Chapter Text
One shot of Cupid's arrow, and there it is.
Love.
The arrow flew through the crisp evening air with the swiftness of a comet, its golden tip flashing briefly against the darkening sky. A cool wind caught it, causing it to shimmer—a fleeting glint of light before it found its mark. It cut through the stillness with purpose, landing silently on a woman sitting alone on a park bench beneath the muted glow of a lamppost near the Han River. The park was quiet at this hour, save for the soft rustle of trees in the breeze, and the occasional whoosh of cars speeding down the nearby highway.
The woman sat with her arms wrapped around herself, staring out at the calm water, her thoughts distant as the sky darkened around her. She didn’t notice the invisible thread weaving its way around her heart, a tender tug pulling at something deep inside her, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. The arrow struck soundlessly, its impact unnoticed. But the change began. A warmth stirred within her, a slow, spreading heat that rose from her chest, swirling and delicate, like the softest whisper of a summer breeze. Her eyes fluttered, a breath catching in her throat as she suddenly felt the urge to look up, to seek something—or someone—in the night.
Her gaze shifted, almost without her command, toward a man walking his dog just a few paces away. He was tall, with a gentle air about him, and his dog trotted happily beside him, its tail wagging in lazy contentment. The man, blissfully unaware of the cosmic forces at work, looked up just as the woman’s eyes locked with his. There was a flicker of recognition, a strange tug of fate in the briefest of moments, and something stirred between them. The world around them seemed to quiet—distant sounds faded, the hum of the city grew softer, and for a heartbeat, time seemed to stretch.
Their eyes met. There it was—the moment.
This was how it always began. The first spark. The first exchange. The universe, in its silent grandeur, aligned to create something beautiful—or, as it often was, fragile.
But love, no matter how glorious it seems from a distance, is not always perfect. What if, for all the tenderness in the woman's gaze, the man doesn’t feel the same? What if his heart doesn’t beat in rhythm with hers? What if, instead of two souls destined to meet, the connection is nothing more than a fleeting illusion? What if Cupid, in his relentless carelessness, missed the mark, sending his arrow into a heart that was never meant to be touched? What then? What if she spends months, maybe years, chasing a dream that was never meant to be? The thought lingers in the air, uncertain, like a shadow lurking in the bright sunlight.
This is where Taesan comes in.
A tall figure emerged from the shadows, his presence quiet but commanding, like the night itself had taken form. The dim light from the lamppost brushed against his coat, catching the edges of his sharp, angular features. He didn’t rush. He never did. Taesan was used to this—the slow unraveling of people caught in Cupid’s tangled strings.
His gaze swept over the couple, assessing, analyzing. The faint shimmer of golden light connecting them was unmistakable. It was the invisible thread of fate, the one he’d seen too many times before. Yet each time he saw it, a flicker of something deeper stirred in him—perhaps nostalgia, perhaps a faint longing for something he’d lost. Or maybe it was simply the resentment he felt toward the god who caused it all.
Behind him, footsteps echoed softly against the quiet pavement, slow and deliberate. A soft chuckle followed, laced with self-satisfaction.
“You’re late,” came the familiar voice—smooth, teasing, and just the right amount of smug.
Taesan didn’t turn around, his gaze fixed firmly on the couple ahead. “You’re early. What’s the occasion?” he replied flatly, his voice devoid of emotion.
The god of love stepped into view, his very presence radiating with the unmistakable glow of divinity. Some called him Eros, others Cupid, but to Taesan, he was Woonhak. The god seemed to fill the space around him, his red hair shining like the first light of dawn—radiant and uncontainable. His white suit glowed in the dim light of the streetlamp, not a crease or speck of dirt in sight. He carried himself with an easy, unbothered grace, twirling his bow lazily in one hand as though it were an extension of himself.
“I thought I’d watch you work for once,” Woonhak said with an exaggerated yawn, leaning casually against the lamppost. His golden eyes gleamed with amusement, as though the small drama playing out before them was far too entertaining.
Taesan sighed, his irritation evident even in the smallest of gestures. He pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. “You shot that arrow five minutes ago. You don’t usually stick around after making a shot.”
Woonhak flashed a grin, his teeth unnaturally perfect. “This one felt special.”
“Every one of them feels special to you,” Taesan stepped forward, his boots crunching against the leaves. “Until it falls apart, and then I’m the one who has to fix your mess.”
Woonhak smirked, his expression one of pure arrogance. “I don’t make messes. I create opportunities.” His voice dripped with confidence, as if his claim could never be questioned.
“Opportunities,” Taesan repeated, his tone flat. He leaned slightly to the side, his eyes narrowing at the god. “Is that what you’re calling your mistakes now?” His voice carried a bitterness he’d borne for years, ever since he was pulled into this endless dance of destiny and chaos.
The banter between them was like an old, familiar tune, a rhythm they’d played countless times before. Taesan should have been used to it, but it never failed to irritate him. The constant teasing, the egotistical confidence—Woonhak’s very presence made his teeth grind.
“You know, Taesan,” Woonhak continued, nudging him playfully with his elbow, “you’d have a lot more fun if you stopped being so uptight.”
“I’ll pass,” Taesan muttered under his breath, his gaze never leaving the couple in the distance. Their laughter rang in the air, the woman’s voice light and carefree as she leaned into the man. He smiled in return, his gaze warm, the faintest traces of something deeper lingering in his expression. There was a connection between them—a brief but promising moment that might, just might, last.
For a brief moment, Taesan allowed himself to simply watch them, his stern expression softening ever so slightly. The simplicity of the moment caught him off guard. Two people, connected by fate’s invisible hand, sharing a laugh, finding comfort in one another’s presence. It was quiet, almost tender. For a second, Taesan forgot about his frustrations, his endless duties.
