"Minho," Jae-woo gasped, his voice strained and breathless. "We're supposed to be working... you damn perv..." He tried to sound annoyed but was clearly struggling.

"We are," Minho said, though his actions seemed to suggest otherwise.

"You call this work? Ah—" Jae-woo started to protest but cut himself off with a gasp. He rolled his eyes, though he was secretly enjoying the moment.

He swore he didn't like this at all. Just... a way to unwind, that's all it was.

However, the pain from his memories of Ethan kept crashing back whenever they were intimate—even more after it ended. Jae-woo hadn't let anyone get close since then, terrified of experiencing that kind of hurt again. But here he was, practically melting into Minho's lap like a damn lazy-ass cat.

"That was... a lot," Jae-woo whispered, his voice a mix of pleasure and guilt, with a light chuckle that mocking himself.

Minho kept Jae-woo close, feeling the hint of guilt in his voice. "It was indeed a lot," he said bluntly, "especially with how vocal you were."

Jae-woo's cheeks turned a slight shade of red at Minho's comment. Despite his exhaustion, he couldn't help but feel a bit flustered.

"Shut up," he mumbled, burying his face in Minho's neck to hide his blush.

The embarrassment was spreading across his skin, but he didn't really mind. Oddly enough, Minho's teasing made him feel lighter, easing the tension and guilt that had been weighing on him.

A few minutes later, Minho noticed Jae-woo beginning to doze off. He leaned in close, resting his face against the side of the man's head. "I'm sorry," he murmured, barely above a whisper, too soft for Jae-woo to catch in his sleepy state.

Clearly, Minhoo was apologizing for the manipulative tactics he'd used on the redhead months ago, and this was the first time he was actually saying it out loud.

Jae-woo stirred slightly at the sound of Minho's voice. He mumbled something incoherent, still half-asleep, before blinking groggily in the soft light.

"Huh?" he murmured, his voice rough. He shifted in Minho's lap, trying to shake off the last dregs of sleep.

"Whazzat?" Jae-woo asked, his arms instinctively wrapping around Minho's waist.

"I said..." Minho whispered, gently stroking Jae-woo's back and hair to coax him back to sleep, "Good night."

Jae-woo made a soft noise but didn't push away the soothing touch. He actually found the way Minho's hands relaxed him comforting, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time.

He shifted again, nuzzling his face into the crook of Minho's neck, his breathing slowing as he drifted back to sleep.

"Mmm..." he mumbled, barely coherent, "Good night, Min."

Time continued flying and waited no one—and finally, about five months later, right in the middle of the bustling city, a massive black crevasse with cracking lines around appeared in the air, surrounded by an angry red aura. It was unmistakably The Banshee.

Jae-woo busted awake, a surge of energy coursing through him. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, muscles shifting effortlessly as he stood up.

Stretching his arms above his head, he let out a satisfied sigh as his back cracked.

"It's time," he said, though the room was empty. His voice was steady, masking the nervousness he actually felt inside.

He quickly headed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. Looking at himself in the mirror, he saw his disheveled state: hair sticking up in all directions, and dark circles under his eyes from too little sleep.

But Jae-woo felt alive, a buzz of adrenaline and anticipation running through him.

"All right," he muttered to himself, his voice echoing slightly in the bathroom, "time to face this damn thing."

"Developed a habit of talking to yourself?" Minhoo's voice came from the bathroom doorframe, his expression unchanged as he casually leaned with his hands in his pockets.

Jae-woo jumped at the sound but quickly recovered. He rolled his eyes at Minhoo's comment.

"And you have a talent for sneaking up on people," he shot back, turning to face the man with a slight smirk.

Then, Jae-woo tried to tame his unruly hair but ended up making it look even messier.

Minhoo stepped closer, picking up a comb and starting to straighten Jae-woo's hair. "Surprised you kept it long when you clearly don't know how to manage it," he said, his tone deadpan.

Jae-woo bristled at the blunt comment but didn't pull away.

"Hey, I can handle my own hair, thanks very much," he grumbled, though he made no move to take the comb from Minhoo.

He glanced at the man's reflection in the mirror, noting the man's close proximity. Despite his irritation, there was a flutter in his stomach at how close Minhoo was.

Leaning back slightly, he enjoyed the sensation of the white-haired's body against his own.

"I'll get you a  rainbow wig if you go bald someday," Minhoo said, his voice as blunt as ever as he expertly styled Jae-woo's hair into a neat ponytail.

Jae-woo rolled his eyes at the baldness comment.

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass on the wig," he replied, though a smile tugged at his lips.

He watched in the mirror as Minhoo deftly finished his hair. Even though Jae-woo's managed just fine on his own a moment ago, he found he didn't mind the other's touch. He couldn't help but notice how close they were right now, their bodies almost brushing.

Minhoo leaned in again, his hand playing with the ponytail as he kissed the redhead's lips softly.

Jae-woo's heart skipped a beat. Minhoo's kiss made his cheeks flush slightly; he wasn't quite used to the other man's spontaneous affection—despite living together for over half of a year now.

