Work Text:
———
The room was bathed in warm sunlight. It spilled through the golden curtains, touched the foot of the bed, and gently brushed the copper strands of hair spread across the pillow. The air was still, as if time itself had decided to pause—not to disturb the one lying on the bed, wrapped in sweet drowsiness. Cale, with tousled hair sprawled across the soft pillows, looked peaceful and cozy. The redhead lay fully stretched out, one arm dangling over the edge, fingers lazily twitching in the air. An open book rested on his chest, but his gaze was unfocused—he’d stopped reading long ago. His breathing was steady, eyelids softly fluttering in sleep, and his thick, fluffy lashes trembled gently.
Cale drifted in a tranquil half-sleep, his consciousness floating somewhere between dreaming and waking. The pages of the book rustled softly in a faint breeze. Somewhere between the words and dreams, he allowed himself the bliss of doing absolutely nothing. It was an ordinary day. Just like dozens of others—warm, calm, unremarkable. He was enjoying the comforting stillness to the fullest.
But the peace didn’t last long.
“Cale-nya!” came a loud whisper, followed by stomping and rustling.
“Humaaaan!” another voice burst into his mind—bright and ringing—pulling Cale fully out of his sleepy haze.
“Shh! Raon, Hong! He’s sleeping!” hissed the older On, tiptoeing into the room.
“But we agreed!” Raon whispered, clearly offended. “Now-now!”
Cale still didn’t open his eyes, suddenly intrigued. He instantly knew the kids were up to something.
Meanwhile, through the rustling and hushed bickering, the bed dipped slightly beside the pretending-to-be-asleep redhead. Cale felt the flutter of tiny wings near him. A small black dragon gently poked his forearm with a round paw.
“Human, human! You have to wake up!” came a loud, ringing, almost ceremonial declaration right in his ear.
Cale lay on his back, listening intently to the world around him. He didn’t move, carefully maintaining the look of someone completely lost in sleep. His heartbeat was steady, his breath even—years of experience had paid off. But a storm was brewing over him.
“Weak human,you’re faking! Your breathing isn’t like a sleeping person’s!”
He almost gave himself away—his face began twitching from the effort not to laugh. The blissful haze he’d been wrapped in a moment ago began to dissolve under the pressure of familiar warmth—Raon, warm and fluffy, scooted closer. The little dragon moved so close his breath tickled Cale’s cheek. Cale was about to surrender when—
Poof!
Something soft but firm—obviously a cloth—landed on his face with clear intent to rob him of his peace. Cale flinched and nearly cursed aloud.
“What the…” he mumbled, annoyed, not even trying to hide it. “Um... What are you doing?”
At first, Cale was a little startled by the sudden turn of events, but he quickly collected himself and just huffed in irritation. He reached to pull the unexpected “blanket” off his face, but small, firm, human hands caught his fingers—as if to stop him from escaping. The kittens turned into humans? But why?
“You can’t! It’s part of the preparation!” came Hong’s energetic voice, followed by On’s barely contained giggle.
“You’re planning to kidnap me in broad daylight?” Cale asked with a heavy sigh, allowing himself a bit of sarcasm.
“No! We’re throwing you a grand celebration, weak human!” Raon announced proudly, landing on Cale’s shoulders and trembling with joy right by his ear.
Cale blindly pulled the little black dragon from his shoulders onto his chest and flopped back onto the pillows with a theatrical groan.
“How lucky am I…” the former commander muttered.
He couldn’t see any faces through the blinding cloth, but he felt their presence—Raon’s fluffy tail brushing his side, Hong’s impatient little hands, On’s held-back breath, and… silence, where Ron lurked. Cale somehow knew the old assassin was close by, watching, not interfering, but with that same unnerving smile and unreadable expression in his eyes.
“Young master, be careful on the stairs,” Ron’s voice came, calm but smiling. For some reason, that caring warning sent chills down Cale’s spine.
“Cale-nya, don’t try to break free—it’s a surprise!” Hong added with a ceremonious tone. “You have to go blind!”
“Exactly, hyung! Besides, we’ll help our weak human not lose balance or fall! We’ll lead you forward!” Raon chimed in brightly.
“Just trust us,” On added quietly, trying to sound grown-up—but her voice still trembled with excitement. “We’ve prepared everything!”
“A surprise?..” Cale raised a brow under the cloth. “You even conspired together?..”
“Shh! That’s it—let’s go!”
