.

Meals at the illegal guiding establishment had been made with ingredients he couldn’t even identify. Later, after he was rescued, Su-hyun had brought him boxed lunches. He still remembered the taste of the rolled omelet inside—one flavor that lingered in a life that had given him so few.

When he’d become the Dedicated Guide to S-rank Espers in their mansions, Han Jigang had served him abundant meals, much like those hospital lunches.

But back then, the circumstances had been too uneasy for him to savor them. He ate mechanically, chewing and chewing until the food turned to mush, forcing it down so it wouldn’t make him sick.

Author: Levia