Taesan didn’t hate love—he envied it. Or at least, what humans thought it was: whole, magical, enduring. What he hated was how often it faltered, slipping through grasping hands like sand, leaving only fragments behind. But envy wasn’t a luxury he allowed himself anymore, not after centuries of watching love unravel and patching up its messes.
“You don’t always need to play the cynic, you know,” Woonhak said, his voice cutting through the silence between them. He was watching Taesan closely now, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Love isn’t all bad.”
Taesan turned to him, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Says the guy responsible for at least half the heartbreak on this planet.”
“Correction,” Woonhak said, puffing his chest with exaggerated pride. “I’m responsible for all the love on this planet. I just can’t help it if humans occasionally mess it up.”
“Occasionally?” Taesan echoed, a bitter chuckle slipping from his lips. The sarcasm in his voice was evident, but it was lost on Woonhak, who was now examining his bow with the kind of reverence one might show a sacred relic.
Taesan turned his gaze back to the couple. They had begun walking together, their steps in perfect sync. The golden thread between them remained steady, unbroken. No hesitation, no doubt. It was a rare thing, and Taesan found himself momentarily at peace with it.
“Looks like you got it right this time,” Taesan admitted begrudgingly, the words escaping his lips before he could stop them. He didn’t look at Woonhak, knowing the god’s reaction all too well.
“Of course I did,” Woonhak responded, flashing him a smug grin. “I’m the best at what I do, partner.”
“I’m not your partner,” Taesan snapped. “I’m your cleanup crew.” He then turned sharply on his heel, the wind pulling at his coat as he began walking away, his mind already moving to the next case. “Try not to mess up again tonight,” he called over his shoulder, his voice tinged with quiet exhaustion.
Love—the elusive force that makes hearts race, knees weak, and spirits soar. A thing humans crave more than food, more than money, more than purpose itself. It is an obsession, a dream, a sweet ache. Humans will spend lifetimes searching for it, writing songs and poetry, painting masterpieces, all for the sake of capturing its essence. They believe in its magic. They cling to the notion that somewhere out there is a person made just for them.
The stories are all the same: two souls colliding in an unassuming moment, their gazes meeting as if drawn by fate itself. Hands made for holding each other. Lips destined to whisper promises in the dark. A pair of hearts beating as one, united for eternity. Love, the poets say, is eternal. Love, the dreamers whisper, is everything.
And yet, for all their longing, for all their hope, humans forget one crucial truth: love is not perfect.
Even the divine embodiment of love himself, the great Cupid, makes mistakes.
Woonhak had promised Taesan immortality, a second chance at life, but what he’d delivered was an eternity of servitude. Taesan remembers the day all too well—the dim light of his sickroom, the choking smell of incense and medicine, the fear clawing at his throat as his mortal body wasted away.
And then, Woonhak appeared.
The god had introduced himself with a grin that was too sharp and an offer that was too tempting: drink the nectar of the gods, live forever, and serve a divine purpose. At the time, Taesan had thought it noble, even romantic—a chance to cheat death and make a difference in the world.
But he’d been a fool.
Now, centuries later, he’s bound by the oath he took, a servant to love’s whims and mistakes. For every misplaced arrow, every broken heart, every failed romance, Taesan is the one who must step in and pull the pieces apart.
Taesan stepped out of the alley, the cool night air pressing against him as he fumbled with the next file in his coat. The paper was thin, crinkling slightly as he unfolded it, the faint glow of streetlights revealing the name written across it in bold letters:
Kim Leehan, 20 years old.
His fingers hovered over the page as his eyes scanned the notes beneath the name. His breath hitched, and his grip tightened as he read the additional warning.
Target exhibits extreme arrow overload. Proceed with caution.
Thirteen arrows.
He stopped dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. “What the fuck?” Thirteen arrows? That's not possible.
No human could bear the weight of that many arrows. Not without consequence.
He blinked, trying to steady himself, but the number haunted him. Thirteen arrows. His mind raced—there had to be some mistake. He read the notes again, hoping for clarification, but they only deepened the weight on his chest. Thirteen arrows. The number seemed to mock him, a warning he can’t ignore.
Taesan stormed back to headquarters, the cold night air whipping against his face, but it couldn’t cool the fire of frustration that burned inside him. He slammed the door open, not even bothering with pleasantries, his footsteps echoing as he stormed toward Woonhak’s desk. The flickering glow of candlelight cast long shadows across the stone walls, the familiar scent of parchment and old books filling the air.
Woonhak was lounging in his chair, legs kicked up, a smug grin plastered across his face as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His golden eyes gleamed, his fingers casually twirling a quill between them, though his gaze never wavered from the glowing orb that hovered in front of him. He looked like he was in the middle of some game or another, utterly unbothered by the storm brewing at the door.
“Woonhak,” Taesan snapped, his voice tight with controlled fury.
The god glanced up lazily, his lips curling into an amused smile. “What’s got your feathers ruffled, partner? Lost a bet or something?”
Taesan didn’t even respond to the mockery. Instead, he threw the crumpled file down onto the desk with a force that made the papers flutter. “Thirteen.”
Woonhak arched an eyebrow, his amusement only deepening. “Thirteen what?”
“Arrows,” Taesan replied, his voice low, almost a growl. “Thirteen arrows. That’s how many you’ve shot into one person.”
For the first time since Taesan had walked in, Woonhak’s carefree facade faltered. He sat up straight, his fingers pausing mid-air, as though something had finally caught his attention. “Thirteen?” he asked, his tone suddenly more serious, the light flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “That’s… excessive.”
“Excessive doesn’t even begin to cover it, you fucker” Taesan snapped, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “It’s reckless. You’re practically torturing him and turned him into the throne in Game of Thrones, and now it’s my problem to deal with.”
