Chapter Text
The rain against the windowpane of the quiet apartment was the only sound that had kept Kim Dokja company for the past three years.
He stood in the kitchen, meticulously packing a three-tiered lunchbox. He had spent hours learning how to perfectly balance the flavors, burning his fingers on the stove until he could replicate the exact traditional dishes Yoo Joonghyuk preferred.
Every morning, he left it by the door. Every evening, it returned to the kitchen counter, completely untouched, the contents cold and congealed.
Kim Dokja was an A-class guide, and Yoo Joonghyuk was an S-class esper. In their society, a matching rate of ninety-five percent was practically a government mandate for marriage. The center pushed for it. The laws recommended it.
Yoo Joonghyuk hated him for it.
Before the matching system bound them together, Yoo Joonghyuk had belonged to Lee Seolhwa. They were childhood sweethearts, both elite espers who understood the bloody battlefield of the gates. But as their powers grew, their compatibility plummeted, leaving them prone to violent mania without the proper guides. The center tore them apart, handing Joonghyuk to a quiet, unassuming guide who had loved him from the safe, distant shadows of high school.
To Joonghyuk, Dokja was nothing but a state-sanctioned parasite who had stolen his future.
The guiding they did was purely clinical, a transactional arrangement forced by necessity. When the standard hand-holding and skinship failed to anchor Joonghyuk’s erratic S-class energy, they resorted to deeper intimacy. It was never gentle. It was a desperate, suffocating effort to keep Joonghyuk from self-destructing, leaving Dokja with a bruised body and an even emptier chest.
It was during one of those cold, quiet nights that Dokja felt the shift in his own body.
An omega’s intuition was a fragile, terrifying thing. The test confirmed it weeks later. He was pregnant.
Dokja sat on the bathroom floor, pressing a trembling hand against his flat stomach, his eyes stinging. He couldn't tell Joonghyuk. If Joonghyuk found out that a child born of a forced match was growing inside him, he would demand an abortion. He would view it as the ultimate trap. Dokja couldn't let him kill the only piece of world that might actually belong to him.
So, he kept the secret locked tight behind his guiding walls, swallowing the morning sickness in the dead of night while Joonghyuk slept on the other side of the bed.
At the Esper Headquarters, the afternoon sun beat down on the training grounds.
Yoo Joonghyuk sat on a stone bench, his expression dark as he stared at the wrapped lunchbox beside him. He picked it up, his grip tightening around the fabric, intending to toss it directly into the industrial waste bin at the edge of the field.
"Hey, Joonghyuk-ah," Lee Hyunsung called out, wiping sweat from his brow as he walked over. He glanced down at the container. "Are you... are you going to throw that away again?"
Joonghyuk didn't look up. "It is useless to me."
"If you're just going to waste it, can I have it? It seems such a shame. Your wife puts so much effort into making these every single day."
Joonghyuk threw the lunchbox toward Hyunsung’s chest with an annoyed grunt.
Hyunsung caught it carefully, sitting down to unwrap the cloth. As he pulled off the lids, the rich aroma of braised beef and perfectly seasoned vegetables drifted into the sharp air. Hyunsung took a bite, his eyes widening in genuine appreciation. "Wow... this is incredible. It tastes like a home-cooked meal from a traditional restaurant. Joonghyuk, you’re really lucky."
A sudden, sharp irritation flared in Joonghyuk’s chest. He stared at Hyunsung chewing the food, a deep frown carving into his brow. He didn't know why he felt grumpy, but the sight of someone else enjoying the food meant for him left a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth.
He stood up abruptly, knocking the bench back, and walked away without a word.
He didn't care about Kim Dokja’s efforts. He didn't want to care.
Yet, a few hours later, while walking through the lower sectors of the center, Joonghyuk’s footsteps slowed near the civilian daycare facility. Through the reinforced glass window, a group of toddlers were playing with foam blocks.
A small girl, barely three years old, tripped over her own shoelaces and tumbled onto the colorful mat, fat tears welling in her eyes.
Without thinking, Joonghyuk stepped through the open door. His large, imposing shadow fell over the child, making the nearby teachers tense up. But Joonghyuk simply knelt on the floor, his massive, scarred hand reaching out to gently steady the girl by her shoulders.
He didn't speak, but his touch was surprisingly light, his dark eyes softening into something unrecognizable as he brushed a stray tear from her cheek. He waited until she stopped crying, her small fingers latching onto his thumb, before he stood up and quietly left.
He loved children. He had always wanted a family.
But from the window of a nearby terminal, Kim Dokja was walking back from a medical checkup, clutching a folder tightly against his ribs. He didn't see the tenderness in Joonghyuk’s eyes; he only saw his husband looking at a world he would never offer to a guide he despised. Dokja pulled his coat tighter around his small bump, stepping back into the shadows.
The shift happened on a Thursday afternoon.
Lee Seolhwa had reached out, asking Joonghyuk to meet her at a small café near the edge of the district. They sat by the glass window, the steam from their coffee mugs rising between them.
