WGD Ch 10
by soapaFinally voicing it felt less like relief from pulling out a thorn and more like a detective uncovering key evidence—his heart raced, hands trembling. To hide it, Siheon gripped the stair railing tightly.
“Tell me. Are you sick?”
“Sick, my ass.”
Cha Wonwoo shrugged like it was nothing.
“Everyone loses control of their pheromones sometimes. That’s all it is.”
His tone suggested Siheon was overreacting. Swallowing harsh words that threatened to spill, Siheon held back. He had his own health secrets, so he wasn’t blameless. He wasn’t clueless about why Cha Wonwoo hid it either. But understanding and accepting were different things.
“Come on. We’re going to the hospital.”
With a heavy voice, Siheon turned to leave, but Cha Wonwoo grabbed his wrist.
“Hyung.”
The warm touch melted his anxiety. Bracing himself against softening, Siheon spoke more curtly.
“Let go. Let go and follow me. We’re going to the hospital now.”
He needed to see the tests and hear the doctor himself to feel at ease. But Cha Wonwoo kept insisting it was nothing, as if Siheon were a fool. Letting out a hollow laugh, Siheon glared.
“If it’s really nothing, prove it at the hospital.”
Wrenching his hand free, he yanked the door open.
“Hyung, wait.”
Cha Wonwoo swiftly closed the distance, wrapping Siheon in a back hug and pushing the door shut with his palm. The heavy emergency exit slammed closed with a thud.
“Hyung,” he murmured, his low, husky voice echoing in the quiet space. They were so close that each movement of Cha Wonwoo’s lips sent hot breath grazing Siheon’s nape. His lips hovered dangerously close, almost brushing the skin, making Siheon’s hairs stand on end. Every nerve zeroed in on the sensation behind him.
“You worrying about me feels so good. But here.”
Siheon felt Cha Wonwoo’s thumb slowly trace his nape, making him flinch at the heightened sensitivity.
“There’s a mark.”
“…What?”
“Looks like it left a mark.”
Discovering last night’s trace, Cha Wonwoo’s breathing grew uneven. Siheon, resisting the dizzying sensation, focused on assessing him. Unable to see his face, he tracked body heat, breaths, words—anything.
“That bastard probably saw it too, huh.”
“…”
“Hope he did.”
“…”
“Then he wouldn’t dare spout crap about ex-husbands.”
Swallowing, Siheon forced a casual tone.
“That’s an insult, you know. What’s wrong with a dog barking? ‘Dog noise’ isn’t used like that. Think how hurt pups would be. Right?”
Cha Wonwoo always had mood swings, but lately, they’d worsened. Siheon soothed him.
“I want to see your face. Let’s talk face-to-face.”
“You want to see my face?”
His voice was shy, delighted. Siheon nodded.
“Yeah, let’s see that pretty face. I love good looks. Even CEO Heo vouched for your handsomeness. If you weren’t CH’s heir, I’d have chased you to hell for a casting.”
“We’d have worked together then. Like Lee Jinseok or Seo Minjae. Oh, Byeon Haewon too.”
“Sure, so instead of listing my shallow connections, can you move?”
He wasn’t drunk now. If last night’s fiasco repeated, he couldn’t claim a blackout. Thankfully, Cha Wonwoo seemed to agree, stepping back obediently.
Siheon turned to face him. Despite fearing he’d lost it, Cha Wonwoo’s face and eyes looked normal—same as always. Relief washed over Siheon, followed by a surge of mixed relief and anger.
“You throw a tantrum like this to avoid the hospital? Are you a kid? Storming off, scaring people. Lying it’s nothing. I say hospital, and you pull this…”
Siheon raked his hair in frustration. Meeting his resentful gaze, Cha Wonwoo’s eyes wavered. He grabbed Siheon’s hand urgently.
“If you say hospital, I’ll go. But it’s probably nothing.”
“Probably? Probably? So you’ve been insisting it’s nothing without even knowing?”
Trying to pull away, Siheon found Cha Wonwoo gripping tighter.
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Earlier, you said you loved me worrying. Now it’s ‘don’t worry’? Which tune am I supposed to follow…”
The unfinished sentence dissolved. Siheon bit his lip. He needed time to swallow the sharp words rising from his chest—words that’d hurt both if spoken. Better left unsaid. As he quieted, Cha Wonwoo fell silent too.
With their hands still clasped, Siheon stared at the floor, Cha Wonwoo at Siheon’s face. The prolonged silence was broken by a polite knock beyond the emergency door.
“Director, are you there?”
It was Driver Kim, who should’ve been waiting in the car. Startled, Siheon yanked his hand free. Cha Wonwoo, with a reluctant look, squeezed once before letting go.
“Come in.”
Cha Wonwoo called out as if it were his office. The heavy door opened. Driver Kim rarely accompanied Cha Wonwoo outside driving, so his presence meant something serious.
Frowning, Cha Wonwoo asked.
“What’s up?”
His tone and manner were starkly different from with Siheon—authoritative, cold. Kim handed over a tablet and reported.
“There’s something you need to see.”
The tablet screen showed a prepared video—a breaking news clip from a broadcast channel. Siheon leaned in, catching the thumbnail subtitle, and his eyes widened.
[Exclusive] CH Construction Explosion Accident at U.S. Site!
Kim added tactfully.
“Secretary Yang went straight to the office, so I’m reporting instead.”
Last night, Cha Wonwoo had told Yang, who’d stayed late handling a drunk Seo Minjae, not to come in early. Plus, he’d left his phone in the locker room, so calls wouldn’t have reached him.
Understanding Yang’s urgency through Kim, Cha Wonwoo checked the video without comment. His long finger hit play, and a calm anchor’s voice flowed.
“Thick gray smoke rises into the sky. The accident occurred at 6:30 p.m. local time. Moments later, a familiar logo emerges from the debris.
Earlier this year, CH Group selected Tennessee County, New York, for a new foundry plant amid fierce bidding from state governments. A staggering 30 trillion won was invested here, and now a shocking accident has struck. Ironically, the contractor is CH Construction, a group affiliate. According to local media…”
Cha Wonwoo paused it. The critical details would be internal anyway. At his glance, Kim shared unreported facts.
“They were blasting today, but unexploded ordnance was left behind. During cleanup at quitting time, a machine triggered it, causing the explosion.”
Cha Wonwoo squinted, asking.
“Casualties?”
“Fortunately, none. Damage estimates are ongoing.”
“What about President Cha’s moves?”
President Cha Eunsik of CH Construction—Chairman Cha’s second son and Cha Wonwoo’s uncle. After his brother’s death, Eunsik openly coveted group succession. His goal was to oust his nephew, Cha Wonwoo, and take control. Cha Wonwoo planned to ruin that vision.
“Executive Director Yoon, CH Construction’s safety chief, was dispatched to the site, accompanied by Vice President Cha Yiryeong.”
Siheon, listening quietly, recalled Cha Eunsik and his two sons, who always looked down on him at family gatherings. The elder, Cha Yiryeong, feigned courtesy but never hid his underlying contempt.
A performer who sold his body to worm into CH blood.
That was the message in Cha Yiryeong’s eyes and tone whenever he saw Siheon.
President Cha Eunsik and his two sons relentlessly hounded Cha Wonwoo over the near-certain succession rights. Knowing this, Siheon asked cautiously.
