TCBW C90

Chapter 90

“…Perhaps…”

Suhoe’s complexion turned pale as he cautiously gave voice to his suspicion about the space and the being that resided within it.

“Are you… a god?”

His voice trembled; the words carried both awe and unease.

“……”

No reply came. Only silence, stretching long enough to make the question feel small and absurd.

Then—without warning—laughter erupted from everywhere at once.

It rang through the air, loud enough to make his ears ache, echoing from no single direction.

And in that instant, Suhoe knew.

This place—this presence—was no ordinary one.

He hadn’t had many chances to face a god directly, and never before in a dream.

Yet somehow, in this strange, weightless realm, instinct told him exactly what kind of being he was standing before.

And that instinct—he realized—he owed to Unhyo.

‘You dreamed of a small child playing with a ball?’

‘Yes. A very young child playing all alone. But then a man comes and keeps taking the ball away.’

It was because, long ago, as a child, he had confessed to Unhyo about the strange dreams he had that he even understood what this could mean now.

He could still remember the expression Unhyo wore back then—so serious, so grave.

It was a look no one would expect from an adult listening to the ramblings of a five-year-old.

‘Young Master,’ Unhyo had said, gently taking his small hand, ‘has anyone else heard about these dreams?’

‘No… not yet.’

‘Not even Lady Gaegeum?’

‘No.’

‘That’s good. From now on, let’s keep it between us.’

‘Huh? Why?’

‘You may be an exorcist’s ward, but you won’t remain one forever. And these dreams you have—they’re… unusual. If Lady Gaegeum or any of the other servants were to find out…’

Unhyo had paused, hisi voice softening, then firmed with quiet conviction.

‘You might end up living as a servant here for the rest of your life.’

‘What’s wrong with that? I like it here.’

‘No, Young Master. That must not happen.’

Suhoe’s bright little eyes had dimmed at the firmness of his tone.

‘Then that time—before the new servant arrived—you predicted what she’d look like because of that dream too, didn’t you?’

He had nodded, proud and excited.

Unhyo had sighed deeply.

‘From now on, only tell me about those dreams. No one else, understand?’

‘But—’

‘Young Master, this is important. Truly. You weren’t meant to see or hear such things… but because you’ve lived so long on Mount Unbang, your dreams are beginning to open.’

‘My dreams… are opening?’

‘Yes. Dreams are another kind of space. When a heart is sincere—when something must be conveyed—certain people can cross between worlds through dreams. For example, taemong—those prophetic dreams of birth—are just that. The unborn crossing time and space to reveal themselves to their parents or guardians.’

At the time, he hadn’t fully understood.

He’d only vaguely wondered if his wish—to be with the servants he loved—had somehow granted him this strange ability.

But Unhyo had always feared for him.

He never wanted the child he cherished like a younger brother to be trapped by both the burden of his lineage and the curse of his gift.

‘The dreams you see every night… they might be someone’s memories. You said the clothes, the scenery, all looked ancient—that’s why. And the ones you have only occasionally—those are premonitions. The future, perhaps yours or someone else’s.’

He had even explained to him in detail.

‘Then how can I tell if it’s a dream like the taemong ones, where someone crosses over?’

‘You’ll feel it,’ Unhyo had answered. ‘Such dreams are rare. Only the purest souls can cross that threshold. Usually, they’re children yet unborn… or gods.’

Gods.

The memory of that sacred word struck him now with the weight of realization.

It fit.

A tremor of reverence and fear ran through him.

Facing the unseen expanse, Suhoe whispered into the dark:

“Then… which god are you?”

“……”

“Who are you—to summon me to a place like this?”

The laughter stilled.

For a long moment, there was only silence. Then, a voice—low and resonant—rolled through the darkness.

“You have guessed my nature. A reward, then, is in order.”

It was a voice that no human throat could have formed—majestic, echoing as though a hundred voices spoke in perfect unison, from every direction at once.

But it wasn’t the same voice that had told him to hide the child.

Suhoe lifted his head.

“Ah… I would like to ask the one who spoke before. Why did they say such a thing?”

He ignored the mention of a “reward.” His thoughts were consumed by the words about the child.

But the god gave no reply.

Instead, from somewhere before him came a soft whuff—and something fell from the air.

Suhoe’s instincts moved before thought. He caught it in his arms.

When he looked down at what he was holding, he froze.

“Why—why are you here?”

“…Hey.”

A searing white light spilled down from above.

“…Wake up.”

The familiar voice pulled him out of the blinding haze.

“Hh—!”

Suhoe gasped, drenched in cold sweat. The light vanished abruptly, and he realized he was awake—back in the real world.

Dowoon was in front of him, calling his name.

But Suhoe’s arms were wrapped tightly around himself—as though he were still cradling someone.

No, not “as though.”

He had been holding someone, hadn’t he?

“Wh… what…”

The sensation lingered—warmth, weight, the trace of something that had been real only moments ago.

“Snap out of it,” Dowoon said sharply.

It was strange. After someone—or something—had fallen into his arms, his memory blurred completely.

Only the swell of emotion remained, heavy and raw in his chest.

“Dowoon.”

“…Something’s wrong here,” Dowoon muttered, scanning the room. “Even now, I can feel it.”

“Dowoon.”

The ache in Suhoe’s throat rose, pressing against his heart, burning behind his eyes—a wild, aching longing that made it hard to breathe.

“I need to tell you something,” he said suddenly.

“…….”

“Right now.”

“Calm down first.”

Dowoon gripped his shoulders, trying to steady him, letting a faint trace of pheromones leak into the air to soothe him.

“I—I like you.”

The words dropped between them like a spark.

Dowoon froze.

He forgot everything—the strange disturbance, the dream, the questions he’d meant to ask.

Suhoe was looking straight at him, trembling, flushed, but utterly unflinching. His eyes shone with a clarity that left no room for doubt.

Dowoon swore under his breath. Then, as though unable to stop himself, he reached out, cupping Suhoe’s pale cheek with one large hand.

He kissed him—quick, restrained, almost hesitant, like a man afraid the moment might shatter.

But he didn’t stop at one.

He pressed his lips to Suhoe’s again, and again, slow and deliberate, each touch breathing life into the next.

His gaze never left Suhoe’s, as if engraving his reflection there.

“…I have a lot to say, but first—this isn’t a dream.”

“I know.”

“If it’s because of some dream you had—if you’re confusing me with someone else—”

“No. It’s not like that.”

The words he wanted to say—If I don’t tell you now, I never will—caught in his throat.

So instead, Suhoe simply reached for him.

As though reuniting with someone he’d lost long ago, he buried himself in Dowoon’s arms, whispering his name between breathless kisses.

“Dowoon. Dowoon.”

Dowoon held him close, his breath rough against Suhoe’s hair.

“…Forget what you said earlier,” he murmured, voice low. “We’re not just sleeping tonight.”

Suhoe didn’t answer. He only kissed him deeper.

And Dowoon—giving in entirely—lifted him, laying him gently onto the bed.

Neither could tell who moved first. The world seemed to dissolve, leaving only warmth, breath, and the sound of hearts unraveling.

The doubts, the fears, the weight of deception—all faded into silence.

For that one night, nothing else mattered.

The smell of cooked food drifted through the air, stirring Suhoe from sleep.

He blinked, shifting slightly—only to feel a heavy arm locked around his waist and the solid heat of a body pressed against his back.

He froze. Then, slowly, he turned his head.

Dowoon lay beside him, fast asleep.

The sharpness that usually guarded his face was gone. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing steady.

It was a rare, tranquil sight—so peaceful that Suhoe almost feared to move, lest he break it.