Chapter 75: The Distance Between Us

After a few more light drinks, Sung Ji-woo got drunk in the most ordinary way possible. He looked pleasantly cheerful and spoke just the right amount of nonsense. Taking advantage of the moment, Yoo Hui-ro casually brought something up.

“Hyung… about the guild.”

The very thing that had driven Sung Ji-woo to flee all the way out here—the guild. The moment those words left his mouth, Ji-woo snapped his head up. His eyes sharpened into a fierce triangle as he glared at Hui-ro.

“Ah, right. That problem’s still hanging over us….”

Rummaging around, Ji-woo thrust his phone forward. On the screen was his message history with Gam Joo-an.

“Look at this.”

Staring at the saved contact name—Knocker Guild, Gam Joo-an—Hui-ro slowly scrolled through the conversation.

There was nothing particularly upsetting. Most of it was Ji-woo asking about the general store, with Gam Joo-an diligently replying. Aside from that, there were mentions of the Dohwari Gate incident and the Knocker guild master, Park Soo-jin.

What caught his attention last was a photo Gam Joo-an had sent. The message Ji-woo had sent just before it read:

“Are guilds still coming by the shop?”

Instead of replying in words, Gam Joo-an had sent a photo. It showed the view outside the general store’s window.

Hui-ro’s expression twisted sharply as he zoomed in. Outside, the roadside was packed with people. It was obvious—they were guilds trying to recruit Sung Ji-woo.

“So where am I even supposed to go now….”

Only then did Hui-ro understand why Ji-woo had been hesitating to return to Seoul.

“Do you want me to clear them all out?”

Hui-ro said it lightly, as if talking about picking up trash off the street. Ji-woo let out a disbelieving laugh.

“I’ll give you this—your bravado’s impressive. There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for a while.”

“……”

“The world isn’t that easy.”

“……I know. That’s why you just need to stay by my side, hyung.”

“Me…?”

If I stay by your side, that solves everything? Ji-woo stared at Hui-ro in silence.

Those eyes were filled with nothing but him. And his face was full of certainty—like as long as Ji-woo was there, everything really would be fine.

“Yeah. That’s exactly the problem.”

“…What is?”

“Well… that.”

“You keep saying ‘that’ while waving your hand right in front of my face. Especially my face.”

As Hui-ro said, Ji-woo was waving his hand right in front of his face. When Hui-ro smiled slightly, Ji-woo’s frown only deepened.

With a long sigh, Ji-woo exhaled heavily. Hui-ro tilted his head, wearing an innocent, genuinely confused expression.

“What’s the problem?”

“…My face?”

“No. What are you talking about? I’m the problem. Me. What exactly is the problem with me….”

Why couldn’t he push him away? In past relationships, Ji-woo had cut people off cleanly, without leaving even a shred of attachment. And he’d never regretted it.

Don’t be betrayed. Don’t be disappointed. Don’t get hurt.
Those were the self-defense principles Ji-woo had built for himself.

Even after ruthlessly cutting off the seeds of misfortune to avoid future trouble, people kept gathering around him. And at the very center of it all was Yoo Hui-ro.

Was it because he was the only one younger than him? No—calling it that didn’t quite explain it….

“He doesn’t even feel like a kid anymore.”

Hui-ro had grown far bigger than him, and the boyishness was almost entirely gone. The pretty air still lingered, but that handsome face was unmistakably that of a grown man.

“But he doesn’t feel like an adult either….”

Was it because Hui-ro was stuck in that in-between stage? No. If that were the case, Ji-woo would’ve felt the same way about others his age. Shin Yoon-jae, for instance.

“Do you want me to act more like an adult?”

Hui-ro’s question snapped Ji-woo out of his tangled thoughts. Ji-woo blinked slowly. His breath smelled of alcohol—the drinks he’d had were finally kicking in.

“Hm… no. That’s not it either.”

Hui-ro gently took Ji-woo’s hand, which was still hovering in front of his face. No wonder he looked flushed—his palm was warm. When Hui-ro’s cool hand touched him, Ji-woo flinched.

“Then let’s do it this way. I listen to you, hyung. So tell me—what should I do?”

“Nothing. Just… don’t do anything.”

As he said that, Ji-woo glanced sideways at Hui-ro’s face.

“No—actually. Try looking a little less good.”

“…What?”

“Look less good.”

“…I can tell you really like my face, hyung. You usually hide it better.”

Ji-woo poured water—not alcohol—into his cup. It seemed he was thinking of wrapping up the drinking. Just as he was about to drink, he glanced at Hui-ro and spoke.

