‘Babe, if you’re too awful to me, I’ll slap you.’
What a ridiculous thing to say.
Through the first memory loss — heartbreaking and frightening.
Through the second — anxious and full of grief.
Through the third — infuriating and miserable.
Through the fourth — absurd and almost darkly funny.
Dojun had never once raised a hand against Hanul.
They had traded blows before they started dating — but even so, could he really lift a hand against someone he loved?
‘You know. Taking a few hits won’t kill me. Who knows? Maybe I’ll fall for you all over again, knowing you’re the first person to ever hit me.’
Hanul had a way of going completely off the rails in the strangest directions — so that actually might have happened.
But even if you said you were fine with it, the moment things went that far, this relationship would no longer be love.
If I still can’t bring myself to leave you after that, it wouldn’t be love keeping me here — it would be guilt.
‘Hmm, I misspoke. Just give me a deep kiss instead. That would be a much bigger shock than being hit.’
Saying things he didn’t mean so easily.
After causing all that chaos beforehand.
Even so, it’s still the same person. I don’t understand why he gets jealous over something like that.
Understanding Hanul’s thinking had always required tremendous effort.
Even with that effort, there were plenty of things that simply made no sense by any normal standard.
But even so — because he loved him.
Even without his memories, the very qualities Dojun had fallen in love with kept slipping through, as if to prove he was still the same person — and because of that, Dojun couldn’t let go of his hand.
More than anything else…
Even if you pretended to be fine, this hurt you too. You suffered too.
The pupils that dilated with shock the moment your memory returned.
‘What have I done…’
‘Dojun — that’s not right, is it?’
Eyes that couldn’t even blink, staring blankly at him — and then the tears that fell from them.
‘Should I let you go? Do you want to leave?’
‘No. I can’t go.’
‘Don’t go.’
A hand that couldn’t bring itself to touch him, trembling violently, even as his mouth was trying to hold him in place.
‘Don’t throw me away.’
‘I know I’m being selfish… but I don’t want you to.’
Emptying yourself every single day from the self-loathing and revulsion — yet still forcing a smile in front of me.
‘I think I’ve gotten a little sluggish, so I’ve been managing my weight.’
‘I’m fine. Really.’
‘Don’t you think a delicate beauty has its charms?’
In the early hours of the morning — the hand that tenderly stroked my hair as I slept, and a voice that rang clearly even through a hazy mind.
‘Why do you worry about me? I’m getting exactly what I deserve.’
‘It’s probably nothing compared to the hurt you received — but this is punishment I have to bear.’
‘Even so, you’re too kind, so you’ll keep worrying about me anyway.’
‘I’ll get through this. I can get through it.’
‘I love you.’
It was something Dojun had never seen again after the first time — but he knew.
Hanul only kept it hidden so he wouldn’t become another burden to him. But whenever his memory returned, Hanul was always afraid. Always suffering.
In the past, even knowing that, Dojun hadn’t had the strength to hold Hanul through it.
But now was different.
Coming face to face with Seon Hanul in the grip of his aftereffect again made it clear.
He had recovered enough now to look directly at Hanul’s pain without flinching.
Which meant he had to pull Hanul out of the pit he was digging himself into alone.
But that was only possible once Hanul’s memory came back — so for now, the immediate priority was handling Seon Hanul, who had lost his memory for the fifth time.
If this Hanul could be kept from causing trouble, then the Hanul who got his memory back would suffer a little less too.
Fully awake now, Dojun stared up at the white ceiling and yawned.
“Slept well.”
He had been genuinely exhausted — so the moment he got home, he’d showered and fallen asleep. It also seemed better to give Hanul time to look around the place rather than explain everything himself.
For exactly these situations, they had separate rooms — so his sleep hadn’t been disturbed.
Dojun lay there blinking slowly and tuned his ears toward the sounds outside.
Seon Hanul definitely didn’t sleep properly.
With Dojun out of the way, he had probably gone around examining the apartment, going through his own belongings, and scouring the internet trying to catch up on the time he couldn’t remember.
With a personality like that, at least he’s diligent.
He hated falling behind anyone.
Dojun got out of bed, finished getting ready in the ensuite bathroom, and came out to the living room.
Hanul was in the kitchen, brewing coffee, and looked up with a bright expression.
“Good morning.”
Dojun walked over to the kitchen and checked Hanul’s face.
“Did you actually sleep?”
“Of course.”
His eyes were clear and his color was good — but since he was the type who barely showed it even after going a day or two without sleep, that answer couldn’t simply be taken at face value.
It doesn’t matter much. I’m not taking him to Dungeons for a while anyway.
Unless it was a special circumstance like a Dungeon break, there was no immediate need for Hanul to enter a Dungeon.
Dojun swallowed the lecture he’d been about to give, and Hanul smiled brightly and asked a question.
“Was it me who decorated the apartment?”
“Mostly. I have no talent for that sort of thing.”
They’d figured that out while choosing a place to live together and looking up interior styles they each liked — Dojun simply had no sense for it.
Fortunately, Hanul had very clear tastes, so decorating this apartment had been almost entirely his doing.
But even in a place this sleek — something you’d expect to see in a magazine — there were imperfections.
Dojun looked at Hanul, who was gazing down at the two mugs sitting side by side, and explained.
