Chapter 91
Haru knew it was different.
He didn't need a script or a director's cue to tell him that the air between them had fundamentally shifted.The realization didn't come with a flash of light or a sudden epiphany; it seeped into him like ink into water, coloring every thought and every breath he took. He felt it in the way the cabin pressure seemed to mirror the heavy fullness in his chest. He felt it in the lingering heat on his skin that the airplane's air conditioning couldn't quite cool. Most of all, he felt it in the shift of their movements and the way their kisses had slowed down, becoming less about discovery and more about a desperate, silent communication.
He knew.
And the knowledge left him stranded between joy and a hollow, aching sadness.
Beside him, Raiven was asleep. He looked like the image of modern celebrity armor: an eye mask shielding him from the cabin lights and noise-canceling headphones blocking out the steady hum of the jet engines. His breathing was even, his chest rising and falling in a peaceful cadence that Haru envied. To look at him was to see perfection, but to Haru, he was simply the man who had held him while he crumbled.
Haru let out a long, slow sigh, leaning his head back against the plush leather headrest.
He had liked it. No, he corrected himself, he had needed it. Making love to Raiven had been an act of survival. It was slow, passionate, and so intimate that Haru felt he had melted into the very fabric of the bedsheets. Every touch had been a paradox gentle yet demanding, restrained yet completely unrestrained. It was the kind of intimacy that stripped away the mask of "Haru" and left only the raw, exposed soul of Sunghoon underneath.
It was a level of vulnerability Sunghoon had never allowed himself in his first life, and it was a level of vulnerability Haru wasn't sure he was equipped to handle in this one.
He glanced at the screen in front of him. He had put on a movie, some high-budget thriller, hoping the fast-paced plot would drown out the cacophony of his own thoughts. He failed miserably. The images flickered by, meaningless and hollow compared to the internal war he was waging.
In his heart, he had already accepted the truth: his feelings for Raiven had gone beyond mere attraction. He was daring to enter the "love zone," a territory that felt like a minefield. His head, however, was a fortress of caution. He wanted so much to just drown in the feeling; he was his boyfriend, after all. They were in a relationship, and love was supposed to be the natural progression. It should have been mutual. It should have been easy.
But the logical side of his brain, the part of him that still remembered the cold sting of death and the disorientation of waking up in 2025, kept whispering warnings about the future.
If he accepted these feelings completely, he would be tied to this life in a way that made the prospect of leaving it unbearable. He was already tied to Raiven, but acknowledging it out loud felt like sealing a deal with fate.
He couldn't stop thinking about the "what ifs." What if he disappeared one morning?What if the universe decided his time in this body was up? He hadn't told Raiven who he truly was. Raiven didn't rush him, and Haru was taking it slow, but the silence felt like a lie that grew heavier every day.
He was scared that one day he wouldn't be there, and he would have given Raiven the hope of a future that Haru couldn't guarantee. Then there was the ghost of the original Haru. What if the original Haru wakes up one day?The thought of the original Haru brought a wave of complicated guilt. Sunghoon couldn't ask him to continue a relationship with a man he didn't know, much less love especially when the original Haru clearly had his own history, his own unspoken connection with Min-hyuk.
Haru hadn't thought of Min-hyuk in weeks, but the memory of dropping the man off, drunk and pleading for the "real" Haru, still stung.
Sunghoon believed that everyone deserved to be loved, including the boy whose body he was inhabiting. But by falling for Raiven, he was colonizing a life that might not be his to keep. He wondered if he had made a mistake back on New Year's Eve. He should have ripped the band-aid off then, established distance, and protected them both. But he had been weak. He had allowed himself to be seen, and every moment since had felt like a beautiful, fragile dream he didn't want to wake up from.
Not that he regretted it.
Talking to him made Haru happy, but there was always a shadow looming over them, the thought of Yeon-woo, the mystery of his own death, and the sheer impossibility of his current existence.
Is fate so cruel? he wondered. To give me this life, this man, only to take it away?
A gentle squeeze on his hand snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. He blinked, turning to find that Raiven had pushed up his sleep mask. Raiven was looking at him with a questioning, slightly worried expression. Haru hadn't even realized he had been staring out the window with a frown.
"Are you okay?" Raiven asked, his voice husky from sleep.