"I received an assignment from the international branch," Seolhwa said softly, offering a faint, nostalgic smile. "I’m going abroad, Joonghyuk. For work. I don't think I'll be coming back for a very long time."
Joonghyuk sat in silence, waiting for the familiar, agonizing ache of heartbreak to tear through his chest. He waited for the anger, the resentment toward the system that had separated them.
But nothing came.
As he looked at her face, he realized with a quiet shock that the grief was gone. He wasn't sad anymore. The bond they once shared had rusted into nothing but a distant memory.
Seolhwa laughed softly at something the barista said, and Joonghyuk’s lips twitched upward into a rare, barely visible smile of relief.
Outside, the sky had turned a bruising shade of purple. Kim Dokja was walking down the pavement, his boots clicking rhythmically against the stone. He stopped dead in his tracks.
Through the clear glass of the café, he saw them. He saw Yoo Joonghyuk looking at Lee Seolhwa with an expression he had never once received in three years of marriage. He saw the way the tension left Joonghyuk’s shoulders, the way they looked so utterly complete together.
A cold, suffocating weight dropped into Dokja's stomach. His heart felt as though it were being wrung out like a wet cloth.
He turned around and hurried home through the freezing streets, the small folder in his bag pressing hard against his side. Every step felt like a mile.
That night, for the first time in three years, the kitchen in the apartment remained dark.
When Joonghyuk returned late, the air was freezing. There was no smell of broth, no rice warming in the pot. Kim Dokja was already in bed, his back turned strictly toward the door, curled into a tight, defensive ball.
The following morning, there was no breakfast on the table. No three-tiered lunchbox sat by the entryway.
Joonghyuk stood in the quiet hallway, his boots polished, staring at the empty wooden table. A strange, uneasy prickle irritated his skin, but he brushed it off, his pride flaring. If Kim Dokja was finally throwing a tantrum, he wouldn't indulge it.
He left the apartment, slamming the door behind him.
Two weeks passed.
Two weeks of total silence. Kim Dokja did not cook, did not speak, and did not offer his hand for guiding. He existed in the apartment like a ghost, moving from the bed to the bathroom, his face turning more translucent by the day. Joonghyuk ignored him, throwing himself into back-to-back missions to burn off the restless energy building in his veins.
He didn't anticipate that the gate in Sector 4 would go entirely wrong.
The initial report detailed a standard Grade-A anomaly, something an S-class esper could easily clear alone. But as soon as Joonghyuk crossed the threshold, the sky inside the gate ruptured. A massive, ancient calamity boss emerged from the tear, its pressure crushing the local forces instantly.
Joonghyuk fought with everything he had, his black black dark energy tearing through the terrain, but the sheer output of his own power began to backfire. Without a guide to filter the polluted mana, his veins burned like liquid fire. His eyes turned blood-red, the early signs of a violent rampage manifesting as his energy began to self-destruct.
At the center, the alarms blared.
"Call his guide! Get Kim Dokja here right now or Yoo Joonghyuk will destroy the entire sector!"
When the transport vehicle arrived at the gate, Dokja practically fell out of the door. He looked frail, his coat swinging loose around his body, but his eyes were wide with a frantic, terrifying desperation.
He ran into the collapsing gate, the shockwaves of Joonghyuk's rampaging energy slicing through his clothes, cutting his skin.
"Yoo Joonghyuk!" Dokja screamed, his voice swallowed by the roaring wind.
Joonghyuk was completely blind with mania, swinging his black sword at everything, his own body tearing apart from the inside.
Dokja didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, throwing his arms around Joonghyuk’s neck, forcing his guiding channels completely open. He didn't just filter the energy; he dragged the violent, corrupted mana directly into his own body, taking the full force of the S-class backlash to spare Joonghyuk's core.
"Stop... please, stop..." Dokja sobbed, his nose bleeding, his vision blurring as the raw pressure crushed his internal organs.
A sudden, uncontrolled burst of kinetic force exploded from Joonghyuk’s form. The blast hit Dokja dead-on, throwing his light body high into the air like a broken doll.
He fell backward through the dust-choked air, crashing violently into the wreckage of a collapsed iron structure.
A jagged, rusted metal bar protruding from the concrete pierced straight through his left side.
A sickening, wet sound echoed in the quiet of the crater.
Dokja gasped, his fingers instantly clawing at the concrete, trying to pull himself away, but the metal was locked in his flesh. His hands flew down to his stomach, blood pooling rapidly under his coat, staining his fingers a bright, horrific crimson.
"No... no, no, no..." Dokja wept, his voice a frantic, broken whisper. He didn't care about the pain in his side. He didn't care about the dust. He stared at his bloody hands, his entire world collapsing. "My baby... please... I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm a bad mother... I didn't even let you breathe..."
