Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Whistling winds. A cloudy, gray sky darkening the night. Damp air. Torrents of heavy rain pounding everything in their path.

In short: it was a rainy evening in Seoul.

Seated at the dining table of his apartment, his elbow resting on the wood and his head propped against his hand, Jinho watched the imposing man standing before him, cooking their dinner dressed in casual clothes and wearing a Hello Kitty apron — a gift he had received almost a year earlier from a colleague whose hobby was decorating accessories of that kind —. The apron, more decorative than practical, had rarely been used: Jinho often ordered food, and also regularly received dishes from the Sung family — yes, even from Jin-ah sometimes, surprisingly — or he preferred eating out, lacking the time and energy to stand at the stove.

Yet that evening, the man had put it on with disarming ease, amused once he learned its origin.

Although he could only see his back, Jinho remained captivated by the fluidity of his movements, precise and almost hypnotic, that accompanied each knife cut, each motion of the pan. A striking contrast with the supposed banality of the scene.

Part of him felt guilty for not having done much beyond placing the wine and setting the table. But his guest had insisted: he wanted to prepare everything himself, claiming it was the least he could do after showing up unannounced.

So Jinho had let him, simply watching, enveloped by the delicious aromas filling the room.

He then thought back to what had brought him there, just a few hours earlier.

After finishing his work for the day and preparing for the next, Jinho was about to leave the office, as usual, among the last — a role he willingly assumed, as the good vice guild master he strove to be.

As a conscientious vice guild master, he had made sure to greet, when he passed them, Jinwoo’s shadow patrol that protected the building — already securely guarded by the multiple magical seals set by the guild master himself.

But that evening, on the top floor, in his large personal office — the one he used when he wanted to work alone or when he didn’t need to coordinate with the teams in the shared offices of the different departments on the other floors. He actually had his own desk in each of them, though those were secondary offices he used more than his personal one —, as he was storing his important belongings in his leather satchel, a strange noise caught his attention. Muffled sounds, coming from a room further away. At such a late hour, most rooms were closed, especially those on the top floor.

Curious despite himself, Jinho turned off the light, activated the magnetic lock, then stepped into the hallway. As he advanced, the sounds grew clearer. It wasn’t ordinary work noise. A voice. Moans. Panting. All feminine, and with nothing painful about them. They seemed to come from the only lit room at the end of the hallway: the master’s office, Jinwoo’s.

An embarrassed flush rose to his cheeks as he imagined the most plausible scenarios — like videos.

A little ashamed of eavesdropping, Jinho quickened his pace, inwardly praying he hadn’t heard what he thought he had.

But as he passed in front of the office door, slightly ajar, his curiosity got the better of him. He stole a glance, just for a fraction of a second — an image engraved in his mind.

His heart skipped a beat.

Inside, he made out a young woman with black hair, wearing a pencil skirt and a blouse fully unbuttoned, revealing her bra, seated facing Jinwoo. She looked intoxicated. Smiling. Ecstatic. Her cheeks flushed. Her lips slightly parted, from which escaped a thin stream of pink liquid. And Jinho recognized her, the new recruit on probation in the logistics department. Standing before her, leaning down, his hands on her shoulders, Jinwoo’s face was so close to hers they looked about to kiss.

Their bodies were so close the scene seemed unreal.

Jinho didn’t even have time to think about what he had just seen, or even doubt it. He had barely taken two steps away when a sharp sound echoed: a door had suddenly opened behind him.

And a familiar voice, one he would have preferred not to hear in such a context, called out to him:

— "Jinho? Is that you?" said Jinwoo in a questioning tone, but so calm it sounded more like a statement.

The familiar voice of Jinwoo, resonating in that silent hallway, had instantly petrified him. Making him miss another heartbeat.

In the middle of the hallway, Jinho froze, his heart beating faster than he would have liked. The urge to flee crossed his mind — run to the elevator, pretend he hadn’t seen anything, disappear — but his legs refused to obey — though he knew he wouldn’t be fast enough anyway —. He wished he possessed a teleportation spell to escape that moment, but his only weapon was his composure. So, instinctively, he fell back on the skill he had long cultivated, the one that had saved him in more than one situation: knowing how to put on a good face.

He drew a deep breath, straightened up, and turned toward the familiar voice.

— "Ha? Hyung-nim?" he said, feigning surprise, as if he had only just realized Jinwoo’s presence. "I didn’t think I’d find you still at the office at this hour."

He forced a smile, calm, almost innocent, as if nothing had disturbed him.

— "Well, hi!"

He respectfully greeted the man in the doorway and immediately followed up, in a polite voice — hopefully — almost cheerful:

— "Did you need me? Or maybe something you wanted to tell me before I left?"

While speaking, he made sure not to stare at Jinwoo’s shirt, open at the chest, nor notice the absence of his jacket. His eyes wanted to wander, to search for clues, but he forced himself to keep them fixed on his face.

The silence lasted a little too long. Jinwoo was watching him, motionless, with a piercing gaze. His dark eyes seemed to probe his soul, pierce through his lies. Then, like a shadow fading, his expression eased and returned to its usual calm. Jinho wondered for a moment if he had imagined that tension.

A brief smile tugged at Jinwoo’s lips.

— "Are you going straight home?" he asked.

Jinho nodded, trying to stay natural.

— "Yes… I’m too tired to even think about going out. I think I need some sleep."

— "Yes, you’d better do that. You need to take better care of your health." he said in a soft tone.

Jinwoo seemed about to add something, but his words died before leaving his lips. His mouth opened, then closed, as if hesitating. He stayed thoughtful for a second, then motioned for Jinho to come closer.

The latter’s heart leapt. A shiver ran down his spine. His breath caught, but he forced himself to appear calm, to smile and discreetly swallow. After a brief hesitation — too obvious for his liking — he decided to move forward, slowly, with measured steps.

— "Closer," Jinwoo said, in a calm, almost amused tone. "Don’t be afraid… I don’t bite."

Jinho forced a slight laugh, nervous, and continued advancing step by step until he reached the office door. He cast a quick glance inside: no one. The room, spacious and glass-walled, bathed in soft light, bore no compromising trace. A thin wave of relief washed over him. No embarrassing scene to face. No tangible proof of what he thought he had glimpsed. The silence reigned, broken only by the faint hum of the dimmed lights.

An imperceptible sigh escaped him. The unease that had seized him in the hallway dissipated somewhat. Catching sight of Jinwoo’s jacket neatly folded on the desk reassured him further. Perhaps he had simply misinterpreted what he thought he had seen.

Yet deep down, a trace of doubt remained. He wasn’t stupid. There was enough space, corners, and furniture in that office for someone to hide without difficulty. But he refused to think about it.

A certain pride welled up in him. He congratulated himself inwardly: he hadn’t fled, he hadn’t let his unease show. And above all, he had managed to keep enough emotional distance.

Unlike many other admirers of Jinwoo, who would have been devastated by such a scene, Jinho felt strangely detached. He knew the rumors that had been circulating for months: that the world’s most powerful hunter entertained both women and men, in private places where his advances were never refused.

But tonight, he refused to let it concern him.

At least… for now.

After this brief introspection, Jinho regained control of his thoughts. He forced a more sincere and frank smile than the previous one, slightly inclined his head, and asked in a light tone:

— "So, hyung-nim… why did you need me?"

He hoped to break the silence that weighed between them. But Jinwoo, instead of answering, observed him for a long moment before asking, almost absentmindedly:

— "What were you staring at so intently in my office just now?"

Jinho felt his muscles tense. The unexpected question caught him off guard. His mind scrambled for a plausible explanation, and the first that came to mind spilled out immediately, weighed down with awkwardness.

— "Ah, that? Nothing important… I was just looking at the sky, hyung. It had this strange grayish tint… I was wondering if it was going to rain. I thought the weather is so unpredictable, nothing like that was in the forecast, and I regretted not bringing an umbrella… but it’s fine, I’m driving home."

He punctuated his sentence with a little laugh that sounded false even to his own ears. Jinwoo, however, didn’t seem to pick up on the incoherence. He simply nodded, thoughtful, before looking back up.

— "Do you want me to give you a ride?" he suddenly suggested, with a light smile.

Caught off guard, Jinho quickly shook his head.

— "No, no… that’s not necessary. I already have a way to get home, and I wouldn’t want to trouble you—"

But Jinwoo didn’t let him finish.

— "But your tires gave out, about half an hour ago. My shadows just informed me."

Jinho’s breath hitched for a second.

— "Oh. Okay." he said, processing the information.

He stared at his interlocutor briefly. But since he knew him too well to think of a lie, and wanting to regain the advantage, he spoke again:

— "Thanks for the information, but it’s not a big deal. I have a spare tir—"

— "There are two flat tires, not just one," Jinwoo cut him off bluntly. "One spare won’t be enough."

A heavy silence settled, before Jinho, tense, tried another escape.

— "Really, it’s nothing. I especially don’t want to bother you with all this. I’ll just call an Uber, it’ll be simp—"

— "No."

Jinwoo’s voice, firm, left no room for discussion. His dark gaze fell on him, unyielding.

— "Do you really want to subject someone else to that? It would be too dangerous to drive in this storm."

Jinho raised an eyebrow, a little ironic despite himself.

— "What storm? The weather is just cloudy right now, there isn’t even—"

His sentence cut off in a jolt. A thunderclap had interrupted him brutally.

As if in echo to his words, a blinding flash split the sky, followed by a deafening rumble. A torrential rain suddenly pounded against the windows, accompanied by a furious wind. In an instant, all of Seoul seemed plunged into a sudden storm.

