Nabin walked with Ryu Soh-an toward the flower bed. His skills weren’t refined enough to be called professional, nothing impressive enough to show off.
But it was Nabin who had chosen the soil, planted the seedlings, watered each plant, and fed them nutrients at the right time. Hayan had helped, but if effort alone decided ownership, then the flower bed belonged to Nabin.
“These flowers… they’re the ones we planted together.”
Ryu Soh-an stopped before a patch of blossoms, their red and yellow petals blending in vibrant harmony. Where Nabin pointed, the flowers they’d planted side by side swayed gently, as if bowing a greeting.
“They were just tiny and green when we put them in the ground… It’s kind of amazing.”
He had glanced at them in passing while walking the garden, but this was the first time he’d looked so closely. Truth be told, he hadn’t even known what kind of flowers they’d planted that day.
He only remembered smiling foolishly, pouring all his attention into Nabin instead of the soil, fumbling with clumsy hands simply because he was happy to be doing something together with him.
Now, crouched before the flower bed, Nabin sat in quiet focus. Ryu Soh-an lowered himself beside him, and with a fingertip, tapped a petal as though answering its greeting.
A droplet of water rolled off and fell to the ground with a tok. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though the flower itself was scolding him, What took you so long?
Just looking at the blossoms—flowers that could make him happy simply by existing—was enough to make him wish he could stay in this moment forever. His chest was light, fluttering, as if joy and anticipation alone could suspend time.
For now, he could set aside worries about his friends, or the suffocating uncertainty of his own future. Only the cruel speed of passing time left him with regret.
“Guide Kim Nabin… what’s your favorite flower?”
Was he, too, gazing at the blooms with that same tenderness?
As though speaking to them with his eyes, Nabin looked at the blossoms with a gentleness that made Ryu Soh-an suddenly curious. The bed was full of many kinds. Surely one among them was his favorite.
He wanted to remember it well. Then someday, when there was a reason to celebrate, he could give him a bouquet woven from nothing but those flowers.
“…Zinnias.”
Nabin’s gaze lingered on a patch that spread across the largest part of the bed. Even amid the variety, these stood out with a vivid, undeniable presence.
From deep pink to scarlet, orange, yellow, and ivory—dressed in a spectrum of colors, the blossoms seemed to stretch proudly in return for Nabin’s affection.
Zinnias were his favorite. Among countless flowers, only they had seized his eyes at first sight and never let go.
Their layered petals felt like fragments of his own life, stacked one on another. His heart was drawn to the thin, fragile stems that supported so much.
The range of colors also captivated him. Each shade seemed to whisper its own meaning, pulling his thoughts into quiet reflection every time he saw them.
The red zinnias always brought Hayan to mind. He didn’t know why. Perhaps because red was the first to catch his eye, just as his gaze always sought Hayan first in a crowd. Among the cluster, his eyes went to the red flowers before anything else.
When his gaze lingered on the white petals, he felt a yearning—to live unsullied this time, unlike the past life he remembered. To root his days in purity, like a white zinnia.
When he saw petals like the midday sun, he was reminded of the life he wanted to live differently. He had spent too long being swayed by others instead of steering himself. Maybe this time, for his father who might still be watching, and for himself as well, he wanted to live happier than anyone else.
“…Guide Kim Nabin, I think you look a little like zinnias.”
Ryu Soh-an couldn’t tear his eyes away. Not just now. From the very moment he’d opened the infirmary door and met Nabin’s gaze, his world had already shifted, dyed in new colors.
After losing his parents, he’d endured hardships caring for his sick younger brother, yet he’d still thought of himself as fortunate—grateful for the friends who stood beside him.
And yet, there were moments when emptiness crept in, devouring the edges of his life. Meeting Nabin filled those hollow spaces with color.
The emotions were overwhelming—his heart racing so wildly it felt like illness, the despair of thinking it impossible, like the ground vanishing beneath his feet.
More than ever, he lived each day in a rush of fierce feelings. The fragile hope of being with Nabin… had vanished like smoke the moment he glimpsed his memories.
Even if those things hadn’t happened in this life, they had still been lived once. The scars and the pain remained.
Even if he wasn’t in those memories, he was still complicit. The ones who had driven Nabin to his death were his own blood and his friends, no different from brothers.
People said guilt by association was cruel and inhumane—but he couldn’t forget what they had done, couldn’t live shamelessly as if nothing had happened. That Nabin no longer thought of Ryu Somin when he looked at him—that alone was a grace he should thank every god in existence for.
To want anything more… would be greed without conscience. Besides, Nabin’s eyes were always fixed elsewhere.
And he knew what that gaze meant. Because it was the same as his own.
That man—the one Nabin looked at—would protect him more fiercely than anyone, would make him happier than anyone. That’s why, even with his chest hollow with grief, Ryu Soh-an could still smile with sincerity.
If Nabin’s happiness lay at that man’s side, then even if all he could do was watch their backs for the rest of his life, that was enough. As long as Nabin smiled, he could endure everything else.
When Ryu Soh-an told him he resembled zinnias, Nabin’s eyes widened slightly. But soon, he turned back to the flowers, lost in thought.
His slender fingers brushed the petals gently, as though greeting them, and that soft touch soothed even Ryu Soh-an’s heart.
Every movement of his hand sent a ticklish ache through his chest, forcing him to press down over his heart to steady it.
Nabin never seemed used to talking with people. Now, they were exchanging small, ordinary words, but back in their first treatment he hadn’t even been able to speak properly.
Instead, his pale eyes had carried countless stories. Even now, he was speaking with the flowers through the warmth of his gaze rather than words.
Ryu Soh-an, following his lead, began speaking to them inwardly too.
How was today? You’re happy, aren’t you, since he takes such good care of you? I want to be like you… growing each day, waiting only for him…
Anyone else would laugh at the thought. Yet smiling faintly, he too stroked the petals with a light touch, copying Nabin’s tenderness.
Then suddenly, his eyes caught on one bloom.
The red zinnias, the chick-yellow ones, the oranges—all seemed beautiful simply because they reminded him of Nabin. But one stood out more than any other: a white zinnia, its petals shyly holding a single droplet of water.
“…This flower suits you the best, Guide Kim Nabin.”
In a bed bursting with vivid color, white flowers were easy to overlook. Nabin too wasn’t someone who drew attention with brilliance or flash. If anything, Ryu Soh-an’s looks were the kind that pulled people’s eyes.
But Nabin carried a subtler pull—once you looked at him, it was hard to look away. He had a delicate, pure presence that stirred deep waves inside, like someone shaped out of dawn’s dew.
That was why, among all the blooms, the white zinnia seemed the most like him. Unconsciously, Ryu Soh-an reached toward its petal.
And in that very moment, Nabin too was touching the same white zinnia. Their fingertips brushed. Their eyes wavered and locked, close enough to feel each other’s breath.
“S-sorry…!”
Startled, Ryu Soh-an yanked his hand back.
He had held Nabin’s hand during treatment, but this touch was different. The feeling was completely new.
He knew how sensitive Nabin was to physical contact. He should have been more careful. But lost in thought, he’d moved on instinct.
Afraid that Nabin might panic, his brows sank low. He bit his lip, shuffled backward too quickly, and ended up falling onto the garden floor with a thud.
If anyone saw him, they wouldn’t believe he was an S-rank Esper—they’d think him clumsier than an ordinary man.
Thank you for the updates 🥹🥹☺️☺️