“You okay?”
Already worried about Cha Wonwoo’s health, he feared this sudden incident might’ve caused issues. The usual response came.
“Why wouldn’t I be? The accident’s on President Cha, not me.”
“You’re not… tied to it, right?”
“No way. I’m not so desperate for succession that I’d fight dirty, harming lives or property.”
It was grim, but Cha Wonwoo was raised under Chairman Cha Hyeon-cheol’s hand. He’d learned to calculate and act meticulously—except with Siheon. Besides, for Cha Wonwoo, it wasn’t worth sabotaging CH Construction or President Cha at the cost of business losses.
“Of course, I’m grateful when they toss me something to bite into.”
Cha Wonwoo shrugged lightly. Siheon caught his meaning instantly.
Technically, Cha Wonwoo was on the commissioning side, while CH Construction caused the accident. To outsiders, both bore the CH name, but if Cha Wonwoo clarified the victim-perpetrator divide internally, it changed everything.
“The accident was at 6:30 p.m. New York time—that’s 8:30 a.m. here.”
Cha Wonwoo checked the tablet’s time.
“It’s 9:30 now. Even if Yang couldn’t reach me, an hour’s too long for this to get to me. And since Yang was at the office, he’d have heard about it around the same time as that old man, Chairman Cha.”
So, headquarters learned late too—someone deliberately delayed the report. That could only be President Cha Eunsik. What he’d do with that time was obvious.
“Looks like our President Cha worked hard to hush the press. Didn’t work, though.”
Cha Wonwoo, not hiding his sarcasm, handed the tablet to Driver Kim and asked.
“Did Yang say anything else?”
“The chairman called an emergency meeting himself.”
It was inevitable this would spark chatter. With CH Construction based in Korea, domestic site safety would come under scrutiny, likely leading to a national audit. The chairman’s meeting was only natural.
Driver Kim, holding the emergency door open, stepped aside.
“Secretary Yang’s preparing a change of clothes, so I’ll drive you to the office.”
Instead of leaving, Cha Wonwoo leaned toward Siheon and whispered.
“Hyung, take the car.”
His gaze was warm but stubborn.
“What about you?”
“There’s taxis.”
This fussy guy, who only tolerated his own pheromones, was willing to ride a taxi—used by who-knows-who, possibly laced with someone’s pheromones?
Siheon pushed Cha Wonwoo’s shoulder, not hard—a friendly gesture more than a shove.
“Nah. It’s not far to the house. I’ll walk for exercise.”
Leaving Siheon’s hand on his shoulder, Cha Wonwoo dipped his head closer.
“What if Lee Jinseok offers to walk you home?”
This guy. Resigned, Siheon glanced at Driver Kim, still waiting, then pushed Cha Wonwoo harder.
“Worrying’s a full-time job. Fine, I’ll take Kim’s car, so go. You dawdle and get chewed out at the office—what then?”
Letting himself be pushed, Cha Wonwoo replied nonchalantly.
“Gotta give the old man time to cool off.”
Siheon scoffed, countering.
“Won’t he get madder the longer you make him wait?”
Cha Wonwoo answered as if he’d been waiting.
“Exactly. I’m thinking of keeping him hanging. Should I drop you home and watch you go inside?”
“Then it’s my neck on the line.”
“Who’d dare—”
Siheon clapped a hand over Cha Wonwoo’s mouth, stopping his childish “who’d dare.” Honestly, he didn’t want Kim hearing it, even if they’d be fine alone.
Startled, Cha Wonwoo blinked. Siheon tried ignoring the warmth and texture under his palm, quickly pulling away. Making a fuss then acting proper wouldn’t erase it, but he cleared his throat, mindful of Kim, and lowered his voice.
“Cha Wonwoo, call me right after the meeting.”
At Siheon’s order to call first, Cha Wonwoo couldn’t hide his joy. The gap between this beaming guy and the cold, sarcastic one from minutes ago was stark. Too busy grinning to ask why, he got a stern warning from Siheon.
“We’ll go to the hospital when there’s time.”
Cha Wonwoo shot a reluctant look, as if to say that again?, but nodded grudgingly.
“…Fine.”
“Now go.”
Siheon pushed Cha Wonwoo’s lingering back. The guy moved sluggishly, only straightening up near the door.
Before leaving, Cha Wonwoo told Kim to drive Siheon home and return to the office. Kim agreed, and Cha Wonwoo gave Siheon a longing look before turning away.
Left alone, Siheon wasn’t in the mood to work out. But with looming schedules, he couldn’t slack off—especially post-comeback in a public-facing job. Last night’s drinks, snacks, and this morning’s bean sprout soup were reasons to hit the gym.
After hitting his workout quota, Siheon headed to the shower. He checked the locker room before and after his private booth, wondering if Jinseok, who’d arrived around the same time, had finished.
Luckily or not, he didn’t run into Jinseok before reaching Kim’s waiting car.
“We’re leaving.”
Kim confirmed Siheon’s boarding politely and started the engine. The car glided out of the lot.
Siheon pulled out his phone to apologize to Jinseok for ditching earlier. Typing “Sunbae, sorry about before…” when a call came from CEO Heo, who’d shot down his plan that morning. Eyeing the annoying name, he paused before answering.
“CEO, what? Regretting hanging up this morning? You missed the apology window by miles. I nearly signed with another agency.”
Half-scolding, Siheon gazed at the passing scenery. Post-rush hour, the streets were empty, but sunlight bathed them, sparkling without loneliness.
—Actor Kang.
“Even a serious apology won’t cut it. You have no idea how awkward that was.”
Filming a thriller-comedy-romance epic since dawn, Siheon chuckled. His amnesia act seemed to fit any genre, he mused.
—This isn’t acting like you—it’s a real emergency.
Doubting but sensing Heo’s seriousness, Siheon sat up straight.
“What’s going on?”
—Where are you?
“Heading home from the gym.”
—Perfect. Turn around and come to the office.
“Why? Should I be scared?”
—Not scary. We got a call—an event tomorrow wants to invite you.
Event? Invite? At the sudden topic, Siheon probed, and Heo dropped an unfamiliar name.
—Know a Seo Sanghee?
“Who’s that?”
—There’s an exhibition at Chaeum Gallery tomorrow. The curator’s Seo Sanghee.
“No clue.”
Siheon answered firmly. A gallery curator wasn’t in his network. The name and face didn’t ring a bell, and he frowned.
Who is this person, and what’s it got to do with me?
As if expecting that, Heo mentioned another name.
—Seo Sanghee’s son is Im Jaehan. That ring a bell?
“Oh…”
His grip on the phone tightened, fingertips whitening. Siheon added, voice like a groan.
“…Rozen Petrochemical.”
Im Jaehan, the youngest son of Rozen Petrochemical.
Cha Wonwoo’s arranged match.
Knowing who the other party was didn’t resolve all the questions. The sudden invitation’s purpose remained unclear. But Siheon had no intention of playing along with their whims.
“I’m not going.”
—What?
“Not to the company or that exhibition or whatever.”
—Fine, skipping the company, but the exhibition too?
To the surprised question, Siheon replied indifferently.
“Yeah, am I supposed to jump because some guy says so? CEO, you’re always raving about my face—best in the game. Was that just talk?”
