* * *
“What did you do?”
“I’m a saint.”
“…Are you supposed to be telling me that?”
“Didn’t you say last time that you wouldn’t go around blabbing about me? Are you planning to tell someone now?”
“Of course not! I told you before—I never lie to you. No matter what I say, I’ll keep my word. That includes not lying, and…” Hesia hesitated for a second before finishing, “…liking you.”
“I get it. I get it, so stop talking and just lie down.”
Ian’s tone was soft, like an adult telling a bedtime story to a fussy child.
It was strangely soothing yet oddly weightless.
He claimed to be a saint, but could his abilities include hypnosis?
Hesia barely had time to ponder the thought before drowsiness started creeping in.
Noticing it immediately, Ian silently placed a hand over Hesia’s eyelids.
The cool, smooth palm brushed against his skin, making his eyelashes quiver slightly.
“It’s just my hand. No need to be tense, young master.”
“I’m not tense. I was just surprised for a second. Your hand is so cold… Are you okay? You’re not sick, are you?” Hesia mumbled.
Then, almost as an afterthought, “Are you going to leave if I fall asleep? You said you’d take me somewhere else next time. You can’t leave.”
“For someone who insists he’s not a kid, you sure talk a lot—just like a newborn kitten.”
“I’m not a kid. And don’t compare me to a cat. I told you, I’m an adult now.” Hesia paused, then asked hesitantly, “So… you won’t leave, right? You’re not going to abandon me?”
The question didn’t fit someone who claimed to be grown.
It was blatantly childish.
But instead of pointing it out, Ian simply gave him the answer he wanted.
“I’ll stay. Now sleep.”
“Are you calling a doctor?”
“Yes.”
“…I don’t like doctors.”
“You don’t want to take medicine?”
“I’m not a kid. I take medicine just fine. I just don’t like doctors. Doctors are… I just don’t like them.”
“You’re afraid of needles?”
“Of course not! I just—whatever, it doesn’t matter.”
Even as he grumbled sleepily, Hesia couldn’t stop himself from smiling.
Ian, meanwhile, could feel a ticklish sensation where Hesia’s lashes brushed against his palm.
He resisted the urge to pull away, knowing that the moment he did, Hesia would wake up.
Fortunately, it wasn’t long before Hesia finally drifted into a deep sleep.
Ian carefully started to pull his hand away—but somehow, Hesia seemed to notice.
His eyelids fluttered, like he was on the verge of waking.
Ian let out a quiet sigh, amused at how he had suddenly found himself playing the role of a caretaker.
He placed his hand back over Hesia’s eyes, and just like that, the younger man let out a soft breath and snuggled deeper into sleep.
It happened several more times throughout the night.
Eventually, Ian had no choice but to stay by his side until he was sure Hesia was in a deep enough slumber.
“You really are a handful, young master.”
Despite his words, his hand remained in place.
Occasionally, his other hand reached out to gently brush through Hesia’s pale pink hair.
Finally, after a long while, Ian carefully withdrew his hand.
This time, Hesia didn’t stir.
“…You’re so peaceful when you sleep.”
Ian chuckled to himself, sweeping away the strands of hair that had fallen over Hesia’s face.
It was almost unbelievable that this was the same person who spent every waking moment picking fights, arguing over the smallest things, and throwing punches before thinking.
Maybe that was why it never got boring having him around.
After all, the desert was full of bad people.
No matter where you went, there was always someone awful lurking around.
Ian still remembered the way Hesia would subtly curl his fingers into a fist whenever they came across someone shady in the desert.
“Relax your hand, young master. You can’t just go around punching people. It’s fine when it’s a slave trader, but you can’t hit regular people.”
“But they were the ones who picked a fight first. Wouldn’t just one punch be fine? I’ll handle the cleanup. Just bury them here. There are so many bodies no one will even know who’s who. Judging by the way they act, they probably lived like this all the time. I doubt anyone would come looking for them even if they died.”
“…You’re unbelievable. Seriously.”
A personality so rough that it didn’t suit such an angelic face.
He looked like he had been raised preciously, so it made Ian wonder how he ended up with that kind of temperament.
Ian’s expression was gentle as he watched the sudden variable that had dropped into his otherwise dull life.
He called it a variable, but it wasn’t meant in a negative sense.
In fact, Ian cherished his variable quite a bit.