“I feel like I’d be more at ease just keeping you right by my side….”

Whenever Hui-ro wasn’t with him, something went wrong. The stunt he’d pulled at the return ceremony. This guild declaration. Every single incident had happened when Ji-woo wasn’t there.

“Even Sunrye only chews toilet paper sometimes.”

Compared to Hui-ro, Sunrye—the family dog—was practically well-behaved.

Ji-woo had no idea that he was the only one who thought about Hui-ro this way.

“Okay. I’ll stay with you. I’ll do what you tell me to do, and I won’t do what you tell me not to.”

The problem was that Ji-woo would have to teach him, one by one, what those things were.

Common sense dictated that ignoring reporters at a return ceremony to suddenly propose, or declaring you’d join someone’s guild without even consulting them, were things you shouldn’t do—even without being told.

Ji-woo looked utterly dumbfounded. Hui-ro drooped his shoulders and glanced up at him, curling in as small as he could. Not that it made much difference.

“…There was no one to teach me before.”

Right. Ji-woo already knew Hui-ro listened well. Back in high school, he’d been a model student who did exactly what Ji-woo told him to do. He’d even gone and cleared an X-Gate just because Ji-woo told him to think about peace.

“…Then why did you do that back then?”

Suddenly, Ji-woo wondered why the Hui-ro of his previous life had blown up X-Gate. Normally, he would’ve consciously avoided the topic—but with alcohol in his system, he was crossing lines he’d set for himself.

And questions about Hui-ro kept surfacing.

“What do you mean?”

“I was just wondering what happened to you.”

“You happened, hyung.”

“That doesn’t count. Before that… or was it after?”

The timeline tangled in his head. When Ji-woo trailed off, lost in thought, Hui-ro spoke calmly.

“You think too much sometimes.”

“So you don’t like it? Then leave.”

Ji-woo snapped back irritably, not even sure what he was saying. Hui-ro immediately shook his head.

“No. I like it. Because I figure… among all those thoughts, there’s probably at least one about me.”

Ji-woo looked shocked. His hazy mind snapped into sharp focus.

“…Sometimes you really don’t think before you speak.”

Hui-ro smiled shyly.

“Yeah. Because I only think about you.”

Ji-woo pressed a hand to his forehead and let out a deep sigh.

“Hui-ro, I do care about you as a younger brother, but… you’re talking nonsense right now. Are you drunk?”

“If I said I was, would you believe me?”

“No.”

How could he believe that after a single sip? Hui-ro shrugged regretfully.

“Figures.”

If Ji-woo had believed him, he could’ve pretended it was the alcohol and tried a few things.

“For someone who thinks too much, I—someone who doesn’t think at all—have a suggestion.”

Ji-woo lifted his head.

“I’ll cancel the proposal I made with the wish.”

“……”

“And I’ll use it again—to make a guild. Ours.”

“Our… guild?”

“Yes. A guild with you and me. That fixes everything, doesn’t it? The area in front of your shop gets cleared, no one comes bothering you anymore. And I get to be bound to you, just like I want.”

The rest of his words didn’t really register—and that was probably for the best. Ji-woo mulled over the sweetly whispered proposal.

But his dulled mind couldn’t process it properly. All it absorbed was that the shop would be peaceful, and no one would come looking for him anymore.

“Okay.”

Ji-woo nodded, making an error-filled judgment that it wouldn’t be bad for him.

“I knew you’d accept if I did this.”

Too bad—we’ll save the proposal for next time.

Hui-ro’s quiet murmur never reached Ji-woo.

Complaining that it was hot, Ji-woo fanned himself and lay down on the wooden platform. The stars that had risen at some point scattered dizzyingly before his eyes. He’d thought skies like this no longer existed on Earth….

Leaving Seoul, where he’d lived his whole life, revealed scenery like this. Thinking back on his harsh past life left him feeling strangely hollow.

“When did you start hating the world?”

Ji-woo murmured, like talking in his sleep. Hui-ro quietly lay down beside him and looked down at his face.

“…It’s not that I hated the world. The world hated me.”

Ji-woo laughed weakly.

“You’re right. That’s the answer.”

“But hyung.”

“Hm?”

“How did you know I hated the world?”

Ji-woo turned his head lazily and looked at Hui-ro with unfocused eyes. Maybe it was because Hui-ro stood against the moonlight, but somehow, he didn’t look like the Hui-ro Ji-woo knew anymore.