Siheon let out an exaggerated sigh for effect. He needed to put Heo on notice.
“CEO, I don’t know about other things, but my face comes at a high price. You’re splitting that price, so shouldn’t you uphold my dignity? Getting dragged around by them like this? Here I was, all nervous for nothing.”
Spouting bravado, he rolled down the window, letting cool air hit him. Heo’s weak excuses mixed with the wind, barely audible.
—No, it’s not just anything—it’s people tied to your personal life…
“No need to entertain those requests going forward.”
The car slowed to a stop at a signal. Another vehicle halted in the next lane. Noticing its driver glancing over, Siheon raised the window. The car’s interior fell silent again.
Leaning his elbow on the window and propping his chin, he thought. There was no reason to accept the invite. Cha Wonwoo had jumped through hoops with excuses to meet him—some stranger didn’t deserve an easy pass.
“If they want to meet, tell them to come to me. That’s the least they can do to see this expensive face.”
At his firm addition, Heo let out a dry laugh.
—Right, yeah. Forgot who you are for a sec, Actor Kang. I’ll handle it. Rest up.
“Cool, hanging up then.”
As the call ended, the light changed, and the car moved forward. Siheon resumed typing to Jinseok and spoke.
“Pretend you didn’t hear that.”
Looking up, he caught Driver Kim’s eyes in the rearview mirror, glancing back. Heo’s voice wouldn’t have reached the driver’s seat, but the words alone made the conversation’s gist easy to guess.
“Wonwoo’s swamped right now. I don’t want to pile this on him. I’ll tell him when he’s free. That okay?”
Kim looked ahead and replied.
“I was focused on driving and didn’t hear the call.”
Satisfied, Siheon’s lips curved. A flawless smile filled the small mirror, too natural to seem forced.
“Well, yeah, focus on driving.”
Confirming the deal, Siheon relaxed his tense body and closed his eyes. Fatigue settled over his now-unsmiling face.
[Cha Wonwoo]
Meeting’s dragging—probably can’t leave tonight.
Setting down his script, Siheon removed his reading glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. Cha Wonwoo’s message, devoid of emojis, still carried emotion in its text.
Hang in there.
It was already evening. Under Siheon’s blue-texted reply, “Delivered” lingered, unchanging to “Read” for a long time.
Must be slammed.
Thinking so, Siheon tidied the scattered script and pens on his desk. The script now bore signs of heavy use. Director Pyo’s film screenplay, the drama script with Seo Minjae—preparing two characters at once was no small feat, but they shared a thread. People living lives of deception. Bearing lies. The weight of constantly denying oneself—Siheon knew it well.
Deep thoughts sank his heart. To avoid drowning, he stretched and stood.
Doing light stretches in the living room, the intercom chimed. The screen showed the housekeeper’s face. She’d enter with her registered fingerprint when no one was home, but today, likely tipped off by Yang about his whereabouts, she rang to announce her arrival.
“You’re here?”
As the door opened, Siheon took her bags. Brushing off her protests, he carried the groceries to the kitchen and spoke apologetically.
“Ma’am, if it’s okay, how about heading home early today?”
Tying her apron, she looked at him with concern.
“Why? No appetite? I was told to make sure you eat dinner, Siheon-ssi. Tell me what you’re craving.”
“No, it’s not that. Too much appetite’s the issue. It’s just… I’ve got a shoot where I cook for a junior at the company.”
“Oh, practicing in advance?”
“Yeah, aside from that cooking drama, I barely touch a knife. Gotta practice to at least look convincing.”
Siheon nodded. With Cha Wonwoo stuck late, it was perfect timing to try cooking alone. But the housekeeper hesitated to set down her apron. Shouldn’t she still prepare his meal?
“I nibble while checking flavors, so I’m full enough. Plus, my diet keeps portions small anyway.”
“Ugh, fine, but… don’t skip meals, okay? Promise?”
Finally conceding, she didn’t forget her parting advice. Siheon flashed his most trustworthy smile. Judging by her lingering “will he eat properly?” look, it didn’t quite land.
After she left, the quiet living room led him back to the kitchen, where half-sorted ingredients awaited.
Leaning on the island counter, Siheon typed his name and the idol he’d film with into his phone’s search bar. When he’d asked via Kang San what food they liked, the reply was, “I eat anything! Whatever you make is fine!” Oblivious that “anything” was the toughest order.
Height, weight, blood type, MBTI, school nickname, pet dog, when their front teeth fell out—amid the TMI flood, “mom’s dakbokkeumtang” caught his eye.
He played the top-viewed recipe video. Soaking chicken breast chunks in milk and mixing spices, the kitchen quickly grew chaotic.
“The color’s… off. Lighting trick?”
His homemade marinade was much darker than the video’s. Studio lights might make it close enough. Settling on that, Siheon boldly slathered it on the chicken.
The dakbokkeumtang finished as the terrace view darkened. Tasting it repeatedly, his tongue, overwhelmed, temporarily lost its sense. Staring at the dish, Siheon snapped a photo for Kang San.
[Lee Kang San]
Think I’ve got a knack for alchemy.
Huh?
First time inviting a famous chef for a full-course meal—what do you think?
Pardon?
Wouldn’t their fans love it? Saying we treated them well. Effort’s in cooking, but money shows sincerity.
Hyung-nim, no idea what you made, but… it’s not over yet. I’ll talk to the CEO and get you a cooking mentor.
Then just film with the mentor… Siheon sighed, setting down his phone. Practice makes perfect, right? It can’t taste that bad. He’d get used to it. As he reached to taste again—
Beep.
The front door unlocked, and a familiar presence filled the house. He didn’t need to look. Like knowing it was his mom from footsteps as a kid, he knew who it was just from the door opening.
“Hyung.”
As expected, Cha Wonwoo appeared. In a tailored suit, he looked rushed—strands of neatly combed hair had fallen loose. Unlike this morning, he was pristine. Siheon, eyeing him, reacted a beat late.
“…Hey, you’re here? Thought you couldn’t make it.”
Hanging his jacket on a chair, Cha Wonwoo replied.
“Heard you were cooking dinner.”
The housekeeper, worried about Siheon’s meal, must’ve told Yang, who passed it to him.
Drained from cooking, Siheon untied his apron first.
Both rarely cooked. They’d worn aprons a few times at each other’s whims, but not for cooking—more like props for spicing up their fiery newlywed days.
Siheon once dismissed “nude aprons” as media-fed fantasies. They didn’t thrill him in theory. But married life with Cha Wonwoo flipped that. Whether it was Cha Wonwoo in nothing but an apron or Siheon enduring the shame of wearing only that, the anticipation of what followed soaked him. Especially on the dining room’s massive table, where excitement doubled.
As Siheon shoved those memories aside, Cha Wonwoo—the guy who’d rolled around with him like they were starving—looked deeply regretful.
“Why take it off? Keep it on.”
Who’s supposed to keep this on for whose benefit? Siheon shot a glare, tossing the apron aside and changing the subject.
“By the way, what’s it to you that I’m making dinner? Why’d you show up?”
“Obviously, I’m the one eating it, right?”
Pulling out a chair, Cha Wonwoo sat with brazen confidence.
“I barely escaped to eat what you made, hyung.”
His expectant gaze showed no trace of the day-long meeting’s exhaustion. Damn handsome, that’s all. Or maybe his looks turned even fatigue into charisma.