He let the kiss deepen for a moment before pulling back, a playful smirk on his face.

"You're always so handsy, you know that?" he said, his voice carrying a hint of feigned annoyance.

They had managed a quickie right in the bathroom before heading out to face the Banshee. And at the moment, Jae-woo was perched on the counter, while Minhoo positioned between his thighs, still glistening from their recent activity.

Jae-woo's body trembled slightly from the aftermath, still breathless and flushed as he sat there. He watched Minhoo settle in even closer, a flutter of desire—and something else—in his stomach.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack before we even start this mission?" he asked, his voice still a bit breathless.

Minhoo couldn't help but let out a nearly invisible smile at the words. He leaned in, hugging Jae-woo's waist and resting his head on the man's chest.

"Maybe," he said with a lighter tone. "This could be our last."

Jae-woo's arms instinctively wrapped around Minhoo's shoulders, pulling him closer. He let out a shaky sigh, his hands gently brushing Minhoo's hair.

"You're a dickhead, you know that?" he muttered, his voice trembling slightly, both from their little exercise and the emotions.

He traced his fingers along Minhoo's back, feeling the warmth of the man's breath against his chest. "Don't talk like that. If I have a heart attack on this mission, I'm coming back to haunt you."

Minhoo looked up at him, deadpan. "You know I can control ghosts, right?"

Jae-woo rolled his eyes, smirking.

"Smartass," he muttered, giving Minhoo's hair a playful tug. "Why do you always have to be right about everything?"

Jae-woo shifted on the counter, pulling Minhoo closer until their bodies were pressed together. "Don't think I won't haunt you, even if you can control ghosts. I'll find a way. Trust me."

Eventually—despite how much both of them wanted to continue their moment—they stood before the Banshee's entrance: a black crevasse with a bloody red aura glowing around it, stark against the gentleness of the landscape of the Fall.

Jae-woo's face was grim as he stared at the swirling red aura. He shivered slightly, feeling a familiar sense of dread.

Minhoo broke the silence. "You really think we can pull this off?"

"Yes," Minhoo replied calmly as forever.

Behind them, about 100 hunters stood ready.

Jae-woo gave a humorless chuckle, running a nervous hand through his hair. "Confident as ever, huh," he said, glancing back at the mass of hunters before returning his gaze to the entrance. "Remind me why this is worth the risk?"

Minhoo leaned in and placed a quick kiss on Jae-woo's temple. "My promise," he whispered.

The unexpected kiss made Jae-woo's breath catch. He looked at Minhoo, a mix of confusion and vulnerability on his face.

He recalled their conversation in the shower, Minhoo's unexpected kindness making him feel both unsettled and touched.

"Playing dirty now, are you?" Jae-woo said, his voice wavering slightly.

"Guilty as charged," Minhoo replied with a rare smirk. "Made quite a mess of you."

Jae-woo's cheeks turned pink at the reminder of their earlier 'fun'. He looked away momentarily, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"You really..." he trailed off, unable to resist the warmth blooming in his chest. "You don't play fair, you know that?"

"Never," Minhoo said with his usual tone before turning to check on the raid's preparations.

Jae-woo watched him go, a soft scoff escaping him. "Well, at least you're honest about it," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. He scanned the faces of the other hunters, noting their varying degrees of nervousness.

As the raid wrapped up their preparations, they marched into the dungeon, drawing plenty of curious stares from onlookers. At first, it was just an expansive, empty natural space of the Fall—nothing particularly noteworthy.

But then things got weird, at least for Jae-woo. Right in front of them appeared the silhouettes of two people—a man and a woman. The catch? They had no faces, and their figures flickered and lagged like a century-old TV set on the fritz.

The rest of the hunters looked around, completely baffled. Jae-woo, on the other hand, went pale, his unease evident. Minhoo, who had been closely watching Jae-woo from the start—since Jae-woo was crucial for dealing with the Banshee and some other reasons—noticed immediately.

"Who are they?" Minhoo asked quietly, just loud enough for Jae-woo to hear.

Jae-woo flinched at the question, suddenly realizing Minhoo had connected the dots. He shook his head, unwilling to discuss it. Not with Minhoo. Not now.

Later.

Just a little bit later.

Minhoo didn't press further, showing his usual understanding. The raid managed to breeze through the first trap without any issues.

As the raid pressed further into the Banshee's domain, things took a turn for the weird. They came across a strange boundary dividing the space into day and night, with the group inching toward the pitch-black side.

Naturally, this left everyone feeling more than a little puzzled. Minhoo, however, kept his eyes on Jae-woo, whose face was growing even paler by the second.

And then the scene unfolded—The Feast of The Breached Blue, of all things. Lanterns shaped like Aberrations floated aimlessly in the dark, people in traditional garb strolled around, and a massive table displayed dishes made from Aberration meat. It was like a twisted, grotesque carnival.

The rest of the hunters were buzzing with a mix of curiosity and nervous excitement. They were clearly impressed by the spectacle. But Jae-woo wasn't impressed; he was outright rattled. The festival before him was a chilling flashback to one he'd attended years ago with his old team—and Ethan.

