Jaegyeom and Yoon Taehee held each other as though they would not allow even the slightest space between them, as though they were the only two people left in the world.
At some point, dawn had begun to break beyond the window.
Pale morning light slowly spread across the world outside. As the darkness receded, the bluish predawn sky gradually faded. There was no way to tell how much time had passed. Sniffling quietly, Jaegyeom rubbed his cheek against Yoon Taehee’s shoulder while clinging to him. In response, the arms wrapped around his back tightened further.
It felt as though time itself had stopped.
After the violent storm of emotion, only silence remained.
Still holding each other, Yoon Taehee and Jaegyeom sat face to face without speaking. Neither of them spoke first. Everything was quiet except for the sound of their breathing.
After confessing everything, Jaegyeom’s mind had gone completely blank.
His tears had stopped, but the aftermath of crying lingered, making him sniffle every few breaths. He felt drained, as though he had poured every last ounce of strength out of himself. It was almost like all the moisture inside his body had been wrung dry.
Suddenly, Jaegyeom wished this moment could become the end of his life.
He felt that it would be all right if everything ended here.
If morning came like this, perhaps everything that had happened until now would dissolve like a mirage. He wished tomorrow would never arrive. He wanted this moment to remain frozen forever. If possible, he wanted to preserve it exactly as it was.
And because of that, Jaegyeom became unbearably afraid of the future.
Extremes inevitably circle back to each other. Sometimes people wish for death because they want to throw everything away. Sometimes they wish for death because they want to hold onto everything.
As time passed, an indescribable desperation slowly swallowed Jaegyeom whole.
He kept sinking deeper into gloom.
This was the first time in his life he had ever held someone for so long. Standing atop a fragile tightrope, he nevertheless felt a strange sense of stability and peace. He could feel Yoon Taehee breathing against him with vivid clarity. The broad shoulders beneath his cheek, the powerful arms wrapped around his back, the scorching warmth of another living person—all of it pressed unmistakably against his skin.
It was a sense of fullness he had never experienced before.
But time continued to pass.
And as always, morning arrived.
Confessing everything to Yoon Taehee had become a major turning point for Jaegyeom. Yet if he looked at reality itself, almost nothing had changed. The fact that Yoon Taehee’s ten-year plan had collapsed because of him remained the same. Everything was still exactly where it had been.
Still, there was one thing that had become certain.
Jaegyeom had completely thrown away any possibility of accepting Suhyang’s proposal.
He had crushed up the option of taking Suhyang’s hand and discarded it himself.
Yoon Taehee’s revenge had fallen apart, and nothing had truly changed, but at the very least, Jaegyeom no longer wanted to beg Suhyang for death.
Of course, he still had no idea how they were supposed to overcome the situation they were now facing. But for the first time since reuniting with Suhyang, he finally understood which direction he needed to walk toward.
He had to move in the exact opposite direction from Suhyang.
Following the hand she extended toward him would only repeat the mistakes of the past.
Now that things had reached this point, Jaegyeom had no intention of letting events unfold according to Suhyang’s wishes.
At last, slowly, Jaegyeom steadied his breathing.
He had calmed down considerably.
He thought they needed to discuss what they would do from now on. But before that, there was something he wanted to say first.
He had confessed all the truths he had hidden away, but out of everything he had said, the only thing Yoon Taehee had truly focused on was his confession that he liked him.
And before the day fully broke, there was something Jaegyeom desperately wanted Yoon Taehee to understand.
“Taehee.”
Still holding tightly around Yoon Taehee’s neck, Jaegyeom placed one hand against the back of his head.
“It’s not your fault.”
His other arm remained firmly looped around Yoon Taehee’s shoulders.
“Things only went wrong because you met me.”
At those words, Yoon Taehee—who had not moved at all until then—slowly raised his head.
Releasing one arm from around Jaegyeom’s back, he looked up at him with reddened eyes.
“Nothing’s gone wrong yet.”
“I’m talking about the future.”
“I don’t care.”
The plan Yoon Taehee had devoted ten years of his life to had collapsed spectacularly.