It was only natural.
In a life devoid of any enjoyment, this person had suddenly appeared—messily trampling over everything with dirt-covered feet.
And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to hate it.
A presence both harmless and harmful.
A singularity in the monotonous wheel of his life.
“I like him.”
A man so recklessly fearless that it was terrifying.
“What does he even see in me?”
Ian wanted to ask, but he never managed to say it out loud in front of the person in question.
Instead, he simply smiled as he looked down at Hesia, wondering if feelings for someone were supposed to be this light.
Someone who reminded him of that slave boy he had exchanged words with once, long ago—back when he lived as the criminal Vivisian.
✽ ✽ ✽
The initial plan was simple: take him to a doctor, wait until he got better, and then go their separate ways.
Vivisian did like Hesia, but that didn’t mean he wanted to stay with him forever.
But somehow, things had spiraled beyond his control.
Of course, they did.
Hesia, who was supposed to recover and leave, wasn’t getting any better.
“…Ha.”
It was the kind of situation that reminded him of the saying, ‘Everyone has a plan until it all falls apart.’
Vivisian looked at Hesia, who showed no signs of regaining consciousness, with a serious expression.
“This isn’t something a doctor can fix. It seems like manifestation fever.”
“Manifestation fever…”
Muttering under his breath, Vivisian cast a sunken gaze at the man groaning in bed.
He would either become an Apostle or a Guide.
Most people who inherited such abilities were born with them, which was why even the doctor hadn’t considered it.
The voice of the god who had once granted him the name Dolor suddenly echoed in his mind, making Vivisian press his lips together tightly.
Was Hesia hearing the divine voice too?
Would he also be told, ‘Blessed are those who mourn, so mourn until the very end’?
He had no one to answer such questions.
Instead, Vivisian lifted the hand he had let hang idly at his side and placed it against Hesia’s burning cheek.
His own body ran cool, but Hesia’s fever was so high that his skin tingled from the heat.
“…Don’t be in pain.”
He whispered softly, pressing his hands against Hesia’s forehead and cheeks.
The fever seemed to subside slightly, only to surge back up again.
It was a miracle he was even alive with such a raging fever.
After inhaling deeply, Vivisian exhaled and rose from his seat to close the window he had left slightly open for ventilation.
Somehow, even in his fevered sleep, Hesia noticed.
His voice, thick with drowsiness and heat, let out a desperate murmur.
“Don’t go…”
For days, every time Vivisian even slightly moved away, Hesia would plead like that.
A subconscious, half-conscious whisper.
It was easy to dismiss as meaningless delirium, yet Vivisian never ignored his words.
After closing the window, he immediately turned back and walked to the bed.
“Young Master, I’m not going anywhere. I promised I’d stay by your side.”
He hadn’t expected to stay this long, but a promise was a promise.
Though, even if he hadn’t made one, Vivisian doubted he would have left if Hesia had asked him to stay.
Deciding not to dwell on that, he gently wiped away the tears pooling in Hesia’s eyes.
He had grown as accustomed to Hesia calling for him as he had to the quiet way he cried.
At first, he had been taken aback, but now he handled it naturally.
Settling on the edge of the bed, Vivisian placed his palm over Hesia’s tear-streaked face and began to hum a lullaby.
A song passed down from lips to lips, from love to love, praying for a beloved one’s peaceful slumber.
A song that filled the room, replacing the sounds of suffering.
The one who had been silently despairing, as if he had nowhere to go, finally found peace.
Listening to the sound of Hesia’s breath slowly evening out, Vivisian continued to hum.
The moonlight streaming through the window traced a long line down the pale nape of Vivisian’s neck, making the scar there glow faintly under its cold blue light.
Whether he was aware of how precisely that light cut across his throat or not, Vivisian sang with an expression that betrayed nothing.
And perhaps his efforts had reached him.
A few hours later, in the early morning, Hesia opened his eyes.
Seeing Vivisian still at his bedside, Hesia’s face filled with surprise.
Vivisian, who had been wiping away the cold sweat beading on his forehead, met his gaze and let out a small, amused laugh at that dazed expression.
“Did you have a good dream?”
A single loose braid hung down, its end tickling Hesia’s cheek.
His eyelids twitched involuntarily, and for a moment, he wondered if everything he was seeing was just another fevered illusion.
* * *
