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A lump formed in Jae-woo's throat, and he closed his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by the raw truth in Minhoo's words. It was a kind of honesty he wasn't used to—no sugarcoating, no false hope. Everyone else told him time would heal, that he should move on and forget. But here was Minhoo, laying it all out: the pain wouldn't fade, and he might never truly heal.

It was a brutal truth, but deep down, Jae-woo knew Minhoo was right.

"You don't hold back, yeah?" Jae-woo finally said, his voice rough from the weight of his emotions. He opened his eyes, meeting Minhoo's gaze. "Everyone else tries to comfort me with lies about how things will get better. But you... you're the first one who's actually telling me the truth."

He leaned into Minhoo's touch, the simple gesture offering a small comfort he hadn't had in a long time.

"The more comfort you get, the more it hurts when it's gone," Minhoo said quietly, his voice steady as ever. He continued to gently brush away Jae-woo's tears with his thumb.

It was the kind of brutal honesty Jae-woo had come to expect from Minhoo over the past six months. Sometimes, harsh truths were better than soothing lies.

Jae-woo leaned further into Minhoo's touch, his eyes closing as he took in the rare moment of comfort. The stark honesty of Minhoo's words was like a cold splash of reality, making him take a shaky breath.

"You're always brutally honest, huh?"

He reached up, placing his hand over Minhoo's on his face. Despite everything, there was an odd comfort in that cold honesty.

"I'd rather give you a short pain than a long, lingering one," Minhoo said softly, pulling Jae-woo closer to his chest. He knelt while Jae-woo remained sitting against the wall.

Jae-woo allowed himself to be pulled in, pressing against Minhoo's chest. He resisted briefly, his usual stubbornness still at play, but eventually, he gave in. In this private moment, away from prying eyes, he let his guard down.

"Your brand of comfort is a bit... unconventional," he mumbled, wrapping his arms around Minhoo's waist.

"You should have known that by now," Minhoo said with his calm, almost amused tone as he leaned down to kiss the top of Jae-woo's head. His fingers gently threaded through Jae-woo's red ponytail, which he had styled that morning before they entered The Banshee.

Jae-woo closed his eyes at the soothing feeling of Minhoo's fingers in his hair. Normally, he'd find having his hair fussed with annoying, but the simple comfort of the gesture outweighed that irritation. This quiet, tender moment was a rare escape from the relentless stress of their situation.

"And here I thought I was the one with the psychic ability," he teased, his grip around Minhoo's waist tightening a bit.

"Maybe your brain's too small to use them properly," Minhoo said bluntly, still holding Jae-woo close.

Jae-woo huffed, a mix of indignation and reluctant amusement in his voice. "Oh, of course, my brain is so tiny. I forget, all your genius ideas are always flawless, and you never make a mistake—"

He cut himself off, realizing how petulant he sounded.

Minhoo shook his head slightly and glanced at his watch. "Ready to get back?" he asked, his tone calm and steady.

While Jae-woo had been grappling with his panic attack, Minhoo had already taken care of things. He'd directed the rest of the raid to find a safe spot and set up camp.

Jae-woo's shoulders drooped a bit as he sighed. They couldn't linger in this corner forever, and he knew it.

"Yeah... yeah, let's head back."

He pushed himself up from the floor, feeling a bit steadier but still worn out from the panic attack. As he brushed off his clothes, he glanced at Minhoo.

"The others haven't had any problems, right?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. The thought of leaving this place, with its mind games, was more than a little unsettling.

Minhoo responded with his usual calm. "No, they're fine." He looked at Jae-woo, then at the Feast outside, his mind clearly racing.

Without missing a beat, Minhoo took off his jacket and draped it over Jae-woo's head. It was a simple gesture but effective—blocking out the disturbing sight of the festival.

"Let's go," he said casually, taking Jae-woo's hand.

Jae-woo's eyes widened slightly as the jacket covered his head, blocking his view of the Fest. At first, he was surprised by the gesture, but then he felt a wave of relief and gratitude.

"Thanks," he murmured.