Back in 2025, that Feast of The Breached Blue had started off with carefree fun. Ethan had confessed his feelings to Jae-woo, and it had seemed like a perfect night. But then, out of nowhere, a dungeon had appeared, yanking Jae-woo and his team away. It turned out Ethan had poisoned their food, setting up a trap.

Jae-woo had only realized the full horror when he saw Ethan grinning over the bodies of his poisoned teammates. Some had died from the poison itself, others had been picked off by Aberrations weakened by it.

Now, as he stood amid this grotesque imitation, the old memories surged back with brutal clarity. The scene before him was like a nightmarish replay of his past.

"This... this can't be," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it louder might make it real.

Rewrite a little bit longer, Humanize the writing style, using normal human talking and writing writing style, leaving no trace of AI, using simple words; adding a subtle touch of sarcasm and mockery to the narrative writing:

His gaze landed on the dozens of accounts, who continued their oblivious revelry. But Jae-woo didn't see them. He only saw the illusion of what had been. The betrayal, the pain.

The trauma, long dormant and suppressed, flared to life, filling Jae-woo's mind with an onslaught of flashbacks. The faces of his dead teammates began to superimpose over, their lifeless eyes staring at nothing, accusing him silently.

"No," he gasped, bringing a hand to his head, feeling a wave of dizziness. The festival's music echoed in his ears, transforming from cheerful tunes to mocking tones.

As Jae-woo struggled to stay upright, a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. The air itself seemed to thicken around him, making it harder to breathe.

He looked wildly around, seeking something, anything, to anchor himself to reality. But the distorted surroundings only fueled his disorientation.

"This... This isn't real," he repeated, his voice taking on a desperate edge. "This is just... just a memory..."

Jae-woo's breathing came in rapid bursts, shallow and ragged. The lines between the illusions and reality began to blur. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead, cold and clammy.

His legs suddenly felt weak, and he stumbled, his hand reaching out to steady himself against a nearby booth.

"Get it together... get it together..." he told himself, his voice a thin whisper over the growing roar in his ears.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the overwhelming sensory input. But all he could see were the lifeless faces of his teammates, their gazes accusing and cold. The image repeated over and over behind his closed eyelids, an endless loop of guilt and regret.

His heart raced, each beat a painful thump in his chest, echoing around him. It was becoming too much. It was too real. He opened his mouth, trying to speak, but no words came out, only a strangled gasp.

The tears streamed down Jae-woo's face unbidden, carving clear paths down his cheeks. The salty liquid stung as it mixed with the sweat on his skin, but he barely noticed.

His vision grew blurry, a fuzzy haze overlaying the distorted world.

He wanted it to stop. Needed it to stop. This overwhelming rush of memories, the guilt, the pain... it was crushing him, pushing him to the precipice of a breakdown.

But then, Jae-woo felt himself being pulled into someone's arms.

It was none other thanMinhoo. "Jae-woo, it's not real. I am," he said softly, pulling Jae-woo flushing against his chest.

Jae-woo blinked, his vision slowly coming back into focus. The warmth and solid presence of Minhoo pulled him out of the nightmarish haze.

He lifted his head back, seeing Minhoo clearly. The world around them still felt twisted, but Minhoo was real, a solid anchor in the storm. Jae-woo grabbed onto the fabric of Minhoo's jacket like it was his only lifeline.

"It's..." he tried to speak, his voice rough and shaky. "It's not real. I know. Just... just..."

"I know," Minhoo murmured, gently pressing Jae-woo's head against his shoulder.

The other hunters were watching with concerned whispers, but Minhoo's stern glare sent them scurrying back to their tasks.

Minhoo led Jae-woo away from the crowd, finding a quieter spot where they could be alone. Each step seemed to help Jae-woo reorient himself, the steady presence of Minhoo's arm around his shoulders grounding him.

"I thought I had this under control," Jae-woo admitted quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "It's been years, and I still... I still..."

His voice trailed off, unable to express the turmoil churning inside him. How could he explain the ongoing struggle, the memories that refused to let go?

Minhoo wanted to pull him into a comforting embrace, but he understood Jae-woo needed some space. He helped Jae-woo to sit against a wall, crouching in front of him.

Jae-woo took deep, uneven breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. He avoided meeting the man's gaze, staring at the floor instead.

Minhoo's concern was palpable, the gentle pressure of his presence comforting, but Jae-woo remained silent. How could Minhoo possibly grasp the hell he lived through every day?

No one really understood. They all had the same old advice—Get over it; Move on; It was years ago. But his mind was stuck on a loop, replaying every mistake, every missed chance.

"It's pathetic, isn't it?" Jae-woo finally said, his voice flat. "After all this time, I'm still stuck here, like it was yesterday."

"No, it's not," Minhoo replied with calm conviction, his voice steady and sincere.

"The pain will never heal no matter how much time has gone," he said with the same tone, his hand reached out, cupping Jae-woo's face. "Everyday will feel like yesterday."

In that moment, Jae-woo realized something profound. Maybe, just maybe, they weren't so different after all.