Determined not to fall for it, Siheon scrutinized him. At a glance, nothing seemed off, but closer inspection revealed subtle signs—droopier eyes, slightly slower speech. Others might be fooled, but not someone who’d lived skin-to-skin with him.
“Who said I’m sharing?”
Thinking Cha Wonwoo needed something healthy and tasty now, Siheon asked gruffly. Cha Wonwoo’s shoulders slumped dramatically.
“You’re gonna let me starve?”
Using his face like that—cheap shot. “Ha…” Siheon sighed deeply. Recognizing the retreat, Cha Wonwoo’s lips curled.
“Oh, right.”
As if recalling something, he twisted to rummage through his jacket pocket, placing a white pill bottle on the table.
“Got this through Yang. Rut’s coming, but my current suppressants aren’t working well.”
The bottle looked fragile in his large hand, veins pulsing on his knuckles as he rolled it.
“I kept taking what I used before marriage, but it’s not as effective. Maybe my pheromones changed living with you? So, I got the strongest ones prescribed.”
Though proven safe, “strongest” made Siheon frown instantly.
“I told you to go to the hospital. Get tested first—meds come after.”
“This was rushed because of you. So you wouldn’t worry.”
Opening the bottle to show him, Cha Wonwoo pocketed it again. Glancing at the simmering pot, he said.
“Smells good. Shall we set the table?”
Before Siheon could answer, he sprang up, grabbing utensils and sidling next to him. Whether true or not, his pheromones did seem stronger—especially after failing to release them properly at the gym.
Leaning close, Cha Wonwoo opened the pot, almost embracing Siheon from behind.
“…Looks delicious.”
“You shouldn’t act. The pause was too long.”
Siheon’s blunt remark drew a flustered voice from behind.
“No, it’s just… first time seeing dakbokkeumtang with only chicken breast.”
“We had tons of breast at home, that’s why.”
“Want me to buy you a poultry farm?”
“Quit joking.”
Pushing him aside, Siheon opened the rice cooker—and quickly shut it, mortified.
“Uh-oh. No rice.”
Cha Wonwoo turned, puzzled. Siheon’s face was grave.
“No rice. I forgot to make it.”
Always having it made or eating prepped meals, he’d blanked on rice entirely. Instant rice wasn’t an option here either. Seeing Siheon’s dismay, Cha Wonwoo shrugged.
“No big deal. I came to eat what you made anyway.”
Before Siheon could respond, Cha Wonwoo rolled up his sleeves, scooped a heap of (breast-only) dakbokkeumtang into a bowl, and sat at the home bar instead of the dining room. Spoon in hand, he chewed thoroughly, savoring every bite, then declared.
“It’s good.”
“…”
“Seriously.”
Siheon eyed him skeptically, but Cha Wonwoo dug in as if proving it, emptying the bowl fast. Setting down his spoon, he looked up with a smile—no sign of forcing down bad food.
Only then did Siheon realize he’d stood watching Cha Wonwoo eat, like he was waiting for praise. He should’ve stepped away, but it was too late.
Rinsing his mouth with water, Cha Wonwoo stood, put the bowl in the dishwasher, and grabbed his jacket.
“You’re on a diet, so don’t eat. Leave the rest—I’ll have more later. Be back.”
Clearly pressed, he left as hurriedly as he’d come, his voice trailing off at the door, possibly telling Yang he was on his way over a call.
After he left, Siheon took a fresh spoon and tried the cooled dakbokkeumtang.
“Whoa…”
His taste buds, recovered, reeled from the shock.
“How’d he eat all that?”
He poured in water, naively thinking it’d dilute the saltiness. Soon, the quiet house filled with simmering sounds. Cha Wonwoo’s “Be back” echoed in Siheon’s ears.
＊＊＊＊＊
The next morning, waking alone, Siheon found Cha Wonwoo’s shirt from yesterday in his arms. Such a cute move—classic Cha Wonwoo. The shirt, worn all day, carried his scent and pheromones.
Thanks to it, Siheon slept soundly. Taming his bedhead, he headed to the kitchen. The pot was gone. Instead, a bright yellow Post-it screamed on the dishwasher door. Plopping down, he read it.
Ate deliciously.
So polite. Smirking with puffy eyes, Siheon wrote a reply and stuck it on the fridge.
Ate deliciously. Good boy.
Sadly, the Post-it stayed until the next dawn. Cha Wonwoo was too swamped to meet. Siheon caught glimpses on news—recycled stock footage.
For days, Cha Wonwoo slipped in at dawn while Siheon slept, leaving pheromone-scented shirts in his arms.
Meanwhile, Siheon’s cooking leveled up with a mentor’s help. Approved dishes left in the kitchen were cleared by Cha Wonwoo at dawn, with polite “Ate deliciously” Post-its left behind.
Time flew, trading Post-it greetings.
＊＊＊＊＊
Departure day for New York.
“Didn’t get to see him.”
Muttering weakly before boarding, Siheon shook off Cha Wonwoo’s face and stared at his buzzing phone. Seo Minjae was spamming messages, relentless even as Siheon tried muting notifications.
[Seo Minjae]
Link: mouthduk.net/best/20230131 Kang Siheon Departure Live
The article titles are wild—fans got nothing on them. Bet the reporter’s a Honey Jar.
Hyung, that oversized varsity jacket—
Thought it only came in black,
But all-white with black shoulder details and leather trim—
Brand made it just for you, right?
You look like a college kid in it.
Whose sunglasses are those?
Would copying be creepy? Looks cool.
Oh? You read it.
Hyung?
Boarding.
Crossing the jet bridge was as good as boarding. Sending a curt reply, Siheon muted the chat. Below, his apology to Jinseok sat unread. Busy or something else?
“Welcome aboard. Please, this way.”
Worries about Jinseok faded with the flight attendant’s kind greeting.
“Hello.”
Siheon nodded reflexively. The now-brighter attendant checked his ticket and led the way. He adjusted his sunglasses and followed.
Passing quiet, private seats with partitions and sliding doors, a hand suddenly grabbed his wrist.
“…!”
Startled, Siheon’s phone slipped. The carpet muffled the fall, but his pounding heart roared in his ears. The man picking up the phone gently adjusted his grip, pulling Siheon closer. Handing it over, he asked.
“Going alone?”
The voice was low, hoarse, unfamiliar.
Siheon, too stunned to take the phone, gaped. The man stroked his wrist with his thumb, adding.
“I’m headed to New York too.”
Snapping back at the intimate touch, Siheon hissed under his breath, mindful of eyes.
“Hey, you wanna die?!”
It was none other than Cha Wonwoo—looking half-wasted since they’d last met.
Siheon’s eyes darted beneath his sunglasses, frantically assessing Cha Wonwoo’s condition.
The guy looked wrecked. He’d lost weight, his jawline and body contours sharper, his face etched with fatigue that made him seem edgy. His glances and expressions carried a subtle irritability.
It was rare for Cha Wonwoo to look this exhausted.
Even during their honeymoon, it was the same. Thanks to his dominant alpha stamina, he’d stay up all night, go to work fresh in the morning, come home without a hint of tiredness, and stay up again—completely fine.