The touch of Minhoo's hand sent a shiver down Jae-woo's spine. The sensation was both familiar and oddly comforting. He gripped Minhoo's hand tightly.

"Lead the way," he said, his voice betraying his vulnerability.

The raid continued, and the next few days were tough for Jae-woo. The psychic nature of the Banshee, combined with his fragile mental state, meant he was often on the brink of another panic attack.

Some of the hunters were a bit frustrated but kept their thoughts to themselves, knowing Jae-woo was crucial for the raid and Minhoo was not someone to cross.

Minhoo showed no sign of irritation or discomfort when Jae-woo teetered on the edge of another breakdown. Instead, he was there to calm and comfort him each time.

Now, as night fell, Minhoo and Jae-woo were in their tent. Minhoo had Jae-woo sitting on his lap, surrounded by warm blankets.

Jae-woo felt a mix of guilt and relief as he rested against Minhoo. His trembling had eased, but the emotional storm still churned within him. He felt like a burden to the raid, like he was holding everyone back, even though the Banshee seemed intent on exploiting his fears and insecurities. He couldn't understand why all the Aberrations they had faced were so easy to be defeated, almost too easy; but when it was Jae-woo taken a psychic attack from the dungeon—he would just end up being a mess.

Wrapped in their cocoon of blankets, Jae-woo could feel Minhoo's steady heartbeat against his ear. He leaned into Minhoo's touch, seeking solace. The familiar scent of Minhoo's cologne was a comforting presence, and for a moment, he felt truly safe.

In the quiet of the tent, Jae-woo finally spoke up, his voice barely above a whisper. "You've been unusually patient with me. I know I've been... difficult."

"It's not a problem," Minhoo replied, his voice as calm and composed as ever. He never lied, after all.

"I expected worse," The white-haired man continued, "but you're stronger than I thought."

He held Jae-woo a little tighter, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Jae-woo's eyelids fluttered closed at the touch of Minho's lips on his forehead. The shiver that ran through him was impossible to ignore. The compliment, though delivered with Minho's usual nonchalance, carried an unexpected weight.

"Strong?" Jae-woo repeated, surprise creeping into his voice. "You thought I'd be worse?"

He looked up at Minho, their faces cast in shadow by the dim light in the tent. "You don't think that I'm being... difficult?"

"I didn't say so. However, I'm good at dealing with difficult things," Minho said matter-of-factly, his hand gently stroking Jae-woo's red hair.

The redhead's heart gave an unexpected flutter at Minho's words and his gentle touch. He tried to convince himself it was just the stress of the dungeon messing with his emotions, but it was hard to ignore how good it felt to be held, to be cared for—especially by Minho.

"Good at dealing with difficult things, huh?" Jae-woo echoed softly, leaning further into Minho's touch. "And what exactly does 'dealing with' mean? Beating things up? Manipulating them?"

The white-haired didn't respond, just pulled Jae-woo closer, pressing his head against his neck while continuing to stroke his hair.

Jae-woo's breath hitched as he was enveloped by Minho's warmth. The scent of his skin and the steady pulse beneath his cheek were soothing, a quiet reminder that he wasn't alone.

For a moment, Jae-woo closed his eyes, soaking up the comfort. But then a thought nagged at him.

"You didn't answer my question," he murmured against Minho's skin. "About being good at dealing with difficult things. You always avoid answering my questions."

His hand rested lightly on Minho's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

"You won't answer now, either, will you?" Jae-woo asked, already knowing the answer.

Despite his words, he stayed pressed against Minho's neck, his body warm and relaxed. Old habits die hard, he supposed.

"No," Minho said truthfully, the darkness of the night concealing the troubled look on his face. He didn't say more, just continued soothing Jae-woo, coaxing him toward sleep. "Get some rest. Tomorrow won't be any easier."

Jae-woo felt a pang of guilt at Minho's honest admission. He knew he should pull away, but the comfort of Minho's arms was too tempting. Exhaustion was winning out, and he stayed nestled against Minho's chest, despite his mind's protests.

