TSBIRBV Ch 218

Chapter 218. Interlocking (1)

A strange ceiling.

Slowly opening his eyes, Yegyeol lay dazed for a moment before his senses snapped back.

He pushed himself up on the bed as if ready to bolt at once—only to freeze when he saw Haryang beside him.

His hands trembled.

At first awakening, nothing had come to mind, but the memories of what had just happened returned in fragments.

He had been ensnared in an array, trapped in the past. He had relived the moment of his parents’ death, and in the throes of his first frenzy, had rampaged without end.

Then he had clashed with his Senior Brother, who came to restrain him… and only through the guiding touch transmitted through their joined skin had he regained himself.

The instant he had opened his eyes and found Haryang soaked in blood, terror had seized him.

Guides were fragile—easily injured, easily killed. Most of their untimely deaths, it was said, came at the hands of Espers.

It was every Esper’s nightmare.

Looking down now at the man’s face still shrouded in shadow, Yegyeol recalled a memory from long ago. This time it was no illusion, no dream.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

Not long after the Esper Center had been established, they had reexamined every name on the high-risk Awakening list. This was in the wake of allegations that the powerful had been abducting young Espers to use as weapons.

The Center’s special task force, staffed entirely with Espers, had rescued Yegyeol from a hospital that was in truth a laboratory.

Once his mother learned the full story, she had embraced him, apologizing again and again, saying she was sorry, so sorry.

While he had been away “receiving treatment,” his family had been struggling to stay afloat, but the truth tore them apart once more.

His mother, unable even to meet his eyes, seemed on the brink of collapse; his father, comforting her, seemed scarcely steadier. Arguments were frequent, tears even more so.

Yegyeol began to change his face again and again.

If I’m a good son, maybe things will be better.

No… maybe if I cause a little trouble, it will create a bond.

I should be obedient… smile well. But don’t get too close; it frightens them.

How can I be loved?

Whether he was good, weak, bad, or strong, his parents always looked unhappy.

This face, that face—none of them fit.

One weekend morning, curled beneath the blankets with his eyes shut, letting stray thoughts drift, he noticed the house grow quiet after the sound of the front door closing.

His parents had begun going out often on weekends. He thought they might find even sharing a roof with him unsettling, so he often feigned sleep.

Rising for water, he stepped out of his room. As he drank, he noticed a car key tucked beneath a vehicle tax notice on the table.

“They forgot their keys.”

Clicking his tongue, Yegyeol shoved on his shoes and hurried to the elevator. It wasn’t hard to track where the car was parked; all he had to do was listen for their voices.

There.

He saw them. His mother, hand on the car door, paused and lifted her head, speaking with his father.

“…You know it doesn’t matter how many counselors we see.”

Counselor?

Hadn’t they said they were traveling?

Instinctively, Yegyeol ducked behind a black van parked nearby. With an Esper’s keen hearing, he could catch every word.

“I know it’s hard. Just try a little longer.”

“And what will that change? That I’ve driven our child into a corner out of unbearable guilt?”

“Darling.”

“I should never have given birth.”

His heart dropped. Yet he wasn’t truly surprised. Hadn’t he suspected she thought that way?

Still, his head rang, his ears buzzed.

“What are you saying?”

For the first time, his father’s voice was weary.

“I never wanted children. My brother was one.”

She murmured the words.

One?

Did that mean… his uncle, whom he had never met, had been an Esper?

“My parents were murdered. My brother killed himself.”

Leaning against the hood, she gave a brittle laugh.

They had said the trait wasn’t hereditary, yet she mumbled half-coherent words, twisting her face and whispering as though to herself:

“Do you understand what that means?”

She turned sharply and walked away.

Terrified of being discovered, Yegyeol crept back to the apartment.

The lock chimed as he slid the shoes back in place and tucked the key beneath the tax notice. Staggering to his room, he collapsed into bed.

Moments later, the door opened. His father’s voice, faintly coughing, came through. Yegyeol lay still, hidden under the blanket, his heart pounding.

He heard the man sigh as he searched for the keys.

He thought he would leave, but instead, a knock at the door.

“Still asleep? Mom and Dad are going to Sokcho.”

His father’s voice, strained yet forced bright, felt harder to hear than ever.

“For dinner… should we bring the fried chicken you like, and eat together?”

Yegyeol gave no reply. The door shut, and at once he sprang up, pacing his room like a madman.

I have to know what she meant.

The chance came quickly.

By luck, not long after its founding, the Center received the military’s Esper records. Attending by obligation, Yegyeol seized the opportunity and slipped into the basement archives.

The windowless room was stacked with boxes, coated in dust, with handprints upon the gray film.

Knowing the year of his mother’s family’s deaths, he narrowed the search easily. Anxiety pressed him to finish before another Esper arrived.

Rifling swiftly through, he spotted a photo half-exposed from a file within a box.

The face was strangely familiar.

He knew he had found it.

Almost entranced, he broke the lock, opening the lid like Pandora’s box. His heart pounded.

It was a record of an Esper. The deceased.

And among the family details was his mother’s name. Now he understood why the face looked familiar—if his mother were made male, she might look just like this.

