PTK Ch 3
by soapa“I had an interview.”
“An interview? With who?”
“Yoo Soonyoung from Star News.”
“Yoo Soonyoung? Did she cheat on you or something?”
“Cheat…”
“What did she ask?”
“Sorry?”
“What did she ask you about under the pretense of an interview?”
Kim Jihee didn’t hide her disdain for Yoo Soonyoung. Urging the bewildered Euihyun with a “Come on,” she prompted him to answer.
“About the drama I’m shooting and my plans for next year.”
“That’s it?”
“She also asked a bit about Cha Yiljoo…”
“I knew it! How dare she treat our Actor Jung like some sidekick?”
“Sidekick?”
“It’s a thing.”
Kim Jihee, who had been fuming, brushed it off vaguely. Not wanting to make her uncomfortable, Euihyun didn’t press further. He simply checked on the reason for her visit.
“By the way, what brings you here, Jihee?”
“There’s a press conference here.”
Kim Jihee casually revealed the details.
“Looks like Cha Yiljoo’s focusing on domestic activities for a while. He’s hosting a lunch for major media reporters. Probably to promote himself big time.”
Hearing that, Euihyun understood why she said he was treated like a sidekick. He gave a slightly bitter smile, so subtle it went unnoticed by Kim Jihee.
Kim Jihee playfully nudged Euihyun’s chest with her shoulder and narrowed her eyes.
“Speaking of which, are you really getting close with Cha Yiljoo? I heard from the drama crew that you two slipped away quietly during a break.”
“We just had a quick meal and talked a bit.”
“They said Cha Yiljoo went out of his way to find you. It can’t just be about doenjang jjigae this time.”
Euihyun shook his head with a faint smile. Even if it wasn’t Cha Yiljoo, he was reluctant to casually share personal conversations with others.
“Tch. Fine, if you don’t want to talk. They say journalists have the flimsiest loyalty, but I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable. I still remember the tear-soaked choco pie you gave me when I was an intern.”
“Thank you.”
Humoring her lightly, she nodded proudly, saying, “That’s right.” Euihyun checked the time on his phone. Though unsure of her schedule, the memory of the bustling Yoo Soonyoung made him worry.
“Don’t you need to head in?”
“Oh, it’s fine. I told the intern to save my spot.”
Yoo Soonyoung had said something similar earlier. What kind of life did intern reporters lead?
Intending to send her off before she was late, Euihyun was about to say goodbye when Kim Jihee’s gaze suddenly shifted past him. A soft “Oh” escaped her. Following her line of sight, he turned his head.
A group of people entered Euihyun’s view—Cha Yiljoo’s entourage. Manager Han, agency staff, and event coordinators strode forward, engaged in business discussions. Should he greet them? Surrounded by people, Cha Yiljoo hadn’t noticed Euihyun yet. It seemed like they might pass by unnoticed.
Yiljoo had been disappointed before when Euihyun didn’t acknowledge him. In a similar situation now, Euihyun found himself tongue-tied again. He didn’t want to interrupt their busy group and cause a nuisance.
“…….”
“…….”
As various thoughts swirled, their eyes suddenly met. No mistake—it was brief, but Cha Yiljoo’s gaze definitely landed on him. Their conversation continued, and the group was now close enough for Euihyun to catch some of their words. What should he do? Hesitating even a moment might mean missing the chance entirely.
“…Hello.”
He spoke after a pause. Before his mind could decide, his lips moved on their own. His voice was so soft it could’ve been mistaken for a murmur, yet Cha Yiljoo stopped in his tracks. Recognizing Euihyun, he smiled warmly.
“Euihyun? What are you doing here?”
“I had an interview.”
Answering reflexively, he realized dozens of eyes were now on him. Feeling awkward, he lowered his head slightly and fidgeted with the back of his hair, a habit. Kim Jihee, standing beside him, silently observed.
“I’m here to have lunch with some reporters.”
“Yes, I heard.”
“If you haven’t eaten, want to join us? It’s not a big deal, just a casual meal I’m hosting. You could come along, right?”
He sought Manager Han’s approval. Manager Han nodded nonchalantly. Kim Jihee, who’d been watching quietly, linked arms with Euihyun and chimed in.
“No, it’s okay. I ate lunch at home, and I have a shoot soon.”
“Oh, really?”
“That’s a shame,” Yiljoo said, his expression matching his words. Euihyun would’ve declined regardless, but Yiljoo’s open disappointment tugged at him. Was his hesitation noticeable? Yiljoo grinned, as if to say not to worry.
“No helping it. By the way, today’s the premiere of your drama, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“Oh…”
“You remember we agreed to grab a drink later, right?”
Kim Jihee showed keen interest. Euihyun nodded, visibly flustered, avoiding her gaze. Around then, Manager Han glanced at his watch. Before he could urge them along, Euihyun stepped back.
“You should head in.”
“I’ll call you.”
Cha Yiljoo promised a next time in his characteristic warm tone. Euihyun could only muster a faint “Yes.”
As Cha Yiljoo and his group passed, Kim Jihee hurried after them. She glanced back at Euihyun several times, gesturing to call her. Euihyun watched her go before finally turning away.
“…Phew.”
A sigh slipped out. His fingers, searching for his car keys, trembled slightly. He must’ve been more nervous than he thought.
🎥
“How about some samgyeopsal and drinks? Wanna join?”
The middle-aged actor playing “Team Leader Lee” asked. He wasn’t great at entertaining but loved listening. Bonding naturally improved on-set chemistry. Any other day, Euihyun would’ve gladly joined. Missing out on a rare drinking session was disappointing.
“I don’t think I can today.”
“Why, got other plans?”
“It’s the premiere, so I want to monitor it properly.”
“Look at this diligent guy! Alright, next time then.”
“Sorry.”
“What’s there to be sorry about?”
The actor patted Euihyun’s shoulder and said he’d head out first. Euihyun bowed behind him.
“Take care.”
As the actors joining the gathering left, their lively voices faded down the hallway. Euihyun sat back down to remove his makeup. He paused, staring at his bare face in the mirror for no particular reason. Though he saw it daily, it felt oddly unfamiliar.
‘Honestly, I couldn’t quite picture it… I thought you had an intriguing impression for an actor, from the first time I saw you.’
His features weren’t striking enough to be unforgettable. His plain, simple face transformed drastically with makeup or styling. Even if he appeared in multiple shows simultaneously, audiences wouldn’t recognize the characters as the same person. That’s why, despite numerous roles, the public rarely remembered Euihyun.
He couldn’t claim to have exceptional talent either. Nor had he ever dreamed of becoming an actor. He stumbled into it by chance—an uncertain start. The feeling of wearing ill-fitting shoes gradually changed. At some point, he’d fallen in love with it unknowingly. Now, imagining a life outside acting was difficult.