Before he could say anything else, they were already gently but firmly guiding him forward—like a parade of stubborn yet caring kidnappers. Blind and bewildered, Cale let them lead him down the corridor. He could feel Raon flying beside him, nearly brushing his shoulder, On holding his wrist and softly counting steps to prevent stumbles, and Hong trying not to giggle. Behind them, Ron’s calm steps echoed—steady, familiar. Someone whispered instructions under their breath:
“Oh-oh! Don’t step on the rug—it’s slippery!”
“One step! And another! Magnificent, human! One more stair behind you!”
“Raon, stop yelling in his ear...”
Cale was barely holding in his laughter. He felt the soft bounce of carpet underfoot, sensed the setting around him shift; the children gripped his arms tighter as they led him down the wide wooden stairs. The air turned slightly cooler, and the rising sounds—still muffled—carried something exciting… something important.
The air changed in an instant—sweetness, a scent of something baked, tender and warm… and a ringing silence. The kind that comes just before a burst.
“Ready?” came a soft, nervous voice. On’s.
Cale twitched his brow beneath the cloth.
“Like I have a choice,” he muttered, amusement creeping into his tone.
The kids giggled. Small fingers brushed the back of his head, and the cloth was slowly lifted from his eyes. The world flared to life.
The moment the blindfold came off, Cale was blinded by a bright flash.
The room lit up with sparkling lights—tiny magical flares swirled in the air. A soft pop echoed overhead—and confetti burst into the air, shimmering in all the colors of the rainbow. The air was glittering with magic and color, and floating magical orbs danced above the ceiling. On a long table sat a cake—layered, topped with bright berries and sparkling candles. And among the colorful chaos—faces. Familiar, beloved. Almost his whole family was gathered.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” they shouted in unison, each in their own tone—but all with the same sincerity.
The redhead stood frozen, stunned. The kids had been talking about a surprise and celebration? Wait, he couldn’t have forgotten someone’s birthday, could he? And then—a moment—like a heartbeat. Realization hit him all at once, a wave of mixed emotions swirled in his chest; confusion, awe, the surreal absurdity of having forgotten, and a faint lingering note of melancholy.
Cale blinked, owl-like. Again. A strange tingle spread through his chest. What was that?.. He… forgot?
The world seemed to retreat. His heart skipped a beat, then filled with warmth—hot and almost unbearable, like someone had lit a spark inside it. A pleasant tremble bloomed in his chest.
“I…” his voice cracked, hoarse and trembling. “I forgot…”
Oh. He cut himself off. That didn’t need to be said aloud. Cale avoided looking at anyone’s faces—faces that, from his words, may have shown a flicker of sadness.
But the person who stepped closer immediately lifted the gloom that briefly fell over the celebration:
“Cale-nim, are you in shock?” Choi Han asked, approaching with his usual gentle smile. It hadn’t changed over the years—but now it carried a thread of deep understanding. There was still a glint of surprise in his eyes—Choi Han himself had probably not expected such a surprise.
He was already wearing a festive party hat—one that stood out from the rest. It had more colorful swirls and, right at the top, a silly golden ribbon. He held another identical one in his hands, which he gently placed on Cale’s red head. Cale froze in bewilderment.
“Do I look nice in this ridiculous hat?” he grumbled, touching it.
“As never before, Cale-nim,” Choi Han smirked. And Cale, for the first time, truly smiled.
The swordsman stepped back, staying within arm’s reach. “Cale-nim, more than anyone, you deserve to be surrounded by warmth. Today is your day,” he declared solemnly.
“Ours,” Cale hummed. “In that case—it’s our celebration. Happy birthday, Choi Han.” Cale smiled warmly and reached up to gently ruffle the dark silk strands. Choi Han’s face lit up, and his smile grew even brighter.
Ron appeared beside them, as always, with a drink in hand. The butler silently offered a tall glass of lemonade, garnished with mint, his familiar smile on display.
“Happy birthday, young master,” Ron said calmly, but his tone carried warmth—subtle and good-natured, with a playful undertone.
“Ron… seriously? Lemonade?” Cale chuckled, his eyes shining. He tried to sound annoyed, but he was clearly more amused.
“Wine would be too much today, Young Master,” Ron replied, his eyes glinting with amusement. “And lemonade refreshes. Just what you need.”
Soon a wave of loved ones surrounded him, all eager to present their gifts.
Raon handed him a cookie, nearly bouncing with excitement:
“Try it, Human! I made it myself! Talented Uncle Beacrox helped—it should be delicious! It's full of love! And chocolate!”
