FRWD Ch 2
by soapaIf only they had booed.
Looking at the audience filled with chilling silence, Haseong wished for jeers, for thumbs pointed downwards, for any kind of derision, even if it was just, “You call that a song?” Every time he saw the audience pretending they hadn’t seen the performance at all, Haseong realized the saying, “No reaction is worse than a bad reaction.”
“Fuck.”
The vocalist, Woochan, spat towards the unresponsive audience and walked out the back door first. Even though there were no audience members looking at the stage anyway, Haseong flinched in surprise. The other members followed Woochan out, ignoring Haseong’s surprise.
“Hey!”
Haseong dragged some loose tissue paper over with his foot, roughly wiped the spit, and hurriedly chased after the members. He almost hit his forehead on the heavy iron door because the last member to leave hadn’t bothered to hold it for him. As he managed to grab the door and come out, he saw their backs as they walked away, stretching and swaggering.
None of them showed any sign of reflecting on their pathetic performance or singing. Haseong hoisted his bass and quickened his pace. He had something he needed to ask Woochan.
He wasn’t even thinking about appealing to them with things like, “Even if the audience wasn’t responsive, shouldn’t you have at least shown some respect to the owner who gave us this stage?,” or “Please, let’s have some basic manners.” He’d already done that a hundred times, and it had fallen on deaf ears a hundred times. Haseong had lowered his expectations for this hopeless band a long time ago.
“Hey, Woochan! Wait a minute…!”
“What? What is it now?”
Despite clearly hearing Haseong call him, Woochan didn’t stop walking. He just spat out his response in a voice thick with irritation.
However, Haseong, already accustomed to this kind of attitude, didn’t mind and stuck to Woochan’s side. He knew if he didn’t ask now, Woochan would avoid him and wouldn’t give him a proper answer.
“You said we were going to perform the song I composed this time.”
“….”
“We even practiced. So why…!”
“Oh, fuck! The audience’s reaction was shit, so should I have done an encore?”
Woochan slapped away Haseong’s hand gripping his wrist and scowled. Despite the embarrassing and infuriating action, Haseong persevered and grabbed Woochan’s sleeve again.
“Why do you always break your promises? This song, really, I adjusted it to your vocal range…”
“Will you stop it? Fuck, it’s hard to sing the song you wrote. It’s hard for me, the vocalist, to sing! And I’m the one who writes the songs!”
This time, it wasn’t just a slap. Woochan yelled, elbowed Haseong in the abdomen, and pulled away. It wasn’t a powerful blow, but the pointed elbow bone hurt quite a bit.
Haseong clutched his stomach and gasped. His tightly closed lower lip and fists trembled. While he stood there, trying to suppress his anger, the other members followed Woochan, chuckling.
“Give up your ambitions. Have you even learned how to compose properly?”
“Hey, hey, don’t talk to him like that. You’ll hurt our ambitious friend’s pride.”
“Haseong, we’re going to the makchang place up ahead, so if you want a free meal, shut up and follow us.”
“Leave him. He’ll probably go meet his girlfriend again.”
It was Woochan who added this in a sarcastic tone. Our Haseong, youth is wasted on the young! The drummer, Juwon, struck a fighting pose. They swaggered like deflated balloons and disappeared around the corner of the hallway.
Once the three flamboyantly dressed men were gone, Haseong was left alone in the middle of the dimly lit hallway. It wasn’t a particularly large space, but a strange feeling of confinement, like being trapped in a maze with no exit, began to tighten around his throat.
It was always like this after a performance. He started the band because playing the bass, which Woochan had introduced him to, was more fun than he thought, because the church brother who taught him bass seemed cool, because playing with the older guys was enjoyable, and because music was the only thing he was halfway decent at. How did things end up like this?
“Ha…”
Haseong carefully hugged his bass, making sure it didn’t bump against the wall, and slid down to the floor. When he thought about the parcel loading and unloading part-time job he’d taken to buy this bass, he couldn’t help but treat it preciously, even if it seemed a bit excessive.
He repeatedly patted his chest, which wouldn’t loosen up no matter how much he exhaled, and glanced at the back door leading to the stage. Fortunately, it seemed like it would be a while before the next band came out for their performance. Haseong twirled his sweaty bangs with his fingers and took out his phone. It had become a habit to check for messages from his girlfriend as soon as a performance ended.
He felt suffocated, lost, anxious, and a surge of uncontrollable anger made him want to scream at the top of his lungs. But all of that would melt away when he received a message from his girlfriend asking, “How was the performance today?” It was the same when she listened to the songs he composed, closed her eyes, and nodded her head, giving him baseless hope that this performance would definitely go well. She….
She….
“….”
Clang. The phone slipped from his hand and landed on the floor with a loud noise. The sound echoed loudly enough to make him wince, due to the enclosed space. Haseong just blinked, unable to even think about picking up the phone with its shattered screen.
I must have seen it wrong. He wanted to believe that, but the phone on the floor, even with its broken screen, was performing its function perfectly.
[♥: I don’t think we have a future]
[♥: I’m sorry…]
[♥: Please don’t call]
The screen flashed every time a message arrived. He wanted to look away, but his eyes involuntarily read the words on the screen. The screen went black after the last message, a torturous line saying she thought she might weaken if she heard his voice.
He didn’t know how long he’d stayed like that. He came to his senses when the murmur of the band that had finished their performance and come down from the stage gradually approached the hallway. Haseong groped the floor with his hand, picked up the phone beyond his blurred vision, stood up, slung his bass back on his back, and stumbled away.
Sniffle. The stuffy sound every time he inhaled was annoying. He felt pathetic, crying his eyes out at 22 years old over something like this. He felt so pathetic that he couldn’t stop crying.
“Ugh…”
He sat down on the bare ground of a back alley littered with trash and buried his face between his knees. The disgusting smell of rotting food wafted from nearby, probably because a stray cat had ripped open a food waste bag. But it was better to be stuck here crying alone than whining while walking down the street. He didn’t want to become a spectacle.
As he sat there wallowing in self-pity, he thought that this dirty back alley couldn’t be a more fitting place for his current situation. His self-esteem had been shredded like that yellow food waste bag a long time ago. The future… It was probably dumped in that trash can.
“Sniff…”
He stared at the ground for a long time, sniffling. He’d cried so much that his ears were ringing. His nose had been blocked for a while. Because of this, Haseong hadn’t smelled the cigarette smoke that had mingled with the air at some point, and he hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps until they were right next to him.
And so.