He didn’t think acting was his calling. A day might come when he’d have to compromise with reality. Would he accept his limits and let it all go then? When his agency terminated his contract, when he parted with his manager, every moment he prioritized survival over acting, he thought of the end. Yet, he’d never concluded with resignation. Foolishly, he still wanted to do this.
Lost in endless thoughts, he snapped back to reality. Time had slipped by. To get home before the broadcast, he needed to hurry. Grabbing his coat, he rushed out of the dressing room.
In the car, he started the engine immediately, buckling his seatbelt as he drove. Every minute added to his anxiety. Still, he adhered strictly to traffic signals.
Fortunately, there was no feared traffic jam. Parking, however, was a problem. The villa’s four-space lot was full, and nearby alleys were lined with cars, making passage tricky.
After circling, he squeezed into a spot near a trash area, far from home. He sprinted, the biting night wind unnoticed as his nose and ears froze.
Inside the dark house, he grabbed the remote. After some fumbling, the TV powered on just as the drama’s title vanished from the pre-broadcast ad. The premiere was imminent. Only then did Euihyun collapse into a seat, still in his coat, catching his breath.
The drama began with tense background music. Bae PD and the writer’s names appeared and faded, followed by the cast. Seeing “Jung Euihyun” sent his heart racing uncontrollably. His fingertips grew cold.
Euihyun watched every scene intently, his eyes meticulously scanning the screen. He lost track of time.
The drama soon reached its climax. As the elite investigation team floundered, “Jungwoo” revealed his true self to “Kim.” The camera focused on “Kim’s” face, showing her co-star’s expressions Euihyun hadn’t seen during filming.
“…You’re almost here? I’m just ahead.”
“Kim’s” tone was stiffer than before. A buzzing vibration followed. She flinched, eyes widening in shock. Harsh BGM shattered the eerie silence, jarring the ears. “Kim’s” terrified eyes slowly shifted sideways. Before she could check “Jungwoo,” her mouth was clamped shut. Pulled back, her head landed on “Jungwoo’s” shoulder.
“I said I’d walk you home.”
“Jungwoo’s” voice dropped chillingly. “Kim’s” eyes, filled with horror, couldn’t widen further. Her trembling eyelids quivered.
“It’s dangerous to walk alone.”
Seized by infinite fear, “Kim” seemed to foresee her fate. The veins on her forehead and the subtle tremor in her pupils blurred the line between reality and fiction. Was she that skilled an actor?
Admiring her performance, the screen froze. The sole sponsor was credited, followed by a preview.
Finally, Euihyun exhaled. His mind was blank through the post-broadcast ads. It felt like waking from a dream, abruptly thrust back to reality.
Now what? He’d barely eaten dinner, but wasn’t hungry. Still, to avoid sleeplessness, maybe he should eat something. Thinking vaguely, he headed to the kitchen.
Suddenly, his phone rang, timed perfectly as if waiting for the drama to end.
‘Today’s the premiere of your drama, right? I’m looking forward to it.’
Why did Cha Yiljoo come to mind? As he grabbed his phone, he couldn’t shake the doubt. But the number on the screen was unfamiliar, likely an international call.
Who could it be?
No one came to mind. A wrong number? Maybe a scam call, still common. As he hesitated, the ringing stopped. Checking the missed call list, the number didn’t spark recognition.
Then it rang again, same number. Once could be a mistake, but not twice. Euihyun quickly answered, a long-lost acquaintance suddenly in mind.
“Yes, this is Jung Euihyun.”
— Finally picking up.
The voice wasn’t the one he remembered. Though he hadn’t expected much, he felt deflated.
“Who is this?”
— Hello. I’m Park Hanyoung, casting manager at TAP Agency.
TAP Agency. The name sounded familiar. Then it hit him—Cha Yiljoo. That was his agency.
Which made it even more baffling.
“Yes. What’s this about…”
— Our CEO was deeply impressed by Monster, which aired earlier. He’s intrigued by your acting and would like to meet you in person.
Even hearing it clearly, the words didn’t fully register. It was too sudden. Euihyun absently rubbed the back of his head.
“What do you mean?”
— I heard you’re not currently signed with an agency.
“Yes, that’s true.”
— Is there a specific reason you’re working independently?
“No, nothing in particular…”
— If there’s no specific reason, TAP Agency would like to manage you. It’s hard to discuss in detail over the phone, so could we meet to talk further?
How did this happen? His mind went blank, unable to process. He didn’t even think to verify if the caller was really from TAP.
Assuming it wasn’t a prank, the offer was appealing. He had no reason to refuse. Not having an agency wasn’t by choice. Yet, he hesitated to agree, feeling confused, like receiving a gift not meant for him.
“I’m tied up with shoots for a while, so meeting might be tough.”
— That’s fine. Let us know when you’re free, and we’ll adjust.
“How about a week from now?”
By then, his shoots would be done, giving him time to think. The caller checked their schedule and readily agreed to follow up. The call ended with brief pleasantries.
Euihyun stared at his phone, stunned. Still reeling, he belatedly noticed a new message. Dragging the icon, he checked it.
Watched the drama. Really looking forward to what’s next.
It was from Cha Yiljoo. Euihyun stared at the text. Though rereading it changed nothing, he did so anyway. His fingers hovered over the keypad. He felt he should reply, but no words came. “Thank you” felt too obvious. It had been ages since someone watched his work closely and reached out right after.
He stood there, frozen, for a long time.
🎥
Exiting the subway, Euihyun felt intimidated. Towering buildings blocked the sky, competing for dominance. Despite being a weekday, the ten-lane road buzzed with traffic, and the polished sidewalks evoked a mechanical impression.
Navigating the indistinguishable skyscrapers with only a map app, he reached his destination. He was visiting Cheonghwa Daily to meet Kim Jihee.
Arriving early to avoid being late, he had time to spare. Instead of texting her, he headed to the office building’s café. She’d suggested meeting there, likely swamped with deadlines. It was only right for him to wait.
Ordering citron tea, he settled at a table. He pulled out a script from his bag. Though only four days old, its edges were worn and crumpled. He’d memorized the lines but planned to review until Kim Jihee arrived.
The script grew meatier toward the end, demanding deeper acting. Many scenes required physicality. To maintain dramatic realism, they opted against stuntmen, leaving plenty to prepare.
So engrossed in the script, he didn’t notice someone approach. Only when Kim Jihee’s voice asked, “You’re here?” did he look up. Her bare face and horn-rimmed glasses were unfamiliar. Bloodshot eyes and dull skin suggested sleeplessness. Slumping onto the table, she mumbled.
“Waited long?”
