Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jaemin was more than just a brother—he was all Sion had left.
So when he's found murdered inside the charity building where he volunteered, stabbed multiple times, Sion’s world begins to spiral.

And the only person found near the scene? Tokuno Yushi—Jaemin’s closest friend.
A boy Sion had seen by his brother’s side more times than he could count.
Discovered lying unconscious outside the building, injured and unable to recall a single detail from that night.

With no evidence, no witnesses, and no clear motive, the case stalls.
But Sion doesn’t need proof to believe what his heart has already decided: Yushi was involved.

Blinded by grief and suspicion, Sion starts keeping an eye on Yushi—showing up unannounced, pressuring him, confronting him.
But the longer he watches... the more he starts to see something he didn’t expect.

Yushi isn’t hiding.
He’s lost. Terrified.
And something about his fear feels too real.

Doubt creeps in like a slow tide.
What if Yushi really doesn’t remember?
What if the reason his mind locked away that night… is because what he witnessed was too horrifying to bear?

What if the truth is still out there—and Sion has been looking in the wrong direction all along?

Chapter Text

The café was quiet that late afternoon, the soft clink of ceramic cups the only sound breaking the stillness. Yushi stood behind the counter, methodically wiping down mugs, though his hands trembled slightly with each motion. Across the room, his cousin, Renjun , observed him with quiet concern.

“Yushi… you okay?” Renjun asked softly, stepping a little closer.

“I’m fine, hyung,” Yushi replied with a strained smile. “Just… tired.”

The soft chime of the café door cut through the air, and the tension in Yushi’s shoulders spiked. Inspector Kim Jaehee walked in, followed closely by Sion and his best friend, Riku—who also happened to be the inspector’s partner. Their presence shifted the atmosphere instantly. Yushi froze for a split second, then forced himself to resume wiping the cup in his hand.

“Afternoon, everyone,” Jaehee greeted casually. “Hope we’re not disturbing.”

Renjun offered a tight smile. “Inspector Kim. Sion. Riku.”

“We just need a word with Yushi,” Sion said coolly, his eyes fixed on the boy behind the counter.

Yushi’s fingers tightened around the cup before he carefully set it down. “Of course,” he murmured.

They took a seat at a nearby table, and Jaehee gestured for Yushi to join them. He sat down slowly, trying not to look directly at Sion’s hardened stare.

“Relax, Yushi,” Jaehee said in a lighter tone, leaning back in his chair. “We’re just here to talk. You know—help us piece things together.”

“I told you everything I know,” Yushi said quietly. “I don’t remember anything from that night.”

Sion leaned forward, voice sharp. “Convenient, isn’t it? You were seen outside. Right where my brother’s body was found. And now—nothing? Not even a flicker?"

Yushi lowered his head, knuckles pale as he gripped his knees beneath the table. “I wish I could remember,” he whispered. “I really do.”

Riku opened his mouth to intervene, but Sion cut him off sharply.

“Don’t defend him, Riku! Jaemin hyung was my brother—my only brother—and he’s gone! And now you expect me to believe you don’t remember how he ended up dead?!”

Yushi flinched as if struck. His breathing grew shallow, chest rising and falling too quickly. Renjun started to move toward him, but Jaehee raised a hand to hold him back.

“Easy, Sion,” Jaehee said, voice calm but firm. “Pressuring him won’t bring the memories back.”

The door chime rang again. Hyunseok Lee—the town’s well-known psychiatrist—entered with a calm yet commanding presence. Without a word, he walked straight to Yushi and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“That’s enough for now,” Hyunseok said quietly. “He’s clearly distressed. This won’t help.”

“Of course you’d say that, Uncle,” Sion snapped, bitterness in his voice. “He’s your patient, after all.”

Hyunseok didn’t respond to the jab. He simply looked down at Yushi with a calm, reassuring expression.

“His condition is fragile,” he explained. “Trauma sometimes locks away memories as a way to protect the mind. Forcing them to surface could do more harm than good.”

Tears welled in Yushi’s eyes. “I… I see flashes sometimes,” he murmured. “Shadows. But when I try to reach them… they’re gone.”

“How convenient,” Sion muttered.

“That’s enough,” Riku said sharply, glaring at him.

Renjun crossed his arms. “This is my café. If you’re here to interrogate him, you can leave.”

A heavy silence fell over the group. Finally, Jaehee stood, stretching slightly.

“Alright, alright,” he said with a shrug. “Let’s call it for today.”

He looked at Yushi and gave him a small nod. “If anything comes back, even something small—let us know. It could help.”

Yushi nodded faintly. “I will…”

The three guests began to leave. Sion was the last to exit, lingering just long enough to give Yushi one last piercing glare before walking out and letting the door close behind him.

Renjun came to Yushi’s side and crouched down, placing a warm hand on his shoulder.

“You’re safe here,” he said gently. “Don’t let him scare you.”

Yushi exhaled shakily. “I… I don’t blame him. If I were him… I’d think the same.”

The door creaked softly again. Hyunseok hadn’t left after all. He stepped forward like a quiet shadow returning to the light, his voice velvet-smooth.

“Come see me tomorrow, Yushi,” he said with a warm smile. “We’ll try again to unlock those memories. Together.”

Yushi nodded, though his eyes were distant, filled with unease. As Hyunseok finally stepped out into the fading light, Yushi remained frozen at the table, trembling—not just from fear, but from the heavy weight of what he could no longer remember.

Chapter Text

The charity center was filled with the sound of children’s laughter. In a cozy playroom lit by the warm afternoon sun, Jaemin and Yushi sat cross-legged on a colorful mat, surrounded by toddlers stacking building blocks with delighted determination. The light that streamed through the windows cast soft patterns on the floor as the two volunteers watched over the kids.

“Look at that tower, Yushi! They’re going to outbuild you at this rate,” Jaemin teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“I’m letting them win, obviously,” Yushi replied with a smirk. “You think I’d actually lose to a bunch of four-year-olds?”

“You say that now,” Jaemin grinned, “but next week they’ll be teaching you how to count again.”

The toddlers giggled when Yushi pretended to pout, drawing more laughter from Jaemin. The two young men shared a warm moment of joy, comforted by each other's presence.

“Hey, Yushi,” Jaemin said after a pause, his tone softer now. “Thanks for volunteering with me again.”

“Of course,” Yushi said with a gentle smile. “I like being here... and... well, it’s nice seeing you happy.”