"That's what I thought," he mumbled, his voice growing heavy. Even as he tried to fight off sleep, the steady rhythm of Minho's heartbeat lulled him closer to unconsciousness.

"You're not exactly an open book," he murmured before finally giving in to sleep.

Minho watched as Jae-woo drifted off, resting his chin on Jae-woo's head. A single tear slid down his cheek, and he remained still, lost in his thoughts.

Jae-woo felt a slight movement, Minho's chin shifting on his hair. He stayed motionless, pretending to be asleep.

A drop of liquid fell onto his forehead. Was it rain? No, they were inside a dungeon, and the weather outside was fine. A frown creased Jae-woo's forehead. Why was he feeling wet?

Curiosity got the better of him, and he cracked open his eyes. In the dim light, he saw Minho's face, the lines of his nose, closed eyes, and strong jaw. And a wet streak on Minho's cheek.

Oh.

A pang of guilt struck Jae-woo's heart. Minho had been crying while holding him. The realization shocked him. He had seen many sides of Minho during their time together, but never this—so vulnerable, so open, yet so carefully hidden.

He wanted to reach out and touch Minho's tear-streaked cheek but couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he closed his eyes again, pretending to sleep. His mind raced with questions. What was Minho feeling? Was it regret?

The thought hurt like a stab. But it made sense. Minho had been distant lately, as if burdened by something. The dream manipulation came to mind, and Jae-woo winced. Was Minho regretting bringing him into his life?

Jae-woo quickly pretended to sleep again when Minho looked down. Minho's face had returned to its usual stoic mask, though the faint trace of tears remained.

Minho pressed his face into Jae-woo's temple, murmuring softly, "I'm sorry... for everything."

The guilt in Minho's voice was palpable, cutting deep into Jae-woo's heart. The word 'everything' suggested a deep regret, not just for one thing but for many.

A swirl of emotions—betrayal, anger, confusion, and a hint of relief—tugged at Jae-woo. Most of all, though, was a wave of sadness.

As he lay there, pretending to sleep, his mind was anything but calm. He couldn't shake the thought of Minho's guilt and the possibility of regret. Days passed, and the raid continued, moving through tricky areas with less trouble from Jae-woo's panic attacks. The Banshee had almost stopped completely its constant onslaught of psychic attacks on Jae-woo, and he could finally let out a sigh of relief.

Minho had returned to his usual self, his demeanor unchanged. Jae-woo, while outwardly calm, was a tangled mess of emotions. Minho's apology conflicted with everything he had done before, yet the genuine remorse was clear.

As they navigated through a challenging section, Jae-woo's eyes darted around, assessing the situation. He stole a sideways glance at the white-haired, whose expression remained as stoic as ever. The memory of that night and Minho's regret stirred something in Jae-woo's chest—a mixture of anger, sadness, and longing.

Minho, leading the way as always, appeared unfazed while the other hunters chatted casually. The path was tricky but not dangerous, so he allowed them their moments of levity.

Suddenly, Minho stumbled slightly, his usual steadiness faltering. Jae-woo noticed the slight change in the man's pace, the way his hand reached out to touch the rock wall for support. It was a small action, almost unnoticeable, but it spoke volumes.

Minho's exhaustion was becoming more apparent, and Jae-woo couldn't ignore it anymore. He moved closer, his instincts on high alert. Was this a sign of weakness, or was Minho hiding something more?

The thought gnawed at Jae-woo as he watched Minho struggle to maintain his composure.

Minho slumped against a rock, his face pale and sweat glistening on his brow. His finger, which had just touched his nose, came away stained with fresh blood. Jae-woo's eyes widened in alarm as he saw the blood. This wasn't just fatigue; something was seriously wrong.

A surge of concern pushed aside the simmering anger he'd been holding onto. Without a second thought, he closed the gap between them, his steps quick and purposeful.

Kneeling beside Minho, Jae-woo's worry was evident. He reached out, his hand touching Minho's arm, his voice tinged with both concern and urgency. "Minho, what's going on? Are you okay?"

Jae-woo's gaze swept over Minho's face, searching for other signs of trouble. The raid and everything else around them seemed to fade into insignificance as he focused solely on Minho's condition.