Ever since they had shared that deep intimacy in Hong Kong, Raiven had been checking up on him constantly despite his own exhaustion. He did it subtly, thinking Haru hadn't noticed the way his eyes lingered or the way he reached out just to touch Haru's arm, but Sunghoon noticed everything. He understood why; he had broken down in front of Raiven, sobbing like a child. Raiven was bound to be concerned.
It was a level of care that Sunghoon wasn't used to—he was used to being the one people leaned on, not the one who needed holding.
"Yeah... I was just thinking about a script," Haru lied, forcing a reassuring smile. He hoped the dim cabin light would hide the lingering sadness in his eyes. He didn't want Raiven to pry; he wasn't ready to explain that he was grieving for a future they might not have.
Raiven studied him for a long moment, his sharp eyes searching Haru's face. Finally, he nodded, choosing to take Haru at his word for now for the sake of his comfort.
"We'll arrive in a short time," Raiven said, biting his lower lip slightly. He looked a bit nervous, his eyes filled with a hopeful glint. "Do you want to go to my apartment?"
Haru didn't even have to think about it. He nodded. Raiven's face broke into a genuine, beautiful smile that made Haru's heart do a painful somersault. If they hadn't been in a public cabin, Haru knew Raiven would have kissed him. Instead, Raiven just gave his hand another firm, lingering squeeze.
The landing at Incheon was smooth, but the atmosphere changed the moment the doors opened. Raiven was traveling with Manager Li. The rest of the staff, including Manager Kim, had already departed Hong Kong on earlier flights to handle the post-tour logistics, so it was just the three of them.
They moved through the airport with a practiced efficiency, checking out their luggage. It wasn't much—Raiven had a suitcase and a sling bag, while Haru had bought an extra suitcase specifically for the presents he'd picked up in Hong Kong.
They exited the baggage claim area, a small, inconspicuous group. Manager Li, her hair in a messy bun and dressed in casual sweats, walked a few paces ahead, scouting the path. Raiven, hidden under a bucket hat and a black mask, pushed Haru's suitcase. Haru followed closely, his hoodie pulled up, trying to blend into the background. They had chosen a late flight specifically to avoid the paparazzi and the swarms of fans that usually greeted idols.
But they had underestimated the dedication of the fans and the leaks within the industry.
The moment they stepped through the last inner exit, the world exploded into white light.
Flash.
Click-click-click.
The strobe effect of dozens of professional cameras hit them at a superhuman rate blinding them. The peaceful, quiet bubble they had lived in for the last few days popped violently. The clicking of shutters sounded like a hail of gunfire against the sudden, deafening screams of the crowd.
Raiven's instincts kicked in instantly. He stepped in front of Haru, using his broader frame to shield him from the lenses. They hadn't anticipated this.
"Stay close," Raiven hissed through his mask.
Haru pulled his hoodie lower, ducking his head. The disorientation was immediate. The screams of fans calling Raiven's name- and a few voices curiously shouting, "Who is that?" - rent the air. The fans were pushing against each other, a literal tide of bodies surging toward them.
The crowd was a living, breathing animal. Manager Li tried to push them back, her voice raised as she instructed people to be orderly and not make a scene, but her words were swallowed by the cacophony.
Raiven reached back and grabbed Haru's hand, pulling it behind him. He held on tight, forming a human chain to make sure Haru wasn't swept away. The commotion grew rampant. Fans were shoving, paparazzi were tripping over their own feet to get a better angle, and the airport security was struggling to maintain a line. The air was filled with the smell of perfume, sweat, and the sharp, scent of electronic equipment.
Then, the nightmare happened.
In the middle of the crush, a group of fans surged forward from the side. The force was enough to knock Manager Li off balance and send a ripple through the crowd. Raiven's hand slipped. For one terrifying second, the connection was severed.
"Haru!" Raiven whispered, turning back, but Haru was already being swayed into the swarm of people.
Haru tried to stay upright, but the floor was slick, and someone's leg caught his heel. He lost his footing. He went down hard, the cold tiles of the airport floor meeting his knees and palms. Before he could even register the shock, a pair of heavy boots, belonging to a fan rushing forward, came down directly on his outstretched arm.
A sickening crunch - or perhaps it was just the sound of his own joints protesting - echoed in his ears.
Haru grit his teeth, a sharp, white-hot flash of agony shooting from his wrist up to his shoulder. He grunted in pain, curling his arm against his chest as the crowd continued to surge around him, oblivious to the man on the ground.
"Haru!" Raiven's voice was different now. It wasn't the voice of an idol. It was a roar of pure, unadulterated fury.