“No, I just got here.”
“Liar.”
She shot him a teasing glance before sitting up. Parched, she gulped Euihyun’s citron tea without hesitation.
“It’s probably cold. Want me to order a new one?”
“Nah. I’ve had so much coffee my stomach’s sloshing. This is just to wet my lips.”
By the way, she segued into the main topic.
“You asked to meet first. What’s up?”
“I had something to ask.”
“What?”
“Nothing’s confirmed yet, so…”
“Got it. My lips are sealed.”
Kim Jihee pressed her index finger to her lips and winked. Her pale face flushed with curiosity. Euihyun met her gaze silently before speaking slowly.
“Last night, I got a call from TAP Agency. A casting manager.”
“TAP, the global entertainment company?”
“I think so.”
“‘Think so’? What’s that mean? Why’d they call out of the blue?”
“I’m not sure. My drama premiered yesterday, and right after, they called. Their CEO was impressed by my acting.”
“And?”
“They asked if I’m signed with an agency and offered to manage me if I’m free…”
“Eek! Congrats!”
Kim Jihee squealed before he could finish, stretching out to hug him tightly. Her sudden move drew glances from café staff. Euihyun, face flushed, ducked his head. “Jihee,” he said, trying to calm her.
Releasing him, Kim Jihee puffed out her chest.
“I knew you’d make it big someday.”
Laughing heartily, she boasted as if it were her achievement. But the one who should’ve been elated looked far from thrilled.
“What’s with the face? Shouldn’t you look like a lottery winner?”
“I don’t know much about the company. The call was so sudden.”
“Hmm. TAP isn’t well-known publicly. Search online, and it’s just Cha Yiljoo’s agency. But word is, it’s got solid roots. Backed by a major U.S. entertainment group, so it’s not some cash-strapped outfit exploiting artists. It’s still new in Korea, but with more contracts, it’ll grow fast.”
“Why would a place like that contact me?”
“Your acting must’ve been chillingly impressive. I’ve been swamped with dinners and deadlines, so I haven’t seen it yet, but I bet you nailed it.”
“It wasn’t any different from usual.”
“Exactly. That’s why I’m saying you probably did well. You’re someone who always delivers the acting needed, Euihyun. Honestly, this industry is full of talented people overflowing with charisma. It’s just that only a tiny fraction get recognized. That’s why they say luck is essential for success. Hard work and skill alone don’t guarantee you’ll soar in this world. In the end, if no one notices or acknowledges you, it’s over.”
“…….”
“I think it’s a great offer in many ways. Considering they haven’t taken on any artists besides Cha Yiljoo, it seems they’re quite selective about exclusive contracts. Most importantly, having an agency and a manager means you can focus solely on acting without worrying about other things, right?”
Euihyun listened silently. Even with a golden opportunity in his hands, he didn’t know how to purely rejoice. Was it because it didn’t feel real? More than that, he seemed to doubt why such luck had come to him. When buried in the mud for so long, even a pearl starts to believe it’s just a stone.
Feeling sympathetic, Kim Jihee tried a different approach to persuade him.
“You’ve always acted with intensity. To a level that wouldn’t shame you anywhere. Someone at that company recognized that.”
Someone who saw how much thought and effort Euihyun put into every single frame. He had always thought acting was a solitary endeavor. No one could teach it, and with no set answers, you had to find your own way.
Someone had truly seen his relentless effort. The heart that had been hardened with doubt began to pound rapidly. A strange restlessness made the insides of his palms itch. Kim Jihee easily noticed the change in Euihyun.
“Don’t you want to meet them and find out who it is?”
“I want to meet them.”
“Then go. They’re the ones who need you, so hold your shoulders high and your chin up.”
She playfully lifted Euihyun’s chin. His eyes softened into a gentle curve.
“Thank you. For listening.”
“For what? I’m an outsider, so this is all I can say. If you’re curious about TAP Agency’s treatment or management system, don’t you know someone you could ask for advice?”
A soft “Ah” escaped him. He could guess what Kim Jihee was getting at. Her next words didn’t stray from his expectations.
“The only celebrity signed with them.”
On his way home, he stopped to pick up some groceries. He peeled carrots, onions, and potatoes, chopping them into large chunks. He trimmed the cartilage from chicken tenderloin and marinated it with rice wine, garlic, salt, and pepper. Heating oil in a pan, he stir-fried the prepared ingredients. When the onions turned translucent, he added water and curry powder, simmering a full pot. Soon, the rich aroma of curry filled the house.
Stirring with a wooden spatula to prevent scorching, he gazed out the small kitchen window. It wasn’t a meaningful action—his eyes were simply open. Then, impulsively, he picked up his phone. After fidgeting with it for a while, he sighed deeply and set it back down.
Even while eating the curry, he couldn’t discern its taste. His thoughts were entirely elsewhere.
“…….”
After hesitating, Euihyun grabbed his phone again. Opening his chat with Cha Yiljoo, he drafted a new message. He wrote and deleted, wrote and deleted, carefully choosing his words. Oblivious to his cooling food, the final message was still concise and overly polite.
If it’s okay, please give me a call.
The moment he hit send, he flipped the phone over. Then he scooped up the now-hardened curry. The act of filling a spoonful, chewing, and swallowing felt utterly mechanical. By the time he nearly emptied his bowl, there was no reply. Yiljoo was probably busy.
The dishes consisted only of a bowl, spoon, ladle, and cup. Still, he headed straight to the sink to wash them.
While scrubbing, a vibration suddenly rang out. Wiping the soap and water from his hands roughly, he checked his phone without suspicion.
“……!”
He flinched because it wasn’t a message from Cha Yiljoo but a call. Had Yiljoo taken his request for contact as an invitation to talk? Maybe he thought it was urgent. What to do? Caught off guard by the unexpected situation, he wavered. The relentless vibration kept grating on his nerves.
There was no reason to avoid the call. He was just startled by the sudden turn, but they’d talked plenty before. In fact, not seeing each other might make conversing easier.
Euihyun took a light breath and tapped the answer button.
“Yes, this is Jung Euihyun.”
— Oh, you picked up right away? Are you at home?
The question was so casual that he reflexively answered, “Yes.” Though Euihyun had initiated the contact, Cha Yiljoo steered the conversation.
— My schedule’s running late. It’ll probably be past 10 p.m. at the earliest.
“Oh, then maybe next time…”
— Do you usually go to bed early?
“What? Not really.”
— What about tomorrow’s schedule?
“I have a shoot in the late afternoon.”
— Perfect. Then meeting at night’s fine, right?
“Well, yes, but.”
Euihyun awkwardly ran a hand across his forehead. Cha Yiljoo seemed to think the sudden contact was about their drinking plans.
