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Sungjin was created along with the city as its guardian entity. A powerful being made by ancient magic, older than most could remember, he had been protecting the city from supernatural threats for centuries, a millennium, even. He had lost count of that a long while ago.
Oftentimes, he hated his creator, for they gave him consciousness — he was aware that he was not a man nor a machine, but a being made of golden threads, codes, and sigils. A horrendous sight to look at, truly. He had learned that too many times. Townspeople called him a freak, children cried at the sight of glitching threads. That was why he kept his true form a secret, hiding behind an empty human shell.
He also hated his creator, for they gave him feelings — he had tried and failed at relationships, always outliving his loved ones. His heart, if he could call that, ached when he went to his long time friends’ funerals while he himself still looked like a man in his early thirties. Not mentioning that his presence spread gossip between townspeople that any one who befriended him would end up in ill fate.
It was not like he had not tried pursuing a romantic relationship. He had done so, with mortals, supernatural beings, or deities. It always ended in a disaster when they found out what he really was. His last partner, a vampire with red hair and quick wit, left him in disgust when a leyline misalignment accidentally revealed him as golden threads and codes.
You’re not even real, she spat out.
So Sungjin gave up on any relationships at all, focusing himself more on what he was made for — guarding the city until he ceased to exist. He was friendly with everyone, yes, but never stayed long enough to befriend any of them. Although he deeply yearned for connection, he knew that it would not take long until his ‘friends’ got freaked out by his true self.
Then a certain moon rabbit moved into the city.
The guardian did not think much at first when he drove to the suburban cottage to greet him, a basket of baked goods on the passenger seat. Greeting the new resident seemed like the right choice, it had been a long while since a supernatural being moved here. The last one was Dowoon, a retired hellhound who he was on good terms with but rarely saw each other because the man usually went out on fishing trips.
What he didn’t expect was the person who he met at the front door — a man around his age in a pink sweater, messy hair falling into his eyes as if he had just woken up. He was beautiful in an effortless way, the kind that made time feel slower for a moment. It took Sungjin a second too long to realize he was staring. He awkwardly cleared his throat and said, “You must be Kim Wonpil, welcome to the city. Here’s some welcoming gifts. Sorry they’re store bought, I’m not the best baker in town.”
The man beamed, accepting the basket, “Thank you, Mr. —”
“Sungjin, I’m a guardian entity here. Nice to meet you.”
Wonpil’s smile got wider, and Sungjin swore that his heart, albeit an artificial one, stopped for a beat.
They somehow became closer, despite that awkward first meeting. Wonpil got a job as a kindergarten teacher shortly after moving. It keeps me grounded, he said. The two frequently spent time together; an afternoon tea at Wonpil’s cottage, a movie night at Sungjin’s flat, or a walk along the river at dusk. Dowoon sometimes joined them, but then quickly left, complaining that he felt like he was ‘third wheeling the couple’.
Sungjin didn’t dare hoping for anything more than frequent visits and friendly chats. Although he was certain that the moon rabbit had encountered his kind more than once, he always remained in his human form out of the fear of being rejected.
Once he sees the real me, he will leave, just like those I lost in the past, the guardian thought to himself.
But that was a week before a violent glitch in the leyline system.
News about immense solar flares filled the television and local newspapers. Scientists said something about disrupted GPS systems, new age healers warned about mental imbalance. But for Sungjin, it was a personal catastrophe. Celestial phenomena were never gentle to the system nor were they to him, who was a part of it. He was fixing a minor defect in the business district when it happened — his hands shook uncontrollably, his vision blurred, and his body became static, golden light leaked out from his arms.
Not here, not like this, not when I’d get called a monster again.
The guardian stumbled back to his flat. Slamming the door behind him, Sungjin let his human shell go completely. Where his body once was transformed into static golden threads, sigils, and runes, with a faint outline of a human silhouette. He looked, if he could call that since his eyes no longer existed, at himself in disdain, quietly hoping that the incident would end soon.
Then he heard the front door open, followed by a voice of the one he didn’t want to see the most in this situation.
“Sungjin?”
He heard the moon rabbit’s footsteps in the narrow hallway leading to the living room, and shouted back, “Don’t — don’t come any closer!” His voice was a hoarse distort, sounding like a hundred voices speaking at once.
Wonpil stopped at the entrance, staring at Sungjin — or what was left of the guardian. The threads flared brighter, sigils glitched violently, painting the room blazing gold. The moon rabbit took a step forward to the light, pressing his palm against a burning sigil, “It’s alright.” He whispered softly. I’ve got you.”
The golden threads went still, gave one last violent flicker then calmed down before the celestial being’s presence. Lights and codes pulled back together until they formed a human shape. Sungjin staggered forward, got caught by Wonpil before he fell. The moon rabbit gently guided him to the black sofa in the living room.
“I didn’t mean for you to see me like this,” Sungjin muttered, burying his head in his hands, dark hair plastered to his sweat-damp forehead.
Wonpil set his bag on the table and sat down beside him. “I saw the news,” he murmured, “I was worried.”
“You shouldn’t,” The guardian responded. “I’m not someone — something — to be looked at with pity.”
“Then what should I do?”
“Leave.” Like everyone does. His words hung unspoken in the air.
“No.” Wonpil’s voice was gentle yet stern. Sungjin looked up to him with surprise. He found Wonpil’s gaze, ever so soft and kind, even when he should have turned away with disgust already. The moon rabbit smiled lightly. “You’ve always been the one protecting others. It’s okay to let someone save you for once.”
“You should be afraid of me. Everybody else does when they see what I am.”
“Maybe I’m not ‘everybody else’,” Wonpil replied. “Why should I be afraid of someone who buys me strawberry milk and makes terrible puns?” As if to prove his point, he reached out to brush a strand of hair from Sungjin’s face. His fingers lingered a little bit too long at the temple. The guardian leaned into the touch, letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.
Wonpil stood up after a moment, brushing dust off his sweater. “Wait here,” he said quietly. “I’ll make us some tea.”
Sungjin didn’t answer. The sound of the kettle filled the silence: a soft hum, steady and grounding. He sat there, tracing the fading golden threads beneath his skin. When Wonpil returned, he carried two steaming mismatched mugs. Those were the ones he brought to the flat a while ago, claiming that it would make Sungjin’s place less depressing.
“Chamomile.” Wonpil handed a light yellow mug to the guardian. “Drink it while it’s still warm.”
The two drank their tea in silence, listening to the faint sound of the traffic outside. The solar flares were gone at last — everything went back to normal, or as normal as the city could be. Sungjin lowered his mug, resting his eyes upon his companion, then said, “Thank you,” he breathed out, “for staying.”
Wonpil met his gaze and smiled, “Always,” he replied, setting his mug down with a soft clink. He reached out, brushing his thumb over the back of Sungjin’s hand. “You deserve that much.”
For once, the city guardian let himself believe that he was more than what he was made of, and that he finally deserved someone who would stay.