“Why are you crying?”
“…Huh?”
He couldn’t help but be startled by the voice that suddenly came from above. It was an unfamiliar voice, a gentle tone he’d never heard before. None of his few acquaintances spoke like that, so he could immediately tell it was a stranger.
Haseong rubbed his face with the back of his hand and slowly raised his head. He stopped when he thought he’d raised it enough, but all he could see was the man’s shoulders. Finally, after craning his neck until it ached, he could see the man’s face.
First, the man was tall and well-built. His hands, large enough to cover Haseong’s face in one go, with nicely defined knuckles, held a cigarette.
The area around his chin, which was surely well-defined, was half-covered by a black mask, and cigarette smoke drifted out from his distinctly colored lips, even under the moonlight. Then there was his straight nose and slightly upturned eyes, shaped like a crescent moon plucked from the night sky.
It was a face he couldn’t mistake, even though he’d never seen it before. Haseong unconsciously held his breath. The man, keenly aware of Haseong’s reaction, smiled slightly.
“Ah, you recognize me.”
He muttered as if surprised, stroking his mask-covered chin. Haseong, about to ask if he was joking, just silently nodded.
Go Yehan. An actor who rose to the top as soon as he debuted in a network drama, without the usual period of obscurity. Not only that, but his first film was a huge hit, and his continued success earned him the title of “box office guarantee.”
Every drama or movie he appeared in became a huge hit throughout Asia through OTT platforms, to the point where people jokingly said even North Koreans would recognize Go Yehan. Even Haseong, who didn’t watch TV much, knew his face, name, and general life story.
Whenever there was a news story about him, whether it was the exclusive report about him being one of the few dominant Alphas in South Korea, or the article about him being the only son of a famous actress who had committed suicide, which simultaneously revealed that his mother was the famous composer and copyright tycoon—whenever anything happened, real-time search rankings were plastered with Go Yehan’s name, making it impossible not to know him.
Besides, it had only been a few days since he went to see a movie starring Yehan with his girlfriend, so it would be stranger if he didn’t recognize him. Haseong swallowed down the bitter memories that had become painful in just a few days and spoke awkwardly.
“Of course… I enjoyed your recent movie.”
More accurately, my ex-girlfriend did. He swallowed the bitter afterthought and stood up abruptly. But even after standing, their eye levels weren’t aligned.
…Wow, how tall is this person? I’m 182cm.
Haseong made a useless guess and tilted his head back slightly. Just then, Yehan extended his right hand, and Haseong instinctively took it and shook it. It was hard to refuse a handshake from a celebrity.
He smiled awkwardly, their hands lightly clasped. It would look crazy to be crying while shaking hands with someone he’d just met. It was at that moment that a playful voice reached Haseong, who was forcing a smile.
“Are you a fan?”
“Not really a fan…”
Haseong mumbled and tried to pull his hand away. But Yehan suddenly tightened his grip, holding Haseong’s hand in place. Furthermore, as he examined and caressed Haseong’s fingers, questions began to surface.
Why… is he playing with my hand? Is this some kind of fan service? Is he usually this thorough with his fan service? But I’m not a fan. I’ve just seen a couple of movies he’s in and a few clips of a drama that had over 40% viewership. Seeing him in person, he was undeniably handsome, even for a man to admit, but that was all.
While he was momentarily speechless, wondering what this was all about, the grip on his hand tightened. Haseong’s lips twitched involuntarily from the painful pressure. As he looked up, his eyes full of questions, the man stroked the back of Haseong’s hand with his thumb and said sadly,
“You’re very honest. In this situation, people usually say they’re a fan, even out of courtesy.”
“Well, uh… It would be weird for a gloomy guy like me to fuss over being a fan…”
“Is that so? I think I became a fan of Haseong after seeing your performance just now. Do you find that funny?”
Taken aback by the unexpected words, Haseong started hiccuping. The sudden hiccups were surprisingly persistent. He tried holding his breath, hitting his chest, and everything else, but they wouldn’t stop. Just when he was so embarrassed he wanted to die, Yehan handed him a bottle of water.
After gulping down the cold water and holding his breath for a few seconds, the hiccups finally stopped. He also belatedly felt the hand that had been patting his back since he started drinking the water.
“Feeling a bit better now?”
“…Yes, thank you.”
Haseong repeatedly thanked him and returned the water bottle. Yehan took it, shook it lightly, and grinned.
“Was it that surprising that I said I was a fan?”
“…I’ve never heard it before.”
Anyone would be surprised if, while playing bass in an obscure band that constantly failed live club auditions and was more likely to be asked, “Why does your guitar only have four strings?”, they suddenly ran into a top celebrity who confessed to being their fan.
Moreover, it was the first time Haseong had ever been called a fan by a complete stranger. Even though it was probably just a formality, he was secretly thrilled and surprised.
At Haseong’s embarrassed confession, Yehan looked puzzled.
“Really? I thought you’d have quite a few fans, especially compared to the other members. That’s unexpected.”
“….”
His casual remark made Haseong’s heart skip a beat again.
What is this, really… Was he being serious about being a fan, not just being polite? Now that he thought about it, Yehan already knew his name. How and where did he learn a name he’d never told him?
In this indie band scene, popularity usually meant the vocalist’s name being known. Unless someone was a die-hard fan of the band, they would probably only know the band’s name and the vocalist, rarely the bassist’s name.
His band didn’t even have die-hard fans; they were so unknown that searching their name online wouldn’t yield any results, meaning most people wouldn’t even know they existed. So Haseong was curious how someone like Go Yehan knew his name.
He was a puzzling man in many ways. To begin with, it was a mystery why a celebrity, whose time was more valuable than gold, would be at a Hongdae live club on a Saturday night.
Haseong stared blankly at Yehan. He had a lot of questions, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. It was their first meeting, and it was his first time seeing a celebrity in person, so he couldn’t gauge how far he could go with his questions. Yehan, however, had been crossing that line as he pleased.
“So, why were you crying?”
Yehan reached out to Haseong, who was just moving his lips. Haseong flinched as the large hand suddenly covered his eyes, then froze at the feeling of it gently stroking under his eyes. Chills ran down his spine, even more so than when Yehan had caressed the back of his hand. It was a physiological aversion.
Haseong unconsciously brushed Yehan’s hand away and took a few steps back.
“I wasn’t crying.”
“You’re cute, blatantly denying it with tear tracks running down your face.”
“…Huh?”