Jaemin’s expression softened at the quiet sincerity in Yushi’s voice. There was a peaceful silence between them until Jaemin smirked again.

“Are you getting soft on me?”

“Shut up,” Yushi shot back, flustered. “I just— I like doing something that matters.”

Their playful moment was interrupted as Hyunseok entered the room. His presence was composed, his smile perfectly measured as he quietly watched them from the doorway.

“You two make quite the team,” he remarked, stepping closer with a calm, easy tone.

“Uncle Hyunseok!” Jaemin said brightly. “Dropping by again?”

“Just checking on the center,” Hyunseok replied warmly. “It warms my heart to see so many young souls giving back.” He looked at Yushi, his voice lowering slightly, silk-smooth. “Yushi, you're always here when I visit.”

“Yes, sir. I like helping out,” Yushi replied, a little nervous under his gaze.

“Compassion like that is rare these days,” Hyunseok said with a nod. “Keep it close, both of you.”

Jaemin beamed at the praise. Yushi gave a small, polite smile in return. As Hyunseok moved deeper into the room, watching the other volunteers, his eyes lingered just a moment too long on certain individuals—something unreadable in his expression.

That evening, the café was winding down for the night. Yushi was helping Renjun close up, wiping down the counter when the bell above the door rang. Sion and Riku entered, the scent of the fresh pastries greeting them instantly. Sion’s sharp gaze immediately scanned the room until it landed on Yushi.

“Evening, Hyung,” Riku greeted. “Smells good in here, as always.”

“Fresh batch of pastries if you want to bring some home,” Renjun offered with a smile.

“You spoil me,” Riku replied with a light laugh.

But Sion wasn’t smiling. He looked directly at Yushi and spoke flatly.

“Did you remember anything?”

Yushi’s posture stiffened. He lowered his eyes, voice quiet.

“No… I’m sorry.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Sion scoffed, voice bitter.

“Sion,” Riku said gently, a hint of warning in his tone.

But Yushi suddenly spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I—I remembered something today. With Jaemin. The kids at the charity. He was so... happy. That’s all I saw.”

For a moment, something flickered in Sion’s expression. Yushi’s voice, fragile and honest, seemed to unsettle him.

“I want to remember more,” Yushi added. “I need to know what happened.”

Riku looked between the two, his gaze settling firmly on his bestfriend.

“See? Does that sound like a murderer to you?”

“I don't know what to believe,” Sion said, gritting his teeth. “My brother is dead.”

“Your pain is valid, Sion,” Renjun said quietly but firmly, stepping closer. “But that doesn’t give you the right to crucify someone without proof.”

The air in the café thickened with silence. Sion’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He turned to leave.

“If you remember something real,” he murmured over his shoulder, “let me know.”

Riku sighed and followed after him. The door chimed softly behind them. As it closed, Yushi’s shoulders sagged, as though something heavy had collapsed inside him. Renjun approached and placed a warm hand on his cousin’s back.

“Don’t carry this alone, Yushi,” he said gently.

Yushi’s voice cracked.

“I feel like I’m trapped inside my own head… and the door won’t open.”

Later that night, in Hyunseok’s office, the atmosphere was different—dimly lit and unsettlingly warm. Yushi sat across from him, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He couldn’t meet the older man’s gaze, staring down at the floor.

“Relax, Yushi,” Hyunseok said in a tone that was soft, almost hypnotic. “You’re safe here. You’re not alone.”

“I see shadows,” Yushi whispered. “I hear Jaemin calling out… but it’s all… broken.”

“That’s your mind trying to protect you,” Hyunseok said. “The truth will return when you're ready.” He leaned forward slightly, voice lowering into something far more intimate. “And when it does… I’ll be here to help you through it.”

His smile lingered. For the briefest moment, his eyes darkened—but Yushi didn’t see it. He remained still, staring past Hyunseok at nothing in particular.

“You’re very special, Yushi,” Hyunseok whispered.

And as the light in the room faded into shadow, Yushi sat frozen, swallowed in silence, the weight of his fractured memories pressing in from all sides.

Chapter Text

The rain fell in soft, steady drops against the café windows, its rhythm gentle and unintrusive. Morning light filtered through gray clouds, casting a pale hue over the quiet shop. Tokuno Yushi stood behind the counter, carefully arranging pastries in the display case. Every so often, his eyes flicked to the front door—watching, waiting—as if expecting someone he wasn’t sure he wanted to see. Across from him, Renjun wiped down the counter with practiced ease, his eyes settling on his nephew with quiet worry.

“You didn’t sleep again, did you?”

Renjun asked gently.

“I keep seeing flashes,”

Yushi murmured, his voice low. “But they slip away before I can catch them.”

“Don’t force it, Yushi. The mind heals at its own pace.”

The café bell chimed, its familiar sound cutting through the quiet. Sion walked in, rain still clinging to his coat, a small folder tucked under one arm. His gaze swept across the room and landed squarely on Yushi. The younger boy tensed, shoulders stiffening as he fought to remain composed.

“I need coffee.”

“Coming right up.”

Yushi moved to the machine with trembling fingers, the sound of clinking cups loud in the silence between them. Sion’s sharp gaze didn’t waver as he watched Yushi work, noticing the tremor in his hands.

“Still shaking after all this time.”

“It never really stopped.”

Sion’s eyes lingered for a second longer. There was a flicker—something unreadable—before he looked away.

“You ever think maybe you want to forget?”

“Every night,”

Yushi said quietly. “But I can’t. I need to know. For him.”

Whatever Sion might have said next was cut short by the sound of the door opening again. Riku stepped in, immediately sensing the tension thick in the air. He flashed a smile, trying to ease the mood.

“Morning! Or should I say… interrogation hour?”

“Riku—”

“Relax. You scare him more than you help.”

He turned to Yushi and offered a softer look.

“You okay, Yushi?”

“I’m fine… thank you.”

Sion watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. There was something about Yushi’s quiet sincerity—something too soft, too open. His fists curled slightly beneath the table.

“Why do you even volunteer at that place?”

“Because Jaemin hyung asked me to. He said helping others… helped him.”

Sion’s throat bobbed once before he quickly looked away.

“Jaemin hyung saw good in people. He wouldn’t have trusted you if there wasn’t something good in you too.”

Without warning, Sion stood, grabbed his folder, and headed for the door. He paused just long enough to glance back.

“You remember anything—anything real—call me.”