“Language–” Woonhak began, his usual playful tone slipping in, but he was cut off as Taesan yanked the file from his coat and shoved it right in front of his face. The worn paper crinkled in the thick silence between them.
“Who is this guy, Woonhak?” he demanded. “What the hell is going on with him?”
Woonhak, still looking unbothered, leaned forward, squinting at the file in Taesan’s hand. “A college student? A writer? Interesting... and here I thought you were supposed to be the responsible one, Taesan. You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
“Always do?” Taesan repeated, his voice cutting through the air. “Always do what? Clean up your messes? Like I don’t have better things to do than fix your screw-ups! This guy's basically your new personal dartboard!”
Woonhak simply shrugged, the careless smirk never leaving his lips. “You’ll figure it out. You always do. And besides, you like it.”
Taesan’s glare burned hot, his fists clenched at his sides. He forced a breath through his teeth, his mind racing with words he couldn’t say—not here, not now. “I don’t like this,” he muttered. “I just don't have a choice.”
Woonhak’s grin only widened, and with a lazy flick of his wrist, he turned his attention back to the orb floating in front of him. “I’ll leave you to it, then. You’re welcome.”
Before Taesan could say anything else, Woonhak was gone, fading into the shadows with nothing but the faint sound of fluttering wings and a soft, self-satisfied chuckle.
Taesan stood there for a moment, the silence of the room pressing down on him. His fingers traced the edge of the file, his mind racing. Thirteen arrows. It was beyond careless; it was a mistake that could break someone. No human should have to bear that weight.
“What the hell is going on with you, Kim Leehan?” Taesan muttered under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper. He shoved the file back into his coat with a resigned sigh. Tomorrow, he would have to find out what kind of mess Woonhak had created—and how deep it ran.
With a final glance at the empty room, Taesan walked toward the door. His work had just begun.
The café buzzed with activity, with the sounds of idle chatter, clinking cups, and the hiss of the espresso machine. Taesan sat by the window, his file neatly laid out in front of him, where a mission brief sat, outlining the details of his next task.
Kim Leehan.
A romance novelist, though not a particularly happy one. Taesan had read the synopsis of Leehan’s works the night before to gather information, and from them, it was clear that the man’s life was far from joyful. He had more arrows lodged in his back than Taesan had ever seen. Normally, people had two or three arrows—maybe five—but Leehan had so many it looked like his entire back was a pincushion. And now, it was his job to help him move on.
Taesan didn’t particularly care about the details of Leehan’s life. He didn’t need to. His job was simple: find out when someone was ready to move on, pull the arrows, and get the hell out. He wasn’t here to play therapist or offer moral support. His task was simple: observe Leehan, help him, and move on to the next mission. The quicker he could finish this job, the better.
He glanced up from the file, scanning the café again. His eyes fell on the man in question sitting at the corner table, staring at a stack of papers, scribbling in a notebook. Leehan was hunched over, lost in his thoughts, clearly unaware of the world around him. He was every bit the tortured artist. Taesan had seen it a thousand times before—the kind of focus born of deep emotional turmoil. Leehan’s writing wasn’t just about love; it was a battle with it.
It was hard not to feel bad for the guy. He had been through so much, his past relationships tying him in knots, and it was all tangled in his writing. However, Taesan had no intention of engaging beyond what was stated in his job description.
He wasn’t here to get distracted by some writer’s emotional baggage. Taesan sighed, watching him for a moment before turning back to the file.
For a moment, Taesan entertained the thought of leaving the café early. He’d gotten a good enough look at Leehan, right? But just as he stood, a crash cut through the noise of the café, drawing a few curious glances.
Leehan, while scribbling on his notebook, accidentally bumped into his coffee cup causing it to tip over and spill on the table, sending a cascade of dark liquid splashing across his papers. Taesan’s eyes widened as the coffee soaked into the scattered sheets—the very notes Leehan had been working on all day. Leehan’s face twisted into a picture of sheer frustration as he scrambled to grab napkins, but the damage was done.
Leehan cursed loudly, frantically righting his coffee cup and grabbing napkins, but it was too late. The coffee had spread over the table, staining his notes, his phone, and everything in between. He made a futile attempt to blot the paper, but it was clear the mess was beyond saving.
Before Taesan could stop himself, he was already moving. His reflexes kicked in, and in an instant, he was across the room, crouching beside Leehan’s table. He was not sure why but unable to ignore the feeling of sympathy that swelled in his chest.
“Shit, you okay?” Taesan’s voice came out more concerned than he intended.
Leehan looked up, startled, his hand still clutching a napkin as he tried to stem the spreading mess. For a split second, their eyes met—and Taesan realized he had already overstepped. He froze, realizing what he’d just done. He wasn’t supposed to make himself known. He had a job to do, and he was never supposed to reveal himself to the target.
But there was no turning back now.
“Oh… yeah, I’m fine,” Leehan said, shaking his head as he glanced back down at the mess. “It’s just—everything I’ve been working on. Now it’s ruined.” His voice was a little shaky, and Taesan could see the frustration building behind his words. “My notes… my entire day’s work.”
Taesan looked at the spilled coffee, then at the stack of paper covered in dark stains. It wasn’t just any notebook—it was full of what looked like the writer's personal ideas for his next novel, his sketches, his notes on places he wanted to visit. The more Taesan scanned it, the more he realized: this wasn’t just a typical writer’s draft. These were memories, heavy with the weight of past loves.
“Let me help you with that,” Taesan said without really thinking.
Leehan blinked, clearly surprised by the offer. “You don’t have to… it’s not even worth salvaging.”
“Don’t worry, I’m good at this,” Taesan said, already reaching to help him gather up the drenched pages. He did have a natural talent for fixing messes. “Let’s just get these out of the way first, and we’ll figure something out.”
