Hyeon-u's boots hit the floor with sharp, even thuds as he walked past the front hallway, not sparing a glance for anyone—not even his brother.
Behind him, Hyeon-ju leaned against the wall, arms folded loosely, watching him go.
"I swear, he gets moodier every day," came a softer voice beside him.
Ryo walked up quietly, slipping into Hyeon-ju's space the way he always did—unapologetically close, head tilting to rest against Hyeon-ju's shoulder. He was smaller, softer, the kind of warmth people leaned into.
Hyeon-ju didn't move, but he didn't push Ryo away either.
"Still can't get along with your brother, huh?" Ryo added, voice light but cautious.
Hyeon-ju scoffed. "He just likes to act like the world depends on him. Probably mad the air isn't bowing to him."
Ryo chuckled, wrapping his arms around Hyeon-ju's waist, letting his fingers curl into the hem of his shirt. "I think he just hates me."
"He hates everyone," Hyeon-ju muttered, though he didn't meet Ryo's eyes. His fingers tapped idly against his thigh.
But they both knew.
Hyeon-u didn't hate everyone. He just hated this—the closeness, the way Ryo clung, the way Hyeon-ju let him.
Because this wasn't what fate had planned.
Hyeon-ju knew. Even if no one said it out loud. Even if his memories after the accident were cloudy and fragmented, something deep down—instinctual and bone-deep—knew this wasn't it.
But he didn't care.
"I don't need some invisible string to tell me who I should love," he said suddenly, more to himself than to Ryo.
Ryo smiled faintly, pressing closer. "You already chose."
"Damn right I did," Hyeon-ju replied, tilting Ryo's face up to kiss him, slow and possessive, as if daring fate to interfere.
But when the kiss ended and Ryo looked up at him with soft, trusting eyes, Hyeon-ju still glanced toward the hallway where Hyeon-u had gone.
And even as Ryo's arms tightened around him again, something in Hyeon-ju's chest stayed distant, restless.
Because part of him knew the bond was still out there—waiting.
And it wasn't. Ryo
💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥
moonlight streamed through the tall windows of Yu Jun's private estate. The house was vast, almost too quiet, with only the occasional creak of old wood settling. But none of it offered him comfort.
He stood by the large glass door leading to the garden, arms crossed, jaw clenched.
Still haunted.
He hadn't said a word since they returned. Hyeon-u tried to speak to him on the drive back, but Yu Jun hadn't answered. Not because he didn't want to. Because he couldn't.
That boy—the boy from the elevator, the party, the scream—was imprinted in his mind like a curse.
Those eyes. That pain. The inexplicable pull.
Yu Jun pressed his forehead against the cool glass, fists tight at his sides.
His wolf stirred uneasily inside him, still growling. Still reaching.
That was his.
And now he couldn't even breathe right knowing someone had touched him
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
A group of five children laughed and chased one another through the edge of the woods. The sun was starting to dip, casting golden light across the dirt path. They were carefree—like children should be.
Two boys, both older, tried to show off by climbing trees. A small boy giggled as he watched them, clapping her hands.
Then came the snarl.
A sound so guttural it silenced the entire forest.
From the underbrush, three massive rogues emerged—coats matted, eyes wild, jaws parted in toothy grins that dripped with saliva.
The children froze.
Fear like ice spread across their young faces. One boy started to cry, another clutched his little brother's hand, whispering, "Don't move. Don't move."
The biggest rogue leapt without warning, targeting the tallest of the children, a boy with spiky black hair who shoved the others behind him.
But then—
A blur of motion.
The youngest boy in the group—barely ten—threw himself forward with a cry, arms wide to block the rogue.
A sickening crack.
Then—a scream.
The rogue's jaws clamped down on the boy's shoulder, blood gushing immediately. The scream that tore from his throat was animalistic and raw, echoing across the woods.
Hyeon-ju sat up in bed with a violent gasp.
Sweat drenched his shirt. His heart was pounding as if he had run for miles. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't blink.
That dream.
That boy.
That scream.
He could still feel the rogue's teeth tearing into his shoulder. His hand flew to the spot, gripping it tightly.
But when he staggered to the mirror, turning to look—
Nothing. No wound. No blood. No scar.
And yet it felt like he'd lived it.
Hyeon-ju stared at himself, confused and shaken.
"What the hell..." he whispered.
It wasn't the first time he had that dream. And each time, it became clearer. More visceral. Less dreamlike.
He could still remember the boy's face—young, brave, foolishly selfless. He could remember the scream, and the feeling of helplessness.
But he didn't understand why it haunted him. Or why his body remembered the pain even if his skin didn't.
His mind scrambled for answers—Ryo? No, Ryo had no scar. No injury.
Hyeon-u? Definitely not. He would've noticed.
Then who—?
Why did it feel like something important had been ripped away?
And why did it feel so familiar?
Hyeon-ju sat on the edge of his bed, hand still pressed to his shoulder. The memory of pain burned hotter than any wound.
But the fear in his chest wasn't for the dream.
It was the creeping feeling that the boy in it—was someone he should know.
Someone he may have already lost.
Or worse—
Someone fate wouldn't let him remember.
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