And yet, strangely enough, he remained calm.
For someone as meticulous as Yoon Taehee, it was almost unnaturally optimistic. Jaegyeom wondered if he was only pretending this way in order to reassure him.
“Even if things do go wrong, I won’t be ruined.”
Yoon Taehee spoke in a low voice.
“Because I have you.”
Jaegyeom fell silent as he looked at him.
Even if, by some impossible chance, everything goes wrong, you won’t be ruined.
Why do you think that?
Because you have you.
Yoon Taehee repeated back the exact same words Jaegyeom had once said to him.
“Jaegyeom.”
Their noses brushed together as Yoon Taehee spoke.
“You’re the King.”
The moment the King is lost, the game is over.
The thing Yoon Taehee feared most was losing Jaegyeom.
Certainly, the Director of the Office of Narye uncovering the rebellion had been an °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° unforeseen disaster. In that sense, perhaps the plan had already failed.
But Yoon Taehee had no intention of retreating now.
Even if he lost everything else, as long as Jaegyeom remained beside him, he could accept whatever terrible ending awaited him.
“You’re all I need.”
Jaegyeom had said he ruined his ten years.
But Yoon Taehee truly was all right.
Because the very first person to realize those ten years had collapsed was Yoon Taehee himself.
“......”
Jaegyeom could not answer.
No—he simply couldn’t.
He felt as though he might start crying again.
He had believed he ruined everything. Yet Yoon Taehee neither blamed him nor resented him.
“Then...”
Cupping Yoon Taehee’s face in both hands, Jaegyeom spoke softly.
“If things really do go wrong someday... then let’s run away.”
He had believed he could simply throw away his weakness.
But Jaegyeom could not throw away his weakness.
And he could not throw away the music box Yoon Taehee had given him either.
It was ridiculous. The idea that he could abandon Yoon Taehee when he could not even abandon a single music box.
When Jaegyeom opened his eyes again, he woke from deep sleep.
For the first time in a very long while, he had slept without nightmares.
Still wrapped tightly in the blanket like a cocoon, he blinked groggily several times before reality slowly returned to him.
Turning his head slightly, he saw Yoon Taehee asleep behind him, holding him in his arms.
He had no idea what time it was.
He couldn’t even remember when he had fallen asleep.
At some point, while clinging to Yoon Taehee together on the sofa, he must have drifted off without realizing it. By the time he woke up, they had somehow moved to the bed.
The curtains were drawn shut, leaving the room dim.
Since they had only fallen asleep after dawn, it was probably already midday.
Still curled beneath the blanket, Jaegyeom tilted his head back and stared blankly at Yoon Taehee’s sleeping face.
Then he slowly wriggled one hand free from the blanket.
Without thinking, he placed a finger beneath Yoon Taehee’s nose.
Warm breath brushed faintly against his skin.
Using his index finger, Jaegyeom carefully brushed aside the strands of hair that had fallen across Yoon Taehee’s forehead.
At the touch, Yoon Taehee’s eyes slowly fluttered open.
Their gazes met in the dim room.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then, still half-asleep, Yoon Taehee quietly murmured,
“Hello.”
After greeting him in a voice barely louder than a whisper, Yoon Taehee suddenly let out a soft laugh.
“What are you laughing at?”
Because Jaegyeom had cried so violently the night before, his eyelids were swollen.
Yoon Taehee merely smiled silently at the sight for a moment before leaning down to press his lips against Jaegyeom’s forehead.
“You can sleep more.”
“I’m thirsty. I can’t sleep.”
“Thirsty?”
“Yeah.”
The moment Jaegyeom answered, Yoon Taehee immediately sat up.
He disappeared out of the bedroom and quickly returned carrying a glass of water.
As Yoon Taehee handed him the cup, Jaegyeom pushed himself upright, his hair sticking out wildly in every direction.
While Jaegyeom drank the water, Yoon Taehee turned on the phone that had died earlier.
The instant it powered on, missed calls and unread messages flooded the screen.
