PTK Ch 10

“I like you.”

The confession wasn’t difficult. Letting go of what he’d been holding onto was surprisingly easy. Yet, his heart didn’t feel relieved; instead, it grew heavier, as if weighed down. His slightly parted lips trembled faintly.

What just happened?

He asked himself belatedly, but no answer came. He only realized the reality when he saw Cha Yiljoo’s wide, startled eyes and felt his unwavering gaze fixed on him, refusing to stray.

“…….”

“…….”

The atmosphere sank abruptly. A long silence followed. He stood like a prisoner awaiting judgment in the fleeting passage of time. His mind went completely blank. His vision blurred, losing focus and turning white.

“Ah…”

It was only after a long pause that Cha Yiljoo’s mouth opened. Euihyun stared desperately at his lips. For a moment, surrounding noises faded, and all he could hear was his own trembling breath.

But that moment was brief. Cha Yiljoo closed his mouth again. His gaze dropped to the blackened matchsticks. He looked troubled. In an unexpected situation, even his characteristic smile had vanished from his face.

The air grew tense. Breathing itself became difficult.

“…I.”

It was some time later when Cha Yiljoo spoke again. Every sense in Euihyun’s body sharpened. His tensed shoulders stiffened further.

Cha Yiljoo didn’t continue immediately, letting out a quiet sigh first. Then he raised his head to face Euihyun. Contrary to Euihyun’s fears, his eyes weren’t sharp. The bewilderment that had dominated him moments ago had already dissipated.

During what felt like an endless grace period to Euihyun, Cha Yiljoo seemed to have organized his thoughts. At least he had the composure to do so, the time to face reality, consider what came next, and choose his words carefully.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Euihyun.”

It was an ambiguous response, neither fully accepting nor rejecting. Still, something began to settle slowly, heavily, into Euihyun’s empty chest.

Resignation always arrived a step ahead. It felt like he didn’t need to hear what would follow. But Cha Yiljoo didn’t stop.

“I’ve never thought of being… that kind of relationship with you, Euihyun.”

At his firm response, Euihyun lowered his head. A faint smile slipped out, little more than self-mockery for the pain tearing through him despite his resolve. He called himself a liar, condemning his own impure intentions. He’d insisted he had no expectations, that he wasn’t greedy for Cha Yiljoo, but it seemed those were just rationalizations. It felt like a massive lead weight had sunk into his chest.

There was nothing surprising. He’d always thought it would end this way. From the moment he set his heart on Cha Yiljoo, the outcome had pointed to a single conclusion. Euihyun, more than anyone, had known this. But knowing didn’t lessen the pain of rejection.

Another uncomfortable silence fell. He couldn’t wait for Cha Yiljoo to step in and smooth things over. Euihyun had broken the rules and ruined everything. It was only right that he take responsibility.

Summoning courage, he looked at Cha Yiljoo, who was still watching him. His eyes were full of concern. Despite likely feeling offended, he worried about Euihyun first. A deeper sense of guilt surged within him.

“I’m sorry. For saying something weird out of nowhere… Please pretend you didn’t hear anything.”

“…….”

Cha Yiljoo didn’t respond. Only his steady gaze, fixed on Euihyun, slowly wavered.

The atmosphere grew irreparably awkward. It was the natural outcome. It could’ve been far worse, but thanks to Cha Yiljoo, it wasn’t. Even if he’d raged and stormed out, Euihyun would’ve had no defense.

Unable to flee or feign calm, Euihyun released Cha Yiljoo from the uncomfortable situation.

“And thank you so much for today. It’s late, so you should get going.”

“…That would be best.”

Cha Yiljoo didn’t protest and stood. As he slipped on his shoes, he briefly glanced back at Euihyun. But that was all. He didn’t offer hypocritical reassurances like asking if Euihyun would be okay. As if knowing the greatest kindness he could offer was to leave, he simply bid farewell.

“I’ll head out then.”

“Take care.”

To ease Cha Yiljoo’s burden, Euihyun forced a small smile. Cha Yiljoo nodded silently, opened the door, and stepped out. The door closed quickly behind him. The sound of his shoes on the steps followed. There was no hint of hesitation. Soon, even that faded into the distance.

“…….”

Euihyun stood blankly before the closed door. The surroundings fell deathly silent again. He didn’t know how long he stood there. Tic. Tic. At some point, the ticking of the wall clock sounded overly loud. In the gray, faded space, it seemed the only thing moving.

Ah.

The breath caught in his throat finally escaped. At the same time, his tension dissolved, and his body sagged. His mind remained numb.

Mechanically, he moved his legs toward the bedroom. Barely reaching the bed, he collapsed onto it limply. The mattress’s vibrations jolted his numb body. His consciousness refused to clear. His brain had shut down long ago. Truly, he couldn’t think at all.

“…….”

What just happened?

The meaningless question echoed hollowly. The more he tried to focus, the more his head throbbed. He flopped onto the bed, pulling the heavy-feeling blanket over his head. Forgotten fatigue crushed his entire body.

His footsteps stopped abruptly. He must have been walking unconsciously. Catching his ragged breath, he looked at the old villa. Late at night, Euihyun’s house was the only one lit. It was a familiar sight, yet it looked different tonight.

As he stood still, his thoughts swiftly pooled in one direction. There was no time to deny or block them.

A sudden, inexplicable thirst surged. He hurriedly pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Exhaling a long stream of smoke, his eyes remained fixed on the villa through the haze. A dreamy feeling washed over him. The chill of early spring and the bitter taste of the cigarette were vivid, yet reality felt strangely absent.

Where did it go wrong?

He’d been especially cautious since learning of Euihyun’s orientation. Even tonight, he’d deliberated whether to visit. If he hadn’t coincidentally learned it was Euihyun’s birthday, he wouldn’t have come so late.

Should he have given no room for hope? Would it have been better to turn away entirely? Whether Euihyun was alone on his birthday or not, should he have ignored his circumstances completely? Should he have avoided approaching someone who, despite pretending to be fine, was likely more vulnerable than usual?

No, was that even possible?

He laughed at the absurd conclusion he’d reached. The laugh quickly faded. He pulled out another cigarette. The breath he exhaled with the smoke remained heavy. A faint crease formed between his brows.

He wasn’t oblivious to others’ affection. He quickly noticed intentional light touches, exaggerated reactions to his words, or gazes filled with curiosity and fondness.

Yet, this time, he hadn’t sensed anything. He’d never seen Euihyun give ‘that look.’ Or had he? Perhaps he’d been blinded by the comfort Euihyun offered, refusing to see clearly.

Jung Euihyun likes Cha Yiljoo?