Silence fell again, disturbed only by the drumming of the downpour. Jinho, petrified, lifted his eyes toward Jinwoo. The latter calmly raised a finger toward the ceiling, a mischievous smile curving his lips.

— "This one."

With a dry throat, Jinho froze. He stood there, eyes wide, unable to believe what he had just witnessed.

"Was that a coincidence? No… impossible. That only happens in movies and series. It’s completely insane." Jinho thought in dismay.

His incredulous gaze fixed on Jinwoo. His eyes screamed the silent question his lips could not form: "How did you do that?"

The guild master simply replied in a soft, almost amused voice:

— "I have excellent instincts."

As if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he raised his hand and gently patted Jinho’s head, a gesture both familiar and unsettling.

— "It’s all settled, so wait for me a bit. I’ll finish preparing my things, and I’ll take you home."

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and went back into his office, leaving the door wide open.

Jinho remained rooted in place, his heart still shaken by what he had just experienced, unable to tell if he should feel reassured or terrified.

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Chapter Text

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The rain hammered against the immense windows of the hallway with a hypnotic regularity, as if the sky itself sought to impose its rhythm on Jinho’s thoughts. Resonating like a surge of incomprehensible whispers that filled the empty corridors of the top floor. The building, though renowned for its perfect insulation, let through an unusual chill. The heating hadn’t yet been activated — it wasn’t supposed to be necessary at this time of year, when the weather was meant to remain mild. But in this moment, nothing felt mild; everything seemed overturned, even the climate. This storm out of nowhere contradicted every forecast.

To distract himself, Jinho forced his eyes to follow each of Jinwoo’s gestures in the office, refusing to give in to his own wandering thoughts. He knew that if he stepped fully into that room, if he crossed that invisible threshold, the situation would take on a too-real, too-oppressive dimension. So he held back, almost sheltering from himself, keeping a cautious distance that still allowed him to maintain a certain form of detachment.

Inside, Jinwoo busied himself with methodical swiftness — but slow enough that Jinho could observe without much difficulty. His movements were precise, efficient, as if he were compressing time itself. In less than a minute, the slight mess that still cluttered his office disappeared, each document, each object finding its exact place. Then he opened a backpack whose fabric seemed to absorb the ambient light. With disconcerting ease, he placed inside his essentials — a binder, a tablet, some artifacts, his laptop, a power bank, a charger cable, and some sort of small empty glass bottle — before closing it with a fluid motion. The next instant, the bag disintegrated into a shower of tiny luminous squares, like pixelated shards of glass dissolving into the air.

Jinho blinked. He had already seen this phenomenon several times, but had never dared ask about it. Was it some kind of inventory spell? A unique skill his hyung never mentioned? This strange materialization, between magic and technology, fascinated him as much as it frustrated him. Each time, curiosity burned his lips, but he never dared cross that line. Tonight was no exception: he remained silent, swallowing his curiosity behind an impassive mask.

Jinwoo, unperturbed, continued his preparation. He calmly buttoned his shirt, adjusted the collar, then slipped on and smoothed his jacket with the grace of a man who mastered every detail of his appearance. His silhouette, already imposing, seemed to strengthen further, haloed with natural confidence. He absently searched through his jacket and pant pockets, then turned toward the wall where the light switch rested.

The lights went out one by one, plunging the office into a semi-darkness where only the glow of the hallway’s neon lights and the intermittent flashes of the storm remained.

Jinho quickly pulled his thoughts away when Jinwoo finally stepped out of the office, his silhouette sharply outlined in the halo of the hallway lamps.

In the silence, Jinho distinctly heard the metallic "click" of the magnetic lock. The door closed with mechanical precision, and the Ahjin guild’s logo, engraved on it, briefly lit up, proof of the action of energy recognition — a new magical energy recognition technology also present on important rooms such as Jinho’s personal office. The door’s logo was a black-and-purple version, topped with a small crown, symbol of Jinwoo’s authority.

This detail caught Jinho’s eye despite himself. He remembered that on the door of his own personal office was the same emblem, but in white and gold, flanked by small icons: a sword and a shield. A distinction that might often seem trivial… but by that choice, was almost too symbolic. Sovereign strength on one side, protective loyalty on the other — they didn’t regret letting Soohyun handle their choice.

The guild master stopped in front of him, and a calm, almost warm smile brightened his features. His silhouette, framed in the pale glow filtering from outside, seemed taller than ever.

— "Shall we go?" he asked simply, as if they hadn’t spent long minutes playing at a strange game of concealment and silent tension.

Jinho nodded, answering affirmatively in a measured voice.

— "Yeah, let’s go." he replied with as much enthusiasm as he could muster in this situation.

Jinho nodded again, trying to appear natural despite the stiffness he still felt in his neck.

But behind his calm tone, he still felt the echo of the storm inside him, the trace of Jinwoo’s enigmatic gestures, and that persistent impression of witnessing a scene where every detail, every movement, concealed a meaning that still eluded him.

After giving his answer, Jinho surprised himself by staying silent for a moment, letting his thoughts wander despite himself. An insidious unease was creeping over him. His gaze slid toward the door he had just seen lock, that trivial detail — a locked door — that refused to leave his mind. Why had his hyung taken the trouble to seal it so carefully — he had even activated the energy recognition on top of the magnetic lock, something even Jinho didn’t often do — when there was, on the surface, nothing important inside?

He replayed the scene in his mind, like rewinding a movie: the handle sealing itself with a magnetic click, the faint violet glow of the guild’s logo lighting up for a fraction of a second, then vanishing immediately. And beneath that image, one obsessive question: "What was really behind that door?"

Hypotheses, each more absurd than the last, forced their way into his mind. Had Jinwoo used his powers to conceal the young recruit he thought he had recognized earlier? Maybe he had hidden her in some corner, willingly or not, waiting to free her once he had escorted Jinho away. Or worse… had he abandoned her there — like a bastard — in the cold and silence of these deserted offices? The thought made him shiver. It was cruel, almost grotesque, but impossible to dismiss. The most logical version, however, forced itself onto him: he hadn’t actually seen anything real. His accumulated fatigue, his growing anxiety, and all the rumors that had been circulating these past months about the guild had probably woven this illusion into his mind.

But the more he tried to reason with himself, the tighter the anxiety gripped him. He knew he had two choices: keep quiet and smother this doubt until it made him sick, or find the courage to ask the question, even at the risk of triggering an awkward situation.

But to stop his mind from tiring itself for nothing, or perhaps to avoid being the cause of some potential pseudo-drama, he had to do what he dreaded: subtly mention what he had seen and potentially confront reality.

His heart beat faster at the thought of disturbing Jinwoo’s apparent serenity and the fragile balance of their situation, but he sensed he couldn’t stand keeping that question locked inside.

Even if it was just one hypothesis among so many, he couldn’t decently ignore it. If there really was someone in that office, he couldn’t just leave them there simply because his random arrival had sparked an awkwardness. He had to do it — it was the right thing.

He took a deep breath, tightened his grip on his satchel strap to give himself some composure, and forced his expression to remain neutral, almost distracted. He pretended to look elsewhere, toward the door, as if out of idle curiosity, before dropping, in a voice meant to sound innocent, his question.

— "Were you—?" Jinwoo asked before being interrupted.

— "Say, hyung… you didn’t happen to forget something in your office, by any chance?" Jinho suddenly asked. A simple remark, subtle in appearance, but heavy with undertones in his own mind.

His question cut Jinwoo’s words short.

His voice, which he had wanted light and casual, now seemed too clear, too insistent. As if all his unease, all his doubt, had seeped into those syllables.

The moment the words left his lips, he regretted them instantly.

Silence fell at once, dense, heavy, almost tangible. Exactly what Jinho had feared. His gut twisted. He felt heat rush to his face, his stomach knotting. His mind screamed that he should have stayed a spectator, not meddled in what wasn’t his business.

Each second stretched into a painful eternity. Jinho didn’t dare lift his eyes to his hyung; his gaze stubbornly fixed on the floor, as if the tiles might save him from this suffocating tension.

Everything seemed to stop. Even the rain, behind the windows, seemed to hold its breath. Jinho felt his fingers tighten a little too hard on the strap of his satchel, making the leather creak. His heart was pounding so violently he feared the sound might echo through the room.

The silence, unbearable, seemed to last forever.

In reality, it was only a handful of seconds.

He didn’t want to be involved in this.

Not in what he thought he’d seen, not in what he’d imagined, not in whatever might be hiding behind that locked door. He should have just remained a silent spectator. But now, he had crossed a line. His words, however discreet, had planted a seed.

The silence, though brief, echoed endlessly in his chest.

Finally, he caught a slight sound: a low hum. A "hmmm..." sign of thought. Then a small exclamation, soft and calm, like a breath of realization. It was almost as if Jinwoo had just remembered some trivial detail. No surprise, no tension. Just a simplicity that seemed deliberate.

Though still anxious but intrigued, Jinho gathered his courage and lifted his head toward Jinwoo.

Jinwoo, his head slightly tilted to the side, turned it gently toward him, his expression lit by a calm, almost grateful smile.

— "Oh… that’s right. You’re correct," Jinwoo breathed in a calm voice. "Thank you for reminding me."

Those words, simple on the surface, only made the weight in Jinho’s chest heavier. Was he really thanking him for the reminder… or had he just implicitly confirmed that there was indeed something to hide behind that closed door?

Relieved and anxious at the same time, Jinho felt his thoughts tangle even more.