“The ones that don’t meet your standards are the ones I picked.”
Hanul identified Dojun’s chosen mug without a moment’s hesitation.
He said he liked it — but clearly it wasn’t really his taste.
Hanul poured the coffee and held out a mug. But Dojun reached for the other one instead.
“So that one’s yours.”
Hanul, unflustered, switched hands and offered it again.
But the brief glance that landed on the cup and then darted away said everything.
Distrust.
“It was you who insisted that since we live together, we each have to pick things out for the other.”
Even knowing Dojun had no talent for this kind of thing, Hanul had stubbornly pushed for them to choose each other’s cups.
Which meant the burden of using a mug he didn’t like was entirely Hanul’s own doing.
Dojun’s position was that as long as something served its function, it didn’t matter what it was — he had said there was no need for any of this. And yet, every time Hanul coordinated a matched pair, he always made sure to incorporate Dojun’s taste.
The occasional out-of-place items scattered through an otherwise well-coordinated apartment were the result of exactly that.
I’m not sure whether that’s always been who he is, or whether it became a habit after the Dungeon aftereffect.
Before he could arrive at an answer, Hanul pointed toward the largest bedroom.
“Was that the room we shared?”
“That’s right.”
“Would I get angry if I used it?”
Did the comment about you getting jealous if I touched you bother him?
His mouth was smiling, but the edge of his tone was quieter than usual.
“The stage for anger has passed. It would end at just turning the bedroom upside down.”
Meaning, if he wanted to use that room, he was welcome to it.
The furniture and things in there got rearranged often enough anyway for a change of atmosphere, so it wasn’t a big deal — Dojun was looking toward the bedroom when a warm weight touched the back of his hand.
He’d noticed the hand coming and didn’t startle. He looked at Hanul.
“You’re not pulling away?”
It wasn’t until Dojun confirmed the corners of Hanul’s mouth curling upward that he understood what Hanul was doing.
In other words — Hanul had been irritated by what Dojun said yesterday, and annoyed that things weren’t going the way he wanted, so he had reached out and taken Dojun’s hand first, as if to say: if it’s true that you get jealous of me, then go ahead and suffer for it later.
Why would someone with germophobia do something that even distressed themselves, just to get back at someone else?
What a consistently rotten person.
It was so absurd a laugh slipped out of him.
“Whether I pull away or not, the result is the same.”
His grudges ran filthy long and his memory was sharp — once Hanul got through an aftereffect, he always found some way to express whatever hurt he’d felt.
“It just comes down to whether you hate younger-me or like younger-me.”
Don’t get too close, but don’t be too distant either — meeting every one of those demands one by one was simply not realistic.
So Dojun had let Hanul choose the lesser of two evils, and the conclusion was that going forward, he would avoid physical contact with memory-less Hanul as much as possible.
This time it wasn’t me who started it, so he’ll understand.
He knew better than anyone how exhausting his own personality was.
Dojun gave a small shrug and smoothly withdrew his hand, sliding the sanitizing wipe that had been nearby across to Hanul.
“Today’s a Dungeon clear day for me — what do you want to do?”
In the past, whenever something like this happened, he would have tried desperately to stay by Hanul’s side. But now Dojun maintained his routine as much as possible.
A Dungeon wasn’t going to be considerate of their circumstances or wait for them — and he didn’t want the Dungeon aftereffect to ruin their lives any more than it already had.
Hanul, who had been staring blankly at the hand that had touched Dojun, lifted his head with a soft smile.
“I was thinking of going about my usual schedule.”
His schedule for today was attending the guild’s regular report.
“Hanyeong will be there with you, so that should be fine.”
Dojun pulled up Hanul’s calendar on his phone and checked it over once more.
The moment the aftereffect was confirmed, all unnecessary external commitments had been cancelled — so there was nothing pressing for Hanul to worry about right now.
He needs time to adjust to the present.
For the Hanul of right now, Hanyeong would be easier to be around than Dojun.
Whether twenty-one or twenty-five, a younger brother didn’t change.
Dojun sent Hanyeong a message letting him know Hanul would be attending the regular report.
He would have already received word that his older brother had lost his memory — and he was just as accustomed to situations like this as anyone — so this single message would be enough for him to prepare the rest on his own.
Hanul, who had been looking down at Dojun’s phone screen alongside him, asked.
“Are you close with Hanyeong?”
“We’re in the same guild. He’s also your brother.”
In one way or another, it was only natural for people who all had to manage Hanul to grow close.
Exercising his social skills, Dojun left that last part unsaid — and when he handed over his phone telling Hanul to look through it if he wanted, Hanul didn’t decline, and scrolled through the recent messages.
“Hanyeong is coming up from Busan, so just wait in the representative’s office.”
“Alright.”
Dojun glanced at Hanul’s left hand, tucked into his trouser pocket — different from his right, which was holding the phone.
Whether it was the fact that Dojun seemed to know him so well that was bothering him, Hanul hadn’t even touched the sanitizing wipe he’d been handed.
The only one suffering for it was himself.
But instead of offering it a second time, Dojun drank his coffee at his own leisure.
It wasn’t as if his hand was going to rot from not wiping it. And originally, Hanul used to hold Dojun’s hand like it was his own.
He’s not a child. If he really can’t stand it, he’ll go running to the bathroom.