Leehan hesitated but then nodded, his shoulders sagging. “Thanks,” he muttered, looking a bit embarrassed but relieved nonetheless. They both worked in silence for a few moments, collecting the scattered pages and trying to dry them off as best as they could.
The café staff came rushing over, trying to assist. The noise and sudden movement created a flurry of chaos, and in the confusion, Leehan’s hand, still gripping the napkins, accidentally knocked his coffee cup off the edge of the table once more. This time, it sent the cup tumbling into the air, right toward Taesan’s lap.
In a split second, Taesan’s reflexes kicked in. He reached out, grabbing the cup mid-air, but not before the liquid splashed across his clothes.
“Oh god, I’m sorry!” Leehan exclaimed, scrambling to grab napkins and dab at the spill. “I didn’t mean to—”
Taesan laughed a little, mostly out of surprise. It wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to him, and it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d gotten splashed. He grabbed some napkins and started to wipe the stain away. “It’s alright. Honestly, I’ve had worse,” he said, his tone dry but not unkind.
Leehan glanced up, blinking as if trying to gauge if Taesan was serious or just making light of it. “Well, still… I'm sorry, I'm not usually this clumsy.”
“It’s nothing,” Taesan said, finally managing to get most of the stain out, though his pants were still visibly wet. He glanced at Leehan, then back at the mess. “I think we’re done here for now. Maybe we should just let the coffee dry out.”
Leehan let out a little laugh, clearly relieved that the tension had broken. “Yeah, probably. You’re… surprisingly calmer than what I'd expect the normal person would react.”
Taesan gave him a small, amused smile. “You’d be surprised. I’ve had my fair share of worse situations.”
Before either of them could say more, Taesan’s phone buzzed loudly in his pocket. It startled him, and he dropped the napkin in his hand as he quickly reached for it. In the haste of trying to catch it, the file he had been holding slipped out from under his arm and scattered across the floor.
"Shit," Taesan muttered as he bent down to pick it up, but in the rush, the file pages fanned out all around him. One of the papers fluttered to the floor right next to Leehan.
Leehan flinched for a moment before he picked it up. “Oh, here, let me pick it up for you”
Taesan’s breath caught as he watched Leehan crouch down to pick up the paper. He didn’t have time to think. Leehan glanced at the paper, then back at Taesan, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“This is… strange,” Leehan said, looking from the paper to Taesan. “It’s… it’s got my name on it. What is this?”
Taesan’s stomach dropped. He had had been caught.
“I... uh, no, it’s nothing,” he muttered, trying to recover, but his voice lacked conviction.
Leehan raised an eyebrow. "Who are you really?"
For a moment, Taesan could only stare at him. There was no easy way out of this. He had already exposed himself.
“Well…” Taesan cleared his throat, trying to stay composed. He couldn’t back out now. “I’m actually a writer too. I… I’m the one you’re collaborating with.”
Leehan blinked, clearly confused. “I’m already supposed to be working with someone. Their pen name is... Ganpokjama.”
If Taesan still had a pulse he could feel it quickening, and for a moment, he considered walking away from the whole thing. But something made him press on. This was the moment to take control.
He glanced at Leehan, forcing his voice to sound steady. “That’s… me,” he said, his voice calm but his mind raced. “I’ve been keeping a low profile, that’s why you haven’t met me yet. I prefer not to reveal myself until the project is underway.”
Leehan stared at him for a long moment, then blinked, as if processing everything. “You’re... really Ganpokjama?”
Taesan nodded. “Yeah. I know it’s probably unexpected, but it’s me. I just wasn’t ready to make my presence known until now.”
Leehan’s eyes sparkled with excitement, the earlier frustration fading into the background. “I can’t believe it! I’m actually talking to Ganpokjama! Your stories are incredible! I’ve been a fan of your work for so long!”
Here’s a revised ending, emphasizing Taesan’s role as he pretends to be Ganpokjama while still enhancing the flow and emotional impact:
Taesan’s brows shot up in surprise at Leehan’s sudden shift in energy. He hadn’t expected such enthusiasm. “Really? You… like my writing?” he replied, trying to steady himself as the tension between them shifted.
“Like it? I love it!” Leehan exclaimed, his hands animated as he spoke. “Your ability to weave emotion into your characters is incredible. The complexity of relationships you capture—it’s inspiring! I never imagined I’d get the chance to work with you.”
Taesan’s chest tightened. The praise felt suffocating, and the weight of it made him question his decision all over again. He had only wanted to finish the job, to pull the arrows from Leehan’s back and move on. But now, here he was, caught up in a game he hadn’t planned for. “Uh, thanks. I appreciate that,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t betray the whirlwind of thoughts in his head.
“You know, I’ve had so many ideas for our collaboration!” Leehan continued, his excitement barely contained. “I didn’t want to overload you, but I’m just so excited that you’re here!”
Taesan swallowed, trying to stay composed. His mind raced to keep the act up. You can’t back out now. “Yeah, I… I can see that,” he replied, his throat dry. He had to keep this charade going. The longer he did, the harder it would be to untangle the mess. “But first, let’s clean up. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
“Oh, you’re right!” Leehan said, his smile brightening even further.
As they worked together to tidy up the mess, Taesan couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped in a web of his own making. This was not how he envisioned this moment, being put into the role of a celebrated author. But now that he was here, there was no turning back.
The autumn air clung to the streets, sharp and biting, but inside the café, warmth and life hummed in quiet conversations and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. It had been a few days since Taesan’s unplanned appearance in Leehan’s life, though by now, the initial awkwardness between them had softened into a tentative familiarity.