If Siheon didn’t know him well, he’d have suspected Cha Wonwoo was some trust-fund slacker sleeping at the office. His stamina and recovery were that impressive. So seeing him in such poor shape was jarring. Swallowing a sharp retort, Siheon settled for shaking his wrist.
“Let go already.”
The flight attendant, waiting to guide him, smiled politely. Cha Wonwoo glanced her way, and she tactfully excused herself, saying she’d return.
“Hyung.”
As Siheon’s eyes followed the retreating attendant, Cha Wonwoo shook his wrist, craving attention. Softening his voice, Siheon asked, “What?”
“Sit next to me.”
It was half-request, half-demand. Siheon glanced at the seat he indicated. Why was he in a two-seater when he could’ve had a corner all to himself? Sure, a partition could make it private, but Cha Wonwoo’s personality made this an odd choice.
“My seat’s over there.”
He pointed to a spot claiming all four window views.
Siheon loved watching the vast land unfold below a climbing plane. It felt liberating. Staring at the expanse made humans seem small, their problems trivial, so he favored window seats.
“Gotta go.”
With a brief goodbye, he took his phone and moved to leave, but Cha Wonwoo grabbed his wrist again.
“It’s all your seat.”
What’s that supposed to mean? Turning, Siheon met Cha Wonwoo’s shameless grin.
“All of it’s yours.”
Siheon scanned first class. Aside from boarding music, it was dead quiet. He hadn’t noticed before, but the melody was a classical piece from a CH Bank ad. Staring incredulously, he saw Cha Wonwoo straighten, puffing up like a bird flaunting feathers.
“I booked the whole thing.”
Those feathers must be gold-plated.
“You bought it all?”
“Yup.”
“All of first class?”
“Yup.”
Dumbfounded, Siheon swallowed a laugh. Honestly, he’d earned enough to live comfortably without working—barring business, scams, or gambling. Yet, in the face of Cha Wonwoo’s born-with-a-CH-gold-spoon wealth, he felt tiny.
How much is this even worth?
Muttering with a commoner’s heart, Cha Wonwoo tossed out casually.
“So you’d be comfortable.”
His sincere, unassuming look held no hint of seeking praise. Siheon couldn’t say it wasn’t comfortable but rather unsettling from such extravagant spending.
“Hyung, hold on.”
Suddenly, Cha Wonwoo reached for his face. Before Siheon could ask, his sunglasses were off, and the world brightened.
“Now I see your face. I’m alive again.”
Cha Wonwoo smiled weakly, exhaustion clear.
“I missed you.”
So, not just money-splashing—scheming. Siheon sighed, shaking his trapped wrist.
“It’s not cuffs, let go. Gotta sit.”
“You’ll sit here?”
“You said you bought it all. I’m trying every seat for an hour to make it worth it. Why?”
Chuckling, Cha Wonwoo finally released him. As Siheon settled in, those persistent eyes followed. Ignoring the gaze tracking his every move, he held out his hand.
“Give me my sunglasses.”
“Not now. You’ll cover your face. I’ll return them when we land.”
You can cover a face with a sleep mask—what’s he on about? Sometimes Cha Wonwoo was cunningly sharp, other times naively simple. He tucked the sponsored sunglasses away. Not wanting a pointless fight, Siheon withdrew his hand.
“Good day.”
Right on cue, the purser and attendant visited. Likely briefed, they offered sparkling water—no trace of alcohol—instead of champagne.
Chatting with them, Siheon stole glances at Cha Wonwoo. The longer the friendly exchange went, the deeper Cha Wonwoo’s brow furrowed. Siheon sent the crew off quickly, and only then did Cha Wonwoo relax.
“First time I’ve been embarrassed picking in-flight meals.”
Grumbling, Siheon got a topic-switch from Cha Wonwoo.
“Hyung, if you’re uncomfortable, wanna change into pajamas?”
His eyes held a strange anticipation. Siheon shook his head, mildly uneasy.
“Nah, I’m good. Aren’t you stuffy?”
A suit for a long flight? Though, picturing Cha Wonwoo wandering the cabin in soft pajamas was equally hard.
What was it like on our honeymoon?
With so much attention on them, they’d used CH Group’s private jet for safety. It had a bedroom for rest, and since no one else was around, Cha Wonwoo dressed casually, Siheon recalled.
Influenced by Chairman Cha, Cha Wonwoo loathed looking disheveled in public. Rumor was, as a kid, the chairman would berate him for a single wrinkle, lecturing him for hours standing. Before calling it child abuse, it was just absurd. How could someone so obsessed with propriety be so lenient with his own twisted character?
“If I change first, will you?”
Cha Wonwoo’s sudden willingness to wear airline pajamas stunned Siheon.
“You’re seriously gonna wear that?”
“Yeah, if you think I look stuffy.”
“Do what’s comfy. You said formal clothes are better around others anyway.”
Meant to be considerate, it somehow irked Cha Wonwoo, who lowered his voice sharply.
“Hyung, am I ‘others’ to you?”
“Huh?”
“What’s showing a messy side to strangers got to do with you? You’re not a stranger.”
The plane hadn’t taken off, but someone was already flooring it.
“Stop calling me that. It’s why other bastards yap about ex-husbands.”
“How’d we get there? I said it once.”
Calmly pleading his case, Siheon met Cha Wonwoo’s even more aggrieved, downcast eyes.
“When you draw that line… it’s worse because it’s unconscious. And the pajamas—I just thought we could wear the same ones…”
Swallowing the rest, Cha Wonwoo closed his eyes, hiding their gloom. Folding his arms and turning away, he looked sulky. Despite his size, it wasn’t not cute—just a bit cute. Was he that tired? His uncharacteristic antics were funny yet bewildering.
Letting out a wry laugh, Siheon turned to face him. Swallowing the ticklish “couple pajamas” and eyeing the sulking Sleeping Beauty—or was it Snow White?—he stared openly. Cha Wonwoo, feeling the gaze, kept his eyes shut, stubbornly pouting.
Travel, soaring through the air, always brought excitement. The plane. A space for just them. Side-by-side seats. Soft boarding music. Crew bustling beyond the curtain. Occasional passenger murmurs from other cabins. A floating, detached sensation. Feeling giddy was natural.
So Siheon struggled to stay grounded. Takeoff leads to landing. Just as a plane leaving Incheon skies reaches New York soil, what rises must descend.
Despite the distance, sunlight from the window seat softly lit Cha Wonwoo’s gaunt face. Propping his chin on the armrest, Siheon soaked in the beautiful sight. He hoped this stubborn guy never knew.
How desperately he wished for his journey, his landing, to be safe.
“Ladies and gentlemen, good day. Our flight to New York is now preparing for takeoff. For your safety, please ensure your seat belts are fastened.”
Hearing the announcement, Siheon leaned over to buckle Cha Wonwoo’s seat belt. Click. At the sound, Cha Wonwoo opened his eyes, as if freed from a spell. They were close enough to feel each other’s breath. His dark eyes, framed by long lashes, deepened. Swallowing, Siheon hid his trembling breath and whispered casually.
“Guess you’re not a princess. Waking up fine without a kiss.”
Checking the belt with feigned nonchalance, he pulled back.
The plane, now racing down the runway, lifted into the sky.
“I’m gonna look outside till the meal comes.”
Silent until then, Siheon unbuckled and darted to the window seat as soon as the plane stabilized. Only away from Cha Wonwoo did he release a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.