Jinho’s anxiety climbed another notch, sly and oppressive. His thoughts spun in every direction, impossible to stop, and his body grew so tense it was almost frozen. His face, usually so expressive, had turned stiff like an awkward mask, incapable of betraying what he really felt. He didn’t even have time to find a more natural posture before Jinwoo, with a sudden, assured gesture, grabbed his wrist.

— "Let me thank you for your reminder," he said simply, with a smile but also that tone that left no room for discussion.

— "Uh—"

Before Jinho could protest or ask what he meant, his hyung pulled him effortlessly toward the locked office door. It all happened so fast he felt as though his feet barely touched the ground: in a fraction of a second, they were already standing before the heavy black-and-violet decorated door, which unlocked with a soft hiss. The logo’s light flickered briefly, like a magical seal dissolving, then Jinwoo pushed him inside and led him straight toward the back of his office.

As soon as they entered, a few lamps in the corners lit up automatically, bathing the room in a soft light.

Jinho’s heart was pounding so hard he thought it would burst out of his chest. He tried desperately to hide his panic under a nervous laugh, which slipped out despite himself, and murmured in a tense voice:

— "Wh-what do yo-you want to sh-show me, hy-hyung ?"

But Jinwoo’s reply was as laconic as it was enigmatic:

— "You’ll see."

Those three words, far from reassuring him, only reignited his anxiety. The closer they got to the desk, the more it felt like his legs would give out.

He didn’t know what Jinwoo was going to show him, but he was already terrified.

When Jinwoo finally let go of his wrist, Jinho had an uncontrollable reflex, almost ridiculous and suspicious even to himself: he squeezed his eyelids shut as tightly as he could before seeing anything. Like a child who believes he can escape reality by plunging into darkness. His stomach clenched painfully, and his trembling fingers clutched the strap of his satchel like a lifeline.

He was paralyzed by the fear of opening his eyes, afraid of discovering what he didn’t want to see.

The silence filled with unsettling sounds: a small sliding noise, like a cabinet door being moved, followed by rummaging, objects being handled, layers of metal lightly clinking together. Each rustle fueled his fears, and Jinho didn’t dare reopen his eyes, petrified at the thought of discovering what he dreaded.

The silence quickly returned to the room.

Then, suddenly, a chilling sensation pressed against the right side of his neck. The brutal contrast with his body’s warmth made him jolt and let out a strangled gasp. He immediately brought his hand to the spot struck by that biting cold, his eyes finally flying open in shock.

In front of him, Jinwoo stood with a wide amused smile, holding in each hand a plastic cup covered in condensation. Straws stuck out from their lids, and the logo of a brand unknown to Jinho was printed on the cold cardboard. With an innocent gesture, his hyung pretended to replace one of the cups where he had just pressed the icy object, as if to designate the culprit of this thermal assault. And rather than apologizing, he said:

— "Here, that one’s for you. It’s your gift," he announced lightly, still smiling. "Hurry and take it before it melts."

Still shaken, Jinho grabbed the cup with both hands, the chill of the plastic sending another shiver through him.

— "Th-thank you…" he stammered, his breath a little short, torn between relief and confusion.

He dared then to glance around, still half-expecting, despite everything, to stumble upon something compromising. But what he discovered behind Jinwoo left him perplexed: he saw nothing more than a small fridge built into a narrow dresser, cleverly concealed, containing only a few cans. The furniture, pressed against the fridge door, skillfully hid its existence from any casual glance.

Jinwoo immediately noticed his attention and explained simply:

— "This mini fridge, I installed it recently. I found it on sale. It lets me have drinks without wasting time going down to the cafeteria."

Then he pointed to the drinks with a small nod.

— "These are chocolate and hazelnut ice smoothies, with a bit of matcha whipped cream. They’re from a café that’s really popular right now. The mix may sound strange, but I already had one — it’s surprisingly good. An HR employee gave them to me earlier to thank me for helping her change her motorcycle tire when it blew in the parking lot. And that was last week."

He paused before adding, looking relaxed, almost as if all of this were utterly trivial:

— "That’s one of the two things I had forgotten. The other is on the floor below."

At those words, the weight oppressing Jinho finally seemed to lift. He felt his muscles relax, and the air he inhaled was no longer suffocated by anxiety. Was it the chill of the cup in his hands, the sweet scent wafting from it, or simply Jinwoo’s reassuring attitude? — or maybe just his own worries, now gone, along with the vice-master handling the guild’s image department, and of course the master himself. He wasn’t really sure. But one thing was certain: a wave of relief washed over him, sweeping away much of his doubt and fear.

And at the same time, a pang of shame tightened his chest. How foolish he felt for having suspected his beloved hyung, for imagining grotesque scenarios, and believing the shadows of his imagination.

He lowered his head slightly, his cheeks still warm, and murmured more softly, almost to himself: "Really… I worry over nothing. And I must really be badly lacking sleep."

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Chapter Text

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Rather reassured that he hadn’t been dragged against his will into some scandal, Jinho felt a considerable weight lift from his shoulders. His chest, until then compressed by anxiety, finally expanded, letting in a freer breath. Feeling lighter, he allowed himself a first sip of his smoothie. The creamy cold slid over his tongue, the strange mix of chocolate, hazelnut, and matcha whipped cream awakening his taste buds with an unexpected softness. It was… surprising. Not unpleasant, but singular, almost unsettling. Yet, as he swallowed more sips, he had to admit it: Jinwoo had been right, it wasn’t bad at all.

And, in the brutal contrast between what he had imagined only moments earlier — the image of betrayal, of a compromising situation — and the simple, almost banal reality of sharing an iced smoothie in an office, there was enough to feel ridiculous. Even his palate bore witness: the bitter taste that lingered in his mouth, born of stress, was gradually fading, replaced by that sweet, milky smoothness. The absurdity of the situation struck him, and suddenly, his whole body demanded release.

A laugh escaped him. Not the nervous, stiff laugh that betrayed anxiety, but a true laugh, frank and irresistible. Within seconds, it became uncontrollable. His shoulders shook, his eyes grew wet, and he had to lift a hand to quickly wipe away the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

This laugh, he knew, came from a thousand reasons at once: for having believed that his hyung, of all men, could set such a low trap as involving him against his will in his “flings”; for having thought that a hunter as meticulous as Jinwoo could make a clumsy mistake like leaving a door ajar during a compromising meeting; for having overinterpreted every detail, every silence; for having imagined grotesque scenarios; or simply for having behaved so ridiculously in front of his boss, his role model.

Now that he thought about it, he realized that the new young recruit was a rank D awakened with no combat experience. If she had been hiding, or had ever hidden here, he would have already sensed her mana, or at least some residue of it. But he sensed nothing unusual.

All signs pointed toward a hallucination. He laughed again at his own ability to hallucinate out of mere fatigue — and how disconcerting that was.

But more than anything, that laugh carried a hint of guilt: guilt for having lacked trust in the man who, for years, had protected and guided him.

Catching his breath, Jinho silently promised himself that he would make it up to him: he would work harder, and he would offer his hyung a gift to erase that lapse of trust.

Jinwoo, for his part, watched him with an expression that mixed amusement with a strange softness. His eyes seemed to shine with a tender, almost brotherly gleam, and a slight smile curved his lips.

— "Tell me, what could possibly be so funny?" he finally asked, his voice calm yet curious.

Jinho drew a deeper breath, wiped one last tear from the corner of his eye, and answered, this time with clear sincerity:

— "I’m laughing at myself. I really was ridiculous. I guess I just needed to let go of all the stress."

A small silence lingered, then Jinwoo’s smile tilted, playful.

— "Stress? Don’t tell me you thought your boss forgot to submit an important report," he teased. "Was it the one about the recent dungeon appearance statistics, perhaps?"

The mock-serious tone forced another laugh to bubble from Jinho’s throat, lighter this time.

— "If that’s the case, don’t worry, I plan to prioritize it. No need for you to stress," Jinwoo added with quiet confidence.

— "Then… perfect. Thanks to the reassuring words of my dear boss, I can finally sleep peacefully tonight," Jinho replied, playing along with a complicit smile.

It wasn’t really a lie. And he had no reason to feel guilty for answering that way.

After closing the secret mini fridge, Jinwoo, faithful to his role as host, gestured for Jinho to go ahead.

— "Go on ahead, I’ll take care of the lights and the door," he said, as if granting him the honor.

— "Oh… what a gentleman," Jinho teased with a mischievous smile.

He obeyed, but before stepping through the doorway, he pressed the sensor that turned off the automatic lights.

— "Oh, thank you. Seems you’re the real gentleman here," Jinwoo said in an exaggeratedly refined voice.

— "I wouldn’t dare say otherwise, my good sir," Jinho replied in the same tone.

Jinwoo arched a brow, amused, but didn’t answer — he just let out a muffled chuckle and followed close behind.

With practiced speed, he locked the door with fluid precision.

Moments later, he half-apologized, his tone more serious:

— "Sorry, but I still have to make you wait a bit before taking you home. There’s a second item I need to retrieve before we leave."

— "No problem," Jinho answered, genuinely relaxed this time, his smile still present.

And so, they finally headed for the elevator. The hallway, once oppressive and heavy with tension, now seemed brighter, almost welcoming. Their footsteps echoed in a far more cheerful, lighter atmosphere than before, as if the storm outside were nothing but a distant noise, incapable of reaching the fragile but comforting bubble they had rebuilt between them.

The transfer to the lower floor took place in an unexpectedly pleasant mood.

A smoothie cup in hand, Jinho alternated between long sips and light laughter, chatting with Jinwoo about the improbable mix of flavors they had just discovered.