Fan or not, wasn’t this guy just crazy? Why would he say something like “cute” to a guy he’d just met, a guy over 180cm tall and built like a tank?
Haseong clenched his fists defensively and took another step away from Yehan. As he slowly backed away, holding his bass gig bag like a shield, Yehan suddenly asked an unexpected question.
“Do you smoke?”
“Uh, no…”
He actually smoked occasionally, but a lie instinctively popped out. As Haseong tried to quickly leave, Yehan muttered as if to himself,
“That’s strange. Then why do you carry a lighter in your pocket?”
“…Just…”
Haseong mumbled as he pushed the top of the lighter, which was sticking out of his pants pocket, back in. It must have slipped out while he was crouching down crying.
He didn’t know why he was having such bad luck today. The joy of being called a fan was short-lived, followed by a series of embarrassing and awkward moments that made him want to die.
“Okay. Do you mind if I smoke next to you?”
Before Haseong could answer, Yehan took out a cigarette and put it in his mouth. Haseong didn’t pay attention, preparing to turn and run.
“Huh? Yes… I, I should get going. The guys told me to join them for makchang.”
He turned around as soon as he finished speaking. He was about to quickly leave the alley without giving Yehan a chance to stop him.
“Your fan service is terrible. You should be nicer to your fans.”
The gentle voice wrapped around his ankles, accompanied by the click of a lighter igniting a cigarette.
What fan service? And what did he mean by being nicer? Annoyed by Yehan’s borderline inappropriate words and actions, Haseong stopped and turned around sharply.
“What are you talking about?”
“I told you, I became a fan after seeing your performance. It’s hard to tell if someone’s good at playing bass, but it’s easy to see when they’re bad, and you really stood out because the other members were so awful.”
“….”
“And it was cool seeing you with your bass, because you’re so well-built. You were the only one I could see on stage.”
It was feedback he’d never heard before. Positive feedback from someone who had just watched his performance and become a fan.
It was hard to dismiss it as mere politeness, especially since he’d specified what and how he liked the performance, even mentioning his posture. As a starving musician craving praise and attention, he couldn’t help but be intrigued.
“You’re handsome and talented. So I asked my cousin about you. He’s the owner of this live club.”
“You’re cousins with the owner?”
“Yes. That’s why I come here sometimes.”
“Ah…”
The question he had inwardly harbored about why an actor would hang out in a place like this was completely resolved. He had always been grateful to Hyeongseok, the owner of this live club, so the mere fact that Yehan was related to him improved his impression towards the actor.
Moreover, he’d even asked about him because he liked the performance. That was something he wouldn’t have done if he hadn’t been genuinely impressed. Haseong bowed deeply in sincerity.
“Thank you for enjoying the performance.”
“To be precise, I enjoyed you, not the performance.”
“St…still, thank you.”
“I’m the one who should be thanking you. It’s been a while since I’ve found…”
“Huh?”
“…someone like you.”
Yehan’s eyes crinkled as he spoke. The thought, “This is what it means to charm someone,” unconsciously crossed Haseong’s mind. It was that captivating. Even he, a Beta male, felt this way, so he could only imagine how mesmerized women or Omegas would be.
To be so handsome and a dominant Alpha on top of that. With those looks, he could have gotten away with terrible acting, but Yehan was known for being a skilled actor among young actors.
The thought that life was unfair briefly crossed his mind, but looking at Yehan’s face, it felt petty to even harbor such a thought, so he quickly dismissed it. His beauty wasn’t just handsome; it felt almost sacred. Haseong quickly averted his gaze, as if embarrassed.
“There are plenty of people like me…”
“No. You’re rare.”
Yehan stated firmly, his face as gentle as a spring breeze.
If there weren’t any, there weren’t any. What did he mean by “rare”? He felt momentarily offended by the brutally honest answer, but it was true. It was actually quite a compliment to be called rare. Haseong gnawed on his cheek, which felt strangely ticklish.
“It feels… strange to be complimented by someone like you.”
“What feels strange?”
“I suddenly feel very special.”
“Just because you got a compliment from someone like me?”
“How can you be ‘just someone’…”
It wasn’t an exaggeration. It was a bit much to call the most popular actor in Asia “just someone.” People should be humble, but within reason. Haseong protested softly. Yehan chuckled and offered him a cigarette.
Since he’d already been caught, it felt pointless to keep pretending he didn’t smoke, so Haseong silently accepted the cigarette instead of answering. As he put the filter in his mouth, took out his lighter from his pocket, and lit the cigarette with practiced ease, he felt Yehan staring at him. Haseong quickly added,
“Earlier, I was flustered, so…”
“So you tend to forget about cigarettes when you’re flustered? Isn’t it usually the opposite?”
“….”
Stung by the pointed remark, Haseong just exhaled a long stream of smoke, avoiding eye contact. Long fingers caught his face, which had turned slightly away. Yehan leaned down, matching Haseong’s eye level, and stroked his eyes again, asking,
“So why were you crying earlier? Your eyes are red. You’d be surprised if you saw yourself in the mirror.”
“…Why do you keep asking?”
“Because I’m a fan. Naturally, I’m curious.”
Was it the cool, languid air of the early summer night? Or was it this man’s sweet voice? He felt a bit drunk. Haseong, whose spirits had been lifted by the unfamiliar word “fan,” mumbled,
“Just things not working out…”
“Specifically how? Tell me. Think of me as a bamboo forest.”
“Why a bamboo forest?”
“The King Has Donkey Ears. You must have read it once as a child, it’s a famous fairy tale.”
“Ah…”
Having grown up with parents who couldn’t properly support a family of three even with both of them working, Haseong’s childhood had no room for things like reading. His parents had neither the time to read to him nor the conviction that they should make their young child read.
Even after starting school, Haseong didn’t become a self-motivated, diligent student. Even if he wanted to catch up, he and his peers were starting from fundamentally different points. Realizing that studying wasn’t his path, Haseong turned to music early on.
Because of this, things like this happened once or twice in every conversation. He would get teased if he honestly admitted he didn’t know something, and he would also get teased if he pretended to know or understand and gave a strange answer, so Haseong chose to be sparing with his words in these situations.
Yehan raised an eyebrow for a moment as he looked at the silent Haseong, then lightly nodded.
“It’s okay not to know. I just meant, tell me as if no one’s here.”
“It’s okay. Nothing will change even if I talk about it.”
“It’s frustrating to keep it bottled up. That’s why I’m saying, just let it all out and feel better.”