It was something he’d secretly hoped for. But adding the word ‘rationally’ changed everything. When people feel mutual affection, their bond strengthens. But between a man and a woman—or in this case, two men—it could become precarious. If it couldn’t be fully accepted, it forced an extreme choice: abandon everything. That was no different from the situation between Cha Yiljoo and Euihyun now.

When he learned Euihyun was gay, he’d anticipated this possibility. It made treating him as before awkward and burdensome.

Yet, he’d extended his hand again because he arrogantly assumed Euihyun’s romantic interest wouldn’t be him, now or ever. Or perhaps he wanted to believe that. He didn’t want to change their satisfying relationship.

Since when?

He took out another cigarette. His thoughts stalled at some point. An unidentifiable frustration rose to his throat. The cigarette offered only temporary solace, nothing more.

He felt irritated. An inexplicable annoyance surged. The hand tossing the unlit cigarette was noticeably agitated.

Just then, a taxi approached. It seemed to have just dropped off a passenger and was heading to the main road. His eyes briefly met the driver’s. The taxi stopped nearby, and the front passenger window rolled down, revealing the driver.

“Need a ride?”

He hadn’t planned to, but he nodded. He got into the back seat and gave his destination. The driver, starting the meter, stared through the rearview mirror. Ignoring the gaze, Cha Yiljoo leaned deep into the seat. A heavy sigh escaped.

The taxi left the residential area and soon hit the main road. Past midnight, there were few cars on the street.

“Movie star, right?”

The driver, who’d been glancing in the mirror, muttered as if to himself. Opening his eyes, Cha Yiljoo met the driver’s gaze in the mirror. People recognized him everywhere, and he’d grown used to handling it.

With a faint smile, he said, “Yes.” The irritation that had gripped him vanished. The skeptical driver lit up. At a stoplight, he eagerly offered a handshake.

“Man, meeting you like this? Other drivers brag about who they’ve driven, but I never got lucky, thought it was all talk. Celebrities have managers, drivers, no reason to walk around, right?”

“I guess so.”

“Yeah, exactly. So, you live around here?”

“No. I was visiting someone and am heading back.”

He answered the questions sincerely. The driver rambled excitedly, saying he’d seen Guilty in a theater after years, that his daughter was a huge fan, and that Cha Yiljoo looked even better in person. Humoring him, Cha Yiljoo shifted his gaze out the window, following the passing scenery. The driver’s lively voice gradually faded.

“…Is that true?”

The question snapped him back. The driver’s puzzled look, awaiting a response, was caught in the mirror. What had he said? He hadn’t dozed off, yet he couldn’t grasp the question. Unfazed, the driver elaborated.

“That actress who died recently. They say the company forced her into body lobbying, and she took her life. Is that real? As a father, hearing such grim rumors makes me worry.”

The topic had apparently shifted to the entertainment industry.

“Well.”

He dodged with a slight smile. The driver, perhaps curious about industry gossip, looked disappointed. Just then, familiar scenery came into view.

“Drop me off up ahead.”

The taxi stopped at the apartment entrance. As he paid, the driver handed over a scrap of paper, asking for an autograph. Cha Yiljoo took it without reluctance.

“Nice place you got.”

“Thanks.”

He handed back the signed paper swiftly. His expression remained gentle. The driver took it with a slightly underwhelmed air.

“Alright then.”

With a polite nod, he turned away. His face had already hardened coldly.

Entering his home, he collapsed onto the sofa. The cold leather amplified his exhaustion. He hadn’t worked a schedule, yet he felt more drained than ever. His mind, filled with countless thoughts, even triggered a mild headache.

He swallowed painkillers without water. The two pills went down slowly, leaving a distinct foreign sensation. He exhaled deeply. Relaxing his body, he tilted his head back over the cushion. Familiar silence settled in.

He wanted to fall asleep as is, as if nothing had happened, thinking of nothing. He tried to ignore the stray thoughts creeping into the quiet. But the more he resisted, the more his mind dredged up buried memories.

The surprised face when Euihyun spotted him, the clear delight in his eyes. And the expression crumbling before the makeshift cake.

‘…Why not just leave it be?’

His closed eyelids parted slightly.

“Did I mess up?”

He just couldn’t leave him alone. He couldn’t ignore Euihyun being alone on his birthday.

Was that thought itself careless?

He knew Euihyun would eventually find someone to love. That it would be a man was obvious. But Cha Yiljoo had no intention of filling that role. No, he couldn’t even imagine being Euihyun’s romantic partner. Hadn’t Euihyun agreed to be friends because he felt the same?

If it was from before. If Euihyun’s feelings had stirred long before Cha Yiljoo noticed his orientation, what had he been thinking when he accepted the offer of friendship? What had he resolved when confessing his feelings?

‘I like you.’

In that moment, Euihyun seemed to let everything go. Unbalanced emotions tend to tilt one way, eventually rotting. Euihyun couldn’t have been unaware of that.

Yet, he confessed. Did that mean he was ready to accept the consequences? Was he saying it was okay to end it? That a relationship doomed to break if unaccepted could be discarded now? That it was fine if they could no longer be as they were, if they couldn’t even call themselves friends with lies?

He grimaced bitterly. The headache pills he’d taken for years were ineffective today.

trrrr… trrrr….

Just then, the phone rang out of nowhere. Only a few people would call his home line. And his guess was spot-on.

—Yiljoo, you just got in? Your phone’s been off.

“Must’ve run out of battery.”

He checked his phone in his coat pocket. As expected, it was dead.

—I keep telling you to check it now and then. You know I’ll worry if you go silent like this.

“What’s up?”

Ignoring the scolding, he cut to the point. He wasn’t in the mood for casual banter. Manager Han didn’t pry about his mood. That no-nonsense trait was comforting.

—Tomorrow’s schedule changed. I’ll pick you up two hours earlier. Also, the planning team sent a script. It’s at your place, so take a look.

“Got it.”

—Rest up. I’ll call before we head out tomorrow.

The call ended quickly. He hung up and unplugged the phone.

Returning to the sofa, he turned on the lamp. He picked up the script on the table. The timing was good. When his mind was noisy, distracting himself was one solution.

But after flipping a page or two, he closed the script. Despite its intriguing content, he couldn’t focus. The words were mere shapes, devoid of meaning.

He tossed the script aside. Frustration surged, and he roughly raked his hair. The unsolvable problem kept twisting his insides. Thoughts lacked the power to change reality.

Would a shower help clear his mind? He stood abruptly and headed to the bathroom. Then he glanced at his phone.

“…….”

He considered checking it but dismissed the futile hope. If Euihyun were bold enough to reach out now, he wouldn’t have looked so close to tears. The thought left a bitter taste.

Whatever his intent, he’d made Euihyun’s birthday the worst. He could picture him brooding alone in an empty house. A groan escaped.