“Thank you, Raon, that’s very sweet.” Cale took the cookie with chocolate chips and took a bite. Whoa, it was actually really good. He chewed and crunched again.
The little black dragon, seeing his reaction, flapped his wings and zipped around in excitement, giggling:
“See, Human! I told you it was yummy!”
Still chewing, Cale patted Raon’s round head, making him melt and beam brightly. “Of course it’s good. Homemade baking is always the best. And if you made it—it’s ten times better.”
“Humaaan! You’re so, so right!”
“Cale-nya, I drew you a picture! Look, look! It’s me, noona, little bro, and you!” On thick paper were four brightly drawn figures, sketched with all the care of a child. The biggest one, with red hair, was lazily lying under the wide shadow of a tree, eyes closed and face completely peaceful. Beside him, in the grass, lay a gray cat, her gaze serene and her fluffy head turned toward the others; two children were playing tag: a blurred black puff with wings and round paws, and an orange kitten trying to catch up.
“Woah…” Cale was floored by Hong’s incredible talent—this kitten clearly had the makings of a great artist. The others crowded around the picture, gasping in awe.
“Oh, Hong! It’s beautiful!”
“Miss Rosalyn’s right, Hong, you did amazing!”
“Wow, just wow…”
On approached Cale. A shy but proud smile lit up her face—her eyes sparkled just as brightly as the magical lanterns hanging from the ceiling. In her hands, she held a plate with a slice of cake, decorated with swirls of cream and delicate petal-like designs.
“Open your mouth!” she said cheerfully. “No arguing, you have to try this first! I want to feed you!”
Cale hesitated for a moment but complied. The spoon held a trembling, soft piece of cake that melted on the tongue—rich with the juiciness of strawberries and the smoothness of vanilla cream. The moist sponge dissolved in his mouth, a heavenly wave of flavor rolling across his tongue. As soon as the first bite touched his taste buds, sparks lit up in On’s eyes.
“The cake is good, right? Cale-nya!” she exclaimed in delight, leaning in slightly, as if to share her warmth with him. Her face was glowing with a bright, warm smile, and Cale couldn’t help but catch it.
Alberu followed behind. With one hand, he tossed his golden locks back, and with the other, held something behind his back. With excessive dramatic flair, the crown prince revealed what he had been hiding: a velvet box clearly saved for a special moment.
It was elegant—deep blue with shimmering golden trim, small and square, fitting easily in one hand. It looked suspiciously like the kind of velvet box used for a wedding ring. But surely Alberu wouldn’t... right?
The crown prince extended it toward Cale with all the grace of royalty.
“A gift worthy of your dramatics,” he said with his usual teasing tone, and Cale internally sighed in relief. This bastard wasn’t that crazy to propose in front of the entire family.
Cale took the precious box and squinted at the blonde.
“Well well, dear dongsaeng,” Alberu said, unable to hold back an affectionate chuckle as he looked at the redhead’s face. “I know what you're thinking. Don’t underestimate me—if I were going to propose, it would be far more extravagant.” His voice was laced with sarcasm.
Cale snorted, nearly choking on laughter. Under the gazes of everyone else, he opened the box.
Inside, resting on a black cushion, was a ruby—deep, rich red, as if it had absorbed the color of blood and the endless sunset, with glimmers of gold like evening sunlight trapped in crystal. Its facets shimmered under spelllight, casting reflections onto the ceiling. Within the gem, a tiny flame seemed to flicker—alive and stubborn.
“It reminded me of you, Cale,” Alberu said softly. Cale quickly looked up, meeting those fake blue eyes, then dropped his gaze back to the gem and froze, exhaling quietly as he studied it.
After a moment of silence, the blond continued, “Deep, stubbornly shining, and honestly, annoyingly heavy at times. It’s like you—inside and out.”
Cale gave a quiet chuckle, not trusting himself to speak. The words were stuck in his throat like a pulsing lump, his eyes burning. He gripped the box tighter, like it was the only thing grounding him. He inhaled again. His usual teasing retorts buzzed at the tip of his tongue, but his throat ached, and through the hoarseness, he managed to croak out a simple:
“Thanks.” Cale smiled softly, just with the corners of his lips. Despite the sticky weight in his chest, he could feel a thick, honey-like warmth wrapping around him from the inside, engulfing him, soothing him, healing him. Cale felt... warm.