— "So, is this drink proof that matcha can elevate a recipe? Should I give it another chance?" Jinho exclaimed enthusiastically, raising his cup like a trophy.

— "Or maybe it’s proof that matcha can’t ruin a recipe… as long as it only makes up 20% of it," Jinwoo replied, more down-to-earth, before taking a sip, earning light laughter from his dongsaeng.

The iced sweetness of the drink had almost erased the last traces of his anxiety. Even the heavy knot in his stomach from just minutes before seemed to have vanished.

With each step, the calmer air of the hallway, combined with the distant rumble of the storm still lashing against the windows, gave him a strange sense of serenity. As if the rain outside was slowly washing away his intrusive thoughts.

— "Hyung-nim," he asked with a curious eyebrow raised, "what exactly are we looking for?"

— "The building keys," Jinwoo replied simply, keeping that calm tone that suited him so well. "I’m going to entrust them to the shadows. They handle closing up now."

They didn’t have to search long: in a meeting room still steeped in darkness, Jinwoo retrieved a metallic keyring left on a table, a remnant of a meeting held earlier in the day to coordinate shadow patrols under Igris’s supervision. At the exit, as if waiting for that moment, a dark silhouette detached itself from the wall. Jinwoo handed over the keys without a word, and the shadow accepted them before vanishing instantly into the corridor’s gloom.

Resuming their walk, Jinho leaned slightly toward a trash bin and dropped his empty cup into the recycling compartment. Jinwoo did the same absentmindedly, his eyes still fixed straight ahead.

Once these small formalities were over, Jinho suddenly felt buoyed by a strange energy. Perhaps the impatience to go home, or the impression that the evening was finally winding down smoothly. He quickened his pace with a lively step, a smile on his lips, and tried to grab Jinwoo’s hand to pull him along.

— "Come on, hyung-nim! Let’s hurry, I can’t wait to get home!" he called out, laughing almost like an impatient child.

But his momentum broke abruptly. Jinwoo, immobile as a statue, hadn’t budged an inch. The sudden force Jinho had applied on their arms reversed in an instant, pulling him back sharply toward his elder.

Confused, he quickly turned to his leader.

— "Hyung? Why aren’t you moving? The elevator’s right there! The parking lot’s waiting!"

Jinwoo looked at him calmly, an imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. His voice, deep and steady, resonated through the empty hallway:

— "I already told you, my little dongsaeng. With this weather, driving is too dangerous. We won’t be going home by car tonight."

Perplexity — that was what Jinho felt upon hearing those words.

Jinho blinked, completely bewildered by his hyung-nim’s reply.

— “Wait… if we can’t take a vehicle… how exactly are you planning to get me home?”

There was a mix of worry and curiosity in his voice, as if he already feared the answer. Jinwoo, who seemed to have been waiting for this question with amused patience, opened his mouth to explain… only to hold back. His eyes glimmered with a mysterious light.

— “Rather than explaining… I think it’s better to show you directly.”

Jinho raised a brow, puzzled yet intrigued.

— “Show me…?” Jinho repeated, even more perplexed.

Without another word, Jinwoo stopped in the middle of the hallway. Slowly, he raised his arms and opened them toward him, like a silent invitation. His smile was calm, but tinged with discreet mischief.

— “Come.”

— “Huh?” Jinho asked, dumbfounded.

Jinho froze on the spot. His first thought was that this had to be a joke, yet another teasing trick out of nowhere. To shield himself from the embarrassment, he immediately put on a mock-outraged tone:

— “Come on, hyung-nim… I’m not that easy, you know~.”

He added a clumsy little laugh, hoping to lighten the situation. But Jinwoo didn’t laugh. He only looked at him with a steady intensity that made Jinho realize this was no joke.

— “Wait… you actually want me to… in your arms?”

— “Exactly,” Jinwoo confirmed seriously, though with that discreet smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “If it were a joke, I’d be laughing as much as you. But this… I’m serious.”

His tone left no room for doubt. There was nothing suggestive about it, only a calm certainty that made the request even more embarrassing.

That affirmation, spoken with such simplicity, cut off every escape route for Jinho.

He swallowed hard, hesitating, then stepped forward slowly, cautiously, like a small wary animal approaching against its will. Finally, he awkwardly embraced his hyung, not sure where to place his hands. Jinwoo, patient, closed his arms around him a few seconds later, in a firm and protective embrace.

Jinho felt his throat go dry. His whole body screamed at him to stay impassive, but Jinwoo’s comforting scent, the warmth radiating from him, filled him with a strange sense of safety.

— “Hold on,” Jinwoo warned calmly. “And close your eyes.”

— “What?! Wait… you mean—”

— “Trust me.”

Jinho wanted to protest, to point out just how embarrassing this was for him.

— “You know this is em—”

But he didn’t get the chance. Jinwoo began counting, relentless:

— “Three… two… one.”

Faced with a tone that allowed no discussion, Jinho simply obeyed. He gripped his hyung’s jacket a little tighter, closed his eyes, and held his breath.

He expected jolts, a gust of wind, the cold rain crashing down on them. But none of that came. All he felt was a brief stirring of the air. A sudden current swept around them, lifting his hair and clothes, as if the world itself had folded and refolded in a single breath.

It lasted only a few seconds. Then… nothing.

Jinwoo’s calm voice sounded near his ear:

— “You can open your eyes,” came Jinwoo’s steady tone.

Jinho obeyed. And stood dumbstruck.

They were no longer in the dark hallways of the guild, but in the familiar dimness of his apartment. More precisely, his living room.

The curtains swayed slightly under the breeze from a window left ajar.

He quickly pulled away from Jinwoo, taking a step back, his eyes wide.

The shock was so strong he nearly tripped on the carpet.

— “Wh… Wow?!” he stammered, eyes wide. “I knew you could teleport… but I didn’t know you could take someone with you…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, still too stunned to find his words. He seemed torn between excitement, amazement, and a hint of childlike admiration.

Jinwoo, however, remained perfectly composed. He shrugged lightly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. As if what had just happened were nothing but trivial.

— “It’s part of my skills,” he answered simply. “Nothing exceptional.”

“Nothing exceptional?” Jinho couldn’t believe it. To him, it was nothing short of incredible.

Jinwoo’s voice was calm, devoid of pride. As if, to him, carrying someone across space was nothing more than a detail, a meaningless formality.

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Chapter Text

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The transition was strange—after moving past Jinwoo’s lack of reaction about his own abilities. The contrast between the rumbling storm outside and the almost hushed calm of his apartment had something unreal about it. Jinho remained still for a moment, as if to make sure he really was home and this wasn’t another illusion born of fatigue. Then, confirming he truly stood in his living room, he drew a deep breath and turned to Jinwoo.

— “Hyung… thank you. Really. Not just for bringing me home, but also for warning me about my tires, the storm… and especially for offering me another solution. You didn’t have to do all that, but you still did.”

He accompanied his words with a clumsy bow of the head, a discreet way of showing his gratitude. His words came out softer than expected. His hands trembled slightly, so he clutched the strap of his bag to hide his unease.

Jinwoo looked at him with fondness and answered simply, but with a genuine smile—rare, and soothing in its brightness:

— “No need to thank me that much, Jinho. It’s normal. You think I’d just leave you there all alone? In a situation like that?”

His voice was low, deep, resonating with certainty. His smile widened slightly. Then, after a brief pause, he added:

— “And besides… it makes me happy to help someone who’s special to me.”

The word hung in the air. Special.

Those words fell with a sincerity that made Jinho’s heart race faster.

The honesty in Jinwoo’s eyes left no room for ambiguity, and that was exactly what shook him. He had often heard Jinwoo express trust in him, but rarely with such direct, personal warmth.

His throat tightened, a gentle heat rose to his eyes, and he had to look away. A tear might have fallen had he not put in a superhuman effort to hold it back. He didn’t want to appear fragile in front of his hyung-nim, not now, not after this.

He wanted to respond, but no words came. So he simply nodded quickly with a small, nervous “Ok.” He limited himself to that brief gesture, accompanied by a single word. Then he kept his head turned aside, unable to reply otherwise.

A silence slipped between them, but it wasn’t heavy—rather, a fragile bubble, too intimate to be broken with clumsy phrases.

Almost by reflex, he sought to busy his hands and turned on the living room lights. Then, to keep himself occupied, he moved on to the dining room, the kitchen, and even the hallway. After several movements, nearly the whole floor was lit, bathed in a soft glow that contrasted with the violent flashes outside.

Jinwoo, quiet and slightly behind him, took the chance to glance around at the different rooms within view. Letting his eyes drift from one to the next. At each of his visits, he had walked through these places without really paying attention.

This time, he observed with calm curiosity—especially since he hadn’t been able to come by in a while due to his “new occupations”—noting the little details: the arrangement of the furniture, the chosen colors, the frames hung a bit crooked, the light tones, the cushions neatly stacked on the couch, but above all the small revealing details—like the Ahjin-branded merchandise proudly displayed on a shelf. The décor had changed a lot since the days when he had just moved in, already reflecting the essence of his long-time partner. A fleeting smile crossed his face at how Jinho’s loyalty and admiration shone through even in his decoration.

Meanwhile, Jinho suddenly noticed he still had his shoes on. He headed to the entrance, ready to remove them, but felt a presence right behind him. Jinwoo was following close, almost on his heels.

— “I think I’ve got some drinks in the fridge…” Jinho began, bending down to untie his laces. “Would you like—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish.

— “Wait.” Jinwoo interrupted him in a calm but firm tone.