Then he left. The bell chimed softly behind him. Yushi let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, shoulders slumping under invisible weight.

Riku slid into the seat next to him and placed a reassuring hand on the table.

“You’re doing okay. He’s… hard to deal with. But he’s hurting. That’s all.”

“I understand. If I were him… I’d hate me too.”

“You might be surprised. His mind’s stubborn… but not his heart.”

That evening, the rain still hadn’t let up. In the dim light of Hyunseok’s office, Yushi sat across from the older man, eyes tired and hands clenched together in his lap. The room was warm, almost too warm, the glow of the lamp casting long shadows on the shelves behind them.

“Tell me about today.”

“Sion came again. He still thinks I killed Jaemin hyung.”

“Of course he does. Grief twists the mind. But you mustn’t blame yourself for his pain.”

Yushi nodded, though the motion was small and slow. Hyunseok watched him closely—too closely—his voice softening even more.

“You trust me, don’t you, Yushi?”

“Y-yes... Y-you’re the only one who believes me.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Hyunseok’s lips, lingering just a bit too long.

“Good. That’s very good.”

Later that night, in the dim confines of Sion’s apartment, tension clung to the air like smoke. Files were scattered across the table, photographs and notes highlighted, circled, questioned. Sion sat hunched forward, flipping through pages for the hundredth time. Across from him, Riku watched quietly.

“You’re burning yourself out.”

“I can’t stop, Riku. I owe Jaemin hyung that.”

“And what if you’re wrong about Yushi?”

Sion stilled. The question hit harder than expected. Riku leaned forward.

“Have you really looked at him? He’s terrified. He’s broken. He’s not hiding—he’s drowning.”

The silence that followed was heavy. After a long pause, Sion leaned back in his chair, the folder slipping from his hands.

“If it’s not him… then who the hell was it?”

Riku didn’t answer. But in his silence, a darker thought settled between them—uncertain, unwelcome, and deeply unsettling.

Chapter Text

The rain tapped gently against the window of Hyunseok’s private office, a soft rhythm that filled the otherwise silent room. The lights were dim, casting long shadows across the walls. The atmosphere was warm—but unsettling. Tokuno Yushi sat curled in the armchair, his glassy eyes staring into nothing as his fingers nervously gripped the fabric beneath him.

“Close your eyes, Yushi,”

Hyunseok said softly, his voice smooth, practiced—hypnotic. “Breathe... slowly. Let’s go back, together.”

Yushi obeyed, eyelids fluttering shut. His breath stuttered in and out as faint images began to stir in the dark.

“I... I see Jaemin hyung,”

he whispered, a tremble in his voice.

“Good,”

Hyunseok encouraged, leaning forward just slightly. “Where are you?”

“The charity center,”

Yushi said, voice barely steady. “It’s late. The lights are off... Jaemin hyung’s voice... he’s calling for help.”

His breath hitched. A flash of fear contorted his face. His hands clutched the armrests tighter.

“Don’t fight it,”

Hyunseok said soothingly. “Let it come.”

“There’s... someone else,”

Yushi whispered, beginning to panic. “A shadow. A voice. I can’t see the face but—”

His voice cracked, sharp and frightened.

“The knife—blood—”

He gasped, body tensing as the memory overtook him.

“I tried to run—he grabbed me—!”

“Shh... shh,”

Hyunseok said quickly, leaning closer. “Enough for now. You’re safe, Yushi.”

He placed a hand gently on Yushi’s shoulder. Yushi flinched but didn’t pull away, his sobs quiet and ragged. Hyunseok’s hand lingered just a second too long, and in the dim lighting, his smile was hidden—subtle, unreadable.

“You’re doing so well for me,”

Hyunseok whispered.

The next morning, the café was wrapped in gray light and the sound of soft rain. Yushi walked in looking pale and distant, his steps a little heavier than usual. Renjun glanced up from the counter, frowning as his nephew quietly entered.

“Rough night?”

Renjun asked gently.

Yushi offered a faint smile. “Yeah… therapy session.”

“Maybe you should take a break from those,”

Renjun said, concern deepening in his voice. “You don’t look like they’re helping.”

“He says we’re close to unlocking the truth.”

The bell above the door chimed. Sion entered, pausing slightly as he spotted Yushi already there. The tension between them remained—but it was different now. Not as sharp. Not as cold.

“Morning,”

Sion said, neutral but not hostile.

“Morning...”

Yushi echoed softly, trying.

He quickly moved behind the counter, fumbling slightly as he prepared the coffee. Sion’s eyes tracked the movement, observing the shakiness in his hands, the exhaustion in his face.

“You’re really not acting like someone hiding something…”

Sion muttered, almost to himself.

Yushi looked up, startled. “What?”

Sion cleared his throat and looked away.

“Nothing. Coffee. Black.”

Yushi nodded and went to work. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t suffocating. There was something else beneath it now.

“The nightmares... they’re getting worse?”

Sion asked quietly.

Yushi hesitated, caught off guard by the concern. Then he nodded.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not sleeping. You’re barely standing.”

Sion said. “Why are you even still working?”

“If I stay home... the silence gets too loud.”

Sion flinched at the words. A flicker of something—guilt, maybe—crossed his face just before the door chimed again.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Riku called out with a grin. “Should I come back later?”

“Shut up, Riku.”

Sion grumbled, but Riku only smirked.

“I’m just saying—this is the calmest conversation you two have had in weeks.”

Yushi let out a small, genuine smile. Sion turned away, the emotions in his expression harder to read now.

Later that night, in the quiet of Sion’s apartment, the air was thick with unspoken tension. Files were spread across the table—photographs, statements, old reports. Sion sat hunched over, eyes scanning through them all for the hundredth time. Across from him, Inspector Kim sat casually, sipping tea as he flipped through another folder.

“You’re finally starting to doubt your favorite suspect, huh?”

Jaehee said, not looking up.

“I don’t know, Inspector Kim,”

Sion replied, his voice low and tired. “He’s... too broken. If he did it, he’s one hell of an actor. But if he didn’t...”

Sion let out a long breath.

“Then who’s the real monster? Because trust me—this case is messier than it looks.”

Jaehee said, sliding a folder across the table.

Sion opened it slowly. Inside were names. Faces. Volunteer profiles from the charity center.

Several were marked missing. A pattern.

“I’ve been digging into the charity’s records,”

the inspector explained. “These people? Gone. No warning. No trace. And guess who signed off their psychological evaluations every time?”