“……”
Haseong thought for a moment. Whether he confided in his parents or his bandmates, the reactions were always the same: “Why are you worrying about such things when you’re barely scraping by?,” “You need to get your act together.”
Having heard only those kinds of words since his earliest memories, Haseong had become hesitant to open up to anyone. However…
“Maybe it’s easier because we’re strangers. Just say it and forget about it.”
The more the man in front of him spoke in a soothing, gentle voice, the more a bubble of anticipation grew in Haseong’s chest. An unfounded expectation that this person wouldn’t treat him like a fool, wouldn’t ignore him, and would listen to whatever he said with genuine attention.
Just now, instead of making fun of his lack of general knowledge, he’d said it was okay not to know. Haseong was used to boisterous teasing, but not to calm comfort that acknowledged his ignorance.
Haseong hesitated, then slowly opened his mouth.
“The guys, the guys I’m in a band with.”
“Yes.”
“They promised to perform a song I wrote this time, but they changed it without consulting me and told me right before we went on stage.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know… It wasn’t a problem performing since we’d practiced all the songs… And also…”
He tightly gripped his phone with its shattered screen. Haseong swallowed the tears welling up again and continued with difficulty,
“…My girlfriend broke up with me by text.”
“……”
Once he started talking, the words flowed out. He started sniffling again, as if the crying had never stopped. Haseong sniffled and rubbed his eyes.
“She was my first girlfriend… She said she thought it was cool that I made music, that she liked that I was handsome, that it was okay that I was a little stupid because I was nice, and also…”
“…Your girlfriend seems to have been very honest.”
“Yes. Honest and cool… So she coolly broke up with me by text…”
He thought he wouldn’t have felt so devastated and sad if she had broken up with him face-to-face. Haseong was unbearably heartbroken that their relationship, after all the time they’d spent together, could end with just a few text messages.
And more than anything, he was shocked by the fact that the girlfriend who had loved him and his music so much had been coldly evaluating his worth.
“She said she didn’t think we had a future… To me…”
“She even said that? By text?”
“Yes…”
“That’s too much.”
Yehan clicked his tongue softly. Haseong shook his head as if agreeing.
“She’s, sniff, right, though…”
“Why wouldn’t you have a future? You’re only 22.”
“How… how did you know my age?”
“Hyeongseok told me. Anyway, you shouldn’t be thinking like that at such a young age. It’ll stop you from achieving anything.”
Saying so, Yehan took a handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to him. Haseong was inwardly surprised that a man would actually carry a handkerchief.
“Wipe your tears.”
“Thank you.”
After a small thank you, Haseong dabbed at his eyes with the corner of the neatly folded handkerchief. He felt like he shouldn’t use such an expensive-looking handkerchief to roughly wipe his face. As he wiped away the welling tears, two small, damp circles appeared on the dark gray handkerchief.
Haseong placed the unfolded handkerchief on his open palms and presented it respectfully. He knew it was polite to return it clean, but he thought it was better to return it now since he didn’t know when he’d see Yehan again.
He was a person from a distant world, someone he would normally never even see, as if this chance encounter in a trash-filled back alley was a dream.
“I wanted to wash and return it, but I figured you must be busy…”
“I’m free these days, so it’s okay. Wipe your face properly and return it later.”
“…But I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”
“You can give it to Hyeongseok.”
“Ah.”
There was that option. Haseong carefully put the folded handkerchief into the front pocket of his gig bag. Yehan had told him to wipe his face properly, but he wasn’t thick-skinned enough to blow his nose into the man’s handkerchief in front of him.
“Anyone would think the handkerchief was royalty.”
Yehan chuckled again, watching Haseong treat the handkerchief as if it were precious. Haseong just smiled awkwardly in return.
“Thank you so much for today. For everything.”
As Yehan had said, after letting everything out, his chest felt much lighter. Though he felt embarrassed, as Yehan had said, it was something he could just forget. And more than anything, he was incredibly grateful for the kindness shown by a man he’d just met, so Haseong spoke sincerely,
“Since you’re my first fan, I’ll work even harder. So you won’t be disappointed…”
“Good. I’ll look forward to hearing your music from time to time.”
Yehan was kind until the very end. He’d suspected this man of being crazy. He wanted to slap himself for having such a stupid thought, even for a moment.
He patted Haseong’s shoulder encouragingly, then said he should probably get going, telling him to enjoy his makchang before disappearing. Watching his retreating figure, Haseong made a resolution. From now on, if he saw any malicious comments on articles about Yehan, he would diligently report and refute them.
💜
“Where did you go?”
As soon as Yehan returned to the live club, Hyeongseok, who was sitting at a table receiving greetings, asked without turning his head. The people bowing deeply and greeting him were dressed so flamboyantly it was almost painful to look at.
Assuming they were a rookie band, Yehan pulled his mask up to his nose and put his hood up. He hated it when people recognized him and caused a commotion.
“Just outside.”
“Why? Oh, go ahead, go ahead. Good work.”
Hyeongseok waved to the purple-haired man standing at the front of the group. The purple-haired man turned around, followed by the rest of the group, all carrying instrument cases as tall as themselves on their backs.
Yehan naturally thought of the bass gig bag that had been treated like a sacred object. And the face of the man who had clutched it throughout their conversation.
He was even more attractive up close, more his type. He hadn’t expected intelligence from someone so obsessed with music, but he was even more foolish than he’d thought… and that made him cute. Even the way he’d talked about his age-appropriate worries with a face like the world was ending was incredibly endearing.
Thinking about it made him chuckle again. He’d just gone out for a smoke, but he hadn’t expected to find the guy who had been so cool playing bass on stage sniffling and crying.
Seeing someone who was already his type crying made his lower body tighten. The stoic, cool impression, the way he dressed, the piercings… He looked like a thug, but the more they talked, the more obvious it became that he was a gentle, naive fool.
‘Well, that’s why he hasn’t left that band.’
With his bass skills, he could easily join any famous band as a session musician and be welcomed with open arms. There was always a shortage of bassists.
And Haseong himself must know that. So the fact that he was still sticking with that trashy band meant he had his own foolish reasons.
Like old ties, or loyalty, or something.
“He’s really stupid…”
After confirming that the annoying group hovering around the table had all disappeared, Yehan muttered as he leaned back in his chair.
Another band had started playing, and the booming sound from the amp speakers filled the air. Still, the quality of the bands playing definitely improved as the night went on. This band was at least listenable, unlike Haseong’s band.
