PTK Ch 9

The days passed in a whirlwind, and he barely noticed the passage of time. The filming schedule came in intense bursts, so for a while, he practically lived away from home. When he did return, he was preoccupied with showering and collapsing into sleep. The kitchen sink rarely saw water, and dust began to settle on the furniture. That’s how little energy he had for anything outside of work. Stray thoughts didn’t linger either. Perhaps that’s why he managed to get through it without issue.

When he was unexpectedly given a day off, he felt at a loss about what to tackle first. Part of him wanted to sleep until exhaustion faded. He also considered meeting acquaintances he’d lost touch with due to his busy schedule or catching up on neglected household chores.

After some deliberation, he sprang from his seat. After quick preparations, he headed somewhere unexpected: the company. He’d been feeling a noticeable dip in stamina lately, so he planned to work out for the first time in a while. He decided to sweat it out first and figure out the rest of the day later.

He warmed up lightly with stretching, jump rope, and the treadmill. He didn’t overdo the weight machines either. After raising his body heat and showering, the fatigue washed away completely. His mind felt clearer too.

While drying his hair, he glanced at the calendar. March was just around the corner. Last winter suddenly felt distant. Humans divide time into years and months for convenience, but time is continuous. Last year and this year weren’t sliced apart like a radish, yet in just a few months, it felt like he’d crossed into an entirely different world. That shift began when Cha Yiljoo entered his quiet, unchanging life.

He shook his head, as if that could dispel the thoughts that always crept in. But no matter where his mind wandered, it always pooled in one direction. At some point, it had started happening naturally. He knew it would only hurt him, yet he couldn’t stop. It was futile.

He wanted to get some fresh air. The thought quickly turned into action. He grabbed a coat and headed to the rooftop.

When he opened the heavy iron door, a biting wind whipped through, carrying the smell of nicotine. Someone was already there. He consciously looked toward the railing, where two men stood. He recognized them from their backs alone. It had been quite a while.

“Hey? It’s Jung Euihyun.”

Soon, the two noticed him. Manager Han greeted him first, and Cha Yiljoo turned around shortly after. The moment their eyes met, Euihyun bowed politely. Cha Yiljoo responded with a faint smile.

Now what? He wasn’t bold enough to join them naturally. Standing far off felt awkward, and retreating back downstairs would be even stranger. As he agonized, Cha Yiljoo tapped the cigarette he was smoking against the wall to put it out.

“Euihyun, want a warm drink?”

He offered as he was already heading toward the vending machine. Reluctantly, Euihyun said, “Yes,” and followed.

“Black coffee? Or milk?”

Before he could answer, an arm suddenly reached out from behind.

“Jung Euihyun’s not into that.”

Manager Han arbitrarily pressed the milk button. Then, saying he’d wait in the car, he left the rooftop. The two left behind watched his retreating figure as if by agreement.

Tch, tch.

A chuckle mixed with muttering reached his ears. Thinking he’d misheard, Euihyun blankly turned to Cha Yiljoo. But Cha Yiljoo, acting as if he’d said nothing, opened the vending machine’s flap and pulled out the freshly dispensed drink. A subtle smile played on his face as he handed over the milk.

“It’s not like that—I drink all kinds.”

He hurriedly explained, but Cha Yiljoo just said, “Got it,” with that same amused expression. Euihyun’s ears inexplicably burned. He didn’t know how to handle being teased by him. Sipping the milk, he tried to hide his flustered expression.

The warmth spread through his body. The sweet taste naturally lifted the corners of his mouth. He took another gulp before it cooled, when a soft chuckle came from above. Looking up, his eyes met Cha Yiljoo’s directly. With a grin brimming with amusement, he casually asked.

“You’re gearing up for your final shoot?”

“…Oh, yes. Did you wrap up your next project well, Yiljoo?”

“Well, I managed to finish it despite Euihyun’s indifference.”