You can’t meet someone out of pity. He wondered about Euihyun’s life and felt for his habitual loneliness, but it wasn’t love. He could share a meal with him but not a bed. Euihyun was always a welcome sight, but seeing him didn’t always make his heart race.

Unexpectedly, everything had tangled. He no longer knew what to do or how to proceed. Where to start fixing it, or if the problem even had a solution, was unclear.

The one clear fact was that Cha Yiljoo didn’t want his relationship with Euihyun to fall apart.

🎥

He slowly lifted his eyelids. Having not slept a wink, his eyes felt gritty. Bright light seeped through the bedroom window’s crack. The occasional sound of passing cars or people stirred faintly.

He closed his eyes and opened them again. Nothing changed. The angle of sunlight on the wall, the ticking of the clock in his ears—everything remained. The world moved on as if nothing had happened, and time flowed with indifferent slowness.

Forcing himself up, he let out a long breath. Despite lying awake all night, his head felt heavier, not refreshed.

Even as he sat blankly, thoughts kept sprouting. Sprouting from different branches, they all birthed a single emotion.

Regret, bitter regret.

His sluggish mind finally began to grasp reality. The dreamlike events of the previous night came into sharp focus.

‘I like you.’

He’d only buried it deep inside, never daring to voice it. He knew confessing would make his feelings clearer, swelling uncontrollably. He knew too well how harshly that would boomerang back.

Being friends was enough. If he could stay by Cha Yiljoo’s side, if Cha Yiljoo smiled at him as before, he’d vowed not to want more. Laughably, his feelings had piled up, reaching a breaking point. They overflowed spectacularly in the moment he convinced himself he was fine.

He groaned under crushing self-loathing. Knowing it was impossible, he only wanted to undo it. Swept up in the moment, he’d unburdened his heavy heart. But he hadn’t prepared for what followed. He berated his foolishness again.

It would fall apart, the relationship he’d barely sustained.

If he’d held back. If, as always, he’d suppressed it one more time, it could’ve been the best birthday. A day so fulfilling he’d remember it years later. He’d ruined it himself.

He couldn’t forget Cha Yiljoo’s stunned, frozen face. His feelings were nothing but a burden and discomfort to him. Yet, Cha Yiljoo showed patience and consideration until the end. In a situation where anger or contempt would’ve been justified, he even worried about Euihyun.

Still, he wouldn’t engage anymore. They might not even remain friends or colleagues. Cha Yiljoo had willingly been his friend despite knowing he was gay, and Euihyun had betrayed that kindness. All because he could no longer bear his feelings.

‘There were plenty of guys hitting on me. Shamelessly.’

Even if he was lumped in and criticized like that, he’d have no defense. It was his own doing.

Cha Yiljoo would never visit again. There’d be no more unguarded smiles, no more approaching him first or showing interest.

‘I thought from way back that we could be good friends, Euihyun. Knowing who you are didn’t change that. What about you, Euihyun?’

‘Back to normal. That’s right, isn’t it?’

That’s all it needed to be. His selfishness had ruined everything. The more he reflected, the more endless despair washed over him. It felt like a gaping hole had opened in his chest.

Suddenly, a vibration sounded without warning. He flinched instinctively. Had he misheard? The phone, trembling again as if to dispel doubt, confirmed it was real.

His gaze wavered as it traced the screen. He checked the caller anxiously. His vain hopes crumbled without mercy.

It was Director Yoon. They’d agreed to meet sometime, but he’d forgotten entirely. He wasn’t in the mood to laugh or chat, but he couldn’t ignore the call. Clearing his hoarse throat, he licked his dry lips out of habit and pressed the answer button.

“Yes, hyung.”

He tried to sound calm, but his voice cracked pathetically. The difference from his usual tone was glaring.

—Whoa? Actor Jung, you sick or something?

“No. Just woke up.”

—Sleeping till now? At this hour… Partied hard last night, huh?

Surprised by Euihyun’s uncharacteristic behavior, he made his own guess. He’d remembered it was Euihyun’s birthday. There was no need to deny it, so Euihyun gave a soft laugh.

—Your birthday was yesterday, right? Sorry, man. I’ve been swamped with investors lately, completely lost track of dates. Got plastered last night and passed out, but this morning, bam, your birthday hit me. I really meant to make it special this time.

“It’s fine, hyung. Don’t worry about it.”

—Fine, my ass. You never reach out even when I’m MIA. We’ve known each other for years, and you never ask me to buy you a meal? Anyway. I wanna buy you a drink to make up for it. You free tomorrow? Some of the old crew’s meeting up too.

“It’s really okay…”

—It’s not okay with me. You free tomorrow or not?

He mentally checked his schedule. As far as he recalled, there was nothing planned. It was hard to keep postponing a meeting he’d vaguely put off due to busyness. Plus, he didn’t want to be trapped in endless self-blame and regret all day. Maybe he wanted to escape the suffocating despair, even briefly.

“I think I’m free.”

—Great. Then let’s meet tomorrow. Seven in the evening, at the usual place.

“Okay, got it.”

—Take care.

As the call ended, silence enveloped the surroundings again. The abrupt shift felt awkward, and he glanced around the unusually desolate house. The space, neither too large nor too small for living alone, felt overwhelmingly vast today.

Standing aimlessly, he moved to the kitchen. He began tidying the dining table, left untouched since the previous night. He fished out the green tea bag that had been soaking in water all night. The over-steeped tea was poured down the sink.

His quick movements faltered when he spotted the steamed bun. It had lost all warmth, hardened like a rock.

“…….”

He broke off a small piece of the cold bun and put it in his mouth. It tasted strongly of yeast. The dry exterior was barely chewable.

Chewing slowly, he soon shook his head. Regretting now wouldn’t change anything. All that remained was to endure. The anger, disgust, and reproach that would come as strongly as the betrayal Cha Yiljoo felt. It was Euihyun who broke the promise of ‘friendship’ and deceived him all this time, so he had to bear whatever treatment came. He pressed his lips firmly together.

The brief pause ended, and he stuffed the bun into a plastic bag, disposing of it. He wiped the table clean of crumbs. After swiftly finishing the dishes, he looked around for another task. A pile of laundry, accumulated over days, caught his eye. Sorting the clothes, he started the washing machine, then went to the bedroom to strip the bed sheets. They’d been changed recently, but nothing seemed better for a change of mood.

He tossed the bundled sheets into the bathtub, filling it with lukewarm water. He added a scoop of detergent and let it dissolve. While the water filled, he changed the sheets, vacuumed, and neatly folded laundry that had been set aside but not organized, tucking it into drawers.