Yehan languidly watched the stage. But even though the quality had improved, there was no one who caught his eye like Haseong. He quickly lost interest and looked away. Hyeongseok, who was opening a bottle of beer, reacted a few seconds later.
“Who? Who’s stupid?”
“Haseong. Come to think of it, I don’t know his last name.”
“…What? Don’t tell me you went outside to try something with him…”
“I just ran into him while I was out for a smoke.”
He swore to God he hadn’t followed Haseong. If he’d intentionally followed him with the intention of seducing him, he would have chosen a different location than a garbage dump.
So he’d been a little surprised to find Haseong curled up next to a trash bag, crying. He hadn’t expected such a quick opportunity.
“He recognized me.”
“Of course he’d recognize you. He uses the internet, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, but he was wary. At first, he looked at me like I was crazy. He warmed up quickly once I was nice to him, though.”
“You didn’t do anything to him, did you?”
Hyeongseok shuddered as if disgusted. Instead of answering, Yehan pushed the cheap bottled beer Hyeongseok had handed him to the corner of the table. This made Hyeongseok even more agitated.
“You crazy bastard. He has a girlfriend! I know you’re not morally upright, but even you wouldn’t go after a kid who’s taken!”
“They broke up.”
“Huh? Why? …No, that’s not the point. How do you know?”
“He was crying his eyes out because she dumped him by text.”
He’d been saying childish things, but the reddened eyes and tear-stained face were definitely a sight to behold. He also confirmed that his unusually pale skin wasn’t makeup. He’d actually touched his calloused hands, and he liked them even more.
So Yehan had even played along and offered some half-hearted consolation, going so far as to use a line from a drama character he’d played a few years ago.
Fortunately, it seemed Haseong hadn’t noticed the acting and appeared quite touched. Judging by the fact that he hadn’t noticed even though Yehan had quoted the line verbatim, it seemed that him not being a fan was also completely true.
“That girlfriend, she came to our club with Haseong a few times. That’s a shame. They looked good together.”
Hyeongseok, true to his simple nature, was quickly distracted by the topic of the breakup and scratched his head. They looked so good together, and they broke up with a single text? Yehan didn’t hide his sneer.
“Relationships at that age are all like that.”
“Probably better than your relationships.”
“I don’t date. You know that.”
Dating was bothersome, futile, and a role-playing game where both parties burdened each other with unnecessary responsibilities under the illusion of love.
Since the goal was sex anyway, that kind of charade seemed like a waste of time to Yehan. Especially since he could easily achieve his goal with a little acting and pretending to be affectionate. And when he got tired of it, he could just find someone new.
Hyeongseok, who knew Yehan’s views on relationships all too well, rolled his eyes.
“I know. You’re trash.”
“Weren’t you going to ask me for money?”
The live club Hyeongseok ran was perpetually in the red. If it weren’t for Yehan’s generous loans, it would have closed down long ago. The reason he supported this perpetually loss-making club wasn’t anything special.
First, it was his building, and the money Hyeongseok borrowed was a paltry sum compared to his wealth.
Crucially, if he gave him a little money, Hyeongseok would take care of all the annoying family matters on his father’s side, so he didn’t have to show his face. And Hyeongseok was obedient and easy to control, so it was convenient. From Yehan’s perspective, it was no different from paying for convenience.
Sure enough, as soon as the topic of money came up, Hyeongseok, who had been criticizing Yehan harshly, turned into a clown.
“…Hyungnim. Our business is struggling these days. Supporting rookie bands is not easy, and we haven’t raised our drink prices, so…”
“Pick one, just one. Focus on charity work or focus on business.”
“It’s not charity work! Any scene needs to support and guide rookies to survive! Especially the dying indie scene, uh! The mere existence of new blood…”
For someone who’d messed up his own band in his early twenties, he had an unusual amount of old-timer pride. Yehan cut off Hyeongseok’s words, which he’d heard so many times they were practically engraved in his ears.
“I’m tired of hearing your theories. Just tell me how much you need.”
“Yes, Hyungnim. Then for now, just two thousand will do, Hyungnim.”
Hyeongseok rubbed his hands together like a fly. Yehan paused for a moment while taking out his phone to make the transfer.
“In exchange for the loan.”
“Huh?”
“Haseong will come to return my handkerchief. Contact me then.”
He had no intention of letting go of someone who fit his preferences so perfectly after so long. That’s why he’d held back his sneers and even listened to his worries earlier.
Judging by his behavior, it seemed like he would fall for him after a few more sweet whispers and affectionate gestures. And since he’d broken up with his girlfriend at such a convenient time, the next step would be even easier.
Yehan had never felt any guilt about doing such things to someone eight years younger than him. As a result, Hyeongseok, who was shouldering all the guilt Yehan should have felt, looked grim.
“…It feels a bit like I’m selling a kid for two thousand.”
“You are selling him. So, are you not going to do it?”
“…I’ll do it. Sigh, what a life.”
Hyeongseok rubbed his face, expressing his distress. Yehan couldn’t hide his sneer at his fake display. And at the same time, he thought of the man who was far from fake.
The man who had sobbed in front of a stranger, yet only left two teardrops on the handkerchief he’d been given to wipe his face, the man whose face had lit up at the word “fan” and bowed his head, saying he’d never forget it.
Yehan muttered, a smile replacing his sneer,
“He’s easy… Pathetic.”
💜
Haseong went straight home instead of going for makchang. Honestly, the thought of sitting at a table with his bandmates and eating made him nauseous. He would definitely end up grilling all the meat, and being subjected to their complaints would be a given.
‘In the past… we used to have fun just setting up a simple meal at someone’s place and eating together.’
There was a time when they grilled meat on the wooden platform on their rooftop, used soju bottles with chopsticks stuck in them as microphones, sang songs, and laughed and chatted together. They’d even tried growing perilla leaves together to save money…
But the day they’d be able to eat those stubbornly slow-growing perilla leaves seemed far off. Even if they did grow, there would be no more occasions for them to sit together and share a meal…
His gloomy mood, brought on by the stark contrast between their past camaraderie and their current state, was short-lived. A beeping sound came from the bathroom. Haseong threw down his chopsticks mid-ramen and jumped up. As soon as he got home, he’d stripped his bed, thrown the sheets, along with the handkerchief Yehan had lent him, into the washing machine with a generous amount of fabric softener, and started the laundry.
Haseong patted his shoulder and headed to the bathroom. He needed to take the laundry out and hang it up to dry quickly. He was determined to dry it thoroughly in the sun, iron it until it looked new, and return it. He opened the lid of the washing machine.