The young vice master straightened up, startled, searching his hyung’s eyes for an explanation. But before he could ask a single question, Jinwoo gently raised his hands and placed his palms over his ears.

The gesture was so quick it caught Jinho off guard, but at the same time, it was unexpectedly gentle. Then, almost instantly, the house shook under a brutal crash: a succession of thunderclaps so powerful that even behind closed windows, the building seemed to vibrate despite the insulation of the walls.

Thanks to Jinwoo’s firm, warm hands covering his ears, Jinho only heard a muffled echo. But the intensity of the blast was such that he instantly knew: without that protection, his eardrums would have suffered terribly, and his heart surely would have skipped a beat or two.

His eyes blinked, then landed on Jinwoo’s impassive face. Their gazes met, and for a few seconds, Jinho felt his breath catch. Jinwoo had anticipated this threat—insignificant to him, but real for his dongsaeng. And that gesture, at once unexpected and infinitely attentive, warmed Jinho’s heart as much as all the comforting words in the world.

Eyes wide, frozen in that unreal instant, Jinho suddenly understood just how deeply Jinwoo was watching over him—even in the smallest details.

The crash of thunder eventually faded, leaving behind a dull rumble that still vibrated through the walls of the apartment. Yet the other elements of the storm seemed to rage on even more fiercely: the rain lashed against the windows like a shower of gravel, and the wind moaned through the joints, giving the impression that the very air itself was trying to force its way inside.

Jinwoo’s hands finally left Jinho’s ears, but he didn’t turn away. His eyes stayed fixed on his dongsaeng, sharp, piercing, almost oppressive. The longer the seconds stretched, the more unsettled Jinho felt beneath that growing intensity. It wasn’t just attention… it was something else, an emotion difficult to define, deeper, rawer.

Neither anger nor amusement. Just something more unyielding, heavier… and harder to bear.

To break the silence that was weighing down on him, Jinho discreetly cleared his throat and forced a smile.

— “Th-thanks again, hyung… you’re always such a true gentleman. Your instinct is really exceptional. My poor eardrums owe you a lot.”

The instant the words left his lips, he saw that gaze change, as though they’d had a direct effect. The hardness dissolved as if it had never existed, and Jinwoo’s expression became calm again, almost neutral. But instead of answering with one of his usual teases, Jinwoo let out a slight sigh and spoke in a voice tinged with darkness and gravity:

— “In moments like this, I really wish I could foresee things like that… rather than only sensing them at the last second.”

That tone, more bitter than Jinho would have ever expected, made him frown.

— “Jinwoo-hyung… is something wrong?” he asked bluntly, a trace of worry in his voice.

There was a brief hesitation, as if Jinwoo were weighing his words, then he finally exhaled:

— “I can’t go home. Not anymore.”

Jinho’s eyes widened.

— “What? But… why?” he exclaimed, surprise slipping out along with a note of incomprehension.

Jinwoo folded his arms and continued, more composed:

— “This storm… it’s nothing ordinary. It’s probably caused by the disturbances linked to the recent spike in dungeon appearances. Remember the report you mentioned earlier? The sudden increase?”

Jinho nodded eagerly, too intrigued to interrupt.

— “When magical energies build up chaotically, they cause weather disturbances like this. And those disturbances generate magical energy discharges. That’s what caused what you see outside… but it also created interference. It disrupts everything tied to mana: artifacts, awakened beings… and especially those sensitive to it… like me. You know how sensitive I am to mana.”

He paused, his dark eyes drifting for a moment toward the window, where lightning sporadically lit the sky.

— “And when it’s a storm born of magic… it interferes with some of my skills. Certain powers of mine become limited, even blocked. Teleportation, among others. I can’t use it properly under these conditions.”

Jinho was left speechless. The image of an all-powerful Jinwoo, able to cross the world in a single step, had just wavered slightly.

He stayed silent for a few seconds, before remembering a detail that had struck him earlier. After a moment, he dared to voice the question burning on his lips:

— “But… then how did you manage to bring us here earlier? The storm had already begun.”

— “Exactly,” Jinwoo replied, lowering his voice a little. “Even then, I could already feel resistance. Normally, the transfer takes barely a second, but that one took… five seconds. That might seem like nothing to you, but for me it was chaotic, unstable. I took a risk. I managed it by forcing it through. But now… with the storm having worsened, I wouldn’t succeed. Not without risking an accident.”

His tone was meant to be reassuring, neither harsh nor cold. But Jinho only felt it as an added weight.

Jinho bit his lip. The thought that even Jinwoo, his invincible hyung-nim, could be limited by anything left him unsettled.

And as he pondered this, he saw his hyung turn on his heels toward the front door, and his heart leapt in alarm.

— “Uh, hyung, where are you going?” he asked, alarmed.

Jinwoo zipped his jacket up completely with a sure gesture.

— “I won’t bother you any longer. Even without teleportation, I can still run. With my speed, I can reach the family home before midnight… even facing that.”

He gestured toward the window, behind which the storm raged with almost living violence. His voice, calm as it was, strangely sounded like an excuse, even like a soft accusation, insinuating that he would be a burden if he stayed.

Jinho felt that sting pierce straight into his chest. He didn’t hesitate a second and blocked his path, raising his hands as if to physically prevent him from leaving.

— “No! You’re not going anywhere! You… you can’t go out in weather like this. That’s madness! You yourself said it’s dangerous, and you think I’ll let you run through that?!” he exclaimed, firmly, though his words lacked just a touch of confidence.

Jinwoo stopped, his hand half-raised toward the handle.

The brunette drew a deep breath, gathering his courage, then added more calmly, but still firmly:

— “Hyung, stay the night here. We’ll see about the rest once this storm has calmed down. Okay?”

Silence fell again. Jinwoo observed him for a long moment, his eyes searching every trace of emotion on his dongsaeng’s face. Then, slowly, very slowly, his features softened.

— “… Are you sure?” he finally asked Jinho.

And the latter, fists clenched but gaze steady, answered without faltering:

— “Yes. Stay.”

Another silence followed, light and almost unreal, broken only by the relentless pounding of rain against the windows.

Then, slowly, Jinwoo let his hand fall back and fixed him with a smile, wide, mischievous, but blazing with sincerity.

— “Ok,” he replied simply.

Still seated at the dining table, elbow propped on the smooth wood and head resting in his hand, Jinho absentmindedly watched the fluid motions of Jinwoo bustling in the kitchen. Every movement of his hyung seemed measured, almost elegant in its simplicity: the way he slid the knife across the board, stirred the pan with assurance, or the precision with which he seasoned the dish.

He could have stayed there for hours, half hypnotized, as the sight filled him with reassurance.

Yet his mind wandered, replaying the evening and the events that had followed his invitation for Jinwoo to stay the night.

He recalled his hyung’s sly smile, his famous “ok” spoken with that mix of mischief and sincerity that was his alone. After that, they had removed their shoes at the entrance, and almost immediately Jinwoo had taken out his phone to notify his mother and sister. Jinho still remembered his composed voice.

Jinho had listened absentmindedly—since the call was on speaker, he thought he could allow himself that—smiling despite himself as he heard Jinwoo announce that an unexpected setback caused by the ongoing storm forced him to spend the night here, at Jinho’s place, who was practically family anyway and that they didn’t need to worry.

The simple fact that he added “who’s almost part of the family” had stirred a strange warmth in the young vice-president’s chest.

The call had been brief, the storm not exactly encouraging lengthy conversations. But Jinho had had plenty of time to notice a few details: Jinwoo made sure they were all safe—his mother, his sister, Song-yi, who was spending the night with them… and, surprisingly, Soohyun, who had come to check on Jinho. Then, the list of names had gone on… Lee Joohee, passing through the city and apparently brought over by Soohyun to greet Jinwoo, and even Cha Hae-In, who had, by all appearances, come to see Jinwoo. For an instant, Jinho thought he caught the faintest flicker of his hyung’s brows at the mention of the latter, but he quickly shook his head. It had been too fast not to be an illusion.

It sounded very much like a real improvised gathering, like a girls’ night at the new family home—the larger one they had moved into months before, it was found and chosen based on Jinho's good sense in real estate, a sure thing passed on by his parents.

Whatever the case, he had the odd feeling this improvised evening on their side would be memorable… while theirs, his and Jinwoo’s, seemed promised to simplicity and calm. A conclusion that had made him smile—but one he would probably have to revise later.

Before hanging up, Jinwoo teasingly mentioned, for his younger sister’s benefit, her large collection of assorted pajamas, which now finally had a reason to come out instead of gathering dust under the excuse that she’d eventually find a use for them once she grew a little more in size and shape.

After that, Jinho had prepared the guest room with particular care, laying out the belongings Jinwoo sometimes left and adding those he had bought specially for such exceptional cases. Then, each had taken a shower in their respective rooms, letting the hot steam chase away the last traces of cold left by the storm.

It was only once they came back downstairs, hunger beginning to make itself felt, that Jinho had tensed up again. He knew full well his kitchen was not well stocked—he had always had the bad habit of putting off grocery shopping—just a few forgotten provisions in the fridge, a poorly filled pantry… he already dreaded the indulgent look his hyung would give him. Yet his surprise was complete: the cupboards were suddenly overflowing with fresh produce.

Without giving him time to speak, Jinwoo predicted his question and answered in a calm tone, a small smile tugging at his lips:

— “Yes, I took care of that this morning thanks to my shadows,” he stated without hesitation. “Let’s just say I have my methods. You weren’t really planning to live on instant noodles and ultra-processed stuff forever.”