———
The celebration slowly faded like the embers in a hearth. Laughter was less frequent now, blending into slow conversations, fragments of words, warm voices. The room settled into a soft, homely silence—no one rushed, no one was in a hurry.
The candles on the cake had long since gone out, leaving behind thin, pale wisps of smoke lazily drifting in the air. The room gradually sank into dim twilight—sunset outside replaced by the soft glow of stars and moonlight, casting long, cozy shadows across the walls.
Most guests had already left, showering both birthday celebrants with congratulations and hugs before saying goodbye. Cale’s parents had also left, despite being invited to stay the night at the villa for a more relaxed morning departure to the Henituse estate.
Count Deruth took his son’s hands in his own, laughing gently. “Oh, Cale, my boy, don’t worry about us so much. We don’t want to trouble you in any way, but I’m truly glad I got to celebrate your special day…”
“Father, what are you saying? You wouldn’t be any trouble,” Cale replied calmly.
“Ha, orabeoni, I know you sleep until noon! That means I’d have to wake you up in the morning just to say goodbye properly!” Lily laughed out.
Violan raised her gloved hand to her lips and chuckled quietly. Basen snorted.
“Pff… and where’s the lie in that, hyung?”
Cale squinted, arms crossed. “No way. My peace is sacred.”
“Hehe, I knew it—you’re just lazy!”
“Yes, and I intend to continue my life of a slacker.” Cale declared with mock solemnity, pressing a hand to his chest like an oath.
“Oh, you two — just bickering children.”
“Hyung—!”
“Says the pot.”
Both voices rang out at once. Deruth laughed loudly, not holding back, while Violan chuckled softly.
Violan approached Cale slowly, her movements unburdened by the weight of age, full of grace and dignity—of a woman who had seen much, but never lost her kindness. The fabric of her warm, velvet cloak whispered as she moved closer. Her elegant hands, wrapped in delicate gloves, reached for him and gently, reverently, touched his forearms.
“Cale…” her voice was nearly a whisper, but it rang with warmth, like a tuning fork setting the heart to the right pitch. “My dear boy.”
The redhead flinched slightly at the words. No one had ever called him that—not with pity, not with distance, but with sincere warmth. He looked up. For a moment, his eyes reflected a flicker of confusion, like he couldn’t quite believe those words were meant for him.
The countess smiled. A smile that held no grandeur—only gentleness.
“I’m beyond happy that my son is surrounded by such wonderful and dependable people,” she continued, squeezing his hands a little tighter, as if reluctant to let go too soon. “This day is not just for you—for all of us, your family, it’s a special day.”
She paused, and her voice deepened slightly, as if reaching past skin straight into the soul:
“And I’m so proud that I can call you my son. Truly my son.”
Such simple words, yet they hit Cale like a quiet, unstoppable storm. He didn’t immediately know what to say. His chest tightened with a gentle, but undeniable grip. His throat clenched, and for a moment, his thoughts became unsteady, like sand slipping beneath his feet.
The countess didn’t wait for an answer. She leaned in, pressing a warm, soft, motherly hand to his cheek—the kind that smelled like home—and kissed his forehead.
“Rest tonight. Just be. We don’t see each other often, can’t always be near, but your family is always on your side. Always,” she said, and only then did she release him. “In any case, you’re welcome at the family estate any time. It will always, without a doubt, be your home.”
———
The rest of the family stood nearby, holding their breath. Cale blinked away the haze in his eyes and rasped,
"Thank you... Mom." Then, a bit steadier, "Thank you, all of you. I... I truly appreciate you."
Their gazes melted like warm wax, and each of them smiled with sunshine in their eyes. Tears welled up in Lily’s eyes at those, in Cale’s opinion, simple words, and Basen pressed his lips together and furrowed his brow, clearly trying not to let the tide of emotions overwhelm him.
"Oraaabbooooniii!" Lily was the first to break and jumped into him, locking him in a tight embrace. The former commander staggered slightly.
Ah... Lily had grown so strong.
Basen rushed in right after her. "Hyung-nim! We care about you and love you too!"
The red-haired youth was surrounded, caught in a trap of hugs. Awkwardly, he twisted both his arms and placed his hands on their heads, ruffling the fluffy strands of hair.
Heh... He looked up and met the warm, laughing eyes of his parents — and allowed himself a soft smile.