Washing sheets unprompted, running the washing machine again, sweeping and wiping down the house—he spent the entire day on chores. In those moments, no thoughts intruded. He felt no fatigue. Finishing one task, his body blindly sought the next.

But escaping into self-reproach soon reached its end. Hanging the dewatered sheets to dry marked the sudden absence of tasks. Emptiness set in. He’d thought hours had passed, but it was only just past lunchtime.

“…….”

Maybe it’d be okay. Maybe it could be. The faint hope built while tackling chores crumbled.

It was merely a brief escape from reality. He’d have to face, suffer, and resolve it eventually. Forgetting for a moment didn’t erase it. Nothing changed on its own.

He returned to the bedroom. Cautiously, he picked up the phone on the table. Should he contact him now? Being confessed to couldn’t be easy. Cha Yiljoo must’ve been shocked, yet was it right to pretend ignorance after flustering him? Or perhaps avoiding any reminder of yesterday was better. An apology might burden him further. These thoughts clashed endlessly, leaving him paralyzed.

Would it have been better to confess everything back then? At the moment his secret, one he never wanted Cha Yiljoo to know, was exposed. The immediate shock would’ve been great, but he wouldn’t have disappointed him twice.

What should he do now?

No matter how many times he asked himself, no clear answer emerged. Perhaps it wasn’t worth this much agonizing. He’d confessed his hidden feelings and was politely rejected. There was nothing more to settle between them.

A confession assumes the relationship can’t return to what it was. If the other doesn’t reciprocate, no new relationship can form. The moment of rejection marked the end. The only thing Euihyun could do for Cha Yiljoo was to stay out of his sight as much as possible. If that was the price of his foolishness, he had to accept it. Despite all his pondering, the conclusion was frustratingly simple.

Suddenly, he rubbed his chest with a clenched fist. The piece of bun he’d forced down seemed lodged there.

🎥

“Hey, over here.”

Spotting Euihyun, Director Yoon raised his hand enthusiastically. The group around him turned in unison. Euihyun nodded politely and approached the table.

In any gathering, Euihyun’s place was almost fixed: on the outskirts, far from the center, or somewhere nearby. No one assigned it, nor did he insist, but it always turned out that way. He preferred listening quietly over leading the mood. That made recent situations awkward.

Director Yoon gestured to the seat beside him. The person occupying it promptly grabbed their glass and moved. Euihyun had no chance to decline.

Setting down his bag and removing his coat, he exchanged nods with those he made eye contact with. Everyone was watching him, too intently to ignore. Had he ever scrutinized each person like this? Meanwhile, Director Yoon took a new glass and handed it to Euihyun.

“Straight from home?”

“Yeah. I’ve had a few days off, kind of like a break.”

“Fair enough. You’ve earned a rest. You’ve been pretty busy lately.”

The glass quickly filled with beer. Under curious gazes from all sides, he took a small sip. Even as he set the glass down, eyes kept meeting his. It was embarrassing. Director Yoon grinned and said, “Say hi.”

“This is the younger brother I mentioned. You probably all know his name by now. You’ve met Kangju and Youngshin before, right?”

“Yeah.”

He responded, looking at the familiar faces. They offered pleasantries like, “How’ve you been?” and “Loved your movie.” He replied appropriately.

“And these are Minhyuk and Haesol, who I’m working with this time. That’s Jinro, the photographer.”

“Hello.”

He gave a vague greeting. When the friendly-looking photographer offered a handshake, Euihyun half-stood to clasp his hand. Watching, Jin Haesol chuckled, saying, “Just as I heard.” The comment’s meaning was unclear.

After introductions, an awkward air lingered. Euihyun wished they’d resume their previous conversation and ignore him, but the group kept staring. Director Yoon took the lead, meeting their expectations.

“So, how long’s your break? Any next projects?”

“Nothing’s confirmed yet.”

“But you’ve got offers coming in, right? You need to hit another big one while you’re on a roll to really cement your place. In times like these, you shouldn’t rest—you should work.”

“Heard you’re doing a drama. That not true?”

Oh Youngshin, who’d been listening quietly, chimed in. He was a regular at Yoon’s gatherings, so Euihyun knew him well.

“No, that’s not true.”

“Really? I thought you were in KBC’s new miniseries. Wouldn’t a drama be good right now? It’s better than movies for getting your face out there.”

“That’s true. The days when movies were all ‘art’ and looked down on dramas are long gone. Back then, the pay gap was huge, so plenty of actors caught the ‘art disease’ and only did films. Now, pay’s about the same for both. Movies can get delayed or canceled if you’re unlucky, but dramas rarely have that risk. Viewers don’t feel like they’re paying to watch, so the barrier’s lower, and it’s easier to create buzz each episode, right?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? These days, what actor cares about their filmography? Instead of clinging to pride no one cares about, it’s better to be the king of morning dramas. No drama’s free of rushed scripts, but they don’t demand deep inner acting—just hit the basics, and you’re golden.”

Others in the group added their two cents. Director Yoon interjected with a playful rebuke.

“You punks. Is it okay to trash the film industry in front of someone who’s dedicated his life to it?”

“Weren’t you just saying actors go back and forth between films and dramas, so why can’t directors?”

“That’s ‘cause I’m sick of pandering to investors.”

Director Yoon shook his head, looking exasperated. Euihyun cautiously checked on his recent endeavors.

“How’s the new project going?”

“Same as always. Every time I meet investors, I don’t know if I’m a director or a salesman. Did you read my script?”

“Script?”

“I sent one to your agency. They didn’t tell you?”

“No, not yet.”

“Really? Well, you were busy shooting a film. They said your schedule might make it tough to join anyway.”

“What, am I Jung Euihyun’s stand-in?”

Lee Minhyuk, who was set to work with Yoon, jokingly protested. Yoon averted his gaze, deflecting.

“No, that’s why I cut the role entirely.”

“Liar. What was the role?”

“Your ball-buddy.”

“The protagonist’s a ruthless thug with no friends or family, right?”

“Yeah. So I cut it.”

“What was the character’s name?”

“Chunsik.”

“Don’t just make stuff up, Director.”

Amid the banter, the atmosphere relaxed considerably. Euihyun joined in, laughing with the group. For a moment, it felt like he could forget reality.

It was an illusion. Director Yoon, as if just remembering, brought up the very person Euihyun had tried to bury.

“By the way, I thought he’d come with you?”

“Huh? Who…”

“I told Cha Yiljoo to drop by if he had time. Been a while since I saw him.”

“Oh.”

His grip tightened on the glass. His calm heart began pounding erratically, as if caught off guard. Oblivious, Director Yoon continued.

“Didn’t you two talk beforehand? I heard you’re close these days, so I assumed you’d know.”

“No, not really.”

“Come on, no need to play coy with me. What’s wrong with having a successful friend?”