Jinho felt at once confused, guilty, and deeply moved.

— “Ah… so I wasn’t dreaming,” he murmured as he saw Jinwoo pull out perfectly washed vegetables.

— “Dreaming of what?” the latter replied without looking up, focused on his chopping.

— “That… I thought I was going crazy, seeing my cupboards fill up sometimes without knowing how. But it was you. You do the shopping, and… your shadows handle the rest, right?”

Jinwoo only answered with a nod, humming a light “mmhmmh” as though this daily care were the most basic thing.

— “So I really wasn’t crazy…” Jinho murmured, torn between disbelief and amusement, before looking at him with shining eyes.

— “No, not crazy,” Jinwoo replied with a small smirk as he kept tending to the vegetables.

Jinho thought with the greatest comfort, “I wasn’t crazy after all, I just had a hyung who looks after me quietly, without making a fuss or boasting about it.”

That realization alone was enough to melt Jinho, even if, to hide his embarrassment, he quickly busied himself with bringing out the wine and setting the table.

He let Jinwoo handle the meal—a bit reluctantly, since normally it was the host’s role to cook, not the guest’s—under the pretense that it was the least he could do for someone who had “imposed himself” like that. But deep down, he knew he was no match for Jinwoo in that field—nor in many others.

And now, seated before the quiet spectacle of his hyung cooking for him in his own kitchen as if he had always lived there. And all that while wearing a Hello Kitty apron.

He replayed it all in his head.

The more he thought about it, the harder it was to believe the improbable string of events of this evening. Yet they were all real.

The contrast between the violence of the storm still raging outside and the warmth of this domestic scene did not escape Jinho.

His smile widened despite himself, and he finally broke the silence:

— “Hyung, do you want me to help?”

— “Yes, you can,” Jinwoo said without looking up from his pan. “You can be the official tester.”

He held out a small spoon filled with steaming sauce.

— “Tell me what you think.”

Surprised by the almost serious tone, Jinho took the spoon and brought it to his lips. The taste exploded on his tongue, a subtle mix of spices and rich aromas.

— “Wah… It’s exquisite, hyung. As always,” he said, his eyes sparkling.

— “Really?”

— “Of course!” Jinho exclaimed, more serious. “You should seriously consider opening a restaurant. I’m ready to be your first investor.”

Jinwoo chuckled softly, then shook his head.

— “I think I’ve got enough responsibilities as it is. But if you like it, then that’s enough.”

Their eyes met for a moment then. Long enough for Jinho to feel that strange warmth ripple through his chest again and think he saw the same indecipherable gleam he had noticed earlier flicker in Jinwoo’s eyes. Long enough for him to dare a comical wink in their situation, making them both burst out laughing again, sweeping away any lingering unease.

Dinner preparation was quickly completed. In no time, the table was set, and a pleasant warmth drifted from the kitchen.

— “Me, Chef Sung, present tonight’s dinner. On the menu: a lightly spiced beef intestine stew, stir-fried vegetables with soy sauce, kimchi seasoned just right, a clear soup whose recipe is my secret, and freshly steamed white rice, straight from the cooker.” Jinwoo announced, unveiling each dish.

— “Wow! This all looks divine, Mr. Chef.” Jinho declared with stars in his eyes, practically drooling into his bowl.

All of it was accompanied, of course, by red wine, the glasses gleaming under the lamps like tiny liquid rubies.

Outside, the storm continued to roar, gusts shaking the windows, and the relentless rain drumming stubbornly through the night. But inside, everything was warm, convivial, almost festive. Between bites came the clinking of glasses. Laughter burst out, jokes followed one after another. They shared anecdotes, memories, even a few spirited debates, each one cut short by fresh laughter.

For Jinho, it was without a doubt one of the best evenings of his entire life — by far. Maybe even the very best — though perhaps that was the alcohol talking. His whole body, gripped only hours ago by a deep tension, now felt light, relaxed, almost euphoric.

Truth be told, he was already quite drunk — despite a better tolerance than before, the wine had eventually gone to his head in a pleasant haze.

And yet, he didn’t care. Everything seemed perfect. His tongue loosened, his thoughts softened.

When dessert came — a chocolate mousse from the fridge, a modest store-bought treat, simple but delicious — Jinho suddenly felt strangely emotional. As often happened under the influence of alcohol, his heart spilled over.

Between two spoonfuls, he fixed his hyung with a tender gaze and blurted out, his voice a little slurred but sincere:

— “You know, Jinwoo-hyung…” he began, more moved than he would have liked. “You’re the best big brother I’ve ever had.”

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow but stayed silent, simply listening. Jinho, already launched, continued without pause.

— “I think of you more as my real big brother than my biological one, Jinsung,” Jinho said with a silly laugh. “Seriously… if I could’ve chosen, I’d have chosen you, not Jinsung. He’s always grumpy and self-centered. You… you’re kind, caring, talented, powerful, funny, nice… comforting… and… really, really handsome.”

A silence followed, punctuated only by the pounding rain outside. Jinwoo didn’t move, his wine glass still in hand.

Jinho let out a cheerful laugh but carried on, with the wobbly seriousness of a drunk man, swept up in his rambling.

— “Maybe I could get adopted into your family, what do you think? That way it’d be official and we’d be family even on paper.” He spoke in a dreamy tone. “I don’t think my parents would mind me having a second family. Yoo Sung Jinho… don’t you think that sounds nice? I promise I’d be the best little brother in the world.” he added, with exaggerated gestures to illustrate every word.

His face was glowing with a blissful smile, and he went on with his ramblings, counting on his fingers the members of this hypothetical extended family.

— “That would give me two moms, one dad, two older sisters… well, I think of Soohyun as an older sister too… one younger sister, Jin-ah… and two big brothers.” He gestured like a child as he spoke. “But you, I definitely prefer you over the other one,” he whispered to Jinwoo like it was a secret.

As the words tumbled out, his voice grew softer, his eyelids heavier, his mind swaying. He didn’t even notice the faint sound of glass breaking, muffled by the echo of the rain.

— “And also… I…”

His sentence broke off into a clumsy yawn, and his head slumped onto the table, where he had already been leaning. Sleep overtook him, the kind that comes after being full and warm.

Before his eyes fully closed, he caught a strange impression. He thought he saw Jinwoo frown, his fingers tightening around a shattered glass, and… his irises seemed tinged with a dark violet gleam, unsettling. An unreadable, but undeniably heavy emotion flickered there.

When Jinho opened his eyes again — after what felt like just a prolonged blink — he couldn’t tell how much time had passed. The lights were now dimmed, reduced to the bare minimum, casting the living room into a soothing half-darkness. He found himself lying on the large leather couch, wrapped in the comfort of its cushions.

But that wasn’t what made him frown: Jinwoo was leaning over him, his face dangerously close to his own. So close that his breath brushed against Jinho’s skin. His eyes locked onto his with an intensity that sent a confused shiver through him.

— “Tell me, Jinho…” Jinwoo asked in a low, almost grave voice. “Do you really only see me as your big brother?”

His voice was calm, measured, but there was something unyielding in his tone.

Still clouded by alcohol, Jinho gave him a blissful smile, sincere in his naivety.

— “Of course, hyung. You’re more family to me than anyone else.”

He didn’t have the chance to say more. Jinwoo’s hand gripped his chin firmly, forcing him to lift his head. His gaze darkened, and he murmured:

— “Wrong answer.” he said with a displeased expression.

Before Jinho could understand, Jinwoo’s lips crashed against his, swift and fluid, almost predatory.

Shock pinned Jinho in place. His heart leapt into his throat, his thoughts blurred, and he felt an audacious tongue force its way past his parted lips, plunging into his mouth with a fierce intensity that paralyzed him.

He wanted to protest, to say something, but his muscles refused to react, numbed by the alcohol.

And yet… despite the shock, there was no fear. More confusion than anything else. He couldn’t summon dread, not with so much wine in his veins.

Stunned, shaken, unable to respond, Jinho still couldn’t help but notice one insane detail: the taste of Jinwoo’s tongue. Exactly the same as his breath had been just moments earlier. A sweet, dense flavor, like grape syrup. Addictive. Hypnotic. Enough to make his head spin even more.

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Chapter Text

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Dense. Fruity. Slightly tart. Almost heady. But above all, irresistibly sweet.

The taste of exquisite grape syrup.

It was the only thing Jinho could still think of as Jinwoo's lips pressed against his and his tongue relentlessly drew Jinho’s into a progressively more dominant waltz. The mixture of their saliva flowed so much into Jinho’s mouth that he could only swallow it. Still accompanied by a powerful, sweet taste of grape.

The world around them seemed to have frozen. The thunder, the rain, the distant murmur of the gusts… everything seemed to fade behind the frantic beating of the younger man's heart.

His eyelids fluttered, his breathing quickened, and despite the strange intoxication this contact provided, he remained above all… lost. His alcohol-hazed brain tried to gather his scattered thoughts, to impose some semblance of order.

And yet, despite the strange intoxication rising within him, a part of his mind refused to be carried away. For him, the situation was… unbelievable.

He tried to think, to make sense of what he was experiencing.

Jinwoo was his hyung, his role model, almost a brother to him. No, he and Jinwoo were practically like brothers. They shared a fraternal closeness, not intimacy of this kind. So... why this kiss? Why was his hyung kissing him? Why was he letting it happen?

His thoughts rushed in the disarray of a mind drowned by alcohol.