Her younger brother had been one of the early Awakened. His grade had not been high enough to warrant a Guide. Lacking guidance, bound to state facilities, he had returned home only rarely.

And once, before his sister’s eyes, he had slaughtered his family. Only when it was nearly her turn did he regain sense enough to take his own life.

My parents were murdered. My brother killed himself.

So that was what she had meant.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

Yegyeol had never questioned the reason for her apologies. He had assumed it was for entrusting him to illicit researchers.

But now he understood. She had been apologizing for birthing a monster.

Hollow.

So long as he existed as himself, he could never be loved.

If only it had truly been Pandora’s box. Then at least some hope might have lain buried beneath it.

Even after learning the truth, Yegyeol did not change his careful façade.

He no longer knew what part of him was real. Like a peacock displaying its feathers, he continued to perform the role of a good son.

If he stopped, it would feel like surrender.

It was inertia. Even knowing it was like pouring water into a bottomless jar, the act itself comforted him.

How foolish.

At least they won’t abandon me.

Ironically, their guilt was his solace.

Though he gnawed away at what had once been a whole family, Yegyeol could not bring himself to step outside the frame.

He was a worse child than he appeared.

And he knew no relationships except those warped ones.

Faced with revealing his true self, he was paralyzed with fear.

Wherever he was now, it was not Cheonghyeongjeon. That much was certain—he had half-destroyed it; rebuilding would take great effort.

He turned to the man beside him.

Even after facing a berserk Esper, after personally subduing him, Haryang lay in unguarded slumber, breathing steadily. He could not believe the arrogance of the man’s declaration—that he had no reason to fear Yegyeol. Yet those words had eased his tension and drawn from him long, long weeping.

How long had he cried? Yegyeol reached out and brushed Haryang’s cheek.

Warm.

Without hesitation, he swung his leg across Haryang’s waist, straddling him, and bent slowly down.

Pressing his ear to his chest, he shut his eyes. Thump, thump—the steady heartbeat reached him. He had no need to press so close to hear it. Still, his hand slid down to Haryang’s wrist, clasping it, interlacing their fingers.

He lay that way for some time, eyes closed. The rise and fall of his chest was as steadying as a cradle’s sway.

He thought he could sleep like this.

But he had something to confirm.

He sat up, tugging at Haryang’s sash. Spreading the collar, he exposed bare skin. Yegyeol’s vision pierced the dark without need of adjustment.

From face to jaw, down the neck, the shoulders… the collarbones and chest beneath.

Nothing.

No scars, no burns.

The man lay utterly still, only the even rise of breath moving him. Yegyeol’s lips curved in the faintest smile.

He checked Haryang’s arm—no marks there either. Yet across his chest ran not relief, but unease.

He dreaded abandonment, had no wish to leave, yet still sought reasons Haryang might push him away. A futile endeavor.

Someday, if the truly irreparable occurred, would he remain even then? Yegyeol wanted proof of the man’s words—that he was no great monster.

Though he knew it was meaningless.

Even marriage vows could be broken; only death could bind. Until he lay in Haryang’s grave, he could never rest easy.

It was his nature, as unchangeable as fire’s heat or ice’s cold.

He doubted, feared being cast aside. He found no security in human ties. He never bared his heart, always covering it with a polished mask.

And most of all—he longed to be loved.

Tears threatened again, and he forced a smile instead.

The expression he had practiced a thousand times held even sorrow at bay. Was this not sincerity at last?

Self-justified, he let his gaze roam over the body beneath him.

Even in darkness, the man’s form exuded solidity, almost inhuman in its otherness.

Perhaps Yegyeol’s interpretation was skewed. He revered him deeply, yet longed to drag him down into the same mire. He wished to love him with unsullied devotion, yet wanted him to wallow in filth at his side.

So he must deceive. His affection was shallow, base.

But the feeling itself was no lie.

I cannot hide it forever.

Regret and yearning drew his hand, as gently as a branch, to press against Haryang’s lips. The even breath tickled his fingertips.

At some point, the man’s eyes opened, calm and steady. Meeting his gaze, Yegyeol showed no surprise. He had known that all his fidgeting must wake his Senior Brother.

“…I want you.”

The impudent disciple, straddling his master’s waist, spoke with fearless certainty. Yet there was no trace of lust upon Yegyeol’s face.

Haryang caught the hand brushing his lips and leaned his cheek against it. His lashes brushed Yegyeol’s skin, feather-light.

His earlobes were soft, his lashes gentle—Yegyeol loved these tender parts of him no one else knew.

“You want me?”

At the quiet question, Yegyeol nodded.

“If you had truly desired me, I would have accepted you at once. But this is not desire, is it?”

With languid eyes, the Senior Brother looked at the disciple upon him.

His clothes disheveled by Yegyeol’s hands, he looked the very image of debauchery.

“It is fear.”

Perhaps he was right. His trembling hands betrayed him; the force driving him might well be fear.

But there were things Haryang did not know.

Especially about Yegyeol.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Yegyeol smiled.

“If there is one truth unchanged since our past life, it is that I have always desired my Senior Brother.”