That was close. He’d nearly kissed him. A sharp beep rang in his ears. Pressing his temples to calm down, he felt Cha Wonwoo’s fervent gaze but pretended to focus outside. The scenery he loved barely registered. Only his haggard face, masked by makeup, faintly reflected in the window.
The cabin was slightly warm, the sunlight too cozy. Slumped by the window, Siheon dozed off unknowingly.
In his haze, everything blurred.
Being lifted and moved. A voice saying, “It’s fine, I’ll handle it, you go.” A blanket covering him after. Whether the warmth came from enveloping pheromones or a hand brushing his hair, he couldn’t tell.
His body, sustained by Cha Wonwoo’s shirts for days, finally relaxed, sinking deeper into sleep.
＊＊＊＊＊
Fourteen hours later.
“We will be landing at John F. Kennedy International Airport shortly. Please fasten your seat belts for landing.”
Amid the faint announcement, someone shook Siheon’s sleeping frame.
“Hyung, we’re here. Time to wake up.”
The comforting pheromones faded. Feeling as if something precious was being taken, Siheon reluctantly opened his eyes.
A reclined seat. Soft mattress and blanket. Blinking to grasp the situation, he jolted upright at the repeated announcement.
“…We’re here?”
“Slept well?”
Facing Cha Wonwoo’s gentle gaze, Siheon, still groggy, mumbled.
“Where’s my meal?”
“Tried waking you, but you got mad.”
“…I did?”
“Yeah, you’re no princess either. Wouldn’t budge no matter what.”
Unbelievable. All that inner grandstanding about wishing him safety, and he slept fourteen hours straight? Staring at Cha Wonwoo in a daze, Siheon noticed he looked worse than at departure—pale, eyes bloodshot. Sleep fled instantly.
Eyes wide, voice tight, he demanded.
“You didn’t sleep?”
“…Landing soon. Buckle up.”
Cha Wonwoo dodged. Not didn’t—couldn’t. The image of him working on a tablet in the dim cabin wasn’t a dream. He’d worked the whole flight.
“Be honest. If you’re this swamped, why’re you in New York?”
Grabbing his shoulders, Siheon pressed for the real reason behind this unannounced trip. Cha Wonwoo answered quickly, like reciting a script.
“The explosion, remember? Checking the site. And meeting the governor.”
“Governor?”
“When we picked the site, New York gave tax breaks and support. This accident’s made things awkward.”
Siheon recalled news plastering Cha Wonwoo’s face for days. Though Construction’s fault, the shared “CH” name dragged him down too.
“What, worried I tagged along for you?”
“…Worried, my ass.”
“Not worried? Then you hoped I did?”
Dream on. Siheon let out a dry laugh. Stung by the attitude, Cha Wonwoo, the attention-starved adult, confessed.
“Fine, the site and governor are excuses. I came for you. People here flaunt pheromones like perfume.”
Tucking Siheon’s messy bedhead, Cha Wonwoo spoke, lips smiling but eyes cold.
“Before, they thought you were a beta. Not anymore. Some rut-crazed idiot might come at you with pheromones—I couldn’t stay in Korea.”
He raised the seat and buckled Siheon, just as Siheon had done. The plane shuddered, attempting to land, jostling their belted bodies.
“And we’ve got pheromone reading to do.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You know, our usual.”
“No, I know what it is—reading pheromones means… you want to keep meeting in New York?”
The plane glided onto the tarmac, slowing until it stopped.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived at John F. Kennedy International Airport. Thank you for flying with us. We look forward to serving you safely and comfortably again. Thank you.”
The announcement confirmed their safe arrival.
Cha Wonwoo, delaying his reply, retrieved something from the overhead bin—the sunglasses he’d promised to return on landing. Placing them on Siheon, he said warmly.
“Wish you’d keep your face covered out there. Too handsome—makes me nervous.”
His hand lingered, touching Siheon’s left earlobe. Rubbing it with his thumb, the friction heated Siheon’s ear, flushing red. Frozen like a pinned specimen, Siheon met eyes that seemed to devour him.
Drooping with fatigue, Cha Wonwoo flashed a chillingly beautiful smile.
“I’ll check every night. Don’t come back smelling of other alphas.”
He added.
“We’re at the same hotel.”
His hand left Siheon’s ear, the burning spot feeling like he’d hung his touch there instead of an earring.
“Oh, one more thing.”
Pausing as he stood, Cha Wonwoo spoke.
“Don’t worry about the crew talking.”
He’d ensured no workplace app leaks, meaning Siheon could relax. But Siheon’s real concern wasn’t crew—it was reporters. Cabin gossip stayed contained if the crew kept quiet, but flight records were easy to dig up with effort. Reporters would spin novels from that. Still, he’d been in this game too long to sweat such things.
“Gossip doesn’t stop just ‘cause you block it. If I cared, I’d have bailed when I saw you.”
Shrugging, Siheon pulled out a ball cap he hadn’t worn boarding, tugging it low as he stood.
Heading out, he noticed not just the left jet bridge door open but the opposite exit too. A stair vehicle was set for easy disembarking, and on the ground, black business cars, security, Yang, and staff waited in a line—an unusual sight. Staring, Cha Wonwoo approached and explained.
“They suggested it—airport’s too chaotic today.”
With Fashion Week and business trips overlapping, the state likely arranged it for safety. Knowing how crowded and risky airports got this time, Siheon nodded and tapped Cha Wonwoo’s shoulder.
“I’m off. Good luck.”
The curt farewell made Cha Wonwoo frown, but he soon recalled something and softened.
“See you after work.”
Thinking of meeting later clearly lifted his mood. Siheon turned without replying. He felt the gaze lingering on his back but didn’t look.
“Hyungnim!”
After clearing immigration, Kang San joined the group and was busy chattering all the way to the gate.
“Ugh, I feel so stiff. I guess I’m not cut out for airplanes. Not being able to move is pure torture, isn’t it?”
He grumbled about how repeating only eating and sleeping for fourteen hours made him feel like a beast, and went on endlessly about how he’d already looked up fitness centers to visit during his free time. Every sport Kang San was interested in—weightlifting, taekwondo, CrossFit, jiu-jitsu, boxing—was brought up one by one.
Siheon felt a pang of guilt. Kang San at least ate something, but he himself had truly done nothing but sleep. Dragging his suitcase retrieved from the baggage claim, he decided to bring up Cha Wonwoo to quiet Kang San’s chatter.
“Kang San.”
“Yes, Hyungnim.”
“Be honest with me. Did you know Cha Wonwoo was on the same flight as me, or not?”
Kang San immediately dodged the question and started walking ahead, muttering things like, “Wow, there are so many people.” His large, muscular frame scurried forward. But soon after, he slowed his pace and turned back to Siheon with a nervous expression.
“Hyungnim, a random thought just hit me. What if I meet Ronnie Coleman this time?”
What’s there to do if you meet him? It was a truly pointless hypothetical. Still, Siheon couldn’t bring himself to douse the excitement of the eager guy, so he kept quiet. Thankfully, the departure gate was right ahead.
“Hyungnim, hold on a sec.”
Kang San exchanged messages with someone and then held out his phone screen.
“They say there’s a huge crowd outside.”
