NPC Fell onto My Bed C29

Chapter 29

It took Noah a long time—and much deliberation—to ask that question.
To say aloud, “Do you like me?”

He’d done so because ignoring Gu Taeheon’s feelings had become impossible.
Yesterday’s sudden kiss had said as much. And tonight, when Noah had spoken of his home world, the intensity in Taeheon’s eyes made it clear again—he didn’t want Noah to leave. Because he liked him.

That simple cause-and-effect tangled everything inside Noah’s heart.

“…Wh—what are you—”
“Please don’t, Mr. Taeheon.”

Noah’s voice softened, but his face fell. The sight of that expression made Taeheon’s chest tighten painfully.

“Please… don’t like me.”
“…”
“I am a priest.”

Love. Affection. Companionship.

These were not foreign words to Noah—he had seen them countless times on others’ lips. On the battlefield, when war raged, there were always those who fought dreaming of returning home—to families, to lovers waiting for them. Noah had envied them once, quietly.

But those things were not for him.

He had been saved from the brink of death as a war orphan by the goddess Eir. From the moment his life was spared, he had vowed to dedicate that life entirely to Her.

So he could not accept Taeheon’s heart—no matter how sincere. He wanted to stop him, gently, before those feelings could deepen further.

“I am one who must serve only the will of God.”

His words, tinged with restrained sorrow, made Taeheon’s chest rise abruptly, breath quick and uneven. When Noah lifted his eyes, he saw it—the raw wound there, the crack his rejection had carved. His own lips trembled; he wanted to say something to heal it, but no words came.

The silence grew thick, heavy enough to choke on. In the end, Noah could only manage a faint, trembling echo.
“Every High Priest of Eir’s Church vows to dedicate their entire life to—”

“Stop.”

Taeheon cut him off.

His voice was flat, his eyes dry as he stared at Noah.
“Stop before you make it worse. I feel pathetic enough already.”

Pathetic.

Noah’s eyes widened slightly—he hadn’t expected that word. The utter deadness in Taeheon’s gaze was exactly as he said: pitiful. He looked like a man who already knew every ending this would lead to.

“I… need to run some more. Eat breakfast without me. There’s bread on the table.”

“Mr. Taeheon…”

Noah’s quiet call went unacknowledged. Taeheon didn’t look back. He tied his shoelaces, opened the front door, and stepped out.

Noah stayed where he stood, staring blankly after him.

In an instant, the house that had been so warm fell silent. Empty.

Taeheon had said he would only be running, but Noah knew that was an excuse. He would be gone for hours—perhaps the whole day. Maybe he wouldn’t come back until long after sunset.

Feeling suddenly like a trespasser in another man’s life, Noah turned toward the door Taeheon had left through, guilt clouding his expression.
Maybe it was his presence, he thought faintly, that drove Taeheon away.

“…”

He lingered long after the sound of footsteps had vanished, then slowly crouched near the doorway. There sat the pair of shoes Taeheon had bought him—simple, new, neatly lined up.

Reaching out, he opened the shoe cabinet. There, tucked to the side, were his original shoes—the ones he’d arrived in. They had once been white, but now were dulled with months of wear, the shoes of a priest turned traveler.

He hadn’t worn them once since coming here.

Only then did it strike him—he had abandoned his priesthood. Forgotten it, even. Things unthinkable for the High Priest Hardiel Noah Hildegart.

“…I’m out of my mind,” he whispered, voice cracking.

His words echoed through the empty house like a confession.

Even that foolish question from last night—“Should I not go back?”—had been born of impulse, thoughtless longing. Somehow, everything tied to Taeheon stripped away his composure. When it came to him, Noah forgot everything else—the Church, his vows, his plans, his very identity.

And deep down, he understood why.

“…Because I like him.”

The words were fragile. The sound of them, leaving his lips, felt foreign—like hearing someone else speak through him. The vowels trembled; the admission burned.

By the time they left him, his face had sunk into his knees, breath breaking in quiet misery.
He knew he would never be able to say them aloud again. Not in front of anyone.

When he finally pulled himself together, the sun was high.

He slipped on the shoes Taeheon had given him and stepped out the door. He hadn’t meant to go anywhere specific—he just couldn’t stand being in that house alone.

“What a peaceful world,” he murmured.

He walked aimlessly, taking in his surroundings until he arrived at the edge of a wide river. From the living room window, he’d seen glimpses of it before. Now, up close, he noticed a signboard. The word written there: Hangang.

As he strolled along the park by the riverbank, his attention caught on a family picnicking nearby—a small child racing around on a mat, laughter floating in the breeze.

His lips softened into a smile.

“Mommy! Flower!”
“Hm? A flower? Which one, sweetheart?”
“Daddy!”

The stumbling steps of the little boy were so endearing that Noah couldn’t look away. Then he realized—the two parents were both men. It must be, he remembered, what Taeheon had called an Alpha and Omega couple.

Seeing them up close, it didn’t seem strange at all. The Omega’s touch—tender as he guided the child forward. The Alpha’s gaze—warm, protective. They weren’t unusual or unnatural. They were simply… what Noah had always thought a family should look like.

“Ma-ma!”

Nostalgia colored his face.

He’d always wanted that too—a family. Though he had never said it aloud, the yearning had always lingered inside him. But his life had denied it. Too many lives depended on him; too many duties weighed upon his shoulders.

As he watched, lost in thought, the child turned—then toddled straight toward him, tiny shoes squeaking with every wobbling step. Noah almost reached out instinctively, afraid the child might fall.

The little one stopped right before him, staring up at his face with eyes like bright crystals.

“Waa…”

The awe in those eyes almost made Noah laugh. The boy gaped as though looking at something sacred, and Noah found himself speechless.

“Siwoo!”

Two men rushed over. It seemed “Siwoo” was the boy’s name. But halfway through their run, both froze—as their gaze lifted to meet Noah’s.

“…Ah.”
“Oh…”

Startled, the parents hesitated, while Noah, oblivious to their shock, smiled kindly.
“Your child is very lovely.”
“Th-thank you…”
“Pardon me, are you… a celebrity?”
“No, I’m not.”

Their nervous awe deepened at his denial. Noah had gotten used to this reaction lately—people often mistaking him for a model or actor when he went out with Taeheon.

Soon, the family gathered their picnic things, still stealing glances his way before walking off happily together. Watching them, Noah’s smile faltered.

He whispered under his breath,
“…I wish I had a family.”

The words hung in the air, startling even him. He pressed a thumb against his lips, as though he could push the slip back in. He had wanted it before, sure—but never so desperately.

It must have been because of what he’d realized today—both Taeheon’s heart, and his own.
If he could have a family with him…

Then perhaps…

He didn’t finish the thought.

The sky shifted colors—soft orange melting into deep indigo. Noah stayed seated on the same bench for hours, watching the people pass, families laughing, lives unfolding. Peace itself became entertainment.

When it grew dark enough for the lamps to reflect on the waters of the Han River, he finally stood, brushing dust from his pants.

It was time to go home.

He turned one way, then another—and froze.

He hadn’t paid attention to which path he came from. The park stretched endlessly, identical paths winding along the water. He looked up at the night sky—dark, vast, unknowable.

“Oh no…”

At twenty-six years old, Hardiel Noah Hildegart—the High Priest of Eir—was officially lost.