Chiding Euihyun’s defensive tone, Yoon pulled out his phone and made a call. Meanwhile, others asked, “When and how’d you meet?” airing light curiosity. As Euihyun struggled with the barrage of questions, Yoon suddenly handed him the phone. Euihyun looked at him, confused.

That’s when it happened.

—Yes, Director.

A familiar voice came through. His breath stopped instantly. He knew immediately who it was. Words failed him. His mind went blank in a flash. His wide, shocked eyes couldn’t blink easily. The sudden situation caused a metallic ringing in his ears.

He’d thought they’d cross paths someday. It’d be uncomfortable, but since he’d brought it on himself, he’d have to endure.

But he hadn’t expected it to happen so soon, so unexpectedly. What should he say? His tongue felt frozen. It was like he’d forgotten how to speak.

Glancing around in panic, he met expectant gazes. Director Yoon casually urged, “Tell him to come quick.”

It was too late to hand the phone back. Any excuse would look like he was avoiding Cha Yiljoo. Euihyun didn’t care how he appeared to others. But if it involved Cha Yiljoo, that changed things.

—Hello? Director?

Cha Yiljoo’s voice came again as Euihyun hesitated. Thinking the call had dropped, he repeated, “Hello?” waiting for a response.

Euihyun swallowed quietly. His mouth went dry instantly. He felt he had to say something.

“Uh, it’s…”

His voice trailed off awkwardly after the pause. The group fell silent, exchanging glances without speaking. The silence from the phone heightened his anxiety.

Should he identify himself first? As he racked his brain for the right words, Cha Yiljoo spoke.

—…Euihyun?

His shoulders flinched instinctively. He hadn’t expected to be recognized so quickly. His heart raced even more fiercely. He worried the sound might be audible to others.

He barely recalled his purpose. Cha Yiljoo must be flustered by the sudden call too. Keeping it brief seemed best. Or, honestly, he feared detecting discomfort in Cha Yiljoo’s voice.

“Yes. It’s me.”

—This looks like Director Yoon’s number?

His voice faded then grew closer, likely checking the caller again.

“That’s right. I’m with the director now. He said if you’re free, you should stop by…”

Even though he’d rehearsed the words, they came out haltingly. His voice kept catching. The group’s expressions seemed subtly off. Director Yoon even smirked. Was his face betraying him?

His brief worry faded as he lost the capacity to care about his surroundings. Cha Yiljoo’s voice came through again.

—That’s tricky.

He sounded troubled. Background noise had been audible throughout, not clear words but enough to suggest a hectic setting. Was he filming?

Just as Euihyun wondered, Cha Yiljoo continued.

—My schedule’s running late today.

“Oh… I see.”

—Sorry, could you tell the director to invite me next time? I’ll definitely show up then.

“Got it.”

—Have fun, and see you later.

Cha Yiljoo said warmly. It was so unexpected that Euihyun sat dazed even after the call ended. No one with a cold expression could speak so gently. Cha Yiljoo was surely smiling. That felt strange. His normalcy made Euihyun’s resolve feel pointless. Could it be nothing happened?

Stunned, he set the phone down.

“What’d he say? Is he coming?”

“No. He said his schedule’s running late…”

“Oh, figures.”

Director Yoon’s group looked preemptively disappointed, their reaction almost cynical, as if used to such polite rejections.

Right after the call, Euihyun’s thoughts swirled. Oh Youngshin raised a question.

“But are you two actually close? Why’d you sound like you’re talking to a military superior?”

“Yeah, be honest.”

Jin Haesol subtly joined in.

“I thought you were tight, but seeing you, maybe not? Kind of keeping a line, no?”

“Exactly. Seems like he’d get close quick, but he’s the type who can’t. Friendly and polite, but when you try to get chummy, he slips away?”

“Now that you mention it, he says he’ll gladly come if invited but never actually shows.”

The conversation flowed one-sidedly, leaving Euihyun behind. Their pent-up grievances about Cha Yiljoo poured out unfiltered.

“Does he pick and choose who to hang with?”

“If so, there’s no clear standard. Never seen him particularly close with anyone. Well, Actor Jung’s from the same agency, so maybe an exception.”

“Why meet everyone who asks? He plays nice for his image in public, but in private, it’s a hassle, so he bails with work excuses.”

“Like a hit-and-run?”

“…He’s not like that.”

His sudden defense froze the heated discussion. The group stared at Euihyun, eyes wide. All looked surprised. No matter the topic, Euihyun was a quiet listener, not an active speaker, let alone someone who argued.

Yet, he repeated, “He’s not like that,” lifting his head to face the group. The lively mood sank instantly. The group exchanged glances, gauging each other. Director Yoon broke the awkward silence.

“Hey, Actor Jung. Sticking up for your agency buddy?”

Was it amusing that Euihyun got riled up over nothing? It might be pointless meddling. Still, he couldn’t stop defending Cha Yiljoo.

“Yiljoo came that day.”

“That day?”

“Your birthday, hyung. After everyone left, he definitely came to the place.”

“Really? We didn’t break up till past four, right?”

Director Yoon, piecing together hazy memories, sought confirmation. Oh Youngshin and Seo Kangju, who were there, nodded.

“His schedule ran later than expected, but he sat in the empty place. I’d fallen asleep on the second floor and woke up late, and that’s when I met him.”

“…Is that so? He only said he was sorry to miss us and didn’t mention stopping by late.”

Director Yoon scratched the back of his head sheepishly. The others who’d agreed felt awkward too. None were truly upset with Cha Yiljoo’s actions. Their complaints likely stemmed from wanting to be closer to him.

“He’s much kinder and more considerate than you’d think.”

Fervent earlier, he now muttered as if to himself, eyes downcast. Perhaps due to the lighting, his cheeks seemed flushed. Director Yoon, watching blankly, teased mischievously.

“Totally smitten, huh?”

“…What?”

“Your face right now screams you’re head over heels for Cha Yiljoo.”

“No, that’s…”

He was stunned. His ears felt like they were burning. Director Yoon burst out laughing at Euihyun’s excessive fluster. The group followed with chuckles. It was surely teasing, but he couldn’t laugh it off.

Noticing the odd reaction, Director Yoon kept up the jest.

“Mr. Goody Two-Shoes getting all fired up… We messed up. From now on, make sure that kind, considerate guy doesn’t get baseless flak. Bring him along next time.”

“Yeah, invite him for drinks. I’m curious how you two hang.”

“Right? I’m not the only one who can’t picture it, am I?”

The topic quickly shifted to Cha Yiljoo and Euihyun’s friendship. What they talked about the day they met, whether Cha Yiljoo recognized Euihyun, how they kept in touch, what they did when together—light questions poured in, like gossiping about a celebrity. The memories flooded back vividly.