The chat window showed messages with the Sori Entertainment content team, who had departed earlier. Attached at the bottom was a photo—a bird’s-eye shot capturing a dense crowd filling the area in front of the gate. Siheon checked the path marked by yellow safety lines and handed the phone back.
“And just in case it comes up later, don’t take anything from the fans for now!”
Right before the gate opened, Kang San quickly grabbed Siheon’s suitcase from his hand and made the request. The moment the doors opened, flashing lights, shutter sounds, and screams filled the airport.
“Siheon!”
The surging crowd shouted one person’s name at the top of their lungs. From those yelling hoarsely to those sobbing, voices of every accent and tone blindly called out for Siheon alone.
A larger-than-usual number of security guards surrounded Siheon and began clearing a path, but it didn’t take long for the safety lines to waver and chaos to erupt. Order collapsed, and Siheon found himself swaying amidst the crowd. From the center of the mob, various hands reached out, holding letters and all sorts of gifts toward him.
Having handed the suitcase to another staff member, Kang San stood close behind Siheon, shielding him, and shouted.
“Hyungnim! You have to keep moving!”
In places like the Americas or Europe, the number of fans waiting at airports was usually smaller, but since today was a special occasion, an unexpectedly large crowd had gathered. The fact that members of an idol group were arriving on the next flight probably meant their fans were mixed in as well.
Amidst it all, Siheon scanned the hands reaching out to him and steadied his stance. He knew some might complain that he was leaving too quickly after they’d waited so long, but ensuring safety was the priority. Any disappointment from fans was something he’d always take on himself.
“Siheon! This! A letter! Just this!”
The concise words carried a clear purpose. A voice desperately calling out in a foreign tongue, an urgent tone, a pleading gaze. When he tried to pass by, that desperate look turned to despair in an instant. Witnessing that moment from behind his sunglasses, Siheon let out a short sigh.
Kang San was shouting something from behind, but Siheon pretended not to hear and quickly took the letter, careful not to disrupt the path. The pure love pouring toward him was something he couldn’t bear to leave behind.
“Hyungnim, get in quick!”
Finally escaping the chaos and climbing into the car, the door slammed shut with a loud thud. Paparazzi who had followed them to the end pressed their cameras against the tinted windows as if they could see through. “Phew, that was intense, intense,” Kang San muttered discontentedly, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
As the lead security vehicle started moving, the car carrying the two of them followed suit.
“Looks like overseas fans have been waiting for you like crazy for the past two years.”
Kang San, his face filled with emotion, brought up the topic but suddenly shot Siheon a glance and started nagging.
“But Hyungnim, how could you take a letter back there? What if you got hurt? Then the fans’ hearts would break even more, right? It’s a good thing Director Cha assigned extra security, otherwise—”
“What did you say?”
Siheon whipped his head around, and Kang San let out a “Hup” and covered his mouth with both hands. At the oddly cute gesture, Siheon raised an eyebrow.
“Who assigned what?”
“Huh? I didn’t say anything, Hyungnim.”
“You did. And it sounded pretty important.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Oh, really? Then I guess you also don’t know that Cha Wonwoo is staying at the hotel we’re headed to.”
“What, really?”
No matter what was asked, Kang San deflected with “Huh?”, “Oh, really?”, or “For real?” But when Siheon threatened to make him tag along for shopping instead of hitting the fitness center during free time, Kang San immediately surrendered.
“Since it seems like you already kinda know, I’ll just say it. The day Director Cha visited our company last time, he discussed schedules with CEO Heo. He checked everything—your flight, the hotel, every detail. He even took the contact info for the brand reps.”
So, Cha Wonwoo had planned to come to New York from the start. Regardless of any explosion incident. No matter what excuse he’d come up with.
‘All that talk about the site or the governor was just an excuse. He came for you.’
Even though Cha Wonwoo had said as much, Siheon had assumed deep down that handling the incident was the main goal, and he himself was just a side note.
“So the incident really was just an excuse.”
Recalling Cha Wonwoo working tirelessly even on the plane, unable to rest, Siheon’s expression darkened rapidly. Knowing full well when that guy’s obsessive tendencies worsened. His fingers hesitated over the phone screen before he finally sent a text to Secretary Yang.
<
Secretary Yang,
Please check on Wonwoo’s rut cycle one more time.
And make sure he’s taking his suppressants properly.
The car, racing along, arrived at a hotel standing tall in the heart of New York City. Naturally, during Fashion Week, paparazzi camped out at the entrances of hotels where celebrities stayed. Today was no exception.
Guards from the security vehicles in front and behind got out first to secure the area. Then one of the guards knocked on the window of Siheon’s car from outside. Kang San looked at him as if asking if he was ready, and Siheon nodded. After tapping twice from the inside as a signal, the guard opened the door.
Manager Kang San got out first to join the guards, and finally, Siheon stepped out. Leaving his personal concerns in the car, he smiled leisurely, basking in the flood of camera shutters.
Capturing the most radiant moments forever.
That was Siheon’s purpose for coming to New York.
＊＊＊＊＊
Siheon lay on a sunbed on a sun-soaked terrace, sipping a mojito with soda water instead of rum.
A terrace overlooking the city, one king bedroom, two queen bedrooms with fireplaces, four bathrooms, one powder room, a spacious living room that could accommodate dozens of crew members, a kitchen equipped for cooking, a separate dining area—a terrace suite on the 14th floor of a luxury hotel. This was the accommodation the brand had reserved solely for Siheon.
Taking a moment to breathe under the clear sky, Siheon turned his head to gaze at the space, far too grand for one person. Beyond the glass, people inside were bustling about, preparing for a shoot. The Sori Entertainment content team was there to film a vlog, joined by a domestic fashion magazine team covering the process leading up to the photo wall and fashion show. Siheon was already familiar with both teams, so there was no awkwardness.
“Hyungnim, the photographer’s here.”
Kang San opened the terrace door and poked his head out. Stepping into the living room with the warm sunlight at his back, Siheon locked eyes with a stranger who had just arrived.
“This is the photographer assigned exclusively to you by Forevermore. His name is Sebastian Sainz.”
Medium-length hair reaching down to his neck, healthy olive skin, sculpted cheekbones, and overall striking features softened into a warm impression when he smiled, revealing long dimples. The man, who looked like the quintessential “free-spirited artist,” approached without hesitation and extended his hand.
“¡Hola! Encantado de conocerle. Eres muy guapo.”
Unlike his smooth English pronunciation, his Spanish had a distinct roll of the tongue. It was a greeting of “Nice to meet you” and a compliment of “You’re very handsome.” Understanding the simple Spanish, Siheon shook his hand and replied.
“Gracias. Encantado de conocerle.”
Thank you. Nice to meet you. Spanish flowed from Siheon’s lips as well. Surprised, the other man widened his eyes and asked.
“Siheon, you speak Spanish?”
Though tinged with the distinct awkwardness of a foreigner, the man’s fairly fluent Korean surprised Siheon this time, his expression reflecting astonishment. Observing Siheon’s face closely, the man flashed a smile so infectious it could make anyone watching feel ticklish.
“My ex, who I dated briefly, was Korean. That’s why I can speak Korean. How do you know Spanish, Siheon?”
Siheon’s lips, which had stiffened with tension, softened at the slightly halting sentence. Mindful of the man eagerly awaiting his response, Siheon answered slowly.