Leehan sat across from Taesan, his notebook open on the table, a pen tucked between his fingers as he scribbled aimlessly. Every so often, he paused, tapping the pen against the edge of the page, his gaze distant. Taesan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching him with faint amusement.
“I’ve been thinking about the novel,” Leehan began, his voice thoughtful as his pen hovered over the notebook in front of him. His eyes stayed focused on the page, though the pen didn’t move. “If we want it to feel real, we need more than just ideas. Readers should feel like they’re standing in the scenes—like they can smell the air, touch the walls, hear the sounds of the city.”
Taesan tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering in his expression. “Makes sense. Authenticity can make or break a story.”
Leehan’s lips curved into a faint smile, his excitement flickering just below the surface as he finally looked up. “Exactly.”
“So, what are you suggesting? We write on location?” Taesan asked, leaning back in his chair.
“Well, no,” Leehan replied, setting the pen down and closing his notebook with a soft thud. He leaned back, mirroring Taesan’s posture, his gaze thoughtful. “But visiting places could help. For inspiration, for realism—just to get a feel for it all.” He paused, his tone growing more earnest. “Have you ever tried writing about a place you’ve never actually been to? It’s like trying to describe a color you’ve never seen.”
Taesan chuckled. “Fair point. Any places in mind?”
Leehan hesitated, his confidence wavering for just a moment. “Not really. I was hoping you’d have some suggestions. You seem like the kind of person who’s seen a lot of Seoul.”
Taesan’s lips quirked into a half-smile, a spark of something unreadable flashing in his eyes. “I might have a few ideas.”
He rattled off a short list of locations, each name chosen with careful precision. This was an opportunity—too perfect to pass up. He had come to Leehan’s life with a mission, one that required him to tread carefully.
“Really?” Leehan’s smile widened. “Nice! We can plan out a few trips and see where it takes us.”
Leehan had grown comfortable enough to drop formalities with Taesan recently—something that had surprised him at first but now felt natural. Taesan had insisted, saying they were the same age, twenty, though there was an ease to his demeanor that made him seem older. Of course, the truth was far from that. Taesan was immortal, carrying centuries of experiences that he could never reveal.
“I was thinking we could visit the Han River,” Taesan said casually, testing the waters. “It’s iconic, sure, but there’s something about the way the city reflects on the water. Feels like it has a story to tell.”
As he spoke, he watched Leehan closely, noting the way his expression subtly shifted. “Sounds good. We can start there.”
Taesan noted the brief pause but didn’t press. He knew exactly why the Han River struck a chord. It wasn’t a coincidence. None of the places he would suggest would be.
As Taesan continued to mention a couple more places, Leehan froze. It was a fleeting moment, barely noticeable, but it was there. His eyes widened, just slightly, and his grip on the notebook tightened.
“Yeah, that... that could work. I’ve always thought those spots were beautiful.” Leehan said, his voice steady but a little too rehearsed.
Taesan nodded, forcing himself to stay composed. The weight of his lie pressed heavily on him, but he couldn’t falter now. His task wasn’t to collaborate on a novel; it was to help Leehan move on, to sever the invisible threads that kept him tied to his past. Each place he suggested wasn’t random. They were the settings of Leehan’s old loves, places that still held pieces of his heart. Taesan knew the weight of his deception, but he carried it silently.
“Then it’s settled,” Leehan said with a decisive nod, his voice lighter, as if brushing away the momentary discomfort. “We’ll visit a few places, take notes, and see where the inspiration leads us.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Taesan replied.
The Han River stretched out before them, its waters glistening under the soft glow of the afternoon sun, reflecting the sky’s pale blue and the scattered clouds that floated lazily overhead. The cool breeze tugged at their jackets, carrying with it the scent of the river, fresh and earthy, mingling with the distant sounds of the city. The wide, open space seemed to invite a certain kind of quiet, a peace that stood in stark contrast to the bustling streets of Seoul just a few blocks away.
Leehan stood by the railing, hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the water. There was something about the river—the way the surface shimmered, how it seemed to carry a thousand untold stories—that made him feel oddly contemplative. The sound of the water rippling as it flowed past was both soothing and, in a strange way, melancholy. He hadn’t been here in years, not since... well, not since he’d last visited with someone else. But he wasn’t going to think about that. This was for the novel, for the writing. He could separate the two.
Taesan, standing a few feet away, watched him quietly. He wasn’t sure if Leehan had noticed the stillness between them, how the moment seemed to hang in the air before either of them spoke. It didn’t matter. Taesan had a mission to complete, he couldn’t lose sight of it.
“This place,” Taesan said, almost to himself, “always feels bigger in person. Like it’s swallowing the city whole.”
Leehan glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Or maybe it’s the other way around. The city’s so loud and sprawling, but the river? It just is. Like it doesn’t care what’s happening around it.”
Taesan chuckled lightly. “Yeah, that’s true. It’s like the river has its own rhythm, completely detached from the rest of the world.”
Leehan nodded, his gaze drifting back to the water. “I always liked the way it looks here. There’s something about how the city’s reflected in the water—it’s like everything’s softer, more fluid. Like the world can be whatever it wants to be.”
Taesan sensed the weight behind Leehan’s words. He wasn’t just talking about the river. He’d seen that far-off look in Leehan’s eyes before, the way he seemed to get lost in his thoughts, especially when the past crept in. This wasn’t just research for the novel. These places—they meant something to Leehan. They held memories. Memories of a time he hadn’t fully let go of yet.
“It’s strange,” Leehan murmured after a moment, his voice softer than the breeze. “Standing here now makes me feel... heavy and light at the same time. Like I’m holding onto something too tightly, but I can’t let it go.”
Taesan tilted his head, the weight of Leehan’s words settling between them. He understood more than he let on, but this wasn’t the time to push. Instead, he kept his tone light.