Sion’s eyes dropped to the bottom of the page.

Lee Hyunseok.

“Uncle...?”

Sion breathed, disbelief clouding his voice.

The folder sat heavy in his hands, the truth slowly crawling into focus. For the first time, real horror bloomed in his chest—not for what he thought he knew, but for what he hadn’t seen.

And in that silence, everything began to shift.

Chapter Text

The apartment was quiet, but the tension was loud. Papers were scattered across the coffee table—photos, reports, volunteer files, and one name that refused to let go.

Sion sat frozen, eyes locked on a report. His jaw clenched. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table. Across from him, Riku watched silently, his brows furrowed.

“You think it’s him?” Riku asked, his voice low.

“I… don’t know,” Sion replied, the words tight in his throat. “I don’t want to believe it. He raised us, Riku.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s incapable,” Riku said firmly. “You saw the pattern. Too many missing volunteers. Always the same charity. Always under his supervision.”

Sion’s hand trembled slightly as he flipped to another page. His heart pounded louder than the rain outside.

“And if Yushi saw something that night...” He paused, staring blankly at the photo of the crime scene. “...then he’s not the murderer. He’s the witness.”

The weight of that realization sat heavy between them.

“You need to talk to him,” Riku said gently. “Not as a suspect. As someone who might actually need you.”

The next morning, the café was quiet, the soft patter of rain blending with the hum of early business. Yushi moved slowly as he wiped down the tables, exhaustion pulling at his limbs. His eyes were clearer—but not by much.

Renjun watched him carefully from behind the counter, trying not to hover.

“You sure you want to work today?” he asked softly.

Yushi gave a faint smile. “I need the distraction.”

The bell above the door chimed.

Sion stepped in, his coat damp from the rain. He paused, eyes settling on Yushi. Something was different in his expression—less steel, more hesitation.

Yushi noticed instantly. He froze.

“Hey,” Sion said cautiously. “Got a minute?”

Yushi nodded slowly. “Of course...”

They sat at a corner table, away from the few morning customers. The tension lingered—but it didn’t suffocate the room the way it used to.

Sion was the first to speak. His voice came softer than Yushi had ever heard it.

“I... may have been wrong about you.”

Yushi’s heart skipped. His eyes widened.

“You... believe me?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

Sion hesitated. “I don’t know everything yet. But you’re not acting.”
He exhaled, voice cracking slightly.
“And I’m starting to think you saw something that night—something terrible.”

Yushi swallowed hard. His throat burned. When he finally spoke, his voice was broken and honest.

“I... I think so too. But every time I get close, it feels like... like my mind locks me out.”

Sion leaned in, and for once, his tone held no accusation—only quiet worry.

“Who’s helping you with the memories? Uncle Hyunseok?”

Yushi nodded. “Yes. He says we’re close to unlocking everything.”

Sion’s jaw tensed. Just hearing that name made his gut twist.

“Has he ever... suggested things?” he asked carefully. “Told you what you might’ve seen?”

Yushi blinked, confused. “He... asks leading questions sometimes. Like trying to guide me where to look.”

Sion muttered, almost to himself:
“Manipulating your memories...”

Yushi leaned back slightly, sensing the shift in Sion’s energy.

“Why are you asking all this?” he asked quietly.

Sion stared at him for a long moment. And then, for the first time, there was something unfamiliar in his gaze—concern.

“Because I don’t think you're safe with him.”

That evening, in the silence of his office, Hyunseok sat at his desk, flipping through documents. His eyes scanned each line methodically, but his mind was elsewhere. The phone rang.

He answered it calmly.

“Yes?”

On the other end, Inspector Jaehee’s voice came through—light, but edged with something sharper.

“Just calling to schedule a chat, doctor. Routine follow-up on the charity center’s volunteer records.”

Hyunseok smiled faintly, keeping his tone even.

“Of course, Inspector. My office is always open.”

They hung up. His expression darkened instantly.

He stood and turned toward the locked cabinet in the corner of the room. For a moment, he simply stared.

Then, in a whisper, almost like a vow:

“They’re getting too close.”

And then, with a chilling calm:

“But I still have Yushi.”

That night, in the small apartment he called home, Yushi tossed and turned. His dreams were chaos—fragments flashing like broken glass in his mind.

Jaemin screaming.
A shadow.
Cold hands.
Blood.

Then—suddenly, crystal clear:

“Yushi... run...”

Jaemin’s voice.

Yushi bolted upright in bed, gasping. Sweat soaked through his shirt. His chest heaved as he clutched his head, the phantom pain of the memory pressing in on his skull.

Pieces were breaking free.

And they were sharp.

Across town, Sion stood by the window, watching the rain slide down the glass. His phone was in his hand. For a long moment, his thumb hovered over Yushi’s contact.

Then he tapped it.

The line rang once. Twice.

“H-Hello?” Yushi answered, voice shaking.

Sion kept his voice calm, but there was an urgency under the surface.

“If you remember anything... even pieces... call me. No matter the time.”

There was silence.

Then—

“I saw him tonight,” Yushi whispered. “In my dream. I saw Jaemin hyung... and I think I saw... someone else.”

Sion’s pulse spiked.

“Yushi, listen to me,” he said quickly. “Don’t go anywhere alone. Not even with Uncle Hyunseok. Do you understand?”

Yushi went still.

And for the first time, real fear flickered in his eyes—not from memory, but from something very real.

“O-Okay...” he whispered.

Chapter Text

The atmosphere inside the charity center felt heavier now. The halls were quiet, lined with soft footsteps and muffled conversations. Hyunseok walked with measured calm, his eyes briefly lingering on the new volunteers. His smile stayed perfectly in place—but behind it was something sharper, colder.

“So many eager hearts...” he murmured to himself, voice soft, almost fond.
“So easy to mold.”

His reverie was interrupted as Sion stepped through the entrance. Hyunseok’s eyes narrowed for the briefest second before his warm facade returned.

“Sion! What a surprise,” Hyunseok greeted, pleasant as ever.

“Uncle Hyunseok.”
Sion kept his tone polite, but clipped.
“Thought I’d check the place out myself.”

Hyunseok smiled, but Sion’s gaze was sharper now, more focused. He was searching for something—anything—that would crack the mask.

“Of course,” Hyunseok said with a soft chuckle. “Jaemin always spoke fondly of this place.”

Sion flinched slightly at the mention of his brother but composed himself quickly.