— I was just in the mood for a drink tonight. Tell me if you’ve got a spot near your place or a favorite bar. I’ll head there after my shoot.
“No, I’ll…!”
He couldn’t keep accepting one-sided kindness. Hastening to decline, his unfiltered voice slipped out. They weren’t face-to-face, so his fluster wouldn’t be visible, yet his face inexplicably burned. His head dipped low instinctively.
“I’ll come to you.”
— You sure?
After a brief pause, Cha Yiljoo asked in a soft tone. The nervous tension inside Euihyun unraveled. Without reason, he sensed Yiljoo was smiling.
“Yes. Just tell me where to go.”
— I’ll send you the address. I should wrap up around 10:30, so come then. Manager Han will be waiting outside the studio.
“Got it.”
— See you later, Euihyun.
Ending the call, a long exhale escaped, as if he’d just tackled a major task. He realized how tense he’d been. It wasn’t that Cha Yiljoo made him uncomfortable or that he disliked him. Just an inexplicable tension kept stiffening his body. Was it because Yiljoo still felt unfamiliar? Euihyun didn’t know he was this shy.
He returned to the sink to finish the dishes. His mind remained oddly blank.
When Euihyun arrived at the location Cha Yiljoo gave, Manager Han was smoking outside the building. He closely observed Euihyun’s approaching SUV. When parking in the tight space, he even gave simple hand signals.
“Hello.”
Safely parked, Euihyun bowed as he stepped out. Manager Han, cigarette in mouth, nodded back. Though they’d crossed paths before, this was their first proper greeting. As with first impressions, he remained taciturn.
Euihyun stood awkwardly nearby. Manager Han raised an eyebrow and offered a cigarette. When Euihyun declined, he gestured toward the building.
“The shoot’s almost done.”
He held up his still-long cigarette for emphasis. Understanding, Euihyun entered first.
Inside, the studio was sweltering with bright lights. The staff, focused on the subject, didn’t notice Euihyun’s arrival. That was less daunting. He wasn’t there for business, so he stayed out of the way without greeting anyone.
The shoot featured a famous motorcycle brand’s F-line product. Cha Yiljoo sat casually atop it, dressed in a fitted black turtleneck, rider jacket, and leather pants that accentuated his frame. His hair, voluminous and swept back, paired with boots—an ensemble that seemed at odds with his usual self yet strangely harmonious.
Was that why? The Cha Yiljoo there didn’t seem like him. The kind eyes and warm smile were gone. His gaze, fixed silently on the camera, brimmed with unleashed desire.
The energy didn’t flow—it condensed in one spot. The surrounding air grew heavy under its weight. Though it felt draining, Euihyun couldn’t tear his eyes away.
The photographer snapped the shutter without requests. Even with the camera inches away, Cha Yiljoo remained unfazed, adjusting poses, angles, and gazes with complete immersion. His intense stare was suffocating. It seemed either the camera or Yiljoo would consume the other.
While watching, Cha Yiljoo’s familiar presence faded from Euihyun’s mind. The staged backdrop and lighting receded. The figure before him was the crafted image itself, a second entity, not Cha Yiljoo. Was this it? The force that propelled Cha Yiljoo to his current heights. He didn’t blend into a role—he absorbed it entirely.
“Hold on,” the photographer said, ending the long standoff. He lowered the camera to review the shots. No one else moved.
“…….”
Caught in the moment, Euihyun flinched. Cha Yiljoo had suddenly looked his way. Was it a trick? A faint smile crossed his previously blank face. When Euihyun gave an awkward bow, Yiljoo grinned openly. Only then did the staff notice Euihyun, and he returned their glances with a silent nod.
“Great work. Let’s call it a day.”
Soon, the photographer announced the end of the long shoot. The tense atmosphere softened, and cheers of “Good job” erupted. Cha Yiljoo thanked each staff member, even the juniors, before approaching Euihyun.
“Wait long?”
“No, I just got here.”
“Didn’t expect you to reach out first.”
He spoke as if genuinely delighted by the unexpected contact. Euihyun, as usual, fidgeted with the back of his hair, at a loss for words.
“Can you wait a bit?”
Euihyun nodded instead of answering.
“Take a seat somewhere.”
“I’m fine. Go ahead.”
Cha Yiljoo grinned again and headed to the dressing room. He shook hands freely with every staff member he passed. Euihyun watched quietly from behind.
Even off-camera, he was courteous to everyone. It didn’t feel performative. That he lacked the usual bad rumors of fame suggested his everyday conduct was solid. They say you judge a person’s character by how they treat the powerless. Though Euihyun didn’t know Yiljoo well, he seemed worth emulating.
Around then, Manager Han returned. He gave routine “Good job” remarks to the remaining staff, then reviewed the photos while discussing business. Euihyun stood in place, gazing absently. Did he sense the intense stare? Manager Han looked up and turned to Euihyun.
“Want to see?”
Nodding, Euihyun hurried over. The large monitor displayed the freshly taken photos one by one.
Despite consistent styling and backdrop, no two expressions were alike. They seemed similar but subtly distinct. Was it intentional? Or the photographer’s skill? Either way, the ability to convey varied expressions and even narratives was astonishing.
To an untrained eye, every shot seemed keeper-worthy. Each had a powerful pull from the eyes. Though still images, maintaining eye contact was challenging. Unconsciously, Euihyun’s gaze drifted downward.
Then, a familiar scent wafted from behind. Turning reflexively, he stiffened. Cha Yiljoo, makeup removed, was peering over Euihyun’s shoulder at the photos. Meeting Euihyun’s eyes, he smiled with crinkled eyes.
“Did you drive here, Euihyun?”
“Yes.”
He stepped back slightly while answering. The proximity was too close. Cha Yiljoo didn’t seem to notice, his tone casual as he addressed Manager Han.
“You can head out, Manager. I’m grabbing a drink with Euihyun.”
“What about the car?”
“You can take it. I’ll grab a taxi if needed…”
Trailing off, he glanced at Euihyun.
“Unless Euihyun ditches me?”
He added playfully, grinning. The staff tidying up burst into laughter. Though not teased, Euihyun’s ears inexplicably burned.
“Let’s go,” Yiljoo said, exiting the studio first. Opening the door, a chilly gust swept in. Only then did Euihyun realize how stifling the studio had been and that he hadn’t noticed.
They found a small pub near the studio, Yiljoo’s suggestion. Its exterior made it hard to tell if it was a café, workshop, restaurant, or bar. With only three tables, the wall-mounted menu further obscured its identity.
Did he come here often? From their first meeting, Yiljoo’s tastes seemed unpretentious. Or perhaps he was considerate of Euihyun’s budget.
“Have you eaten?”
“I had a late lunch, sort of dinner.”
