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It’s that dream again. That pension…
Minhyuk’s sleeping brow furrowed painfully.
The memory of his younger self, unsure of what to do alone after being told by his mother to go out and play, tore at his heart.
He hated it.
He absolutely loathed it.
Yet, like fate, he was always drawn back to that day.
Knowing his mother was inside the room, turning her back on the world, made this recurring nightmare even more unbearable.
“Big brother. Want to play together?”
Yes. Because of me, you ended up walking in too.
Even after more than 20 years, I’m still so sorry and grateful.
If this child hadn’t hugged me to shield me from that horrific sight, I might have lived an even more painful life than I do now.
“Did I say this before?”
Minhyuk’s question caused the child, who had been chasing fireflies, to pause and blink their large eyes curiously.
“What are you talking about?”
“Thank you.”
The child tilted their head exaggeratedly, their big, adorable eyes glistening.
“But I just met you today, big brother. What’s there to thank me for?”
“There’s something. But wait—I don’t even know your name. What is it?”
“My mom said not to tell my name to strangers.”
“It’s okay to play with strangers, though?”
“Yeah.”
The child, with their hair tied into two pigtails, giggled as if realizing how contradictory their words sounded.
Their toothless smile was so cute. Even though he dreamed this scene endlessly, it always made him smile along.
Alright. Let’s play. You’re the only one who comforts me in this nightmare.
Without a word, the two children started running, eventually drenched in sweat as they played.
Trapped in this story he couldn’t escape, he accepted his fate like a script he had no choice but to follow.
Today, I wanted to hug you. But will I end up doing nothing yet again, frozen as you embrace me?
Inevitably, carried by the unstoppable flow of time, the two children returned to the pension.
The child holding a basket of apples said, “Mom told me to bring these to the biggest room,” but froze upon entering, pulling Minhyuk into a tight hug with incredible strength.
Bright red apples rolled across the floor.
“Big brother, don’t look. It’s better not to see strange things. My mom said so. I’ll call her. Wait here. No, let’s leave together. Let’s go call 119. Hurry!”
The regret of not being able to hug the child, the guilt of failing to protect his mother’s pain—it all tormented him.
Tears streamed down Minhyuk’s frozen face, soaking the faded shirt of the girl hugging him tightly.
________________________________________
“Director Min…?”
The way the child called him felt strange.
You don’t even know who I am—why are you calling me Director Min?
Caught between the boundary of dream and reality, Minhyuk’s brow twitched violently.
“Are you alright…?”
Why the sudden formal speech?
Unlike the usual version of the child in his dreams, when the figure began to fade away, his expression contorted in anguish.
Don’t go. Stay just a little longer…
Reaching out to grab the child, his body wouldn’t budge, as if paralyzed by sleep paralysis.
Please…
Finally managing to move with great effort, his hand grabbed Joo-eun’s wrist and pulled her close.
“Ah…!”
Joo-eun collapsed into his arms, her nose brushing faintly against his sharp jawline.
Minhyuk stared up at her, his gaze intense, causing her lips to tremble slightly.
“I’m sorry. It seemed like you were having a nightmare…”
She looked so much like that child.
Was this fate? A reminder not to forget…
His eyes darkened as he gazed at her.
“A nightmare.”
“…What?”
“It wasn’t one.”
Startled by his unexpected response, Joo-eun laughed awkwardly.
“Oh, I see. I guess I overstepped. I’ll leave then…”
“Song Joo-eun.”
He tightened his grip on her arm as she tried to rise.
Frozen, Joo-eun couldn’t muster the strength to pull away or create distance, caught in an awkward limbo.
His usually smooth lips, now slightly dry and cracked, parted slowly.
“Thank you. For waking me.”
Though he insisted it wasn’t a nightmare, it was clear he had suffered. He had sweated profusely, as if crushed by sleep paralysis.
But the gratitude he felt for the child who had hugged him in his dreams made him reluctant to label it a nightmare.
His eyes brimmed with unspoken words, emotions too intense for Joo-eun to bear meeting his gaze directly.
“It was nothing. You were sweating so much, I couldn’t just leave. About this position… if anyone saw us like this, they’d misunderstand…”
“If misunderstanding us would make you happy, does that mean I’m the immature one?”
“Didn’t you promise yesterday to show restraint?”
Her firm response made Minhyuk chuckle softly as he released her and stood up alongside her.
“Hah… I meant to take a short nap, but I ended up dreaming too.”
“You were sweating a lot.”
Still, he claimed it wasn’t a nightmare. She found it strange but couldn’t bring herself to ask, instead staring at him silently.
“Hmm.”
He tugged forcefully at his loosened tie, as if this were routine.