“You spent a lot of time here too, didn’t you?”

“It’s fulfilling work,” Hyunseok replied calmly. “Helping the vulnerable... guiding them.”

Sion forced a tight smile, though his jaw was clenched.

“Especially ones like Yushi?”

There was a beat. Hyunseok’s smile stiffened—just barely—but enough to catch.

“He’s a fragile soul. The trauma... it leaves deep wounds,” he said, leaning in just slightly.
“But I’m doing everything I can to help him.”

Sion didn’t reply. He simply stared into Hyunseok’s calm eyes, willing himself to see through them. The mask remained, but Sion could feel it slipping at the edges.

That evening at the café, Yushi helped Renjun close up. His hands moved automatically—wiping tables, stacking chairs—but his mind was far away.

“You’re quiet again,” Renjun said gently, watching him.

“I keep seeing more,” Yushi murmured. “Every time I sleep, I see more of that night.”
He paused, trembling.
“I think… I think someone grabbed me before I could run.”

“You don’t have to force it, Yushi,” Renjun said kindly.

“But I need to remember. For Jaemin hyung.”

The bell above the door chimed.

Sion walked in—without his usual cold aura. Yushi noticed immediately and froze, but he forced himself to nod politely.

Sion stepped forward, voice softer than Yushi had ever heard it.

“Hey. Can we talk? Alone?”

Yushi looked at Renjun, who gave him a small, reassuring nod before stepping into the backroom. Sion sat across from him, quiet for a moment.

“Listen,” Sion began, voice serious but not harsh. “I know I’ve been... unfair. But things aren’t what they seem.”

“What do you mean?” Yushi asked nervously.

Sion leaned closer, lowering his voice.

“I think uncle Hyunseok’s been manipulating you. Feeding you things. Making you trust him while controlling what you remember.”

Yushi stiffened. His voice came out small, uncertain.

“No… he’s trying to help me.”

“Yushi, listen,” Sion said, more firmly now. “Multiple volunteers who worked at the charity—people like you—they’ve disappeared. And uncle Hyunseok was connected to every one of them.”

Yushi’s breath caught in his throat. His face went pale.

“No... I would’ve noticed... I—”

“That’s what he’s counting on,” Sion interrupted gently. “Keeping you confused. Dependent on him.”
He paused.
“He’s dangerous, Yushi.”

Tears welled in Yushi’s eyes. Everything he had clung to—every quiet reassurance, every warm voice—was crumbling.

“I trusted him,” he whispered, barely audible.

“I know,” Sion said softly. “But you’re not alone anymore.”

For the first time, Yushi didn’t flinch from Sion’s gaze. Instead, his lips trembled and he whispered something broken.

“Help me.”

That same night, in his office, Hyunseok sat in his chair, the soft glow of the desk lamp illuminating the documents in front of him. His fingers skimmed a volunteer file, but his eyes weren’t reading anymore. They were distant, sharp with thought.

His gaze slowly drifted toward the locked cabinet in the corner of the room.

“Sion’s getting curious. Lingering too long,” he murmured to himself, almost thoughtfully. “Starting to ask questions.”

He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“He’s beginning to suspect.”

The thought didn’t spark fear—it sparked irritation.

He knew Sion well. Knew how relentless that mind could be once it locked onto something. If Sion was already sniffing around, it wouldn’t take long. Not with how clever he was.

Then he stood, straightening his sleeves with quiet precision. There was no panic in his movements—only calculation.

He walked toward the window, watching the rain trail down the glass.

“It doesn't take long before he starts putting the pieces together.”

A flicker of something cold passed through his gaze.

“I won’t let that brat take him from me.” he whispered.
“Not now. Not when he’s finally mine.”

He stood still for a moment longer before turning away, that unsettling smile still ghosting his lips.

Later that night, in Sion’s apartment, the lights were dim. Yushi sat curled on the couch, knees to his chest. Renjun was beside him, a steady presence, while Sion and Riku laid out files across the coffee table. Minutes later, Jaehee arrived and added his folder to the growing pile.

“I’ve got more proof tying Hyunseok to the disappearances,” Jaehee said, tone grim. “The charity was his hunting ground.”

“He’s been targeting broken people,” Riku added. “Isolating them. Manipulating them.”

Yushi’s voice trembled as he spoke, barely above a whisper.

“He was always so kind to me...”

“That’s how he traps people, Yushi,” Sion said fiercely. He looked him directly in the eyes.
“But you’re free of him now. You hear me?”

Yushi’s lips trembled, tears slipping down his cheeks. But this time, he didn’t look away. He nodded.

“I hear you...”

Sion’s gaze softened further. Something protective flared in his chest—not just for justice, but for the boy sitting across from him. The one who had been broken... and was finally beginning to piece himself back together.

Chapter Text

The café had long since closed. Rain fell in sheets over the empty streets as Yushi walked alone, shoulders hunched beneath his soaked hoodie. Renjun had begged him earlier to wait out the storm, to let someone walk him home—but Yushi had waved him off with a tired smile.

Now, each step echoed louder than it should.

His breath fogged in the air, uneven and shallow. His heart thudded against his ribs with every step, weighed down by something he couldn’t name.

“It’s just a short walk... it’s fine. Just like always,” he whispered, trying to steady himself.

But something felt off.

Fragments sparked behind his eyes—Jaemin’s scream, the chill of a hand, red streaked across white tile. A glint of something sharp. Panic.

“Who's that person…? Why can’t I remember?” he muttered, voice tight.

Then he heard it—a low engine hum, subtle against the sound of falling rain.

A black sedan pulled up beside the curb, moving slowly, deliberately. The passenger window slid down with a soft mechanical hiss. Behind the wheel sat Hyunseok, calm and composed, an umbrella resting beside him on the seat.

“Yushi. Need a ride?” he asked smoothly.

Yushi froze, heart skipping.

“Dr. Hyunseok...? What are you doing here?”

“It’s late. Raining. Dangerous to walk alone.”
Click. The door unlocked.
“Come. I’ll take you home.”

Yushi took a step back.
“No, thank you. I’m okay...”

But the car door opened.

Hyunseok stepped out slowly, umbrella in one hand, the other disappearing into his coat pocket. His voice remained gentle, but there was something else behind it now—something controlled. Expectant.

“You always were so polite. So obedient,” he said softly. “But you’re not okay. I know you’ve been remembering.”

