While watching TV with Ju-eon, Myung-hwon suddenly recalled something Ju-eon had said. Seemingly trivial moments from the past would occasionally surface unexpectedly in his mind.

‘You know, I used to get annoyed at main characters who couldn’t notice the second lead’s feelings.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the second lead was always by their side, but they’d completely fall for the main lead who showed up later.’

Enjoying the sensation of Ju-eon’s fingers running through his hair, Myung-hwon kissed Ju-eon’s soft palm in response.

‘Really?’

The conversation hadn’t particularly mattered to Myung-hwon then. He had simply agreed because he loved the sound of Ju-eon’s voice and the comfortable feeling of his clothes against his head.

‘But thinking about it now, how could they know without being told? They couldn’t notice because they believed they were lifelong friends.’

‘Mm.’

When he kissed the thigh he rested on, soft laughter drifted down from above. Everything seemed perfect – the streaming sunlight, the pleasant warm breeze from the half-open window.

Kiss.

Kiss.

‘I understand more now why the protagonist would feel betrayed.’

Kiss.

Short kisses came in response to Ju-eon’s words, replacing the need for speech.

‘If you don’t say it, they won’t know. No matter how close you are.’

Just when Ju-eon seemed ready to finish speaking, Myung-hwon gave a firm nod, seemingly understanding, and said.

‘Let’s do it.’

‘Not that kind of talk!’

Ju-eon couldn’t contain his giggles.

To Myung-hwon, Ju-eon had been an unmistakable presence. Even with secrets between them, even without words, he once believed Ju-eon would always understand him from the same perspective.

“Myung-hwon.”

Ju-eon gently wrapped his arms around Myung-hwon from behind. Holding Ju-eon’s interlocked hands, Myung-hwon kissed the soft back of his hand. Ju-eon’s vivid warmth stirred something deep within him. He wanted to tear out his heart just to show the depth of his feelings.

“I waited.”

The wait had been endless. Myung-hwon had endured time while fighting the urge to die every minute and second. Even breathing brought pain, but still he endured.

“I know everything without you saying it. You suffered a lot because of me, right?”

“…”

“I’m sorry for making you wait.”

“…”

Sweet fingers traced his roughened cheek.

He hadn’t understood before. A meaningful relationship, one worth preserving, requires more care as time passes. Until now, only Ju-eon had been making the effort that both should have shared. As their relationship lengthened, Myung-hwon had grown complacent, while Ju-eon worked twice as hard to maintain their bond.

“I’ll do better from now on.”

Myung-hwon gripped Ju-eon’s arms wrapped around his neck. Ju-eon’s breath ghosted near Myung-hwon’s neck. The moment felt infinitely sweet. He wished it could last forever.

“But you’re not Ju-eon.”

Sweet moments meant nothing if this wasn’t the real Ju-eon. At Myung-hwon’s firm tone, Ju-eon furrowed one eyebrow.

“What are you suddenly saying?”

Myung-hwon knew because he’d experienced it thousands, tens of thousands of times. What he saw was merely the past, a moment impossible to reclaim.

During the years without Ju-eon, happy dreams had consistently dragged Myung-hwon’s reality into darkness. The illusions that vanished like mirages upon waking made reality seem even bleaker. The terrible emptiness of waking alone in the bedroom only deepened his wounds. Having repeated those moments countless times, he could tell – this couldn’t be reality now. Such happy moments hadn’t existed in the past few years.

“This can’t possibly be reality.”

The current happiness was nothing but a shortcut to h*ll for the real Myung-hwon.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, so why would you apologize?”

When I’m the one who should be apologizing.

With Myung-hwon’s trembling voice, the space distorted. This differed from usual dreams. Myung-hwon grew suspicious of the rapidly changing situation and traced back his last memory. Distinguishing reality proved simple.

‘A dungeon appeared in the hall.’

And somewhere along the way, he’d been caught in this nightmare. Though it felt remarkably real and expertly targeted Myung-hwon’s vulnerabilities, it seemed unable to fully penetrate the depths of S-class Myung-hwon. It must have crafted this illusion using only fragments of the past.

“Heheh.”

Even the mere desire to remain in this peaceful dream filled him with guilt. He had been stripped of the right to happiness.

“…Get out.”

Though aware of the illusion, harsh words wouldn’t come when facing Ju-eon. At Myung-hwon’s firm tone, the distorted background completely warped. One blink later, the scene had transformed into the L Hotel.