“If you open the cabinet, there should be a spare shirt. Could you get it for me?”
“Ah, sure.”
Joo-eun quickly went to the cabinet and retrieved a shirt hanging on a hanger.
Thinking she could simply hand it over and leave, she turned around—only to be greeted by the sight of his chiseled muscles.
“Here… Oh my goodness!”
She covered her face with the white shirt, shocked. Her tightly clenched hands crumpled the fabric.
“You’ve seen worse, yet you’re still surprised?”
Minhyuk chuckled softly as he took the shirt from her trembling hands.
“I clearly told you I don’t have good eyesight. Don’t push me like this.”
I used to have 2.0 vision, but now it’s dropped to 1.5 recently—how frustrating is that?!
“I remember seeing pretty well up close last night. Did you still have trouble seeing then?”
“Wh-what are you bringing that up for now… Goodness…”
Assuming he’d already finished dressing, she turned to scold him, only to find him pulling up his pants and tucking in his shirt.
Joo-eun spun around, flustered.
The sound of his low chuckle irritated her to no end, but she couldn’t bring herself to argue.
“Are you done dressing?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. You can touch me to check.”
“Why would I touch you all of a sudden?!”
“Then turn around. Let me see your face.”
After staring at him for so long, why did she need to see more…
Reluctantly turning her flushed face toward him, she caught sight of him watching her intently.
Startled, she instinctively shrunk her shoulders. Minhyuk extended his tie toward her.
“Tie this for me. I don’t have the strength.”
“Where do you plan to use those bulky muscles if you claim to be weak?”
“You noticed them in detail.”
“I barely saw anything through my blurry vision!”
She snapped back, visibly flustered.
“You’re refusing to help me tie it?”
“Yes.”
“How cold-hearted.”
“I don’t… know how.”
She wanted to help him change his sweat-soaked clothes, but she genuinely didn’t know how to tie a tie.
“Watch carefully. Learn so you can do it next time.”
He raised his shirt collar and began demonstrating with a navy-blue tie.
“Lift it up, twist it inward, then pull it through this loop.”
His hands drew her attention more than his explanation—his long, elegant fingers.
The ceaseless movement of bones and muscles across his knuckles felt oddly alluring.
Maybe it was his scent stimulating her, so close and intoxicating.
“Like this.”
“Ah, yes. Like that.”
She nodded firmly, determined to try next time.
“You can’t use what you learned from me on someone else.”
As if that needed to be said.
She wanted to retort but noticed the tie was slightly crooked.
“The tie’s a bit off. You should check a mirror.”
“Help me fix it.”
Deliberately tilting the tie further, he leaned his neck toward her.
Barely restraining herself from reaching out, Joo-eun replied sternly.
“I respectfully decline. Please review the documents.”
With a slight bow, she turned and left the office without hesitation.
Minhyuk watched her go, his sharp gaze lingering on her retreating figure.
How proud she was.
It felt like she was the one impenetrable, not him.
Though he glared at her retreating form, he couldn’t help but smile after a few seconds.
The image of her startled, wide-eyed expression as he pulled her in suddenly came to mind.
She looked so much like the child from his dream—he had woken up just as surprised as she was.
“How strange,” he murmured softly, heading toward his desk.
But as he walked, his expression hardened bit by bit.
Stopping in his tracks, he turned to stare at the door once more.
________________________________________
________________________________________
Minhyuk’s eyes bore a striking resemblance to another pair.
Jinsuk’s hollow gaze, fixed on the window, overflowed with despair.
She wanted to live a better life, but her body kept failing her—was it the medication? All she could do was sigh.
Where had everything gone wrong? She wanted to re-button her life, to start over.
But her resentful eyes couldn’t see where to begin.
Jinsuk swirled the wineglass in her hand.
She had drunk so much that dark stains of wine layered her lips.
Knock knock.
The door opened, and a gray-haired secretary entered cautiously, bowing deeply.
“Here’s the profile of Song Joo-eun you requested.”
“Tell me verbally. I’m not in the state to read right now.”
Jinsuk commanded coldly without sparing him a glance. Used to this, the man began speaking.
“She entered Daehan University’s economics department as the second-highest scorer and graduated as a four-year scholarship recipient—a true prodigy.”
“What about her family?”
“Her father ran a pension business, but it failed. He passed away from acute liver cancer when she was in high school. She currently lives with her mother, paying off debts.”
“What a depressing life, similar to mine. I can already guess the rest. That’s enough.”
Just as she gestured for him to leave, the secretary added, “There’s something unusual we discovered. I thought it best to report it directly.”
Jinsuk, who had been staring out the window, slowly turned her head.
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