There was a sting in his words, half-joking, half-serious. Lately, using busyness as an excuse, they’d barely exchanged messages. Euihyun was always attuned to Cha Yiljoo’s updates, yet he couldn’t bring himself to send a simple text. He worried that acting on his feelings would burden Cha Yiljoo. If he didn’t draw a line, his easily swayed emotions would swell in an instant.

He fidgeted with the paper cup’s edge with his thumb. To Euihyun, Cha Yiljoo suddenly asked, “Has it been tough?”

“What?”

“You look thinner since I last saw you.”

Reflexively, he touched his cheek. Had he lost weight from lack of rest? Even Park Hanyoung, who saw him daily, hadn’t noticed, but Cha Yiljoo picked up on it at a glance. Changes are often more apparent to those you don’t see regularly.

“He must be on your mind a lot. Are you eating properly? Sleeping? If it’s too much, ask to adjust your schedule.”

“I’m fine. The people around me are helping a lot. It’ll be over soon anyway.”

“Right, once you wrap, you’ll have some breathing room until the next project.”

“How about you, Yiljoo?”

“I’ve got another film starting soon.”

“Oh…”

“I’d love a break, but it’s a project I signed on for a while back, so no choice.”

“Is it not a Korean production then?”

“No, it’s a Hollywood-funded film shooting in China.”

He nodded, sipping the now-cool milk. A film typically takes six months to a year to complete. Not all that time is spent filming, so even lead actors can juggle three or four projects a year. For someone like Cha Yiljoo, having no downtime wasn’t surprising. More accurately, people wouldn’t leave him alone.

It was good that so many sought Cha Yiljoo. As a friend, even if just in name, Euihyun should congratulate him. Yet, the thought of not seeing him for a while brought a pang of disappointment. His resolve to be content with the place Cha Yiljoo allowed him felt hollow as his greed grew unchecked. If it became uncontrollable, only ruin would follow.

“When do you leave?”

“Tonight.”

“Oh,” he said, nodding again. There was only one thing to say as a friend.

“Shoot the film well and stay healthy. I’m looking forward to it.”

“You take care too, Euihyun.”

Cha Yiljoo flashed a bright smile. Seeing it lifted Euihyun’s mood, and his gaze lingered. To keep Cha Yiljoo from noticing his prolonged stare, he hurriedly nudged him.

“Shouldn’t you get going?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

As Cha Yiljoo pondered what to do with his remaining coffee, Euihyun said, “Give it to me.” After a brief hesitation, Cha Yiljoo said, “Thanks,” and handed over the cup.

“Well, Euihyun, hang in there until the end.”

“Yes. Go on now. Don’t catch a cold.”

Cha Yiljoo smiled quietly and headed for the exit. Euihyun watched his retreating figure stride away. Only when he was out of sight did he start cleaning up. He poured the leftover drinks into the designated drain and was about to toss the paper cups into the recycling bin when he paused. Though Cha Yiljoo was gone, the breeze carried a faint trace of his scent.

He stared at the cup in his hand. It still held some warmth. The part Cha Yiljoo had held, where his lips had touched. The hand holding the cup slowly moved toward his face. It wasn’t a conscious action.

“…….”

Suddenly, all movement stopped. The cup hovered just short of his lips. His hand trembled faintly. Finally, he let it drop limply. The cup slipped from his loosened grip and rolled away.

He felt ashamed. Pathetic. A heavy, stifling weight built up in his throat.

🎥

After wrapping the final shoot, he visited Cock Bar. He’d promised Jang Daewoong he’d stop by sometime but hadn’t for months due to worry.

“Euihyun?”

Jang Daewoong, leisurely preparing to open, rushed over. Euihyun let himself be pulled along as Jang Daewoong grabbed his arm. He sat Euihyun at the bar counter and busied himself preparing beer and snacks. Euihyun quickly stopped him.

“Just a coffee today, please.”

“Alright.”

Seeming to want a deeper talk, Jang Daewoong sat across from him with a slightly disappointed look. He brewed coffee from the machine beside him. Euihyun took a sip of the coffee handed to him. The rich, robust aroma wrapped around him pleasantly.