“Still, you’re probably peckish, right? What do you like, Euihyun?”
“I’m not picky. Since I’m treating today, order what you want.”
“Alright, then.”
Yiljoo called the staff and ordered a few items. The staff went to the kitchen, and clinking dishes soon followed. They didn’t return, suggesting they were also the chef and owner.
Glancing at the haphazardly placed decor, Euihyun’s eyes met Yiljoo’s. Yiljoo had been staring at him from across the table. Even when caught, he smiled without embarrassment, leaving the awkwardness to Euihyun. Subtly looking away, Euihyun asked.
“Do you come here often?”
“No, just once a while back. It’s pretty fun.”
Fun? The atmosphere? The decor? The genre-defying playlist? The vague comment was hard to pin down.
Meanwhile, drinks and glasses arrived—“theme liquor.” Yiljoo handed Euihyun a glass. Accepting it with both hands, Yiljoo chuckled silently and poured. The liquid filling the glass was a pale amber.
“The owner here loves brewing. They’ll ferment anything that catches their eye. No special methods, no added alcohol or artificial flavors—that’s what sets it apart from commercial liquor. The fun part is you don’t know what it’s made from until you finish the bottle.”
Was he a liquor enthusiast? Listening absently, Euihyun snapped to when Yiljoo said, “Try it.” Yiljoo lightly clinked his glass against Euihyun’s, still raised. Grasping his wavering focus, Euihyun downed the shot, half-turning for politeness.
Setting down the empty glass, he noticed Yiljoo’s was still over half full. Not a company dinner—had he been too hasty? Yiljoo’s stare at the empty glass made him uneasy. Laughing softly, Yiljoo refilled it.
“Take it slow.”
Euihyun mumbled “Yes,” unsure if Yiljoo heard.
Soon, appetizers arrived: hanwoo sushi and a salad with sour dressing and fish pancakes. It seemed like a fusion take on Korean traditional food.
“Funny thing is,” Yiljoo said, neatly placing chopsticks in front of Euihyun.
“I keep wanting to eat with you, Euihyun.”
Someone he wanted to share a meal with. Someone who made him think of dining together. The ambiguous compliment stirred an odd feeling, like foxtail grass tickling his ears.
Was it the phrasing? Or was Euihyun the type to whet appetites? Reflecting, they’d only eaten together twice, and he hadn’t even eaten properly. Lost in thought, he snapped back. He’d dwelt too much on a casual remark.
He quickly popped a piece of sushi into his mouth. Salty-sweet galbi marinade replaced wasabi, paired with fragrant scallion slivers. Nodding repeatedly to Yiljoo’s “Pretty good, right?” he couldn’t speak.
After a couple more rounds, they delved into serious talk. As always, Yiljoo led.
“I watched the drama. I worried editing might ruin good acting, but it was unfounded. Your performance was impressive, Euihyun. Who’d expect such madness from that innocent face?”
“Thanks for the kind words, but you’re too generous.”
“I’m actually pretty stingy with praise.”
Yiljoo caught his words. Still smiling, but somehow Euihyun couldn’t smile back. A subtle unease left him unsure how to respond. His reactions, lost in thought, were consistently a beat late. This time, too, he missed the moment to reply.
“Did you watch yesterday’s episode, Euihyun?”
“Oh, yes. I feel at ease only if I monitor my projects live.”
“Then what about today’s episode?”
“I’ll catch it later.”
“You said you need to watch live to feel at ease. And you’re putting it off?”
“Well, yes, but I had no choice today.”
“Because of me?”
“…I wouldn’t say that.”
“That’s nice to hear, somehow.”
His grin looked genuinely pleased. The awkward air eased a bit. Was it time to bring it up? Fidgeting with his glass, Euihyun cautiously began.
“Actually, yesterday TAP Agency offered me an exclusive contract.”
“Did they?”
He looked clueless. Was it really news to him? Doubting, Euihyun studied Yiljoo’s eyes. Yiljoo met his gaze steadily.
Euihyun quickly dropped his eyes to his glass.
“Having no agency, I was thrilled by the offer alone, but honestly, I was more puzzled. It was so sudden, and why me? I heard you’re their only artist.”
“And?”
“…….”
Euihyun stared silently at Yiljoo. He swallowed the words he meant to say. His thumb tracing the glass’s rim betrayed his hesitation. Watching the subtle movement, Yiljoo asked, as if guessing.
“Do you think I recommended you?”
“Didn’t you?”
“Are we that loyal to each other?”
It wasn’t a question for Euihyun. Nor was it meant for him to hear. It was closer to incredulous self-talk, laced with a wry laugh. Still, Euihyun’s ears inexplicably burned. He clamped his lips shut and bowed his head. He had so much to ask, but his voice suddenly failed. His mind went blank, forgetting what he’d meant to say.
In the lengthening silence, Cha Yiljoo let out a soft sigh.
“I’m close with the CEO, Kim. We’ve known each other since before he started the company and signed me. But it’s not a relationship where we indulge each other’s whims. So if Kim took an interest in you, Euihyun, that’s entirely your doing. I’d rather you didn’t credit that to someone else.”
After a pause, Yiljoo brought up a distant memory.
“Was it Mia? Your debut film.”
Euihyun couldn’t hide his surprise. That a decade-old project was mentioned was less shocking than Yiljoo knowing it. Did he just know of it? Or had he… Hesitating, he asked.
“Have you seen it?”
“Yes, once, while I was abroad.”
“It must’ve been hard to find.”
“It wasn’t easy.”
“You must like Director Park Joonghyun’s films.”
“Well.”
Cha Yiljoo let out a peculiar laugh in place of a response. Then he steered the conversation back to Euihyun’s debut film.
“Back then, I wasn’t an actor either, so I watched it from an audience’s perspective. Even so, the protagonist, barely out of his boyish phase—his lines, intonation, gestures, and gaze—everything felt rough and unpolished.”
“…….”
“What was fascinating was that despite being so raw, he blended seamlessly into the story. It didn’t feel like a movie but more like a documentary. It was as if the film Mia itself was crafted to depict that boy’s life. I haven’t seen him in any other works since, but he crossed my mind from time to time. I wondered how he was doing after the ending, out of personal curiosity. Honestly, I never expected to run into that boy in such an unexpected place.”
“So back then…”
Cha Yiljoo nodded readily.
“To be honest, I didn’t recognize you at first. Your appearance hadn’t changed drastically, but it had been so long since I saw the film. Something about you felt vaguely familiar, so I struck up a conversation.”
‘Your face looks awfully familiar…’
So that wasn’t just a courtesy to a lesser-known actor. It felt like a piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place.