And a moment later, he collapsed, holding the tattered handkerchief in his hand.
“…Why, why… Why is this…”
Haseong despaired, holding the ruined handkerchief. It was crumpled, riddled with holes, and the edges were frayed. The fact that it still smelled good, despite its condition, made him even more despairing.
Haseong carefully touched the edge of the handkerchief with trembling hands. If it had a brand tag, he could buy a new one to replace it, but the tag had been ripped off. Dejected, Haseong sat down against the washing machine, lost in thought.
He’d hiccuped in surprise at being called a fan, cried and made a spectacle of himself after being dumped by text, and now, on top of all that, he was going to return a borrowed handkerchief in tatters. The thought made him dizzy.
💜
“Hey, what’s that rag? Why are you carrying something like that around?”
After practice, while Haseong was wiping down his bass, Woochan asked, tilting his head downwards. His chin pointed towards the handkerchief sticking out of the front pocket of his gig bag. It must have come out when he took out his cleaner.
“It’s a handkerchief.”
Haseong corrected him and subtly covered his gig bag with his leg, trying to prevent Woochan from taking any further interest. Even though it was in tatters, if Woochan realized it was a luxury item, he would definitely try to take it. And he would be bombarded with persistent questions like, “Who gave it to you?,” “Where did you get this?”.
After ruining the handkerchief in the wash, Haseong had tried everything to buy an identical one. He’d visited department stores he’d never been to before, searched online with a picture, and even stuck his upper body into the washing machine to see if the ripped tag was stuck inside the drum.
As a result of his painstaking efforts, he’d managed to find out the brand of the handkerchief. He also found out that it was an unfamiliar brand with an exorbitant price tag. He’d tried to buy a handkerchief from a similar brand, but he’d had to give up after learning that they cost 200,000 won each.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to buy it, but that he couldn’t. He only had 100,000 won in his bank account. He’d tried to get some quick cash, even offering to fill in for other bands, but Woochan would find out every time and glare at him.
‘Are you trying to ditch us?’
‘I just need some money urgently.’
‘When haven’t you needed money? You work at the convenience store. Ask the owner for an advance.’
‘I already asked. He said no.’
‘…Whatever. Just make sure you come to practice. We’re going to be practicing a lot from now on.’
He couldn’t increase his working hours because Woochan had suddenly scheduled a ton of practices. He worked at the convenience store from morning till afternoon, and then spent his evenings cooped up in the basement practice room, his complexion growing pale from lack of sunlight.
And even when they gathered, they didn’t practice properly. Youngjun and Juwon were glued to their phones instead of their instruments, and Woochan was immersed in his own songwriting.
‘If they’re not going to practice, why bother calling me in? It’s a waste of rent.’
As always, Haseong swallowed his rising frustration. The hierarchy established with his older bandmates since childhood hadn’t changed, even though he was older now and bigger than them.
More than anything, Haseong couldn’t help but be weak against Woochan.
The older brother who’d readily included him, the younger brother, in his group of friends, who walked to and from school with him throughout elementary school, and who was the only one who cared for him when he was practically neglected at home. He was like a real brother, someone who had once filled the roles of both parent and friend. Even though their relationship was strained, he still felt that way.
Still.
“What’s with the handkerchief?”
He had been stubborn as a child, but he hadn’t been this spiteful… Woochan, whose handsome face was marred by a perpetual scowl, asked as he nudged the gig bag with his foot. Haseong blocked Woochan’s foot with his own leg.
“Don’t kick it.”
“You’re so fussy. There’s not even an instrument in there. What’s the big deal?”
“Would you like it if I kicked your bag?”
“Oh, you wanna fight? Huh?”
Woochan kicked the gig bag mockingly. Juwon and Youngjun, who were sprawled on the floor glued to their phones, chimed in.
“Here we go again. Full of energy, aren’t we?”
“What’s wrong with kicking an empty bag? Damn, Yoon Haseong, you’ve been getting really defiant lately.”
“There’s…!”
Haseong, about to retort, stopped. It was pointless to say not to kick it because there was a handkerchief inside; it would only invite more ridicule. He wouldn’t have an answer if they asked why he was even carrying it around.
At first, he’d carried it around to take it to a dry cleaner for repairs. But after every dry cleaner he visited declared it beyond repair… he just kept carrying it. Just looking at the handkerchief reminded him of the encouragement he’d received from that unrealistically handsome and kind man in the garbage dump that day.
Two weeks had passed since he started carrying it around. Two weeks since that dreamlike midsummer night.
Every day, Haseong wondered if he should keep carrying it, if he should confess and apologize. He’d walked past Hyeongseok’s live club four times already, only to hesitate and turn back.
All he had to do was say he’d accidentally ruined it and would buy a new one as soon as he could and ask for a little more time, but he didn’t know why he was hesitating so much. He could imagine how dumbfounded Yehan would be when Hyeongseok told him, and that made it even harder. Would Yehan be angry, asking why he’d torn the handkerchief he’d so kindly lent him?
“Sigh…”
“What is it? What’s in there?”
When Haseong sighed deeply, Woochan glanced at the gig bag. His narrowed eyes made Haseong uneasy.
If he told the truth — “This handkerchief was lent to me by actor Go Yehan. Go Yehan said he was my fan, listened to my worries, and encouraged me” — they would definitely take it away. And the handkerchief would probably end up on Used Kingdom, auctioned off as “Go Yehan’s belongings.”
So Haseong made up an excuse.
“There’s… my wallet in there.”
“What? Oh, the one your girlfriend bought you?”
“It’s cheap, you know. You really treasure that thing. Are you a pushover?”
“He’s always been a pushover. But your girlfriend’s been quiet lately, hasn’t she? She used to call all the time.”
The bandmates, unaware that his girlfriend had dumped him by text, chimed in. Taking advantage of the change in topic, Haseong pushed his gig bag further inside and cleared his throat. He knew he should tell them soon.
“…Ahem, she won’t be calling anymore…”
“Why? Did you fight?”
“…We broke up.”
The atmosphere instantly turned cold. Even Woochan’s eyes widened in surprise. Haseong quickly added,
“She said she’s going to be busy…”
He couldn’t bring himself to confess that she’d broken up with him with a single text saying they didn’t have a future. It was strange how he could easily pour his heart out to Yehan, a stranger, but wanted to hide it from the bandmates he’d known for 15 years.
As Haseong awkwardly lied, the members chuckled.
“You’re lying. The semester just ended. What’s she going to be busy with?”