“You’re poetic without even trying,” Taesan said, the teasing edge in his voice soft.
Leehan let out a soft laugh, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hazard of the job, I guess.”
The moment hung between them, a quiet, shared understanding, but Taesan broke it, gently steering the conversation back to the novel.
“So, what happens next? The protagonist has his moment by the river, right? Does he walk away with a new resolve, or does he just stand there, lost in the current?”
Leehan thought for a moment, then chuckled quietly. “He probably just keeps walking. You can’t stay in one place forever, even if it’s hard.”
Taesan nodded, watching as Leehan’s eyes returned to the water. There was something in his voice that suggested more than just the plot of his story. Something deeper.
“Letting go feels impossible sometimes,” Leehan said softly. “Like the past is stitched into you. Even if you try to move on, the threads stay.”
Taesan’s expression softened. He could see how much those memories still held him. “It’s not easy,” Taesan said, his voice steady and sincere. “But sometimes, the only way to move forward is to let go of what doesn’t fit anymore.”
Leehan let out a breath, almost a laugh, but it was bitter. “Maybe the hardest part of writing is knowing when to let go of the past. When to stop holding onto things you think you need, even if they’re no longer important.”
Taesan remained silent, letting the quiet stretch between them. He wasn’t sure if Leehan was talking about the novel or something more personal. Probably both. But Taesan knew this was his mission: to help Leehan release those memories, even if Leehan wasn’t aware of it.
Taesan said after a pause, trying to lift the mood, “You think the protagonist will ever be ready to let go?”
Leehan glanced at him, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I think he’s getting there. It’s just... hard. But maybe that’s the point. It’s supposed to be hard.”
“Yeah,” Taesan said after a pause. His gaze softened as he added, almost casually, “But no one really lets go alone. Even in stories, the protagonist needs a little help, right?”
Leehan shifted, his posture lightening a little as he looked up. “Alright, I think I’ve got what I need for this scene. Let’s move on. Where are we headed next?”
Taesan hesitated for a moment before answering, sensing the shift in Leehan’s mood. “I was thinking Bukchon Hanok Village.”
Leehan raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Bukchon? That’s... that’s an interesting choice.”
“Why’s that?” Taesan asked, curious.
Leehan shrugged, his eyes distant for a moment. “It's nothing. I guess it just feels... too quiet.”
“I know what you mean,” Taesan said, a softness in his voice. “Sometimes, when everything is too still, it’s like you can hear the echo of things left unsaid.”
Leehan glanced at him, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “Look who’s being poetic now.”
Taesan flashed a quick grin, shrugging casually. “It happens.”
Leehan’s smile lingered for a moment before he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. “I guess it’s not that bad. I mean, it’s still a beautiful place.”
Taesan smiled back, feeling a small relief. Leehan had always been good at masking his thoughts with humor, but Taesan knew when to listen beneath the surface. There was a shift in him, a subtle easing of something heavy.
“So,” Taesan began, breaking the momentary stillness. “you wanna go?”
Leehan nodded, and for the first time in a while, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. There was a lightness to him now, like he was letting go of some weight, even if just for a moment.
“Yeah,” he said, stretching his arms and grinning. “Let’s go.”
Taesan smiled in return, feeling the weight of his mission settle into a quieter place within him. It wasn’t over yet—there were still more places to visit, more memories to untangle—but today, by the Han River, was a step forward. A step Leehan had made, without even realizing it.
Bukchon Hanok Village felt like a step back in time, a quiet pocket of history nestled between Seoul’s towering skyscrapers. The narrow alleys wound through rows of traditional hanok houses, their curved roofs casting soft shadows on the cobblestones. The air here carried a quiet weight, cooler and heavier, as if infused with the whispers of centuries past. As they stepped into the village, Leehan drew in a deep breath, the earthy scent of aged wood and stone grounding him in a place that felt both ancient and alive.
Taesan glanced at him, watching the way Leehan looked around, eyes wide as he took in the sight. He wasn’t sure what Leehan was seeing, but he could feel the tension in his body, a subtle rigidity in his posture. This place, with its quiet stillness, had a way of making time feel suspended.
Leehan paused near a narrow alley, his fingers tracing the edge of a wooden gate. “It’s strange,” he murmured, his voice tinged with hesitation. “This place feels untouched, like time forgot about it.”
“Timeless,” Taesan agreed. “Though I give it five minutes before we’re photobombed by someone with a selfie stick.”
Leehan laughed, shaking his head. “You’d ruin the vibe just by saying that.”
Taesan watched him closely, his easy banter masking his deeper observations. This was another place tied to Leehan’s past. He had come here often with a lover who loved history, who had once traced their fingers along the same wooden doors, marveling at their age.
“Bukchon really is beautiful,” Taesan finally said, his tone a little more contemplative than usual. “But there’s something more about it that makes it feel like it’s stuck in time. Like it doesn’t belong to this city, or maybe... like it’s waiting for something.”
Leehan nodded, though there was something guarded in his expression. “Yeah. Like it’s frozen, waiting for a time that’s passed.”
For a moment, they both stood there in silence, the old wooden gate creaking in the breeze, a faint reminder of the centuries that had passed in this place. Leehan’s gaze flicked to the old house across the street, and for a moment, it looked like he was lost in something far beyond the village. Taesan took a small step toward him, his voice gentle.
“It’s like the past is always here, isn’t it? In places like this. But it’s also... gone. It’s both, at the same time.”
Leehan turned to look at him, his eyes thoughtful. “Yeah, it’s like it never really leaves. It just... stays with you, no matter how much you try to move on.”