Yushi’s stomach clenched. He didn’t move.

Hyunseok’s eyes locked onto him, gaze sharp and predatory.
“Come with me. You’re confused. You need help... the kind only I can give.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Yushi said, his voice shaking.

Hyunseok’s smile didn’t waver, but the warmth in his tone vanished.
“I wasn’t asking.”

He lunged.

Yushi barely had time to scream before a hand clamped over his mouth, dragging him backwards. His kicks hit empty air. Thunder rolled overhead, drowning out his desperate cries. Hyunseok's grip tightened as he shoved him into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut.

The sedan sped away, swallowed by the rainy night.

Sion sat with Inspector Kim in his apartment, surrounded by scattered case files. His phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up and answered without looking.

“Sion...”

“Renjun hyung?”

“It’s Yushi—he hasn’t come home.” Renjun’s voice was tight with panic. “He always messages. He always—something’s wrong.I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve walked with him.”

Sion stood instantly, eyes sharp.
“When did you last see him?”

“Just after closing. He left on foot. He said he’d be fine...”

“We’ll find him,” Sion promised. “Stay home. I’ll call you when we do.”

He hung up and turned to Jaehee.
“Yushi’s missing. Renjun hyung said he never made it home.”

Jaehee was already moving, grabbing his tablet.
“Traffic cams. GPS records. Let’s start now. If Hyunseok took him, we don’t have much time.”

Yushi stirred.

His wrists were bound tightly to the arms of a chair. His head pounded. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and rust. His skin prickled from the cold.

“W-Where...?” he mumbled.

Footsteps approached.

Hyunseok stepped into view, holding a tray.

“You’re awake. Good,” he said with eerie calm. “You always looked so peaceful when you slept.”

Yushi’s pulse quickened.

“Why... why are you doing this?”

“Because I care. Because they never did.”
He knelt in front of Yushi, brushing damp strands of hair from his face.
“They made you doubt me. Made you think I was the monster.”

“I remember now,” Yushi whispered. “You—You were there. You killed Jaemin hyung.”

Hyunseok didn’t blink. His smile never changed.

“He was broken. Just like you.”

“You’re sick!” Yushi shouted.

The slap came fast and sharp. Hyunseok sighed as if disappointed.
“You made me do that.”

He turned to the tray and picked up a syringe.

“Don’t worry. This will help. No more pain. No more fear. You’ll forget everything—except me.”

Yushi thrashed.
“No! Someone help me please—!”

Hyunseok stepped forward, a syringe in his hand.

“Isolated property,” Jaehee muttered, eyes on the GPS. “Near the edge of town. Got him.”

He spoke quickly into the phone, one hand gripping the wheel tight.
“Sion—he owns the place under a different name. You were right.”

There was no reply.

Sion was already gone, having bolted from the apartment like a storm right after Renjun called.

Jaehee pressed harder on the gas.
They were running out of time.

Yushi sobbed, eyes wide as the syringe neared.

Hyunseok’s voice was almost loving.
“You’ll thank me, Yushi. You’ll see.”

CRASH.

The basement door flew open.

Sion stormed in, soaked to the bone, eyes blazing.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

Hyunseok turned, a mocking smile playing on his face—then lunged at Yushi with the syringe.

Sion tackled him mid-stride. They crashed to the floor, the syringe skidding out of Hyunseok’s grip.

“You hurt him,” Sion snarled. “You took him!”

Hyunseok fought back, wild and desperate—but Sion was fueled by pure rage.

Moments later, Jaehee charged in behind them, gun drawn. He moved fast, pinning Hyunseok and locking cold cuffs around his wrists.

Hyunseok laughed—breathless and broken.
“You always come too late.”

“No. Not this time,” Sion spat.

He then walked over to where Yushi was, trembling in fear and sobbing.

Yushi lay in a hospital bed, pale but safe beneath the soft light.

Sion sat at his bedside, holding his hand like a lifeline.

“You came,” Yushi whispered, voice hoarse.

“I always will,” Sion said quietly. “I promise.”

Tears welled in Yushi’s eyes.
“I was so scared...”

“I know.” Sion reached up to gently brush his hair from his face.
“But it’s over now.”

He leaned in closer, voice soft and certain.

“I’ve got you, Yushi. And I’m never letting go.”

Chapter Text

The charity center always felt warm in the afternoons — filled with sunlight, clinking mugs, children's laughter in the distance, and the quiet hum of people trying to do good. Yushi loved it here. It was one of the few places he felt like he belonged.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through boxes of donations with gentle hands. Across from him, Jaemin was hunched over a stack of flyers, sketching out cute designs with his usual flair and crooked concentration tongue. They were surrounded by mess — half-folded clothes, stray crayons, coffee cups with names misspelled in marker — but it felt like home.

“You folded that shirt backwards again,” Jaemin said without looking up.

Yushi looked down at the shirt in his lap. “No, I didn’t. That’s how it’s meant to be folded.”

Jaemin finally looked up, one brow raised. “Like a lump of laundry in distress?”

Yushi scoffed and gently tossed a rolled sock at him. “You’re just picky.”

Jaemin grinned, leaning back on his hands. “You’re just chaotic.”

Yushi couldn’t help but smile. There was always an easy warmth in Jaemin's teasing — never sharp, always sincere. His presence had become something steady in Yushi’s life, something soft.

“You’re kind of like a little brother,” Jaemin said after a moment. “In an annoying way.”

“Yeah, yeah, you always say that—that I’m like a little boy, even though I’m already a 20-year-old adult man,” Yushi muttered, nudging him with his foot.

“Well, emotionally? You’re five.” Jaemin laughed and looked up at the afternoon sky through the windows. His laughter faded into a quiet breath. “Sion’s the same sometimes.”

Yushi blinked, a little caught off-guard by the shift in tone.

Jaemin’s voice dropped slightly. “Can I tell you something?”

Yushi nodded. “Always.”

“It’s about uncle Hyunseok,” Jaemin said, and just like that, the air shifted. The easy lightness dissolved, replaced with something sharper, heavier. “Something’s... wrong with him.”

Yushi frowned. “Your uncle?”

“Yeah.” Jaemin leaned closer, eyes scanning the empty hallways like he was afraid someone might overhear. “He’s not what he pretends to be. You know that kind, gentle-doctor act? I’ve seen what’s under it.”

Yushi stayed silent, listening.