“What’s the big deal? Maybe she’s busy with her new boyfriend.”
“Hey, you’re still carrying that wallet around even after being dumped? You have no pride. Throw it away.”
He hadn’t expected any comfort, but…
“…I’ll take care of it.”
Haseong put his bass into the gig bag and stood up. The bandmates didn’t seem interested in practicing anymore after their one run-through, and since it was past 10 p.m., they wouldn’t stop him if he said he was going home.
“Go straight home, and don’t go anywhere else. Send me a picture of your front door when you get there.”
Fortunately, Woochan let him go without any further comments. Haseong simply nodded and left the practice room. He had nowhere else to go anyway.
Outside, the familiar dingy back alley unfolded before him, and the humid night air enveloped him. The old commercial buildings lining both sides of the narrow alley, the tangled electrical wires and utility poles, the carelessly discarded trash bags… The street where the practice room was located was both familiar and unpleasant.
And a few minutes’ walk down this street would lead him to the area filled with live clubs. As always, Haseong stopped in front of Hyeongseok’s live club.
“…Hmm.”
The handkerchief tucked into the front pocket of his gig bag felt as heavy as a stone. But he couldn’t postpone it any longer. It was rude to Yehan, the owner of the handkerchief, and now that Woochan had noticed it, he felt uneasy carrying it around.
Right, he was someone he’d probably never see again after returning this. Whether that person thought he was a fool or a weirdo, it was better to apologize properly and compensate him. Having made up his mind, Haseong opened the club door.
[BLEACH SUMMER PARTY]
As soon as he opened the door, brightly colored posters plastered along the dark hallway caught his eye.
Hyeongseok’s club, “Bleach,” was the largest in the area, and every summer, they hosted a charity event. Although the indie band scene was dying, it was a relatively large event in this circle. The posters were already up, so it seemed they were going ahead with it this year as well.
But events like this were a distant world to him and his band, so Haseong just stared at the posters for a moment before turning away. He spotted Hyeongseok near the stage and quickly bowed.
“Hello.”
“Oh, hey… You came… You actually came…”
But Hyeongseok’s greeting was strangely subdued. His complexion was dark, and his tone was like someone welcoming an unwelcome guest.
Had something happened? Haseong observed Hyeongseok, who didn’t look well, then quickly brought up his reason for coming.
“About the other day…”
“…Wait a minute! Oh, I’m so busy. Haseong, since you’re here, can you wait a bit?”
Hyeongseok pointed at the air, fanned himself with his clothes, and ran off somewhere. As Haseong followed Hyeongseok with his eyes, Miyeon, a staff member, approached him. As usual, she was dressed flamboyantly, and her lip piercing glittered under the lights.
“Where’d he go? Anyway, Haseong, are you here alone?”
“Yes. He told me to wait.”
“Hmm. Why don’t you wait outside? I’ll call you when he comes back.”
“Why?”
Instead of answering, Miyeon tilted her chin slightly behind her. Haseong then noticed a group of customers whispering and looking at him.
“Three people have already asked me what band that handsome guy is in, just in the short time you’ve been here.”
Miyeon held up three fingers with a tired look.
“What do you want to do? If you want to find a new love now that you’ve broken up, you can stay inside.”
“…I’d appreciate it if you could call me.”
He wasn’t ready to see anyone else yet, and it would be awkward to reject anyone who asked for his number. Taking advantage of the commotion as the band on stage started their next song, Haseong slipped out the back door.
But now that he was outside, he had nothing to do. He took out his lighter to have a cigarette, and at that moment, he saw a large advertisement of Yehan on the side of a department store building, visible through a gap in the alley. It was an advertisement of Yehan in a luxurious suit, standing with a blank expression. It was huge, even though the department store was quite far from where he stood.
‘He’s really everywhere.’
He could see Yehan everywhere, on TV, online, and even just walking down the street. There were countless pictorials, commercials, and even movie posters for films that had been released quite a while ago still occupying billboards. People were constantly talking about the box office success of the movies and dramas starring Go Yehan.
He’d shared a cigarette with that person in this dirty back alley. If it weren’t for the handkerchief, he would have dismissed it as a crazy dream.
‘I guess I’ll never see him again…’
As he exhaled a puff of smoke, pushing aside a feeling he couldn’t define as either regret or relief, headlights suddenly flashed in the distance. The sound of a car door opening and closing echoed, and soon, a figure appeared, striding down the narrow alley. Haseong stared, mesmerized.
“Wow, we meet again here?”
Moonlight streamed down into the dark alley.
💜
Yehan tossed the script he was holding onto the floor. There were already piles of scripts scattered around his feet, discarded by him earlier.
As another script joined the mountain of paper, the manager sitting across from him cautiously spoke,
“Are they all bad?”
“Yeah. More than just ‘a bit’ bad.”
“But the CEO said he really wants you to do at least one…”
“Really? Then can you tell him something for me?”
Yehan continued, still lying sprawled on the sofa with his arm over his forehead.
“Tell him if he keeps bringing me scripts like this, I’m retiring.”
“……”
Gulp. The sound of his manager swallowing was clearly audible.
Yehan tapped the coffee table with his other hand. Rhythmically, like plucking a string. He hadn’t realized he’d retained the habit from when he learned to play bass from his father. He hadn’t even touched a bass since becoming an adult.
“…Then is there a specific writer or genre you’re looking for?”
Tap, tap. The manager’s shaky voice mingled with the dull, rhythmic tapping. His face showed his desperation, afraid that Yehan might actually announce his retirement if he offended him. He knew better than anyone that Yehan wasn’t particularly attached to his acting career.
As if to solidify the manager’s anxiety, Yehan answered indifferently,
“Not really.”
“Th…then…”
“I just want to rest. I’m getting tired of it. Unless something really good comes along, something I can’t miss.”
Ever since he finished filming his latest movie, the agency had been throwing scripts at him. They’d been buzzing around him, saying it would be good for him to do a romance drama, or that he should star in a global series produced by an OTT platform.
He understood the CEO’s desire to get as much work out of him as possible before his contract renewal, but any willingness he’d had to cooperate had long since melted away.
People should know when to back off. And even though the CEO claimed to have personally filtered the scripts, none of them were to his liking.
“…So you are willing to do it if something you like comes along?”
His manager, who had survived this long solely because of his ability to read the room, cautiously asked. Yehan put a cigarette in his mouth and muttered halfheartedly,
“Maybe.”
“……”
“I debuted because I was bored. After 8 years, I think I was less annoyed before.”