“I mentioned before, didn’t I? I never expected such diverse characters to come from your face, Euihyun. That thought hasn’t changed since I first saw Mia. It was the same even when I met you recently. But you overturned my preconceptions with just one scene of acting. I felt you weren’t an actor I could dare to judge. Isn’t that reason enough for TAP Agency to take an interest?”
“…Is that so? I’m not used to things like this.”
Euihyun mumbled, visibly embarrassed. Cha Yiljoo leaned back in his seat, quietly observing him. When Euihyun looked up under that steady gaze, Yiljoo continued as if nothing had happened.
“Even though TAP Agency sets itself apart from typical management firms, it’s still a company chasing profits. Your preferences might be overlooked when choosing projects or taking roles, and your personal life could face restrictions. Still, it’s better than going it alone. You’ll have people handling the peripheral tasks outside of acting. I think the benefits outweigh the drawbacks. Personally, I’d like you to focus solely on acting, Euihyun. If nothing else, signing with TAP will open far more opportunities than you have now, so I don’t think you’d be losing out.”
This was his perspective as a fellow actor, not the company’s. Cha Yiljoo didn’t stop there, adding one more piece of advice.
“If you’re uneasy, add the conditions you want to the contract. Since TAP is the one proposing, they’ll likely agree to whatever you ask. Blindly signing isn’t the way to go.”
“Yes.”
Euihyun gave a slight bow and said, “Thank you.” Cha Yiljoo, who had been emptying his glass, tilted his head.
“For what?”
“For taking the time to care.”
“It’s not like I went out of my way. It’s a win for everyone, isn’t it? Kim gets to discover a great actor, you get a company to shield you, and I get a spark of inspiration.”
Cha Yiljoo brushed off Euihyun’s gratitude casually. Then he poured more liquor into Euihyun’s glass, refilling his own and taking a light sip. The subtle movement of his Adam’s apple was smooth. Even when he shifted to say, “Euihyun,” that prominent feature moved with a gentle grace.
“Was being an actor your dream since childhood?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Then how did you end up in such a provocative project?”
He made a teasing expression. Euihyun let out a faint laugh in response, then quietly recalled the moment he first stepped into acting.
“You said earlier, didn’t you? That Mia felt like it was telling the story of the lead actor’s life. I think you saw it correctly.”
“…What do you mean?”
A hint of confusion flickered in Cha Yiljoo’s eyes. Euihyun scratched at the surface of his glass, offering a faint smile tinged with an unfamiliar bitterness. Though deeply curious about the story behind it, Cha Yiljoo didn’t press. He simply waited silently for Euihyun to continue.
After a brief pause, Euihyun let out a long exhale.
“Because it’s my story.”
The unexpected confession widened Cha Yiljoo’s eyes. In his mind, the plot of the long-buried film naturally resurfaced. Unconcerned with commercial appeal, its narrative structure was simple, with a runtime barely exceeding twenty minutes.
There’s a boy living an utterly ordinary childhood. A father leading a modest life, a mother scraping by on a meager salary, penny-pinching every coin, a younger sibling two years apart, and a three-room basement villa. The environment surrounding the boy further reinforces his ordinariness. His life, which seemed destined to stay on a conventional path, is suddenly thrown into disarray. His father disappears, and his mother flees from an uncertain future. As the frontline defenses of his family collapse, the boy is abruptly thrust into society. Yet he is neither a child needing protection nor a full adult. Belonging nowhere, he drifts in limbo, gradually pushed to the margins of society. Teetering on that edge, someone approaches. The film doesn’t reveal who they are or how the boy’s life will change.
Recalling the story, Cha Yiljoo’s expression grew even more puzzled. Euihyun soon clarified his confusion.
“I was working a part-time job back then. Tending charcoal fires, carrying them, and cleaning used grill plates. There were steadier jobs, but people hesitated to hire me because I was a minor. That day, with the weekend approaching, we had more customers than usual. I think final exams started the next day, but I didn’t have time to worry about that. I was scrubbing grill plates at the backdoor tap when Director Park Joonghyun spoke to me. He asked why someone so young was working in a place like that.”
He shared details that didn’t need to be said. Was it the slight buzz from the liquor? Once started, the behind-the-scenes story flowed freely.
“After hearing my story, he said he wanted to make it into a film. Ideally, he hoped I’d play the lead.”
That’s their specialty, Cha Yiljoo murmured suddenly, listening intently.
“…What?”
“No, go on.”
He shook his head as if it were nothing. Had Euihyun misheard? Yiljoo urged the story forward, leaving no room for doubt.
“Director Park Joonghyun asked you to star in the film first. So what did you do, Euihyun?”
“I’d never even thought about acting before. I wasn’t strikingly handsome, and I didn’t regularly watch movies or dramas, so the offer itself felt unreal. I even worried it might be a scam.”
“But why did you do it?”
“I needed money urgently. The rent was so overdue there was barely any deposit left…”
His voice trailed off, and he clamped his mouth shut. His ears burned. Why was he spilling all this? Regret hit him late. Though Yiljoo had asked, he could’ve dodged it. Did he want to indulge in whining, thinking Yiljoo would just accept it?
“Sorry. It’s not exactly an entertaining story.”
“You sure apologize a lot, Euihyun. I actually feel closer to you hearing your story. Don’t you have to break down those walls to get close to someone?”
Cha Yiljoo smiled kindly. Euihyun, forgetting his embarrassment, stared at him intently. The comforting feeling made his insides soften uncontrollably. When Yiljoo briefly met his eyes while tilting his glass, Euihyun quietly looked away.
Cha Yiljoo paused in thought before speaking.
“I didn’t know you started acting that way. If money was your sole motivation, you’d typically develop a fierce drive or tenacity. In this cutthroat industry, surviving a decade would make even the most refined person cunning. But you’re so unassuming, Euihyun. Untainted, you could say. That’s what’s intriguing.”
He laughed playfully, admitting he’d wondered if it was an act.
“I think I was lucky. If I were a woman, it wouldn’t have been so smooth. There were tough times over the past decade, so if I’d been tempted then, I might’ve compromised. It’s just that being an ordinary guy no one paid attention to, I didn’t have the chance to waver.”
The entertainment industry is filled with countless people, each a substitute for another. Standing out in a sea of similarity is as rare as winning the lottery. The public doesn’t wait for the invisible. To avoid being forgotten, you must relentlessly survive. The bitter truth is that such efforts don’t always guarantee success. Sponsors are like express elevators to success, which is why rookie actors struggle to resist their allure.
But the circumstances differ for men and women. No sponsor would invest heavily in an obscure, unremarkable male actor. Even if one did, Euihyun wasn’t sure he’d have accepted. He wasn’t driven enough to obsess over success. He kept acting simply because he loved it.
Cha Yiljoo asked if that was really true.