"No, no, no… this isn't normal, this shouldn't be happening. This is… incest," he stammered mentally, trying to retrieve the thread of his reason. The word "incestuous" resonated in his head, clumsily, like an alarm bell drowned in a fog of wine and confusion. He felt his fingers tremble against Jinwoo's shirt.

He was convinced he couldn't let this continue and let himself be carried away simply because of his lack of energy and will — surely due to the alcohol, he thought.

With an awkward start, the brunette placed his hands on Jinwoo and tried to push him away with a gesture that was both abrupt and clumsy — due to the lack of coordination caused by the excess alcohol in his body. The movement was dry, messy, lacking strength, as if he were pushing away a dream too real. It wasn't violent, but strong enough to hope to break the contact.

Jinwoo removed his hand from his chin and stepped back slightly, more out of compliance than constraint. Jinho caught his breath, fingers trembling, lips wet, and gaze lost. A thread of saliva still connected them, and he could still feel the warmth of his hyung's body against him while the latter smiled at him with a satisfied air.

He remained frozen for a few seconds, mouth slightly open, as if he needed air, which was true.

While recovering his breath, he almost instinctively swallowed the rest of the saliva in his mouth. A mix of his own and Jinwoo's.

His tongue unconsciously brushed his lips… and he realized they still retained the sweet trace of the grape taste, mixed with his own saliva. But he hid his intrusive thoughts to lift himself slightly onto his forearms.

— "Hyung… do-don't do that again," he whispered in a breathless voice, more like a plea than an order, although he would have wanted it to be the latter. "Besides, why did you do that? It's… it's not right… it’s… it’s incestuous, right?"

The word sounded false, even absurd in his own mouth, but it was all his muddled brain managed to formulate.

Jinwoo's smile faded at the question.

Jinho looked up at him, searching for a burst of laughter, a trace of humor, something that would prove to him that all this was just a slightly overdone joke. He tried to laugh nervously, looking for an escape, a rational explanation.

— "It's a prank, right? You just wanted to… tease me?"

But Jinwoo didn't answer right away. His gaze, until then so lively, seemed to have closed off, unfathomable by the overflow of emotions it let glimpse. His dark pupils, streaked with violet reflections, fixed him without him being able to read any intention. They seemed to probe him to his soul. Faced with this, Jinho felt almost laid bare, vulnerable. Then, rather than giving him an answer, Jinwoo suddenly asked:

— "You didn't like it?" with a tone too serious for the situation and for Jinho.

This silence was heavy, almost painful, and Jinho felt his heart pound even harder. "What?" he wondered, completely perturbed by the unexpected question. But he couldn't help but think, "Honestly, it wasn't unpleasant, although it was very intense, but..."

— "But that's not—"

"That's not the question." That’s what he wanted to say. But suddenly, everything changed.

A strange, almost euphoric warmth rose in his chest. His temples began to beat faster, his breathing became ragged. He wanted to speak, to finish his sentence, to ask what was happening and why, but the words were lost in a breath. And before he even understood why, his head started spinning even more.

A strange warmth spread throughout his body. An inexplicable euphoria mounted within him, so sudden that it caught him off guard. His heart rate soared, and he felt tiny electric jolts of well-being running through his skin, as if the air itself was vibrating around him.

His muscles suddenly relaxed, his hands struggled not to let themselves slide down the sofa. He felt like his blood was boiling, that every beat of his heart projected sparks of heat into his veins. His vision blurred, tinged with a soft, unreal, almost pinkish glow at the edges.

And in this vision, Jinwoo looked… magnificent — even more so than he already was, which Jinho wouldn't have thought possible until then —.

His features, already objectively close to perfection, seemed bathed in an unreal light, as if the air around him vibrated.

His face seemed to him… unrealistically beautiful and attractive, even... irresistible. So irresistible that it was painful.

Glitter danced in his field of vision. Jinwoo's calm expression — almost tender, he thought — seemed divine.

"Why… is he even more beautiful than usual… ?" he thought, half-fascinated, half-terrified.

The spasms or electric jolts of well-being he felt running through him intensified. They resonated greatly in his brain, his spine, and... his lower abdomen. So much so that he had to control himself not to let groans escape between his gasps.

His vision wavered. The world seemed to deform, the contours of the room undulated.

He felt light. Too light. His arms went slack, his head tilted gently back.

He wanted to reach out to him, but his arm refused to obey. His eyelids grew heavy, and the last thing he perceived before sinking was Jinwoo's low, distant voice.

— "Oh shit… mixing them was a bad idea, especially not when he's already hammered... It's too much for him." he remarked to himself. Torn between self-blame and a kind of self-deprecation to hide his nervousness.

The rest was lost in nothingness. And the darkness closed in on him.

Jinho woke up with a start, gasping.

His body shot up suddenly, as if thrown out of a nightmare. His eyes adjusted with difficulty to the gloom of the living room.

His heart was still beating too fast, and a fine layer of sweat clung to his temples. He looked around, disoriented.

The living room was plunged into a peaceful semi-darkness. The storm outside seemed to have calmed down — although for a storm of that magnitude, that was an understatement. A blanket seemed to have been carefully placed over him, now sliding from his shoulders to his knees. Surely an attention from Jinwoo, all his displacement from the table to the sofa.

There was a familiar scent of soap and dishwashing liquid in the air. Both present and slight. Surely coming from the kitchen where his hyung must have — according to his deductions — cleaned up after their dinner. This added to his embarrassment as an unworthy host, because he hadn't been able to do anything when he should have, instead of falling asleep.

But his brain quickly dropped the embarrassment to replay what he had just experienced. Yet it seemed senseless.

The living room was calm.

Jinwoo was nowhere in sight.

The sofa was warm. And...

Without thinking too much, Jinho began to sniff the blanket and then the cushion on which his head had rested, as if searching for clues indicating Jinwoo's recent and significant presence near him. But nothing. He only smelled the usual scents of clean items. Even his tongue only had a strange bitter but chocolatey aftertaste, very different from the grape syrup he thought he had tasted. Proof of a dessert they had had earlier.

"A dream?" he thought, his head still heavy. He rubbed his forehead, memories of the evening returning in fragments. The near-scandal with the new recruit, the sudden declaration of the storm, the hazelnut-matcha smoothies, the teleportation to his apartment, the malfunctioning of Jinwoo's powers, his request for Jinwoo to stay rather than face the storm to go home, the shower, dinner, wine, laughter, confessions, chocolate mousse, then him finally falling asleep...

And then, his strange dream with that lunar — but not unpleasant — kiss with his hyung. The taste of grape. The dizziness. The tongue play. The thought about incest. Jinwoo asking if he had liked it. His sudden overwhelming state of well-being. The pinkish vision of Jinwoo becoming irresistible just before his body completely relaxed and let go right before he woke up…

He inhaled deeply. Crestfallen and ashamed of himself.

"No. That wasn't possible... I can't believe I dreamed that. Shame on me!" he thought, putting his hands over his face and sighing.

Blushes had risen to his cheeks.

And yet, the warmth on his lips persisted.

He ran his hand over his mouth, then felt a new wave of shame overwhelm him.

"My God… How could I have dreamed that? With my hyung, no less! How can I look him in the face after this...?"

His heart tightened.

"Is it... because I've never had a relationship? That I unconsciously projected my frustration and loneliness onto him, an objectively very attractive person? Yet I don't feel that way, at least... I think?"

He told himself then that he needed to find someone as soon as possible. But this thought was quickly swept away by his reason, which reminded him that a decision like this should not be rushed and dictated solely by his fear of being truly frustrated. That would be even more reckless and cruel because he knew he was neither in the right state of mind nor the right period to have a relationship, as it was not one of his priorities.

He sighed once more.

His mind still had a little trouble believing this hypothesis, because his body, for its part, retained a trace of it. A sensory memory that seemed too vivid to be just a dream.

He collapsed back onto the sofa, his face again buried in his hands, torn between confusion, guilt, and a fear he didn't want to name.

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The storm still showed no new sign of abating. Outside, the wind howled against the windows like a furious animal, and the rain beat the glass with a steady drumming. Inside, the subdued light of the living room cast a tranquil, almost soothing ambiance, but Yoo Jinho, on the inside, was churning.

Sitting on the sofa, covered by a thick blanket, he was silently fretting. The images from his dream kept returning, vivid and disturbing. His mind was racing, trapped by the hazy memory of that dream—or what he believed was a dream. His cheeks still burned every time he thought about it. He ran a hand over his face again, sighed deeply, then curled up under the blanket like a child caught doing wrong.

It was at that moment that he heard footsteps on the stairs. Footsteps of an obvious origin. His heart jumped.

It was Jinwoo.

Panic surged instantly. He wasn't ready to see him. Not after... that. Nor was he ready to meet his gaze.

So, he chose the easiest solution: he pulled the blanket over his head and froze, feigning deep sleep.

The faint creaking of the stairs was followed by measured footsteps slowly descending.

The steps came closer, steady, then a deep but low and matter-of-fact voice rose in the silence:

— "So... Laundry washed, dried, folded, and put away... scented candles replaced... essential oils put back in the diffusers in the living room, bedroom, office, bathroom..." he enumerated in a concentrated tone.

Jinho, despite himself, strained to listen. Jinwoo was talking to himself, as if taking inventory of everything he had accomplished.

— "There's also the restock of potions, balms, and other magical consumables... the reinforcement of the magical defense system... Dinner leftovers put away. Ah... and the meals prepared for the next few days too, with their boxes well-labeled. That will prevent him from eating junk food."

Jinho felt a pang in his heart.

As he heard the list grow longer, Jinho felt increasingly ashamed.