Cale stood there for a moment longer, following her with his gaze, not realizing at first that he was now alone in the dim room, lit only by the last flickering lights of the fading celebration. And even as the door closed behind his family, he could still feel the touch of her hand — like the imprint of something real, something he held close and never wanted to let go of.
———
Only a few remained at the large table. Rosalyn was whispering with Eruhaben about some alchemical nonsense Raon had recently come up with and almost carried out — turning part of the library into foamy books. Ron, with the sleeping On and Hong in his arms, gently rocked them, quietly stroking their heads, murmuring something old and soft, more to himself than to the kittens. Raon, worn out from the energy of his own party, was curled up on Choi Han’s lap in an armchair, already breathing evenly and snoring faintly under a soft blanket. His wings fluttered gently now and then.
Cale sat a little to the side, still at the table, holding an empty spoon between his fingers that he just couldn’t seem to let go of. The lamp’s light reflected in his slightly lowered eyes — he wasn’t listening to the conversations around him. He was simply watching the dust dance in the golden glow, unblinking.
His fingers trembled.
A thin thread of warmth traced along his neck — from behind, under the collar. Subtle, quiet, but undeniable. Like someone had barely touched his skin. An invisible touch.
“Record.”
Cale hadn’t triggered it on purpose, but his body had already responded. He knew this path too well — once walked, it always remained etched in memory.
The world around him slowly dissolved into sounds and images.
Voices dulled, like someone had shut a door. Faces blurred, melted away. Only still frames remained — like faded snapshots from someone else’s dream. And in those frames, he wasn’t Cale.
First — a faint tremble in his fingers. Then — damp sweat at his temples, something between skin and memory ignited and pulsed. His heart pounded. Cale gasped, gripping the spoon tighter in his hands, trying to ground himself — clinging to it like it was his anchor.
A deep breath. His eyes closed.
And the room disappeared.
Cale saw it all, was there, present — but through a light haze. Even then, long before this moment, he had felt it: the record had activated silently. It hadn’t flared up or crashed over him — it breathed inside him. It lived its own life.
He felt a drop of sweat slide down his temple. The collar of his shirt grew tighter, as if it was strangling him. Struggling against the trembling in his fingers, Cale slowly unbuttoned the top of his shirt — a familiar, automatic movement. Cale needed to hold himself together, not let himself fall apart. His lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes — downcast. He tried not to breathe too deeply.
———
Cale never tried to forget.
He didn’t want to bury the past, didn’t silence the voices from the depths of memory, didn’t try to erase the tracks time had left behind, didn’t shut out their cries, didn’t lock them behind the doors of consciousness — quite the opposite. He kept them with a terrifying tenderness. Not out of despair or masochistic longing, but with extraordinary care. Like relics. Like pages from an ancient tome written in his own blood.
Within him lived a whole universe of memories — clear, organized, constructed like the most intricate library. There was no chaos there — every feeling, every name, every word and glance had its place. Massive shelves rose into the heights, dissolving into the dim light of ceilings lost beyond sight. He could find the right memory like a skilled librarian finding a specific volume in a mile-long archive.
His mind wasn’t just memory — it was an entire archive. A labyrinth of glass and steel, fragile yet indestructible at once. Where others might see chaos, Cale saw order. Narrow paths twisted between the rows, forming a maze where one misstep could mean losing yourself. Deep within, precious shards of the past were stored — even the most painful ones. Especially those.
His memory functioned like a complex computer system — nearly perfect — instantly retrieving the necessary details, surfacing images and emotions with eerie precision. Sometimes it acted like flawless software, spitting out information as if from a command line. Cale could easily recall the smallest detail of any moment — a facial expression down to the number of wrinkles, the curve of brows or lips, tens of thousands of books he had read, a small, overlooked detail that might return again and again like a persistent thought but prove to be an immensely useful clue.
But every system has its faults. A bug in the code. A crack in the perfect structure.
And everything would collapse — like a house of cards blown down before his eyes.
Even the most flawless mechanism isn’t eternal.
Sometimes his mind overloaded — not suddenly, not sharply, but softly and heavily, as if someone were lowering a thick blanket over his head. Never unexpected, never truly inescapable. In those moments, Cale would simply freeze. His eyes would fix on one spot, his gaze glassy, his breath slow and barely there; the air turned stuffy and hot like a sauna, his chest weighed down with lead. He looked shut down, but he was still there, still hearing. From the outside, it looked like absentmindedness, like deep thought... but inside, something else entirely was happening. Inside, massive gears spun too fast and too loud, and hundreds of memories surged up at once — uncontrollable, wild. Like he stood at the center of a great storm, each raindrop a fragment of the past.