The rest of the group continued with their tasks, blissfully unaware of the developing crisis. Jae-woo noticed the growing silence behind them as the team moved further away from the scene.

Minho didn't respond. His breathing was labored, his eyes unfocused, and his body trembled subtly. Blood continued to trickle from his nose, and Jae-woo's concern intensified.

"Minho, look at me. Focus!" Jae-woo's voice had taken on a sharper edge, an urgent edge as he tried to get Minho's attention.

He moved closer, positioning his face within Minho's line of sight, hoping to gauge the severity of his condition. He gently gripped Minho's shoulder to offer some support and looked for other injuries but found none. This only heightened his worry.

Without wasting another moment, Jae-woo called out to the group, "We need a healer over here. Now!"

The immediate quiet from the rest of the team confirmed his fears. They had halted their progress and were now paying attention to the unfolding situation.

An A-rank healer hurried over, her hand lifting as she began to cast a spell. Light gathered around her hand, but then she abruptly pulled back, her face showing confusion and fear. "I... I can't heal him... This is too strong..."

Jae-woo's disbelief turned into frustration and fear as he watched the healer's reaction. "What do you mean 'You can't heal him'? He needs help! Isn't there anything stronger you can do?"

Minho, barely conscious, whispered softly, "Don't push her." He nodded at the healer, signaling that she could be dismissed.

Jae-woo's head snapped towards Minho, surprise etched on his face. He had expected Minho to be barely coherent, yet here he was, still able to make such a request.

Anger flared in Jae-woo's eyes. "Don't push her? You're bleeding, on the edge of unconsciousness, and she can't heal you because the problem is too strong. And you want me to just stand by?"

His voice wavered between anger and concern. He couldn't understand how Minho could remain so calm under these circumstances.

Minho's demeanor remained unsettlingly calm despite his apparent state. "She couldn't heal me because I did this to myself," he said nonchalantly, as if he hadn't just dropped a bombshell.

Jae-woo stared at Minho, his disbelief palpable. The words didn't quite register. "What do you mean, you did it to yourself?" he asked, his voice low and incredulous. He shifted uneasily, trying to make sense of Minho's calmness in the face of such a serious injury.

Minho was about to say more, but his body slumped further into the other's arms.

Jae-woo adjusted his grip to support Minho better, the weight of the larger man making the gravity of the situation hit him hard.

"Easy," he murmured, trying to keep his voice steady despite the strain. He carefully positioned Minho against the rock and knelt in front of him, shaking his shoulder gently to keep him awake. "Take a deep breath and stop moving."

Jae-woo's focus was entirely on Minho. He needed to understand what had happened, but he also knew that Minho's condition was critical.

His mind raced, trying to figure out the next steps. He used his sleeve to gently wipe the blood from Minho's face, his movements careful but quick.

"What did you do to yourself?" he asked again, his tone softer, almost pleading for an explanation.

Minho glanced at Jae-woo before looking around at the other hunters. He spoke slowly, "The Banshee is a psychic dungeon. But has anyone else experienced illusions or hallucinations, except for Jae-woo, correct?"

Jae-woo's eyes widened as he processed the man's words. He glanced around at the other hunters. None of them seemed to be experiencing anything unusual. And then, his mind began racing, trying to decipher what the white-haired man was trying to say. Jae-woo recalled Minho's powers and began piecing things together. The fact that no one else had faced psychic traps combined with Minho's abilities—dream walking and necromancy—leading to a disturbing and unsettling conclusion.

Looking down at Minho, a mix of horror and understanding filled Jae-woo's eyes. "Did you... put all of the traps on me?" he asked, already suspecting the answer.

Minho didn't answer but met the man's gaze with a steady look. He clearly had no intention of hiding the truth.

Jae-woo finally understood why he had been the primary target of the dungeon's psychological attacks. Minho had manipulated the dungeon's focus onto Jae-woo, exploiting his psychic defenses. It made a terrible sort of sense: Jae-woo's tolerance for mental assaults was higher than anyone else's.