Before him stood an injured Ju-eon. Myung-hwon now stood while Ju-eon sat on the floor, hands pressed against it.

Thud.

Myung-hwon’s eyes widened at the sight of blood on Ju-eon’s lips. His heart plummeted. His hand, reaching toward Ju-eon, froze mid-air.

‘It must be fake.’

That resentful gaze seemed to paralyze his body.

“You’re condemning me as fake because it’s easier for you to think that way.”

The sharp voice lashed at Myung-hwon. Seeing himself rejected through Ju-eon’s face, voice, and gestures, Myung-hwon bit his lower lip. He felt both guilt and relief. After enduring for so long, a devious desire emerged – wishing Ju-eon would stay and resent him rather than leaving without giving him a chance.

His moment of contemplation was brief, interrupted by Ju-eon clinging to his shin and unleashing his resentment.

“Why didn’t you do anything when I was dying? Because you don’t love me?”

“…To say I don’t love you.”

Sometimes he wished these feelings would vanish. When they grew too overwhelming to breathe, he longed to return to times before he knew love. Though given such a chance, he probably couldn’t let go.

“Then why did you do that to me? Is that what you call love? I really regret meeting you.”

The voice, choked with malice, tore through Myung-hwon’s insides.

Is this really an illusion? Maybe everything since you disappeared has been a nightmare, and this is reality.

“Ju-eon… I…”

“If I hadn’t met someone like you, I could have been happier.”

“What… what should I… do…”

“I hate you.”

Ju-eon’s face twisted. Myung-hwon momentarily forgot to breathe at these words. The ground trembled. The world warped again. Somehow Ju-eon had risen and was constricting Myung-hwon’s body. Myung-hwon squeezed his eyes shut without resistance. Ju-eon’s damp voice echoed in his ears.

“But I’m already dead.”

You. Killed. Me.

When Myung-hwon opened his eyes, he saw a gray sky. The world had turned black and white, devoid of sensation. It matched exactly that distant feeling from when Ju-eon first disappeared.

“…Is this reality now?”

Myung-hwon’s words escaped like a sigh. He couldn’t have grown numb to that distant feeling. The emotions from right after Ju-eon’s disappearance crashed over him like waves. A life where clear thinking became impossible and days passed mechanically.

Myung-hwon accepted the unfolding moment as reality. He didn’t believe it was the Nightmare’s illusion. This h*ll held nothing new for Myung-hwon.

He had returned to that moment of losing Ju-eon. Myung-hwon, deemed capable of destroying anything in the world, collapsed powerlessly. Yet what hurt most was knowing that no matter his suffering, it paled against the loneliness Ju-eon must have felt during their time together. Considering Ju-eon’s feelings then, he dared not claim to be suffering.

“Ah…”

If this was reality, even these moments of losing himself were precious.

“I have to go find him.”

He released a short sigh. There was no time for sadness. He had to find Ju-eon. A buzzing sound nearby remained indistinct.

He walked, and walked, and walked more. Where are you? Come back. I was wrong. Come before me and resent me. I’m sorry. I love you. A world without you lacks color and suffocates me.

“Should have never said you’d come back…”

Without those words, I would have put a gun in my mouth and pulled the trigger long ago.

Crackle.

His ability, suppressed to its limit without guidance, began leaking from his body, unable to endure. Should I just die like this? I didn’t want to recall your disappearance every day.

As Myung-hwon’s mind slowly but surely crumbled, one sentence from the buzzing sounds pierced through the wall and reached him.

“…Should I… leave instead.”

Crack-

The wall separating Myung-hwon from the world began to split. Once started, the crack spread rapidly.

Thud.

Crack crack crack.

He reached out reflexively. His fist touched an invisible wall that hadn’t been there before.

Crash!

With the wall’s breaking came clarity, his mind pulled from the mud. Before him stood Ju-eon, wearing a gloomy expression.

Thud.

His body reacted before his mind could process. The response was so violent that he wondered how he could have mistaken any illusion for the real Ju-eon even momentarily.

This was the real Ju-eon. The fog in Myung-hwon’s mind finally dispersed, and his restricted memories fell back into place.

‘He’s already returned.’

Ju-eon had already returned. Only now could he breathe properly. Myung-hwon tested his body’s condition by repeatedly clenching and unclenching his fist. His body felt much lighter. He could easily guess that he had received guidance while unconscious. And he knew that the one who had given the guidance was Woo Ju-eon.