“You must’ve felt impatient. Ten years isn’t a short time.”
“I read somewhere once: stars don’t appear suddenly; they rise slowly.”
“So you endured quietly with that as your goal?”
“No. It comforted me differently. Just as no one knew a star was there until it rose, being unseen doesn’t mean it’s not a star. I thought I should just do the work given to me in my place. If even one person noticed my existence, I’d be truly happy.”
Cha Yiljoo fell silent for a while, shaking his head with a long curve of a smile on his lips.
“…Is that a bit cheesy?”
“Not at all. It’s cool.”
“Feels like you’re teasing me.”
“I’d bet you’re the only one who’d draw that conclusion from hearing stars rise slowly.”
“You’re so devoid of ambition,” he chuckled, clearly teasing.
The conversation soon shifted to everyday topics. Upcoming scenes Euihyun would shoot, projects Yiljoo had recently worked on, and anecdotes from their work came up one by one. Perhaps because they were both actors, despite different fields and prominence, a sense of camaraderie formed quickly.
As they talked, their glasses kept emptying. The bottle had to be tilted fully to pour. Just as they debated ordering more after splitting the last of it, Cha Yiljoo abruptly stood. Euihyun’s gaze naturally followed.
“I’ll step out for a smoke.”
Euihyun watched Yiljoo head outside. The door opened and closed, and soon he vanished from sight. A brief chill made his shoulders shiver.
He shook his head. His mind felt suddenly fuzzy. His vision swayed. Was he a bit drunk? He’d drunk faster than usual. The unexpectedly warm indoor temperature made his body languid.
Eventually, Euihyun crossed his arms and rested his head on them. Knowing Yiljoo would return soon, he couldn’t resist his heavy body. He felt his consciousness blur. He should get up. A faint sense of duty was swallowed by encroaching sleep.
“…….”
Returning, Cha Yiljoo looked at the sleeping Euihyun with surprise. His face, buried in his arms, was hidden, but it was clear he was fast asleep. The soft snoring and the gentle rise and fall of his back gave a peaceful impression. Yiljoo quietly took his seat. Euihyun didn’t notice his return.
Yiljoo propped his chin on his arm, bringing them closer. Euihyun’s breath and warmth felt almost tangible. The steady rhythm of his breathing wrapped sweetly around Yiljoo’s ears. His heart settled into endless calm, as if lying in his own cozy bed.
Yiljoo leaned back slowly, a warm smile spreading across his face.
Heavy eyelids lifted. His body ached from lying prone. Groggily raising his head, he startled. Frantically scanning his surroundings, he assessed the situation. How long had he slept? His mind was blank.
Amid his disoriented gaze, Cha Yiljoo came into view. He leaned against the wall, eyes closed. His still eyelids and steady, faint breathing suggested he, too, had dozed off.
Euihyun awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. He must’ve fallen asleep first, so why hadn’t Yiljoo woken him? A bottle of wine and a glass, unseen before, sat in front of Yiljoo. He’d likely ordered it while waiting for Euihyun, who’d slept through him drinking half the bottle. Euihyun felt mortified by his own rudeness.
The clock read 4 a.m. The small pub seemed to have had no other customers. The owner’s presence was undetectable. A typical bar would be closing soon. Even if not, occupying a quiet place felt inconsiderate.
Euihyun stood and approached the counter. Waiting there, no owner appeared. Only when he called, “Check, please,” did they emerge.
“Can I help you?”
As Euihyun signed, the owner glanced past his shoulder. Turning, he saw Yiljoo, still asleep.
“Yes, just to the car.”
The owner cheerfully came around the counter, pulling Yiljoo’s arm over their shoulder. Euihyun quickly donned his coat and assisted.
They settled Yiljoo in the backseat. His height made lying down tricky, so they sat him upright, buckling him in. Yiljoo stirred briefly but didn’t wake.
“Need a driver?”
“No, I’ll manage. Thank you for your help.”
Bowing to the owner, Euihyun climbed into the driver’s seat. He buckled up and checked the rearview mirror. Yiljoo’s face reflected clearly, his relaxed expression serene. A soft, sleepy murmur sounded languid. Asleep, he was no different from anyone else. Obvious, yet striking.
Euihyun couldn’t look away from the mirror. Then he realized his inexplicable behavior—staring openly at an unconscious person. He quickly averted his eyes, adjusting the mirror elsewhere. His fingertips tingled for no reason.
Now what? Getting Yiljoo home was more urgent than Euihyun’s own return. But he didn’t know Yiljoo’s address or Manager Han’s contact.
Should he check Yiljoo’s phone? That meant rummaging through his pockets, which felt too intrusive. There was no guarantee the phone wasn’t locked.
Only one option remained: waking Yiljoo. Glancing back, he was still out. Euihyun reached to shake him but pulled back. Disturbing deep sleep didn’t sit right. Maybe waiting until he woke naturally was better. Rationalizing, he faced forward. Despite the boredom, he didn’t turn on the radio or music.
He cranked the heater to max. The car warmed quickly. Though the lingering alcohol could’ve made him drowsy, his mind was oddly sharp.
“…….”
After hesitating, he fixed the misaligned rearview mirror. Yiljoo’s face filled it again. Euihyun’s eyes stayed glued to the mirror. Strangely, the aimless passing time didn’t feel merely tedious.
Some time later, Euihyun abruptly shed his coat. Unbuckling, he leaned back to drape it over Yiljoo. Sleep made one sensitive to cold, especially after drinking.
To block any drafts, he tucked the coat tightly around Yiljoo. It took a while to turn back forward.
Yiljoo remained asleep, and Euihyun, listening to his breathing, gazed endlessly at the dim world outside. Though much time had passed, he might’ve stayed like that indefinitely.
“Cough.”
A sudden cough made Euihyun whip around. Yiljoo’s smooth brow was furrowed. He coughed again, burrowing into the coat. A low groan escaped, suggesting discomfort. The dry air from the heater might’ve been the cause. He’d mentioned having a packed schedule. Catching a cold would be trouble. Unaware of Euihyun’s anxiety, Yiljoo showed no sign of waking.
Should he force him awake? Or wait longer?
After deliberating, Euihyun made a call somewhere.
“Good work.”
Bowing, he handed over the proxy driver fee. The older driver returned a polite bow. About to leave, he paused, noticing Yiljoo in the backseat. With a concerned look, he offered to help Euihyun, who was opening the door.
“No. Could you just help me lift him onto my back?”
The driver approached confidently, pulling Yiljoo’s arm, unlike Euihyun, who hadn’t dared touch him. Yiljoo’s body slumped onto Euihyun’s back. The sudden weight made him stagger, nearly falling. Thankfully, the driver steadied them, preventing a tumble. Euihyun slowly straightened.