Sometimes he returned — just a blink, realizing he had drawn too deep a breath and was now exhaling in ragged bursts. The redhead would glance around, hoping no one had seen him like that — and then exhale in relief. Everything would return to normal, as if nothing happened.
But sometimes... he drowned, unable to fight the rising wave.
The shelves trembled, fell, merging into an unending flood. Information poured in, like water breaking through a dam. Cale no longer controlled what he saw. No choice. It all happened — all at once. And sometimes, he sank. As if a foreign voice in his head — not his own, not the familiar voices of ancient powers — a different one — suddenly switched everything on. All at once. Familiar faces. Words. Screams. Light. Final darkness. Walls shaking with pain, deafening silence; damp earth soaked in moisture and the sorrow of loss, thunder and rain mourning what was long gone, muffled sobs and crying in the background; footsteps on dusty floors, the scent of wax on candles, the phantom warmth of a spectral hand that once held him close.
Cale fell straight into the heart of this fragile, barely contained structure. Lost all sense of time, forgot where he was, felt something inside him crack, break, splinter. Cale clung to the edges, bent under the weight of the past — but in the end, sank to the bottom of the endless deep.
Cale didn’t scream.
He just froze. And breathed. Heavily. Raggedly. Like a wounded beast who knew the wound was fatal — but still had to walk. Because no one else could.
And that evening, when the night silence had already settled outside the windows and the room was filled with a cozy, almost homely atmosphere, Cale began to feel the familiar pressure from within. The warmth gathered at the back of his neck, hidden beneath his red hair. It wasn’t sudden, nor was it a shock — it had been lingering at the periphery of his mind from the start. It was a silent anxiety, a rising storm pounding in his temples, silently shouting of its presence. But instead of paying attention, Cale preferred to ignore it. Always aware of the consequences, the former commander pushed aside the buzzing warnings.
He resisted for a long time. Pushed it away. Ignored it. Hid his vulnerability in words and smiles. He laughed, joked, teased. Let Raon cling to his neck with selfish hope that the warmth of the dragon and her laughter would drown out the persistent record. He accepted the gifts, the congratulations, obediently opening his mouth for On to feed him with gleaming eyes, as Hong blushed while handing over his heartfelt present. He accepted it all — gratitude, love, warmth... But inside, an unstoppable storm was already gathering.
And Cale wondered. Sincerely, without shame. After all, he was genuinely happy. He truly enjoyed the company of his family, their constant displays of love, their faces filled with happiness and tenderness. So why... Why was this happening? Cale didn’t know the answer.
The slow, painful build-up... and already, his chest tightened. His palms turned cold. He stopped hearing the conversations around the table. His family was near — but it felt like they were on the other side of thick glass. The world became dim and blurry. The voices slipped away.
Then Cale tried to hold himself together. He breathed in measured, concentrated breaths; he closed his eyes. And in the small gap between his defense mechanisms, between the vulnerable warmth and the receding steel, memories crept in.
Slowly, thickly, like ink spreading across a blank page.
And he could no longer stop the flow.
He closed his eyes.
And inside, beneath the lids, as if through a translucent fabric of time, a different room slowly took shape.
The half-light, thickening in the corners. The air heavy and dry — it smelled of dust, cardboard, frozen sorrow. Before him — another room. Just as familiar, to the point of aching. Just as foreign, to the point of unbearable. Simple, cramped, yet inexplicably endless in its emptiness. Echoing. Lonely. The walls, once familiar, seemed to shift, losing their warmth. The shelves, once cluttered with books, souvenirs, coffee jars — now gathering dust, half-empty, as though cooled by the touch of living hands. The atmosphere was dense, thick, stale, untouched by movement, as if the very essence of this place had lost its meaning. Even the silence here was not comforting — it rang, sharp and sticky, like a web, wrapping everything, even him.
On the table — a poor attempt at celebration. A small cake, too simple to bring joy, but too sincere to be just food. The cream slightly settled at the edges, two thin candles, their warm flames flickering slightly — unevenly stuck, one tilted as though tired of having to stay upright. Their light flickered in rhythm with his breath, and that was enough to make them seem alive.
On the cream’s surface, with small indentations from a trembling hand, was written:
“Kim Rok Soo and Choi Jung Soo.” Side by side, as it had always been.
Below it — simply: “Happy Birthday.”
