It had been more than four hours.
Gyu's chest rose and fell with each slow, steady breath. Sleep had claimed him completely now, draping a fragile calm across his face.
Kaven wondered if that calm existed only because of someone else's presence.
Garam's.
Garam sat close enough that his knee brushed the bedframe. His posture was rigid, as though any movement required permission he refused to give himself.
The exhaustion in his eyes was unmistakable—dark, heavy, lived-in—but his focus never wavered. Not once.
His gaze stayed locked on Gyu.
And it unsettled Kaven.
It didn't feel natural. Almost ghostly in the low light.
It wasn't protective in the obvious sense, nor openly tender, and certainly not detached. The longer Kaven watched, the more certain he became: no single word could contain it.
Care felt too thin.
Love felt wrong.
Then it twisted in his chest: Garam's gaze held longing—the kind reserved for someone already gone. The kind that waits.
People didn't look at the living like that.
In sleep, Gyu looked different—too soft, almost silver under the dim lamp. The fever had stripped away his usual sharpness, smoothing his features into something delicate. Lashes rested against skin too smooth. Lips parted faintly with each shallow breath. For a fleeting second Kaven almost laughed at himself—no wonder he'd once mistaken Gyu's gender. That face could fool anyone before they even realized it.
But Garam's stare shattered the thought.
"If staring could cure people," Kaven said mildly, "you'd be a miracle worker."
Garam didn't answer.
His eyes remained fixed, unblinking.
Kaven wanted to provoke him, to crack that stillness and make him spill whatever lay behind it.
"You always look at people like this," he asked, "or is this a special occasion?"
He hesitated yet asked.
"Are you two… related?"
Garam didn't answer immediately. His gaze only softened further, still pinned to Gyu.
"She's family," he said quietly. The word slipped out before he could catch it.
"She?" Kaven's brows lifted, curiosity sharpening.
"I'm talking about him," kaven corrected, voice flat.
The slip pulled him out of whatever trance he'd been in. He straightened abruptly, irritation flashing across his face. He stepped back from the bed as though the sight itself had crossed a line.
"Sentimental nonsense," he muttered.
Kaven raised a brow. "He didn't even move."
Garam didn't respond. He dragged a hand through his hair and turned away.
A phone buzzed on the far side of the room.
Kaven glanced at the screen. Mom.
Once.
Then again.
Garam didn't look at it.
Kaven picked it up before the vibration could stretch any longer. "Hello?"
"Garam," a woman's voice said immediately. "How's Gyu?"
Kaven paused, recognizing her.
"He's sleeping. Fever's come down a little."
A soft breath of relief came through the line. "Is Garam there?"
Kaven looked up. Garam stood at the door now, fingers curled around the handle.
"Yes," he answered slowly. "He is."
"Did Gyu have nightmares before?"
The question held Garam's steps.
"Why? Did he say something?" Hana's voice tightened with worry.
"He mentioned a room… and a smell."
"Oh… that." She paused for a long moment. "Kaven, it would be better if you don't ask him about it directly. He usually doesn't remember afterward, and it upsets him. I'll send you the names of the medicines—just give them if it happens again."
The call ended soon after, but the unease lingered.
Kaven turned back just as Garam pulled the door open.
"You're leaving already? He might need you."
"I don't like this," Garam said, not looking back.
"Like what?"
The door closed.
Silence returned, thick and heavy.
Kaven looked at Gyu again—still asleep, unaware, face untouched by the tension he seemed to summon without trying.
He exhaled.
"Brothers," he muttered under his breath.
The door opened again. Garam stepped back in, snatched his phone off the table, and left with a sharp thud that rattled the frame.
Outside in the hallway, his fingers moved quickly across the screen.
-Have you arrived?
-Not yet but who knows. I'll be back for my Gyu-ah soon.
A flicker of frustration crossed Garam's face
-Then make it quick
- I am. It's been more than two years since I last saw her. How is she? Still a crybaby, or rowdy like before?
-See for yourself.
-What a shitty answer. Still not willing to share, huh? Come on, Garam—we're not kids anymore.
"No. We're not." he muttered.
He pocketed the phone and walked away down the dim corridor.