“There was a TV show I watched where the main character spoke Spanish. I don’t know much, just enough to understand basic greetings.”
The man praised Siheon’s pronunciation of “Gracias.” Yet, he stubbornly refused to let go of Siheon’s hand, as if wondering how long they’d keep shaking. Siheon had no choice but to naturally pull away while offering a polite request for future cooperation.
“I look forward to working with you in New York, Sebastian.”
“Siheon, call me Bastian, Sebi, or Sez—whatever feels comfortable. We need to get close.”
“Then I’ll call you Sebi.”
“Great. Let’s get to work. I can’t wait to capture Siheon in my camera.”
During his stay in New York, all of Siheon’s clothing would be from Forevermore, the brand he was an ambassador for, and Sebastian, his dedicated photographer, was in charge of everything from editorials to general photography.
The results would be uploaded online the same day, but since they could also be used for future brand promotions, Sebastian had to pour effort into every shot. Even so, unlike someone facing grueling work, his cheekbones flushed with an excited smile.
“Let’s go to the terrace. I want to capture Siheon under the sunlight.”
At the photographer’s suggestion, Siheon gladly headed to the terrace. Another staff member from the brand connected the camera to a computer for real-time monitoring and set up a few other pieces of equipment.
Sebastian positioned Siheon and conducted test shots, adjusting for the desired mood and aperture settings.
After a few clicks, the sound stopped, and once all preparations were complete, Sebastian pointed to the terrace railing. Siheon leaned both arms on the railing and looked up at the sky. At that moment, as if refusing to tolerate his gaze wandering elsewhere, the man called out Siheon’s name.
“Siheon!”
When Sebastian stepped slightly away from the camera, revealing his face, their eyes met in midair. The man’s gaze, intense even without a camera, blazed even brighter when he held one.
“You’re sunshine. I want to capture that. Look here!”
Siheon let out a small cough. To someone not deeply versed in art, it was a somewhat cryptic remark. It might’ve been easier to brush off if it were in a foreign language, but hearing it in Korean made him feel embarrassingly flustered. Wasn’t it enough to just make the clothes look good? A lazy thought crossed his mind. But Sebastian, as if dismissing such notions, stared piercingly at Siheon and said.
“Don’t take your eyes off the lens.”
Actors always avoid looking directly at the lens. Making eye contact with it during a scene would result in an NG. So, what could be harder than being told not to look away from the lens?
Leaning his arms on the railing behind him, Siheon slightly crossed his legs, tilted his head, and gazed at the lens. His hair, freshly styled after a shower at the hotel, cascaded to one side.
To Sebastian’s eyes, fragments of light shimmered between Siheon’s dark hair, catching the backlight. Like ripples tickling the sea’s surface, Siheon’s gentle waves filled the frame. With lips parted in a daze, Sebastian relentlessly pressed the shutter.
Sebastian preferred nonverbal communication. It could convey things words couldn’t.
As always when he found a subject he liked, he let pheromones flow with uncontainable excitement and praise, laced with a hint of seduction. It wasn’t uncommon in this industry for a photographer and model who clicked to end up rolling together. If the other party showed discomfort, he’d cleanly erase any sexual intent.
To Sebastian, pheromones were a way to bypass the complex, slow process of probing with words, reaching the goal directly.
Now, too, he unreservedly released alpha pheromones while trapping Siheon, known as an omega, within his frame.
Just then, one of Siheon’s drop earrings fell from his tilted head.
“Oh, hold on a second.”
From among the crowd, the stylist, Subin, hurriedly rushed over. Siheon picked up the fallen earring and handed it to her. Blowing on it to brush off dust, Subin frowned.
“No good. Oppa, I’ll swap this for another earring. The loop here is completely bent—it won’t stay in place.”
The piercing hole from a past role had long closed, leaving only a faint mark. With his earlobe slightly swollen from Cha Wonwoo’s recent biting and sucking, Siheon felt oddly empty without the clip-on earring. Touching the bare spot, he nodded.
While Subin went to fetch a replacement, Sebastian, interrupted in his flow, scrunched his face in displeasure. It was a prop issue, so no apology was necessary, but when Siheon met his eyes, he smiled awkwardly. Seeing this, Sebastian’s expression softened considerably.
The shoot resumed promptly. Under New York’s clear sky, the shutter sounds cut through the city’s noise in rapid succession. The sharp clicks honed Siheon’s focus. He subtly shifted poses, locking eyes with the lens, vast like a predator’s gaze.
Sebastian was a photographer who drained his models. Siheon found today’s shoot particularly exhausting. When his focus began to waver, Sebastian noticed immediately, set down his camera, and approached. Reaching behind Siheon, he calmly ran his hand upward. Siheon’s muscles, tense from the stranger’s intrusion, stiffened rigidly.
“Siheon, straighten your back. Relax your expression.”
The man’s hand lingered on Siheon’s body. It was too purposeful to be called teasing. Some assertive photographers guided models by demonstrating poses themselves. Sebastian’s cool hand moved from Siheon’s shoulder to the back of his neck, then touched his cheek. Adjusting Siheon’s face to the desired angle, he met his gaze. Gray and blue—an enigmatic hue like mixed paint—captured Siheon’s reflection in his pupils.
“Focus.”
The stern, warning tone snapped Siheon back to attention, and he dove back into the shoot. He needed to wrap this up quickly, or it felt like his energy would be completely sapped.
The time Sebastian spent pressing the shutter and checking the monitor grew longer.
“This is good enough here.”
Finally satisfied with a shot, Sebastian announced the end of the terrace shoot.
Letting out a big sigh without realizing it, Siheon startled and turned his head. Fortunately, Sebastian didn’t seem to hear, as he was busy talking with his assistant at the monitor. Looking as drained as if all his body’s moisture had been sucked out, Siheon stood beside them.
“Siheon, which one’s your favorite? I like these two.”
As Siheon approached, Sebastian closed the personal space gap, leaning in. The earlier pickiness was gone, replaced by a slick demeanor. Stepping back, Siheon played along with even more ease.
“Sebi shot them so well, they all feel like best cuts.”
Passing the credit to him, Sebastian eagerly launched into how handsome Siheon was. CEO Heo often commented on appearances in front of people, but Sebastian was on another level. If Heo’s compliments were blunt and casual, Sebastian’s were the kind that made you want to scratch your ears in embarrassment.
The domestic fashion show magazine video team captured all of this. From the hotel to the show venue, they aimed to document every thrilling moment of Kang Siheon for a “New York Fashion Week Behind-the-Scenes” feature.
While Sebastian and his assistant sorted photos, Siheon, without a moment’s rest, explained to the video team the outfit he wore at the airport and the one he’d wear for tomorrow’s show. The memorized script flowed from his lips as if it were his own words, without a single mistake.
“Then we’ll move to the next location in breath of relief. The staff shouted the schedule in Korean, then repeated it in English. With a tight schedule, Siheon and the staff would skip lunch and shoot until evening. As they quickly packed equipment, those with a spare moment flocked to the living and dining rooms, where snacks like crab rolls, sandwiches, mini burgers, donuts, and coffee were prepared.
The smells should’ve sparked his appetite, but Siheon felt none. He planned to slip into his room for even ten minutes of rest. No one would mind if he rested outright, but he stayed on edge. While gauging when he could leave without causing gossip, a gasp came from somewhere nearby.