Words that once came from hoarse voices, full of irony, warmth, and inappropriate jokes, now lay on the surface of the cake — a dead echo of their presence.
He sat, heavily and crookedly, as if forgetting how to sit up straight. His shoulders slumped, his hands folded in his lap — wrapped in bandages, gray with time and dust, with small snags. There was so much exhausted tension in them that his fingers slightly whitened from how tightly he gripped them. They trembled. Quietly, barely noticeable — but never stopping. And with every second, the invisible cold settled deeper in his chest.
Nearby, on the table, following some unspoken ritual, lay two envelopes. One handwritten, with bold letters, slightly yellowed, as though faded with time.
“From Choi Jung Soo — to my dear dongsaeng!” the inscription on the side read. In Kim Rok Soo’s head, the echo of a ringing, mischievous voice bounced off his temples. He read those lines and couldn’t help but hear the ghostly exclamation.
The second — empty, sealed, as though waiting for its time. To the right of the cake rested a small gift box. To the side was written in elegant, beautiful handwriting:
“To our Rok Soo, the grumpy, sweet dongsaeng! :D”
The gift was wrapped carelessly, the paper slightly crumpled, the ribbon on the side askew, as if someone had hurriedly sealed everything back inside at the last moment. Just like back then, when they were together.
And everything — lifeless.
He sat, staring at the candles. As if they were holy flames, as if they were something meant to warm him. But they only reminded him of the emptiness that surrounded him.
And before all this — a photograph.
It stood in a frame, clean, carefully wiped, unlike everything else around it. From it, three people looked at him: Lee Soo Hyuk, Choi Jung Soo, and him. A moment — frozen, alive, unstoppable. One grinning, another showing his teeth, and the third — him — trying to twist away, but in the eyes of those holding his shoulders, there was infinite tenderness. It was something that couldn’t be faked. Their bond. Their life. Their “together.”
But now... only one remained of the three.
He stared at the photograph as if it were a window, where the light still burned, but Rok Soo could no longer enter. He imagined — how it would be if they walked in now. One would burst out laughing, slap him on the shoulder, the other would ruffle his hair, and he would roll his eyes and mutter that the cake was disgusting, but still eat half of it. There would be laughter, roughhousing, bickering, care. Everything like before.
But the room remained silent.
He felt the silence in his body. As if the air had thickened, pressing, hanging heavy over his shoulders. The candles burned steadily, and that stillness suddenly became unbearable.
He even leaned toward the cake, as if about to blow out the candles. But... he couldn’t.
And when the tears fell down his cheeks — they weren’t held back. They were bitter, like burning embers. He tried to choke them back, but his chest was already heaving with sobs. He couldn’t hold it in. The tears flowed like a sudden downpour. Hot, treacherous, bitter to the point of pain in his throat. They fell directly onto the bandages, onto his knees, onto the cake, extinguishing the candles. He covered his mouth with his hand, trying not to let the sobs escape, but his voice cracked anyway.
He didn’t cry at the funerals. He didn’t cry when he stood later before their graves, hands clinging to the soaked earth, fingers bleeding from sharp stones and soil. He didn’t cry when he heard others accuse him of being cold. They called him indifferent, heartless. But now, in this dark room, he was just a boy who had lost everyone who knew him for who he truly was. Everyone who knew how he breathed, how he slept, how he dreamed. Everyone who was dear to him. He had lost his family twice. He couldn’t remember his mother’s warmth, his father’s reliable support, he didn’t know a parent’s tenderness. Rok Soo was too young, having lost both of his parents, to understand the full depth of loss.
But with them... he had known care, happiness, support. He had felt what it was like to be loved. They had given him: family’s unprincipled love, tenderness, and night-time embraces, only to snatch it away suddenly, tearing it out from the root. Tearing his heart apart.
Tears dripped onto the cream, smudging the letters. He closed his eyes — trembling, bound, lonely, not wanting to see it. He couldn’t look anymore.
And then, in the silence where nothing could return the past, he whispered for the first time:
“I’m so sorry... I’m so sorry...” he repeated, like a mantra. His voice cracked with sobs and gasps. “I miss you so much...”
Streams of tears relentlessly flowed from his eyes, and he no longer tried to hold them back.
Because in this room, they were still there. And he knew all too well that, in truth, they were already gone.