“There are files in his office. Photos. Notes. People who used to volunteer here, and now they’re just... gone.” Jaemin’s voice wavered. “He watches people, Yushi. Like they’re puzzles he wants to take apart.”

Yushi swallowed. “Did you tell anyone?”

Jaemin gave a bitter laugh. “Tell who? Everyone loves him. They’d think I’m crazy.”

Yushi looked down. “Why are you telling me?”

“Because I trust you.” Jaemin’s eyes were serious now. “And because I don’t want you anywhere near him. I don’t care how polite he seems. Don’t talk to him. Don’t be alone with him. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Yushi said, the words sticking in his throat.

It was late evening when Yushi realized he’d left his sketchpad at the charity center. He debated leaving it — it wasn’t that important — but something tugged at him. He turned back, walking under the dim streetlights, unlocking the side door with the spare key.

The center was quiet now, eerily so. The warm light from earlier was gone, replaced with shadows.

As he stepped inside, his phone vibrated. Jaemin hyung.

He answered quickly. “Hyung, I was just about to message you—”

“Yushi,” Jaemin’s voice was breathless. “I found it.”

“Found what?” Yushi asked, stopping mid-step.

“Proof,” Jaemin whispered. “Everything I told you — it’s true. He’s using the charity. Choosing his targets here.”

Yushi’s blood ran cold. “Where are you?”

“Center. In the records room,” Jaemin replied, voice shaking. “He saw me, Yushi. He—he smiled like he already knew.”

“Hyung, get out of there. Now. I’ll come find you.”

“I think—” Jaemin’s voice cut off, replaced by a crash, and then silence.

“Jaemin hyung?!”

Yushi broke into a run, sprinting down the hallway, the phone pressed to his ear, heart hammering.

He reached the records room and shoved the door open.

There, sprawled on the floor, was Jaemin — blood blooming fast across his shirt. Standing over him, calm as ever, was Hyunseok, the scalpel still in his hand, his white shirt stained red.

“Ah,” Hyunseok said softly, as if surprised. “You came back.”

Yushi froze. His breath caught in his throat.

“Did you see what he did?” Hyunseok asked calmly, gesturing to Jaemin. “He wanted to ruin everything. But don’t worry. I can fix it.”

“Stay away from me,” Yushi whispered.

Behind Hyunseok, Jaemin moved weakly, eyes glassy. With all the strength he had left, he lifted his head.

“Run…” he choked out. “Yushi... run!”

That broke the spell.

Yushi turned and bolted down the hallway. His legs moved faster than his thoughts, lungs burning, tears stinging his eyes. Behind him, he could hear Hyunseok’s footsteps, unhurried but relentless.

“Yuuushi,” Hyunseok called in a singsong voice. “Don’t be scared. I just want to talk.”

Yushi reached the back of the building — the emergency exit. He shoved it open, bursting into the cool night air. The metal stairs outside rattled under his feet as he fled toward the street.

He was almost at the bottom—

Then a hand grabbed his wrist.

He screamed.

Hyunseok’s grip was iron, dragging him back. Yushi thrashed with everything he had, legs kicking, heart pounding.

“You saw too much,” Hyunseok hissed. “You’re mine now.”

With one final, desperate twist, Yushi broke free — but his foot missed the last step.

He fell.

His body hit the pavement hard.

Lights. Sirens. Darkness.

Everything disappeared.

Chapter Text

The courtroom was too quiet.

Not the kind of silence that came from order, but the kind that seeped in after something violent had happened. Like the walls themselves were holding their breath, like the air remembered screams it wasn't allowed to echo.

Every seat in the gallery was filled. Press, police officers, victims’ families, and strangers who just wanted to see a monster up close. The cameras had been banned, but the world was still watching. Everyone wanted to see what a killer looked like when he was finally forced to sit still.

Hyunseok sat with his hands cuffed in front of him, spine straight, expression clean.

He wore a crisp dress shirt — one that looked ironed by someone else, as though prison hadn’t touched him yet. His hair was neat. His posture perfect. But his eyes...

They kept finding Yushi.

Every few minutes, that calm, half-curious gaze would land on him — like he was studying a subject, not facing a trial.

Yushi sat across the room, silent. Flanked by Sion on one side, Renjun and Riku on the other, and Inspector Kim behind him. He hadn’t spoken yet. Hadn’t looked at Hyunseok once. But he could feel it — the weight of that gaze, the sickness of it. Like Hyunseok was still reaching for him, even from behind steel and shame.

The judge entered.

“All rise.”

The trial began.

They went through the facts.

The bodies.

The missing reports, all traced back to the same charity.

The basement hidden beneath the charity’s storage wing, with its reinforced locks and shelves of meticulously labeled files.

Photos. Notes. Names of people who’d trusted Hyunseok. People who’d sat in his office, called him “doctor,” and never come home.

The prosecutors spoke with clinical detail. Calm voices. Cold facts. But the horror hung heavy over every word.

Jaemin’s death was presented next. The jury saw crime scene photos — Jaemin’s bloodied body collapsed near the records room. They described the wound, the angle, how he was likely killed trying to protect something. Or someone.

Yushi felt his nails dig into his palm.

Then the recordings came out.

Hyunseok’s interviews post-arrest.

One played on the screen: his voice smooth and disturbingly calm.

“Pain is honesty,” he had said. “People lie when they’re happy. But when they’re terrified, when they’re cornered — that’s when the soul comes out.”

The psychologist who analyzed him took the stand.

“Hyunseok exhibits clear signs of anti-social personality disorder,” she said. “Severe narcissism. High-functioning psychopathy. He believes what he did was art.”

A pause.

“And when we asked him why he fixated on Mr. Tokuno Yushi...”

Her voice trembled.

“Because he was so soft,” she quoted. “So quiet. So easy to imagine broken.”

The jury flinched.

Yushi stayed still, but Sion’s jaw tightened beside him.

When it was time for the defendant’s statement, Hyunseok rose.

And the room, once again, fell too quiet.

“I never claimed to be perfect,” he began softly, like a teacher trying to soothe a class. “But I gave my life to helping others. I spent years treating pain. Studying people. Understanding what makes them suffer — and what makes them beautiful.”

He turned, deliberately, to look at Yushi.

“I didn’t kill Jaemin out of anger. I did it because he got in the way. He saw what he wasn’t supposed to. But Yushi...”
His voice dipped lower, gentler.
“Yushi was special. He still is.”

Murmurs broke out across the courtroom. The judge called for order.