And they turned bitter. The joyful recollections were now all in the past.

“Who was that?”

Manager Han looked puzzled. They were at a studio for a photoshoot. Cha Yiljoo handed back the phone after the call ended, ignoring the earlier question.

“Sounded like something about Euihyun.”

Manager Han’s curiosity persisted. He’d confirmed the caller as ‘Director Yoon Hyungjin’ before passing the phone. But the conversation didn’t seem to involve Yoon himself. He thought he’d heard “Euihyun” mentioned.

“Was it Jung Euihyun?”

When asked directly, Cha Yiljoo nodded readily. Manager Han’s expression grew more perplexed.

“Why’d Jung Euihyun call me?”

“Who knows.”

He played dumb. Until now, Cha Yiljoo had given out Manager Han’s number as his own. As a result, most calls went through him.

Of course, it wasn’t that Cha Yiljoo didn’t have a personal phone. It was just that the number of contacts saved in it was extremely limited. Until recently, the contact list had remained unchanged, but one person had been added, a rare occurrence. That person was Euihyun. So, it was puzzling. If it was Euihyun, there’d be no need to use Manager Han’s number to reach Cha Yiljoo. If Cha Yiljoo hadn’t directly referred to Euihyun, Manager Han would’ve undoubtedly assumed the caller was Director Yoon. Throughout the call, Cha Yiljoo’s demeanor had been no different from how he treated ordinary acquaintances.

His warm tone, despite not smiling at all, his vague promises of meeting next time, and his habit of answering questions without asking any in return were all consistent. When talking to Euihyun, didn’t he usually probe a bit more, asking this and that?

“The shoot’s almost done, so why not go?”

Manager Han asked indirectly, wondering why he didn’t join them. It was one thing to use a schedule as an excuse with others, but to do so with Euihyun felt off.

But Cha Yiljoo seemed uninterested in responding. As if to say, “Don’t ask further,” he closed his eyes and entrusted his face to the stylist. With that reaction, Manager Han couldn’t keep pressing. It was, after all, the artist’s private life, and it was proper not to interfere.

Still, he couldn’t help but be concerned. Was he just wanting a day to rest? Perhaps due to accumulated fatigue, Cha Yiljoo had been caught lost in thought during breaks in the shoot. He didn’t seem particularly ill or uncomfortable. Yet, today, he couldn’t focus, and shots that would normally pass easily had to be retaken multiple times.

Perhaps sensing the worried gaze, Cha Yiljoo suddenly opened his eyes. Meeting Manager Han’s eyes through the mirror, he smiled and said, “What?” Manager Han shook his head silently.

“Please take care, driver.”

He repeated the request while closing the door of the last taxi. The taxi gradually picked up speed and disappeared from view.

The drinking session, which started in the early evening, only ended around midnight. After sending off the inebriated group in cars, Euihyun finally caught his breath. Since he didn’t drink to excess, the cleanup usually fell to him. Rubbing his stiff shoulders, he looked for Director Yoon. Yoon had said he’d rest for a bit, and now he was stumbling out of a nearby convenience store. The plastic bag in his hand held four bottles of hangover drinks.

Director Yoon tossed an empty bottle into the recycling bin. Then he opened another and chugged it down. At that rate, it could be called a favorite beverage rather than a functional drink. When Euihyun asked if he was okay, Yoon handed him a bottle. Only after downing the rest did he speak with somewhat normal pronunciation.

“Did you bring your car, Actor Jung?”

“No. I figured I’d be drinking, so I left it at home. I’ll take a taxi back.”

“Why go that far? I called a driver, so ride with me.”

“That’d inconvenience you, hyung.”

“Am I driving? Get in.”

Despite Euihyun’s protests, Yoon insisted. As Euihyun tried to decline again, a phone rang right on cue. Yoon raised a hand, signaling to wait, and rummaged through his coat pocket. After a while, he fished out his phone. His bleary eyes checked the caller, and after a few fumbles, he managed to answer.

“Hey, Yiljoo.”

“…!”

The unexpected name made Euihyun flinch. Watching cautiously, he recognized the faint voice from the other end. Though he knew eavesdropping was rude, his senses sharpened. Oblivious, Director Yoon chattered excitedly.

“We just wrapped up here. You done with work now? Still at the set? Man, working late like that’s rough. If I’d known, we’d have stayed up all night waiting. Everyone was so bummed you couldn’t come. Oh, want me to pass you to Actor Jung? He’s right here.”

Yoon glanced at Euihyun. The moment he heard Cha Yiljoo’s voice, Euihyun’s heart, foolishly racing, felt like it stopped.

Surely he wouldn’t have to talk to him again like this. If handed the phone out of the blue, what would he say this time? His mind went blank, unable to think of anything.

Euihyun watched Yoon anxiously. After holding his gaze for a moment, Yoon turned his head away.

“…Oh, got it. Let’s definitely meet next time. Get some rest.”

The heart that had been pounding with rushing heat suddenly cooled. Euihyun dazedly rubbed his chest. It was what he’d wanted, yet his insides ached strangely. Wasn’t he supposed to feel burdened by talking to Cha Yiljoo? That had to be it.

Finishing the call, Yoon, unaware of Euihyun’s turmoil, relayed Cha Yiljoo’s greeting.

“Cha Yiljoo says to get home safe.”

“…Okay.”

“Didn’t expect him to call like this. Now I feel bad for misunderstanding him earlier.”

Whether embarrassed or pleased, Yoon carried on boisterously. Euihyun stared at his phone. But no matter how much time passed, it didn’t ring.

Soon, the designated driver arrived. With his help, Euihyun got Yoon into the car. Declining the insistent offer to ride along, he closed the door. The car glided down the quiet road. He watched its taillights for a while before turning away.

It was now past 1 a.m. Taking a taxi seemed inevitable. He decided to walk until he could catch one. After being in a confined space reeking of alcohol and cigarettes, he craved fresh air, even briefly.

He stopped by a convenience store on the way. Planning to buy water for his parched throat, he ended up with an ice cream—a soda-flavored popsicle. The heavy taste in his mouth cleared instantly.

The night air felt especially crisp. Perhaps because there were few cars and hardly any people. Maybe, in the quiet hours when everyone slept, nature silently purified itself.

Lost in silly thoughts, he reached a bus stop. Buses had long stopped running, and he still hadn’t caught a taxi. For taxi drivers, this post-last-bus hour was prime business time, making empty cabs hard to find. He waved at a taxi approaching from afar, but it passed by with a “reserved” sign lit. Belatedly, he opened a taxi app, but it was no use.