He buried his face further into the blanket, hoping the flush of his shame wouldn't show. Jinwoo, his guest, had done everything while he slept like a log, he who was the host who asked him to stay... He felt terribly guilty—although it would have been difficult for him to anticipate that and do anything in his tipsy state. He had glanced at the clock on the wall; he knew he hadn't slept for very long and that it wasn't even midnight yet. His hyung had accomplished all that in a ridiculous amount of time. Impressive, as always.

— "Kitchen cleaned, broken glass picked up... dishes done..." Jinwoo continued, still focused on his list.

The young man wondered.

"Broken glass?" he asked himself.

So, he hadn't dreamed that. There really was a broken glass in Jinwoo's hand at the end of dinner. He vaguely wondered why he had broken it.

Jinwoo continued his little enumeration, his voice now slipping into a new gentleness:

— "And... I've already scattered enough gifts around the apartment. He'll find them soon enough."

Jinho was not surprised by this information—although he was extremely touched by these gestures—because for several weeks now, his hyung had gotten into the habit of giving gifts to his loved ones, and in this case, his hyung preferred to hide the majority of the gifts he gave him so that he would find them without searching too hard, just by going about his daily activities. This could range from a box of homemade filled pastries in a kitchen cupboard to a pair of magical revolvers—capable of being useful to him even though he wasn't a sharpshooter class, which should be impossible—found in a drawer of his nightstand. They were often accompanied by small notes such as "Enjoy your meal" and "Make good use of them (I know I don't have to worry about that)."

He paused briefly, as if hesitating. Then, in a softer voice:

— "I hope he likes them. I might have exaggerated a little this time..."

The tone was imbued with sincere, almost tender affection. This warmth in Jinwoo's voice tugged at Jinho's heart.

He felt both touched and unsettled.

Jinho couldn't help but think that he would much rather have that Jinwoo—the normal one, the one who took care of him, attentive and protective, with that affectionate attitude towards him who was almost his little brother—even if it was almost too affectionate at times. But Jinho attributed it to fraternal affection for his only dongsaeng—well, his only male junior. He would rather have that Jinwoo in his dream than an improbable facet with incestuous tendencies.

While thinking about this, he internally promised to return some of that kindness by offering him gifts in turn.

But Jinwoo's voice still resonated in his head:

"You don't need to give me anything in return, Jinho. Accepting is already making me happy."

Or:

"When an elder offers you a gift, your only duty is to accept and say 'thank you'."

A tender smile unconsciously formed on his lips. His *hyung* only desired sincerity and a reliable presence.

And although it was almost impossible for him to match most of his gifts, he continued to reflect on his possibilities:

"I still don't want to feel ungrateful. So, instead of gifts, I should focus more on being attentive to him. Like bringing him more pastries with his morning coffee, writing more poetic words instead of the banalities I put on his coffee cup, working even harder for him, coming to help at his place more often, making him a handmade gift, inviting him out to restaurants more often, maybe even somewhere else like... the movies or an amusement park, and... are we too old for the arcade? Then I can always plan a surprise trip, that's good... Hyung once said he wanted—"

The footsteps stopped. Silence settled. Jinho froze and interrupted his thoughts.

Jinho hesitated. Should he stick his head out to check what was happening?

Should he pretend to be asleep?

He didn't have time to decide. The blanket was delicately pulled away from his face.

A few moments passed before he opened his eyes.

The dim light made Jinwoo's black locks shine above him. The Hunter was looking at him, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

— "Well-rested, my little dongsaeng?" he asked in a tone that contained a gentle irony coupled with playfulness.

Jinho's heart skipped a beat. Jinho's eyelids twitched involuntarily at the face that tormented his mind. He wished he could disappear, melt into the sofa.

Jinho felt his stomach clench.

Seeing Jinwoo there, so close, with his eternal calm and that slight smile on his lips, brought back fragments of his dream—that absurd, troubling, almost shameful dream—: the warmth of a breath against his skin, that sweet taste of grape syrup, that disturbing closeness. A wave of intense embarrassment surged through him.

Just at the thought, his cheeks tingled. He literally had to bite his tongue not to look away and keep control.

"Breathe, Jinho. Pretend nothing happened. It was just a dream... just an absurd and grotesque dream," he tried to convince himself, but the vividness of the images suggested the opposite.

He took a discreet breath, trying to regain some composure. He slowly straightened his back and sat up on the sofa, attempting to look relaxed. His heart was beating too fast.

He had to change the subject, quickly—before Jinwoo noticed something. So, instead of answering his question, he blurted out the first sentence that crossed his mind:

— "Hyung, I'm not little, okay? I'm just... average height. It's you who is too tall. I've told you that before."

His voice, already lacking confidence, trembled at the end of the sentence, betraying his unease. He immediately regretted speaking. He prayed internally that Jinwoo wouldn't pay attention.

Jinwoo let out a very slight, brief, almost imperceptible laugh.

— "If you say so."

The tone was soft, amused without being mocking. But he didn't add anything, didn't try to tease him further, even though Jinho expected a remark, a question about his supposed sleep—given that his diversion wasn't that great. Instead, he sat down next to him, calmly, with a tranquil gaze.

Before Jinho could even understand what he was doing, Jinwoo raised a hand and placed his palm on his forehead.

The contact instantly froze him.

His skin seemed to warm up even more under that large, cool hand. The gesture, both delicate and unexpected, took his breath away. His mind, still marked by the memory of the dream, raced.

Jinho was caught off guard—he was mainly embarrassed because of his dream, but normally wouldn't have been. Because his hyung's gesture wasn't that exceptional, as he had gotten used to him becoming more tactile since their relationship had progressed.

— "H-Hyung? What are you—"

But he stopped himself immediately, struck by a flash of realization.

Rather than being indignant, he finally asked in an uncertain voice:

— "Are you... taking my temperature?"

— "Exactly," Jinwoo replied in a perfectly calm tone.

He spoke in a tranquil, almost medical tone, but his proximity made it all strangely intimate.

— "I want to check if the remedy I gave you after you passed out has taken effect."

— "The remedy?" Jinho repeated, a little confused.

— "Yes. After you passed out, I made you swallow a dose. You didn't have too much trouble waking up, which is a good sign."

Jinwoo finally withdrew his hand, satisfied with his assessment, and added with a slight, reassuring smile:

— "You don't have a headache, I hope? No hangover? No nausea or dizziness?"

Jinho shook his head with an automatic gesture, still too troubled to formulate a complete sentence.

— "I thought so," Jinwoo resumed with a slight smile. "You look much better."

He leaned slightly closer, as if to make sure of his condition, and his fingers brushed Jinho's wrist, checking his pulse. This gesture might have been mundane, but in Jinho's still feverish mind, every contact became a reminder of his shameful dream.

Jinho could have asked why his hyung hadn't simply used a thermometer. But he remained silent, frozen, the words suspended in his throat.

The mention of the remedy had shaken him.

Until now, he hadn't even thought about the fact that he should have woken up with a terrible headache, considering how much he had drunk. And yet, he felt perfectly fine. Physically, at least. Mentally, his mind was tortured and accumulating doubts.

"Passed out? Bitter remedy and chocolate mousse?"

The words resonated in his head.

But then... Which passing out was he talking about, exactly? Was Jinwoo talking about his passing out due to alcohol, or, impossibly, the one from... his dream? Jinho knew it was impossible, but... A strange doubt crept into his mind, colder than the wind outside.

The coincidence was far too great when he connected the dots. That explained the bitter and chocolatey aftertaste he had in his mouth when he woke up. But in the absurd hypothesis that his dream was not a dream, it would explain not only why he no longer had the taste of grape in his mouth but also why he felt no trace of the sudden symptoms from that moment.

He felt a shiver run down his spine. As if to worsen his confusion, Jinwoo added with disarming naturalness:

— "You weren't very cooperative, you know. You found the taste too bitter, you refused to take it. So I had to improvise. I sprinkled it into a chocolate mousse for you to take, after crystallizing the remedy beforehand. Given your state, it's normal that you don't remember it."

Jinwoo's words fell one by one, clear, precise.

Jinho remained motionless, his eyes slightly wide. A chocolate mousse... exactly the one he had eaten before falling asleep, just before the dream.

Jinho's jaw clenched.

He felt a cold sweat run down his neck. The speed of his heart slowed down as a result.

The boundary between reality and what he believed to be a simple drunken delusion suddenly blurred.

His heart was pounding furiously.

Jinwoo, meanwhile, seemed focused on his observation. His hand, resting on Jinho's wrist, followed the rhythm of his beats, then brushed the stiffness of his muscles, as if to make sure no tension remained, with almost professional meticulousness.

Jinho watched him, frozen, his mind in a storm.

During this time, Jinho's brain was working at full capacity.

Dream or reality?

Had the two... gotten mixed up?

His brain was struggling to choose the most sensible possibility, but ultimately, he couldn't do it without an answer from Jinwoo.

He had to know. Confirm things directly.

His heart was pounding less in his chest as he gathered his courage and repeated his certainties.

"Come on, Jinho. Ask. It's nothing. He'll just confirm what you already know."

He bit his lip, took a deep breath, and decided to take the plunge. He might as well find out for sure.

He inhaled deeply, sought his gaze, and said in a deeper voice than he would have thought:

— "Hyung…" he asked in a cautious, almost hesitant voice.

"Which passing out are you talking about, exactly?"

He paused, looking for the courage to finish his sentence.

— "Are you sure that... I passed out? Didn't I just... sleep, instead?"

The silence that followed seemed to stretch to infinity. Suspended like a blade between them.

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