“You okay?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Smiling to reassure the skeptical driver, Euihyun wrapped his arms firmly around Yiljoo’s thighs and started walking.
He could carry a sack of rice with ease, so hoisting Yiljoo wasn’t too taxing. The issue was their excessive closeness. Yiljoo’s head fell onto Euihyun’s left shoulder, their foreheads and necks fully touching. The sensation of another’s warmth on sensitive skin made Euihyun stiffen involuntarily.
He navigated the dark alley toward the villa, treading each step carefully to keep Yiljoo from slipping. Each flex of his arms met the firm resistance of Yiljoo’s thighs. Euihyun tried to dull his heightened senses, climbing the remaining stairs. At the door, he struggled to remove his shoes.
After several near-falls, he reached his room. He laid Yiljoo on the bed. The moment he let go, his neck felt clammy. Drenched in sweat, he craved a shower.
Still, he removed Yiljoo’s coat, hanging it neatly, and quietly slipped off his shoes. Carrying them, he left the bedroom, closing the door softly. A long exhale escaped. His mind was utterly scattered, as if possessed.
Standing dazed, he slowly walked to the entrance. He placed Yiljoo’s shoes neatly beside his own disheveled ones. He longed to soak in hot water or sleep worry-free for a few hours. Yet he couldn’t leave the spot. Crouching by the chilly entrance, Euihyun stared at the shoes for a long time.
The air felt lively. A figure flickered in his hazy vision. Its movements were calm. Was he dreaming? Euihyun, as usual, tucked his neck and tried to sleep again. He didn’t question its reality until a familiar scent wafted over. Dreams shouldn’t carry smells. Surely not, yet the distinctive fragrance grew stronger.
“……!”
His eyes shot open. The blanket around him fell to the floor. Frantically looking around, he recognized his home’s familiar ceiling, walls, and furniture.
Groggily, he recalled the previous dawn. He’d drunk with Yiljoo, passed out first, and woke to find Yiljoo asleep, so he brought him home. Retracing to that point, he leapt up as if scalded.
Rushing toward the bedroom, he froze. An unexpected presence in the kitchen stopped him. Drawn there, he saw dishes and utensils on the table. Someone stood by the steaming stove.
“…Oh.”
A soft exclamation slipped out.
“Hey, you’re up?”
Cha Yiljoo turned with a bright smile. He looked as usual, utterly composed. As if it were his own home, he ladled warm curry over freshly cooked rice. Carrying a plate in each hand, he approached the table, setting a generous portion of katsu curry in front of Euihyun and across from him.
“I looked for ramen to cook, but there wasn’t any.”
“…Still, this is my leftovers. Let me cook fresh rice for you.”
Embarrassed, Euihyun tried to clear the table, grabbing the curry bowl. Yiljoo stubbornly held its edge.
“Why? There’s plenty left.”
He asked innocently, puzzled by Euihyun’s fluster. He muttered to himself, loud enough to be heard.
“Isn’t curry meant to be shared for the best flavor?”
“Still…”
“Aren’t you hungry, Euihyun? I’m starving.”
He even pulled out a chair and sat. Unable to stop someone determined to eat, Euihyun couldn’t snatch the spoon from a hungry man. At least it wasn’t a spoiled fish cake soup left out for days.
“I’ll wash up first.”
“Oh, I used one of your toothbrushes.”
Yiljoo announced, as if just remembering. Euihyun nodded and fled to the bathroom. His reflection was a mess. A long sigh escaped his dismay.
He washed his face first. Splashing cold water sharpened his senses. When his face tingled, he looked again. An unfamiliar tension was evident. From the moment he decided to bring Yiljoo home, he’d anticipated this to some extent. But facing him in the morning, he didn’t know how to react.
Reaching for his toothbrush, he paused. A new one sat beside his. Staring at it, he snapped out of it. As if to block stray thoughts, he hurriedly began brushing.
When Euihyun emerged, Yiljoo sat quietly at the table. The curry he’d served was nearly congealed.
“You could’ve eaten first.”
“Curry tastes better eaten together, doesn’t it?”
“Sit down already,” he said. At the gentle urging, Euihyun immediately pulled out a chair and sat. The narrow dining table ensured their knees inevitably brushed. He subtly shifted his legs to the side. Cha Yiljoo, caught up in the anticipation of the meal, didn’t seem to notice.
He scooped up a generous spoonful of rich curry. As he brought it to his mouth, a large chunk of potato crumbled formlessly. Perhaps because it had simmered so long, the flavor was deeper, with a savory umami lingering. Cha Yiljoo’s lips curved into a long arc.
“Even with the same dish, there’s something different about eating out versus making it at home, isn’t there?”
His question snapped Euihyun back to attention. Without realizing, he’d been staring too intently at Yiljoo’s smiling face. He gave a vague nod, then shoveled a large bite of rice into his mouth. One cheek quickly puffed out. Cha Yiljoo gazed steadily at Euihyun, who was eating in silence. The gaze was so blatant it was impossible to ignore. Finally, Euihyun choked, a cough bursting out. As if unaware it was his fault, Yiljoo calmly handed him a glass of water.
“What happened yesterday?”
“I’m sorry. I fell asleep without meaning to.”
“No, not that.”
There was no rational way to explain why he’d brought Cha Yiljoo to his home. It might have been one option, but it was hardly the only one. In the end, he offered a flimsy excuse.
“I didn’t know who to contact, so I just brought you here.”
“Why didn’t you wake me? You could’ve saved yourself the trouble.”
“You looked so exhausted.”
“Didn’t it occur to you I’d feel bad about this?”
“No. You don’t need to feel bad.”
Euihyun quickly waved his hands. Cha Yiljoo’s stern expression softened, and he let out a short laugh.
“I took your bed, used your toothbrush without asking, and helped myself to your food, causing all this trouble, and you’re still saying that?”
He pressed the matter with a tone of disbelief, his face sporting a mischievous look.
“It’s fine.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re… someone I know.”
“In times like this, you should call me a friend, not just someone you know. It’d make me less embarrassed.”
His corrected, smiling face looked quite satisfied. Cha Yiljoo resumed eating, still wearing a faint smile.
Talking with him often felt like being interrogated. The way Euihyun kept tensing up must be entirely because of that.
Euihyun silently scooped rice into his mouth. Chewing slowly, he fixed his gaze somewhere on the table. Otherwise, their close proximity would keep nagging at him. The occasional brush of their knees made him hyper-aware, so he turned his body slightly. Almost immediately, an utterly tactless question flew at him.
“Isn’t it uncomfortable sitting so far to the side like that?”
If only he’d pretend not to notice. The rice rolling around in his mouth felt like grains of sand.