Resigned to wait for an eventual ride, he sat on a metal bollard. He hadn’t drunk much, but his head felt heavy. Lowering his head, he took a brief rest. Meanwhile, the sparse traffic quieted completely. It seemed Euihyun was the only one awake.

How much time passed? A horn blared suddenly overhead. Startled, he looked up. Expecting a taxi, he saw a sedan stopped right in front. The model and appearance were familiar. Muttering “huh,” he stood dazedly. The passenger window rolled down in sync.

“Jung Euihyun.”

Leaning out was none other than Manager Han.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for a taxi.”

“Get in.”

Euihyun couldn’t grasp what was happening. Too surprised to think of refusing, he climbed into the passenger seat like someone half-asleep.

“Been drinking, huh?”

“Yeah, a little.”

He mumbled, buckling his seatbelt. Manager Han, about to shift gears, paused and stared at something on Euihyun. His gaze unmistakably landed on the ice cream.

“Unexpectedly cute taste.”

Muttering as he drove off, a hint of a smile crept into his voice and the corners of his mouth. Clearly, following the vending machine milk incident, Euihyun’s tastes were being misunderstood.

“No, this is…”

He tried to explain, but Manager Han asked for his address, cutting him off. The car had no music or even the radio on. The silence piled up, amplifying the awkwardness. Sitting quietly, Euihyun kept stealing glances at Manager Han.

Why was he here? Cha Yiljoo had told Director Yoon his shoot just ended. If true, Manager Han should be at the studio or dropping Cha Yiljoo off.

Had he stared too intently? Manager Han noticed the prolonged gaze and asked, “Something to say?”

“You said you were shooting earlier…”

“Oh. There was a photoshoot. It ran later than expected, so we finished late. I dropped Yiljoo off at home and stopped by the office on my way.”

Manager Han answered candidly. He had no reason to lie. Euihyun’s grip tightened. Cha Yiljoo must’ve been exhausted from his schedule. He might’ve preferred rest over mingling with a noisy crowd. But could he have skipped showing up to avoid someone uncomfortable?

Cha Yiljoo must’ve been startled by the sudden call too. Yet, he didn’t show it, acting as usual. That was possible only because it was a non-face-to-face situation. If they’d met unexpectedly, Euihyun might’ve seen him rattled.

There was no need to endure discomfort. Euihyun fully understood Cha Yiljoo’s position. Still, he couldn’t help the heaviness in his chest. The thought of being someone Cha Yiljoo avoided sank his heart endlessly. His lungs ached as if tearing.

Lowering his eyes, he tried to suppress the surging emotions. Manager Han quietly glanced at Euihyun, who seemed to be holding something back, but didn’t rashly ask if something happened with Cha Yiljoo.

Then, a vibration sounded. It wasn’t Euihyun’s phone. Soon, another buzz followed. Manager Han, driving, seemed to ignore it knowingly. Euihyun thought he’d misheard. But even when the car stopped briefly, Manager Han didn’t check his phone. Another vibration rang out.

“Um, you’ve got messages…”

“It’s fine. It’s not mine anyway.”

A peculiar response. He had the phone, but it wasn’t his? Euihyun couldn’t easily guess what he meant. Perhaps deeming it safe to share, Manager Han shrugged and elaborated.

“It’s kind of a work phone. Over time, you need to manage contacts—industry people, fellow artists. It’s more convenient to separate public and private numbers, Jung Euihyun. It’s less personal, but practical.”

It was advice from an artist’s perspective, not a manager’s. It also implied Cha Yiljoo already did this. Euihyun felt oddly uneasy but didn’t probe why. He lacked the energy. He just nodded.

Vibrations kept coming intermittently until they reached his neighborhood. It seemed enough to drive anyone neurotic, but Manager Han looked unfazed, accustomed to it. The car stopped near the villa.

“Thanks for the ride. Made it home easily.”

“Get in safe, and see you next time.”

Fearing any delay, Euihyun quickly opened the door and got out. He bowed, and Manager Han returned a nod. The sedan backed up smoothly, turning deftly even in the narrow alley. Euihyun watched a bit longer before slowly turning away.

Suddenly, his slow steps halted. Looking up, the night sky was thick with clouds. Perhaps because of them, not a single star was visible. He scanned the hazy sky until his neck ached, then dropped his head. A long, sigh-like breath escaped.

🎥

The doorbell rang. “Euihyun,” a voice called. He hurried to open the door. Park Hanyoung stood there, smiling brightly. A subtle joy flickered across Euihyun’s face.

“Feels like it’s been ten days. Doing okay?”

“Yeah. How about you, Manager?”

“As you see. Ready to go?”

Park Hanyoung nodded lightly toward the outside and turned. He always stopped at the door, never stepping inside—a subtle respect for privacy.

Euihyun quickly locked up. He tucked the key under the flowerpot stand by the door. Each time, he held a faint hope, but it was always him retrieving it. Still, he kept hoping, day after day. When Park Hanyoung asked, “Wouldn’t a door lock be better?” Euihyun only smiled faintly.

On the way to the car, questions flew: “Rested well?” “Eating properly?” “Not overdrinking or pushing too hard?” They could’ve been annoying, but he answered each one. He didn’t mind the meddling. Even the worry that he’d lost weight felt warm, filling his empty stomach.

They got into Park Hanyoung’s car side by side. Today, it was just the two of them, no road manager or stylist. They were headed to the agency at Simon Kim’s summons.

Lately, Euihyun wished to be so busy he couldn’t think. Work could consume him, freeing him from nagging thoughts. Problems that wouldn’t change with endless pondering were better left unthought.

Rest was unfamiliar to Euihyun. Before, he’d jump from one project to the next, even overlapping roles. He wasn’t in a position to turn down work, but idle time felt daunting. Spending days doing nothing was hard to endure. Time only felt precious when there was someone to share it with. That was as true now as ever for Euihyun.

The car sped to the agency’s underground parking lot. As he got out, he noticed Cha Yiljoo’s sedan parked across from them.

Was he here too?

His steps grew heavy. He both dreaded and longed to see Cha Yiljoo, a conflicted feeling.

They took the elevator to the third floor, where the CEO’s office was. The hallway leading to it was still lined with familiar frames. He couldn’t even look at Cha Yiljoo’s photos properly. Fixing his eyes on the floor, he walked. He might’ve kept going if Park Hanyoung hadn’t said, “Look at this.” Raising his head, he saw a familiar photo—a character poster for Grass Ring. Euihyun’s steps stopped abruptly.

“The CEO personally picked the frame and hung it. Looks pretty cool, right?”

Park Hanyoung beamed with pride. Euihyun stared at his photo as if seeing something foreign. He recalled the first time he walked this hall to sign his exclusive contract, gripped by excitement and nerves while gazing at Cha Yiljoo’s photos, displayed like art. Back then, he couldn’t have imagined his own photo here.