———
Cale sank deeper between the past and the present. The present couldn’t hold up, cracking like glass. The words around him became muffled, blurry. The faces — even the familiar ones — seemed foreign, unfamiliar. And the more he tried to hold onto this reality, the more painfully the images from the other one emerged — the one where there were two people whose absence still tears at the emptiness. Suddenly, he emerged from the depths of memories.
Thered-haired young man tightened his grip on the spoon. He raised his eyes. His heart felt tight, but he was still breathing. That... was good. That meant he could move forward. Though the pain hadn’t gone anywhere, it had become part of him.
Trying to be quiet, Cale moved mechanically, his actions more automatic than conscious. He took two plates with untouched pieces of cake from the table. One — the one given to him. The other — the one that was left. He didn’t even know why he took both. He just couldn’t leave it.
Cale stood up from the table. Ron immediately asked, somewhat confused:
“Young Master, where are you going?”
“I...” Cale half-turned, ready to snap at any moment. “I need to freshen up. I’m going outside.” His voice was steady, but still dry, vulnerable. Yet, Cale didn’t care.
Eruhaben raised an eyebrow, about to say something, but Cale had already turned away.
“Young Master Cale...”
“Master Cale, you...”
“Cale-nim, wait!”
“What’s wrong with him?” Eruhaben’s whisper got lost in the air.
Behind him, Cale still heard several concerned voices, but he rushed out of the room. He slipped quickly out of the corridor, almost abruptly, with two plates of cake in his hands. His footsteps echoed dully on the steps, and his heart pounded in his throat, as if trying to break free.
The door to his room closed quietly, but in the silence of the empty space, even that brief click sounded hollow, almost like a strike. Cale placed the plates on the windowsill, slightly knocking one — the cream at the edge impatiently dripped onto the porcelain, and some of the whipped cream splattered onto the window frame. Cale didn’t bother wiping it.
He stepped toward the window and opened it wide.
The cold night air rushed into the room, almost like a reproach. It lifted the light curtains, waving them like wings. Cale stood in front of the breeze, letting the wind touch his face, hair, and exposed neck — finally allowing himself to take a real breath. So deep it made his ribs ache.
Outside, it was dark — no longer velvet, but deep, ringing. The moon hung above the horizon, large, hollow, glowing — staring right at him. Its light made his red hair even brighter, unreal. The soft lunar light reflected a cold hue, making his already pale skin whiter, almost lifeless. In the moonlight, he looked so otherworldly, so captivating, like something unreal. Cale turned his gaze toward the moon, staring at it for a long time. Too long. He was examining every part of it.
A light gust of wind whispered softly, touching his skin. Something intangible, like a rustle behind his back. As if invisible hands had gently placed themselves on his shoulders, carefully, tenderly. Cale closed his eyes. Not because he was tired, but because he felt it: someone was near. Not truly — he knew that. He allowed himself to dissolve in the phantom embrace. But his soul... his soul shuddered.
Cale felt two figures — shadows, almost warm and familiar — drawing closer. They softly embraced him, without disturbing his silence. No words, no sounds — only this fragile illusion of presence, as delicate as morning frost.
“Hyung's...” he whispered hoarsely, barely audible. His voice trembled like a candle flame in the wind.
He leaned on the windowsill, heavily, as if his whole body had suddenly remembered how much pain it carried within. His shoulders slumped. His fingers dug into the wood. A slight tremor ran from his spine upward, gripping his neck. His throat tightened.
And then the tears came.
Quietly. Without sobs. Silent streams down his cheeks, hot and unbearably bitter. They fell, leaving wet traces on his skin, on the collar of his shirt, as though washing his face, from which the mask of indifference had suddenly disappeared. Cale cried like he hadn’t allowed himself to for years.
Once, on that day, he didn’t shed a single tear at the grave. He didn’t flinch in front of other people’s gazes. He gritted his teeth, held his breath — because someone had to stay strong. Someone had to survive everyone.
Now, he wasn’t alone. Cale had long since stopped being lonely. But Cale stood here — because they weren’t here anymore.
He lifted his eyes to the sky — searching, hoping. His heart ached from the attempt to capture and reproduce the voices, smells, laughter in his memory... But it didn’t get any easier, if anything, it became more painful.
“I miss you,” he exhaled, his voice trembling, as if this confession were forbidden. Then the red-haired young man gave a watery smile. “The situation repeats itself — how amusing.”
The wind picked up, almost as if in response. And Cale, trembling, exhausted, allowed himself to remain in this moment. Allowed himself to feel.
He was alive. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.