The weight of his words hit Taesan in a way he wasn’t expecting. He knew exactly what Leehan meant. He’d been watching him long enough to see how memories clung to him, how they lingered in the quiet corners of his mind, even when he tried to push them away. Leehan had yet to truly let go.
Taesan steered them toward a small tea house nestled at the edge of a quiet street, its sign barely visible against the aged wood. As they approached the door, Leehan faltered—just the smallest pause, a hesitation so brief it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else. But Taesan caught it, the faint tightening of his jaw, the slight rigidity in his step.
“Tea?” Taesan asked casually, as though the choice had been spur-of-the-moment.
Leehan nodded, his smile taut, and stepped inside. Inside, the warmth was immediate, the air fragrant with the earthy notes of green tea and roasted barley. His eyes darted around the room as they entered, scanning the low tables and neatly arranged cushions. Taesan saw the flicker of recognition in his gaze—the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly before he settled into one of the low cushions.
“This place feels... familiar,” Leehan said softly, his fingers trailing over the edge of the table as they sat down.
“Good places always do,” Taesan replied lightly, pouring tea into their cups. “They make you feel like you’ve been here before, even if you haven’t.”
Leehan didn’t respond, he traced a finger along the grain of the wooden table, his gaze distant. The quiet murmur from nearby tables mixed with the gentle clinks of ceramic cups creating a muted backdrop of warmth and familiarity. Taesan watched him, the way his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, though his brow remained furrowed.
“Why’d you suggest this place?” Leehan asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
Taesan shrugged, his expression carefully neutral. “It seemed like the kind of place you’d appreciate.”
Leehan raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, letting out a soft sigh. “I’ve been here before,” he admitted after a pause.
Taesan’s heart clenched, though he kept his face calm. “Good memories?” he asked lightly.
Leehan hesitated, his gaze dropping to his coffee cup. “Some. But they’re... complicated.”
Taesan nodded, sensing that was all Leehan was willing to share. “Complicated memories make for the best stories,” he said, his tone casual.
Leehan looked up at him, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re annoyingly insightful sometimes, you know that?”
“It’s a gift,” Taesan replied with a grin.
Their conversation drifted as they sipped their tea, starting with safe topics—Leehan’s latest novel draft, Taesan’s fabricated writing struggles—but it soon wandered into unexpected corners. They shared moments of joy and embarrassment, laughing over past misadventures. Taesan couldn’t help but tease Leehan about the time he tried to impress his Taekwondo instructor with a high kick and ended up knocking over a whole row of chairs instead. Leehan groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I thought I’d be a black belt by the time I was 10," he muttered, shaking his head. "Clearly, that didn’t work out."
For the first time that day, Leehan’s laughter came easily. The melancholy in his eyes softened, replaced by something lighter—almost hopeful. Taesan could feel the shift, faint but unmistakable. Another arrow was loosening, the grip of the past starting to ease, even if just a little.
Seoul at night had its own rhythm, a pulse felt in the way the streets thrummed beneath your feet and in the endless glow of lights stretching into the horizon. The air was filled with the distant sounds of chatter and the occasional screech of tires on the asphalt. Neon signs flickered above and street vendors called out, adding to the melody of the night. The city seemed to breathe in tandem with its inhabitants, contributing to the mosaic of stories unfolding beneath the darkening sky. Their next stop was the Namsan Tower, perched high above the city on its namesake mountain.
As the cable car ascended, Leehan peered out at the sea of love locks dangling from the railings along the way. He raised an eyebrow, his lips twisting in amusement. “Cliché,” he remarked, his tone laced with a touch of sarcasm. “Who even buys into this?”
“Apparently, everyone,” Taesan quipped, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he gestured to the vibrant locks glimmering in the soft light. “You’re just jealous you didn’t bring one.” He nudged Leehan lightly, unable to resist the tease.
Leehan rolled his eyes, the smile spreading across his face despite himself. “Maybe I should’ve brought one. Add to the collection.”
Taesan’s grin widened. “Next time, I’ll get us a matching set.”
Leehan laughed, the sound light and easy, before returning his gaze to the window. As the cable car ascended higher, the city below became a sea of twinkling lights, stretching out endlessly like an illuminated canvas. The cold wind swept through the open windows, and for a moment, it felt as though the world had quieted down, leaving only the sound of the car's soft hum.
“It really feels like a different world up here,” Leehan said quietly, his voice tinged with awe, his eyes reflecting the vast expanse of Seoul below. He felt a sense of weightlessness, as if the city’s noise had faded just enough to allow his thoughts to wander freely, untethered by the usual rush.
“Yeah,” Taesan agreed, taking in a deep breath of the cool mountain air. “The city feels alive. Makes you think about how many stories are hidden in all those buildings, just waiting to be discovered.”
Leehan nodded slowly. “Every place has its story,” he said softly. “Sometimes, it just takes a little effort to see it.”
The cable car reached the top, and they stepped out onto the observation deck, where the sprawling city greeted them like an old friend, its lights dancing in the night. Couples strolled past, whispering to each other in hushed tones, while others stood leaning against the railings, lost in the view. The air was crisp, a sharp contrast to the warmth of their breath in the night. Leehan leaned on the railing, staring out at the city below.
“Well, that’s quite a view, isn’t it?” Taesan said, his tone light as he stood next to Leehan.
The blonde nodded absently, his gaze distant as he took it all in. “Yeah, it really is something,” he murmured. His thoughts seemed far away, the silence between them comfortable but heavy, filled with things unsaid.
They stood there for a few moments, the city below bustling with life, but somehow it felt like they were worlds apart from everything. The noise and bustle seemed distant, muted by the height, and the cold wind brushed against their skin. The lights twinkled far below like scattered stars, and for a brief moment, the city seemed almost dreamlike, as if it existed only in fragments of memory.
“You ever think about what it all means?” Leehan asked quietly, breaking the calm.