But Hyunseok kept talking.

“I loved him, you know. Not in the way you all think. Not with lust or greed. With reverence. With awe. He was so soft. So still. I wanted to preserve that.”
A pause.
“He was my favorite.”

The room burned with silence.

Then the judge looked toward the prosecution table.

“Mr. Tokuno... would you like to speak?”

Yushi stood slowly.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t tremble.

Just stood — like someone finally laying a ghost to rest.

He walked toward the stand. He didn’t look at the cameras. Didn’t look at the public. Only at Hyunseok.

And for the first time, he met his eyes.

The effect was immediate.

Hyunseok’s smile faltered — just barely. His fingers twitched.

Yushi took the mic.

“You say you loved me,” he said quietly. “But love doesn’t chase someone through a building with blood on its hands.”

His voice didn’t shake.

“You talk like you studied me. Like I’m your painting, your possession. But I’m not. You don’t own me. You don’t define me.”

He took a breath.

“And I remembered. Everything.”

Now Hyunseok blinked. His throat bobbed in a slow swallow.

Yushi stepped closer, just a little.

“I remembered Jaemin hyung’s voice when he told me to run. I remembered your face when you smiled while holding the scalpel. I remembered your footsteps behind me.”

His hand curled into a fist at his side, but his voice stayed calm.

“And I remember what it felt like when I fell, thinking that maybe... maybe I wouldn’t wake up. That maybe the last thing I’d ever see was you.”

The gallery was silent.

Yushi smiled — soft. But it wasn’t gentle. It was the kind of smile that ends something.

“And the truth is... I’m glad I did wake up.”

A beat.

“Because now I get to watch you rot in a place with no sharp tools. No keys. No victims. Just you — alone with your echo.”

Hyunseok’s composure shattered.

His breath hitched. His hands curled into fists. His expression twisted — not in rage, but something worse. Something vulnerable. Exposed.

“You don’t mean that,” he said quietly. “You don’t—”

“I do,” Yushi said. “Because you’ll spend the rest of your life thinking about me. But I won’t spend another minute thinking about you.”

And then, with a tilt of his head — calm, quiet, devastating — Yushi whispered the last line:

“You don’t matter to me anymore.”

And turned his back.

The verdict came swiftly after that.

Guilty. Life imprisonment. No parole.

They dragged Hyunseok out screaming his name.

But Yushi never looked back.

Not once.

Chapter Text

The cherry blossoms had returned.

It had been several months since the trial — since the weight of the truth had finally been brought into the light. The charity center reopened under new leadership, rebuilt and repainted, as if trying to wash away the bloodstains of memory with fresh colors and hope.

Yushi walked slowly through the center's yard, the familiar petals drifting around him like silent snow. At his side, Sion strolled in step, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, eyes trailing the sky.

Yushi broke the silence with a gentle smile.
“It’s strange... being back here. It feels lighter somehow.”

Sion glanced at him, voice low but warm.
“Because you’re free of him now. You took your life back, Yushi.”

Yushi inhaled deeply, the scent of spring filling his lungs. Peace clung to the breeze, and for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like a lie.

He gave Sion a teasing glance.
“You’re starting to sound like Riku.”

Sion let out a soft chuckle, nudging Yushi with his shoulder.
“You mean wise and annoyingly right?”

Yushi giggled — a rare sound that made something flutter in Sion’s chest. He didn’t say it, but he wished he could bottle that sound and keep it close forever.

Later that evening, the familiar bell above the café door jingled softly. Renjun glanced up from behind the counter, spotting the two figures taking their usual place in the corner booth. He watched them like a proud parent.

Drying a mug in his hands, he muttered under his breath,
“Just kiss already...”

The door opened again as Riku walked in. He heard the comment and smirked, stepping up beside Renjun.
“You’d think after almost dying together, they’d figure it out by now.”

Renjun grinned.
“Let them be.” He paused.
“Sion’s trying — in his own slow, awkward way.”

They both glanced at the corner table, where Sion listened intently to Yushi talking animatedly about a new children’s book he’d read to the preschoolers. Sion’s eyes never left him — protective, gentle, patient.

Night had long since fallen. On the small balcony of Yushi’s apartment, the two of them sat side by side on a wooden bench. Steam curled lazily from the tea cups in their hands. Above them, stars blinked faintly in the clear sky.

The silence stretched, soft and comforting, until Yushi finally spoke.
“You’ve changed a lot, Sion.”

Sion nodded, his voice quiet.
“So have you.”

Yushi looked down into his tea.
“You hated me once.”

Sion shook his head slowly.
“I was lost. Angry.” He exhaled.
“I thought losing Jaemin hyung meant I had to find someone to blame.”

He paused, voice softening.
“But in the end... it was you who helped me find him — the truth.”

Yushi’s fingers tightened slightly on the warm ceramic of his cup.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t found me that night.”
He swallowed.
“Sometimes I still wake up... hearing his voice.”

Sion gently reached over, taking the cup from Yushi’s hands and setting it aside. Then, slowly, he slid his hand into Yushi’s, intertwining their fingers.

His voice was low, but steady.
“You’re safe now. And you don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

Yushi looked at him, eyes glimmering with unshed tears — but they didn’t fall. He gazed at Sion’s face, a face once twisted with grief and suspicion, now calm and kind.

“You always say that.”

Sion smiled faintly.
“Because I mean it. Every time.”

The silence shifted, heavier now — not uncomfortable, but full of things left unspoken.

Sion’s thumb brushed lightly over Yushi’s knuckles, unsure, but steady.

Then, finally —
“Yushi...”
He exhaled, gaze fixed on their joined hands.
“I care about you. More than I should’ve let myself. More than just... protecting you.”

Yushi’s breath caught, his cheeks flushed pink. But his smile was soft — vulnerable.

“I know.”

Sion blinked, caught off guard.
“You do?”

Yushi nodded, squeezing his hand gently.
“I’ve known for a while.”
He laughed softly.
“I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

For a second, they both laughed — quiet and breathless.

Then Sion leaned in, slowly, cautiously, as if asking a silent question. And Yushi answered it without words, closing the gap between them in a soft, trembling kiss.

It was slow and hesitant, but sure — like two people reaching for light after years of shadow.

When they pulled apart, foreheads resting together, Sion smiled against his skin.

“We’re going to be okay, Yushi.”

Yushi nodded, whispering through happy tears,
“We already are.”

END.