It still felt like a dream. His changed circumstances and the way people treated him were almost unbelievable. He doubted if this was truly his place. Those who’d never had much struggled to grasp even the smallest things. Euihyun was no different. He lingered before his photo, unable to move.

Suddenly, Park Hanyoung let out an “oh,” drawing attention.

“Cha Yiljoo’s here too.”

The following words hit his ears loudly. Glancing over warily, he saw Cha Yiljoo approaching, accompanied by Manager Han. It seemed he’d also been summoned by Simon Kim.

Soon, the two noticed Euihyun and Park Hanyoung. Park Hanyoung greeted first, and Manager Han nodded. Cha Yiljoo, beside him, quickly smiled and responded. His gaze shifted to Euihyun, slightly behind, the smile lingering.

“Hello.”

Euihyun offered a vague greeting. As he raised his bowed head, his eyes met Cha Yiljoo’s. He bowed again. Cha Yiljoo merely curved his eyes softly, smiling in return.

You’re here, Euihyun.

He didn’t greet him warmly like before. He didn’t kindly ask if he’d eaten. Nor did he awkwardly avert his eyes or blatantly ignore him. Just as in their recent call, he treated Euihyun as if nothing had happened.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Oh, yeah. The CEO called me in.”

“Who knows what he’s scheming. Shall we go?”

His carefree, smiling demeanor was typical. Yet, it felt uncomfortable. The vague unease from their impromptu call crept back. Though close, it didn’t feel so. It was a gap created by their hearts.

Entering the secretary’s office, the secretary stood. After a polite greeting, he announced the guests’ arrival via intercom. Permission to enter came promptly.

Simon Kim was handling pending approvals. Seeing the group, a broad smile spread across his face. Asking the secretary for drinks, he closed his documents and stood. His tone, urging them to sit on the sofa, was softer than usual. The four exchanged uneasy glances and sat around the table. Simon Kim, at the head, looked at them fondly.

“So, did you have a good birthday?”

The innocent question led Euihyun’s eyes to meet Cha Yiljoo’s. It was brief, but enough to share an unpleasant memory. Yet, Cha Yiljoo didn’t betray any discomfort. He simply looked at Euihyun with a faint smile. The unexpected reaction flustered Euihyun.

He quickly turned to Simon Kim.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks to you.”

Simon Kim smiled, clearly pleased. Euihyun felt Cha Yiljoo’s gaze on the side of his face. He lacked the courage to turn and meet his eyes again, keeping his focus on Simon Kim.

Simon Kim willingly met his intense gaze.

“We’re still narrowing down Euihyun’s next project. The planning team will soon bring a curated list of the best options. After Grass Ring, so many great offers have come in, they’re unsure what to pick. Among them is a miniseries set to air next month. Apparently, the lead actor dropped out suddenly. It’s still under consideration, but it could mean jumping into filming soon, so keep that in mind.”

Nodding, Euihyun said, “Got it.” Simon Kim, nodding along, turned to Cha Yiljoo.

“The script. Did you read it?”

“Roughly.”

“Don’t skim it—read it properly.”

“Is that why you called me here?”

He cut off the brewing lecture, a practiced smile on his face. Simon Kim grumbled, “No charm at all,” and pulled out something.

“Had dinner with A Magazine’s editor-in-chief yesterday, and they said the ad you two shot together will run soon. This is the final version.”

A high-resolution print was laid on the table. Euihyun swallowed the breath he was about to exhale, nearly choking.

He was unprepared to face that photo. The print ad for a global brand, hastily shot in the U.S. The polished result exuded a far more suggestive vibe than he remembered. Whether due to the composition or his hyper-focus, Cha Yiljoo and Euihyun himself stood out starkly. They’d said it wasn’t the main focus.

His face flushed. On set, he’d been swept up in the mood and managed, but seeing the embarrassing photo with everyone around left him at a loss. His head dropped instinctively.

“Turned out well, right?”

“Really. They look like different people.”

Park Hanyoung studied the print earnestly, even asking, “What do you think, Euihyun?”—a question he didn’t need to answer. Euihyun stole a glance at Cha Yiljoo’s expression.

He was looking at the print calmly, his face devoid of emotion. His gaze lingered, unmoving. Was he being conceited? It seemed his eyes were fixed on Euihyun in the photo.

What was he thinking? Did it look vulgar? The image of Euihyun straddling Cha Yiljoo was undeniably provocative. Now that Cha Yiljoo knew Euihyun’s feelings, the Euihyun in the photo likely didn’t seem innocent. Euihyun wanted to cover Cha Yiljoo’s eyes. He clasped his hands nervously. Sweat pooled in his palms, but his fingertips grew cold.

Then, Simon Kim said, “So, here’s the thing,” getting to the point. Cha Yiljoo’s gaze, fixed on the print, lifted. Euihyun’s stifled breath finally eased.

“With the ad launch nearing, interview requests have been pouring in, hard to turn down. You’re both preparing for next projects, so it’s not ideal, but responding to each one is too draining. Media relations can’t just be about playing hard to get.”

Clasping his hands gently, he laid the groundwork for his proposal. Euihyun felt a vague unease. It was a gut warning.

“The editor-in-chief made an interesting suggestion that I think could work. How about hosting a casual tea with reporters? Less an interview, more a chat over refreshments. Think of it as relaxed conversation in a laid-back setting. Entertainment outlets get pre-launch interview content, and it’s good for us to manage media relations before your next projects.”

Simon Kim looked between Cha Yiljoo and Euihyun, seeking agreement. Their eyes met again. Cha Yiljoo didn’t look away. He slightly raised an eyebrow, his lips curving softly, as if deferring the decision to Euihyun. Despite the potential discomfort, he showed no intent to refuse.

Simon Kim pressed on without pause.

“I heard you’re both free tomorrow. These things are best handled when the buzz is hot, so I’ve reserved a suitable venue. Euihyun, you can’t say the media hasn’t helped your rise, so let’s show them some goodwill this time.”

“So…”

“Yes. We’re planning a joint interview.”

His fears became reality. His self-assurance that the embarrassing moments were behind him felt futile. He’d thought he could avoid the ad if he didn’t seek it out. The questions would surely focus on shoot anecdotes. In a casual setting, who knew what awkward topics might arise. And at this strained time with Cha Yiljoo.

He could already picture the awkward situation. Tension was building. But there was no grounds to overturn a decided matter.

The managers, agreeing, didn’t object. Professionally, it was a gain, not a loss. While the two artists stayed silent, the managers checked the event’s scale.

“How many reporters?”

“About thirty have confirmed. Some may join or drop out depending.”

“More magazines than newspapers, right?”