Taesan turned his head to look at him, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t respond immediately, watching as Leehan continued to gaze at the city, his expression thoughtful, almost burdened.
“Not often,” Taesan replied, his voice low, almost contemplative. “I usually let the city speak for itself. What about you? What do you think it means?”
Leehan let out a soft sigh, a small laugh escaping him. He shook his head slightly, as if trying to make sense of his own thoughts. “I don’t know. It’s a little overwhelming, don’t you think? So many people, all their lives intertwined in ways we can’t even begin to understand, and you’re just… here, standing above it all, trying to make sense of it.”
Taesan nodded slowly, letting the words sink in. He knew that feeling, the sense of being small in the vastness of it all. “It’s like that sometimes. But maybe that’s the beauty of it. It doesn’t have to make sense.”
Leehan was quiet for a moment, then shifted slightly, as though trying to ground himself in the present. He looked out at the city again, his thoughts clearly still tangled in the mess of everything. “I guess,” he said finally, his voice soft, the weight of his words lingering in the space between them.
The quiet that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was a quiet that held meaning. It wasn’t rushed, as if the two of them were letting the city’s silence fill the gaps that their words couldn’t.
After a while, Leehan spoke again, his voice almost tentative. “I used to come here with someone. A long time ago.”
Taesan glanced at him, his tone gentle. “Someone special?”
Leehan gave a small shrug, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just someone I dated for a while. Feels like a lifetime ago.”
Taesan watched him carefully, sensing the weight behind the casual words. He could feel the layers of unspoken history there, but he chose not to push. “Every place has its stories,” Taesan said softly. “And those stories can change over time, just like people do.”
Leehan turned to look at him, surprised by the simplicity of the words. It was a quiet comfort, one that didn’t ask for explanations. He nodded slowly, as though digesting the thought. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
Taesan gave him a small nod, his face unreadable, though his eyes held a trace of understanding. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he said, his voice warm but neutral. “We’re here for the novel. Let’s just take in the view, feel the place.”
Leehan nodded in acknowledgment, grateful for the unspoken offer of space. He didn’t say anything more, but his gaze softened as he turned his eyes back to the city, the cold air brushing against his face, grounding him in the present.
They stood there for a while, the world below continuing on its endless motion. Time felt suspended in that moment, and the sounds of the city seemed far away. After some time, they walked along the deck, Taesan pointing out landmarks and cracking jokes about cheesy tourist traps. Slowly, the weight on Leehan’s shoulders seemed to lift, his expression softening.
"So, what do you think?" Taesan asked, hoping to steer the conversation back to the book.
Leehan looked around slowly, as though weighing the scene before him. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he considered the scene. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It’s perfect. I can see it now—the characters standing here, looking out over the city, not sure what comes next.”
“Exactly,” Taesan agreed with a knowing smile. “It’s the kind of place that makes you think. A place where people come to make decisions, to leave things behind or hold onto them.”
Leehan didn’t respond immediately. His mind was drifting back to the story, to the words he still hadn’t fully written. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, trying to reconcile the weight of the story he was crafting with the weight of his own life, tangled in the space between.
After a beat, Taesan broke the quiet again, his tone shifting to something lighter. “Plus, it’s a great place for pictures. Let’s capture the moment,” he suggested, pulling out his phone with a grin.
Leehan laughed, his earlier tension melting as he allowed Taesan to take a few shots. “I feel like I’m posing for a tourist ad,” he joked, a playful glint in his eyes.
“You are!” Taesan teased back, snapping another picture. “Embrace it! It’s for the novel.”
Leehan chuckled, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. As they leaned on the railing once more, the city spread before them, vast and endless. Leehan’s expression turned contemplative once more as he took in the view. “This city feels so big from up here. Like you could lose yourself in it. But sometimes, it feels too small. Like you can’t escape.”
Taesan let the words hang in the air, his expression unreadable for a moment before he replied softly, “Maybe it’s not about escaping. Maybe it’s about finding the right corner to stay in.”
Leehan glanced at him, something unreadable flickering in his gaze, before nodding slowly. “Maybe,” he agreed, his voice soft but thoughtful.
They stayed like that for a while, letting the silence speak for them. No more words were needed; the city seemed to tell its own story, just as they did. The moments, the memories, the emotions—quietly and unspoken—hung in the air between them, and the city continued its rhythm, both vast and intimate, as if it, too, understood.
As the night deepened, the city around them thrummed with energy, but in that brief moment at the edge of the subway station, everything else seemed to fall away. Leehan turned to Taesan, his eyes soft, the weight that had clung to him for the past few days now lifting just a little.
“Thanks for today,” Leehan said, a smile tugging at his lips. His words were simple, but they carried a warmth that hadn’t been there before. “It was... nice.”
“Nice?” Taesan feigned offense, his grin playful. “I’ll have you know, I aim for extraordinary.”
Leehan chuckled, shaking his head. “Fine. It was extraordinary. Same time tomorrow?”
“Same time,” Taesan agreed, his voice light but steady, watching as Leehan began to turn away, disappearing into the crowd. There was a lightness in his step, the tension in his shoulders no longer as noticeable. It was subtle, but it was there, a sign that Leehan was slowly starting to move forward.
As Taesan turned to leave, he allowed himself a quiet breath.
Three arrows down, countless more to go. But for now, there was a quiet satisfaction in knowing that Leehan was on the path to healing, even if he didn’t fully understand it yet.
Leehan’s smile, light and genuine, played in his mind as he walked away, the city still alive around him, the hum of life continuing its rhythm. Taesan’s steps were steady, his heart a little lighter than before, though the weight of the task ahead still hung in the air. He knew the hardest part was yet to come, but for now, he could afford a brief, quiet peace.