A few feet away, the violent red faded from Joonghyuk’s eyes as the forced guiding took effect. His knees buckled, his sword clattering against the stones. As his consciousness began to slip away, his vision cleared for one final, agonizing second.
Through the smoke, he saw Kim Dokja impaled on the iron bar, covered in blood, weeping hysterically while clutching his stomach.
Joonghyuk’s heart stopped. He tried to reach out, a choked sound leaving his throat, before his world turned completely black and he fainted.
Two days later, Yoo Joonghyuk woke up.
The harsh white ceiling of the VIP medical wing blurred into focus. The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the room.
As he sat up, his body aching but completely clear of corruption, he noticed the room was crowded. Han Sooyoung stood by the window, her arms crossed, her face unusually pale. Lee Hyunsung was sitting in a chair, his head buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking silently. Shin Yoosung and Lee Gilyoung were huddled in the corner, their faces streaked with tears.
Joonghyuk’s throat felt like sandpaper. He cleared it, his eyes darting around the room, searching for the one person who always stood by the door.
"Where is he?" Joonghyuk demanded, his voice rough. "Where is Kim Dokja?"
The room fell into an unbearable, suffocating silence.
Han Sooyoung didn't look at him. She stared out the window, her jaw clenched so tightly her teeth clicked.
"Hyunsung," Joonghyuk growled, a sudden, cold dread gripping his lungs. "Where is my wife?"
Lee Hyunsung lifted his head, his eyes bloodshot and swollen. He looked at Joonghyuk with an expression of profound, unfixable grief.
"Joonghyuk-ah..." Hyunsung’s voice broke completely, a sob escaping him. "He's gone. The shockwave... the internal bleeding... they couldn't stop it."
Joonghyuk stared at him, his mind refusing to process the words. "What are you talking about? He’s an A-class guide. He just needed stabilization—"
"He was pregnant, Joonghyuk!" Han Sooyoung yelled suddenly, turning around, her eyes furious and wet with tears. "He was nearly three months pregnant! He didn't tell you because he was terrified you'd make him get rid of it! He took the entire S-class rampage to the chest to keep you from dying, and the impact... the metal bar..."
She choked on her own words, hiding her face in her hands.
"We're so sorry..." Hyunsung wept, bowing his head until it touched his knees. "We're so sorry we lost your family, Joonghyuk. The baby... they couldn't save either of them."
The heart monitor’s beeping turned into a frantic, chaotic rhythm.
Joonghyuk sat frozen, the world tilting violently beneath him. Pregnant. A child. The very thing he had secretly wanted, the family he had dreamed of, had been growing inside the man he treated like an enemy. And he had killed them. His own power, his own negligence, had torn them apart.
"No," Joonghyuk whispered, ripping the IV lines out of his arms, blood spurting onto the white sheets. "No, you're lying. He’s in the other ward. He's always there."
He swung his legs over the bed, his knees instantly giving out as he crashed heavily onto the floor. He didn't care. He crawled toward the door, his fingers digging into the linoleum, his breath coming in ragged, suffocating gasps. Tears he had never shed in his adult life finally burst through, hot and blinding, soaking his face.
"I have to go to him," Joonghyuk sobbed, his voice breaking into a pathetic, desperate wail as Hyunsung tried to hold him down. "Let me go! I have to go where he is! Dokja... Kim Dokja!"
The funeral hall at the edge of the center was completely empty, save for the heavy scent of white chrysanthemums.
Joonghyuk walked down the long, silent corridor, his steps heavy and dragging, still wearing his wrinkled, stained hospital trousers. The air felt exactly like the apartment had for the past two weeks—cold, hollow, and utterly devoid of life.
He pushed the heavy wooden doors open.
The room was silent. There were no guests, no laughter, no quiet whispers. Only a single, large wooden altar covered in white flowers.
In the center of the arrangement sat a framed photograph.
Kim Dokja looked out from the frame, wearing a soft, hesitant smile from his high school graduation day. As if he doesn't have other photos where he would look happy. His eyes were bright, filled with a fragile, lingering hope that had been slowly, systematically starved to death over three years of marriage.
Beside the frame lay a tiny, empty silver bracelet, meant for a newborn that would never see the light of day.
An old radio on the caretaker's desk down the hall hummed quietly, the faint, melancholic chords of an old song drifting through the empty hall, the lyrics cutting through the silence like a knife:
If you miss the train I'm on
You will know that I am gone
You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles
Joonghyuk fell to his knees before the altar, his forehead dropping against the cold stone floor. His large hands clutched at the scattered white petals, his chest heaving as he wept alone in the dark.
A hundred miles, a hundred miles
A hundred miles, a hundred miles
You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles
The lunchboxes would never be made. The kitchen would never be warm again. There was no shadow waiting for him anymore, no quiet presence to take for granted—just Yoo Joonghyuk, entirely alone in the wreckage of the world he had destroyed.
Lord, I'm one, Lord, I'm two
Lord, I'm three, Lord, I'm four
Lord, I'm five hundred miles away from home