The constant pressure and suggestions from those around him, telling him he had to follow in the footsteps of his famous actor father. The stares that followed him everywhere, the whispers of his relatives.
He’d debuted at 22, impulsively accepting a business card from an agency representative on the street because he was tired of it all. Of course, he’d hidden the fact that he was the son of the late actor Go Hyun-wook.
The news that the rising star Go Yehan was Go Hyun-wook’s only son spread like wildfire in his second year after debut. It was an article planted by his paternal grandparents.
‘Those old geezers are clinging to life.’
Just thinking about it still made him shudder with annoyance. Reporters camped outside his agency and his house, preventing him from leaving, news and past interviews about his father flooded the internet, and his grandparents cried and wailed, saying they did it all for him…
If they missed their dead son so much, why didn’t they just follow him? He’d almost said it to their faces before Hyeongseok stopped him. Since then, all matters concerning his paternal family had been handled through Hyeongseok.
And it wasn’t just his family matters. In his third year, his dominant Alpha status was revealed without his consent, and in his fourth year, a list of people he’d dated circulated as a rumor. The list, which clearly aimed to get something right even if it was just one hit, included some people he’d actually slept with, but most of them were people he didn’t even know. Or maybe he’d slept with them but didn’t remember because they were so forgettable.
Anyway, contrary to the agency CEO’s promise to keep him out of trouble, annoying incidents had been popping up like annual events for the past eight years.
“I’ve shown my face enough for my relatives. I don’t think they’ll keep harping on about my father if I quit now, will they?”
“…You’re joking, right?”
“You know I don’t joke.”
He smiled reassuringly, and his manager’s face paled even further.
It was time to wrap this up. He’d made his point clear enough, and if the CEO had any sense, he’d relay it properly. The agency had no choice but to be subservient to him, especially with his contract renewal approaching.
Tired of teasing his manager, Yehan picked up the book he’d placed on the table while reading the script. The manager, quick to catch the dismissal signal, started to get up.
His manager’s phone vibrated loudly from his pocket. He stopped mid-rise and awkwardly answered the call.
“Ah, yeah. He’s here. Yeah.”
The manager glanced at Yehan, then held out the phone.
“Hyeongseok insists on talking to you.”
Yehan’s eyebrows twitched slightly at the explanation. He’d just gotten rid of his manager to read in peace, and now Hyeongseok was calling him instead of using his own perfectly functional phone.
“What?”
Yehan curtly asked as he took the phone. A boisterous voice answered, a stark contrast to his own irritated tone.
— You said to call you! Why didn’t you answer your phone?
“It was on silent. What did you want to tell me?”
— You told me to call when he came.
“He? Who… Oh.”
The irritation and boredom lacing his voice dissipated. At the same time, the image of the cool-looking fool he’d met two weeks ago was reconstructed in his mind.
The sniffling, the stuffy voice, the polite yet slightly vacant way of speaking. The pale, white skin he’d initially mistaken for makeup, the reddened eyes from crying, the calloused hands. The seemingly stoic eyes, the piercing in his ear…
And the way he’d wagged his tail like a happy puppy when Yehan had called himself a fan — he remembered it all, every single detail, as if it had just happened. It had been a while since he’d given him the handkerchief, so he’d almost forgotten about it, but finally, he’d heard back.
“Haseong’s there? I thought he wouldn’t come after all these weeks.”
— He’s not the type to run away from a debt. What should I do? Should I just take the handkerchief?
“No. Keep him there. I’m coming over.”
Yehan got up from the sofa and gestured to his manager. He mouthed, “Car keys,” and his manager quickly brought them over. He headed for the door, and his manager, whose phone had been confiscated, trailed behind him. Meanwhile, Hyeongseok’s nagging continued from the other end of the line.
— …Hey, are you really planning to do something with that kid?
“It’s none of your business. You sold him for two thousand.”
— What a way to talk. Whatever, I’m hanging up.
The line went dead after an irritated click. But since he’d taken the 20 million won, Yehan knew that despite his words, Hyeongseok would keep Haseong there.
As they rode the elevator down, his manager’s face clearly pleaded, “Who is this Haseong? Please, just make sure there’s no trouble afterwards.” He’d been the one who’d had to clean up the mess from the last rumor, so he was always on edge whenever Yehan met someone new.
If the agency had managed him properly in the first place, there wouldn’t have been any rumors. He’d signed with the agency to avoid these kinds of personal problems, but he was becoming increasingly skeptical of their competence. He was only staying because it was too much trouble to sign with another agency now.
Yehan remained silent and got into his car.
It would take about 20 minutes to get to Hyeongseok’s live club. Since it was nighttime, he could probably arrive a bit earlier if there was no traffic. Yehan gently pressed the accelerator. He was in a surprisingly good mood, probably because he’d received a call he hadn’t been expecting in the middle of the night.
As Hyeongseok had said, he wasn’t planning to jump him immediately. He’d heard Haseong was straight and a Beta, so he intended to take it slow, to the extent that his patience allowed. He didn’t enjoy forcing himself on someone who wasn’t interested.
‘That way, there won’t be any problems later.’
A clean break. Hating anything messy, this was Yehan’s top priority when starting or ending a relationship.
He didn’t even consider the possibility of Haseong rejecting him. Unless he got bored first. He’d had relationships with fellow Alphas, who were notoriously difficult, so a Beta kid who’d only had a few girlfriends would be easy.
Yehan enjoyed watching well-built men cry while being fucked. That’s why he only dated Betas or Alphas, and he intended to keep it that way. He’d heard that sex with Omegas was ecstatic, but he wasn’t physically attracted to them, and he disliked the hormonal effects of their pheromones.
He found the idea of going into heat by smelling each other’s pheromones animalistic, and if he lost control even for a moment, there would be the hassle of bonding and all that. Having to be extra careful with contraception was also a nuisance. He currently had no plans, and never would, to have children.
In that sense, Haseong, a well-built, handsome Beta, was perfect. Except for his personality.
‘He must know he’s quite good-looking.’
Since he wasn’t looking for a relationship, personality wasn’t a major factor, but he preferred someone confident, someone who knew their own worth. This applied not just to sexual partners but to everyone. Anyone would agree that confidence was better than subservience.
But judging by Haseong’s behavior that day, and Hyeongseok’s assessment, he didn’t seem to have the personality to match his looks.
Anyway, aside from his personality, everything else was great. The only sincere thing he’d said during their first meeting, among all the meaningless words, was that someone like him was rare.