“You had me so stressed I nearly lost it.”

Jang Daewoong chided Euihyun’s aloofness. His tone was scolding, but it carried clear guilt. Being outed to the last person he’d wanted while with Jang Daewoong must have weighed heavily on him.

They hadn’t completely lost contact. Euihyun had responded to occasional check-ins with assurances that he was fine, but he hadn’t explained the full situation. He wasn’t certain about his relationship with Cha Yiljoo, so he couldn’t carelessly say how things were. Jang Daewoong must have felt helpless waiting for Euihyun to visit. Feeling bad for causing worry, Euihyun apologized first.

“I’m sorry for making you worry.”

“It’s your business, so how could I not? You were busy filming, so I’ll let the lack of contact slide. Just spill it—what happened?”

Having shared everything, he owed a proper explanation. Jang Daewoong’s reaction was predictable even without seeing it.

After a brief pause, he spoke.

“Some time after that incident, I ran into him by chance at the company cafeteria.”

“By chance? You hadn’t been in touch at all before that?”

He nodded instead of answering. Jang Daewoong’s expression grew subtle. He seemed to have many questions but chose a measured one instead of prying chaotically.

“What did he say?”

“He said he still finds it hard to understand a man liking another man, but since I’m not into him, it’s fine…”

“And? You just sat there?”

Jang Daewoong asked sharply. His voice grew heated, and his face showed disbelief. Euihyun only gave a faint smile. That bitter smile seemed to answer all questions. It conveyed what conversation had passed between them, and what decision Euihyun had made under Cha Yiljoo’s oblivious, carefree certainty.

Unable to hold back, Jang Daewoong stood up.

“Are you crazy? Why’d you just listen to that?”

“I never planned to confess in the first place.”

“Even so, staying silent in that situation—what’s the point? He’s misunderstanding you! You should’ve corrected him!”

Cha Yiljoo knew Euihyun was gay but seemed oblivious that he was the object of his feelings. In his mind, he’d likely extended a hand assuming it’d stay that way.

It was right not to take that hand. Unrequited feelings have a predictable end. Getting swept up in unintended actions, hurting, and eventually shattering. Better to break it himself from the start.

He even thought it was for the best. Hearing that Euihyun, a gay man, liked him—a heterosexual—might have ended things if Euihyun couldn’t do it himself. When Cha Yiljoo learned of Euihyun’s orientation, he’d optimistically thought it was a chance to end things before deeper hurt. He was wrong.

“It’ll be fine, hyung. I really won’t get greedy.”

“You think you can control that? Someone who knows you’re gay and still wants to act like before—will they treat you well? When they carelessly toy with you, how can you be unaffected? You’re so frustrating!”

It was obvious. Cha Yiljoo would be kind, if not as much as before, and that kindness would be poison to Euihyun. His innocent care would toy with Euihyun’s heart repeatedly. Unrequited feelings would feed on false hopes, swell with futile greed, and eventually burst under the pressure. By an unsuspecting person’s side, that cycle would repeat endlessly, until he was irreparably tattered.

Knowing what kind of person Euihyun was made it more painful. If he were someone who burned hot and cooled fast, Jang Daewoong wouldn’t worry so much. Scratching his head irritably, he blurted out.

“Just confess already.”

“…….”

“If you’re going to be dragged along, just spill it and end it. You think pretending it’s fine will work? It’ll be hell for you, but what about him? Isn’t this deception to him?”

Is that so?

Probably.

If Cha Yiljoo learned his true feelings, he might get angry. Euihyun knew exactly what it meant for Cha Yiljoo to accept him, yet he’d lingered nearby. As Jang Daewoong said, it was akin to deceit.

Still, he had no intention of confessing. Things were good as they were. Sometimes he felt lonely, but still, this was fine. At least Cha Yiljoo smiled at him. If he ever looked at Euihyun with eyes full of disgust, he wouldn’t be able to bear it. Truly, if that happened…

As he sank into gloom, a vibration sounded. It took Euihyun a moment to realize it was his phone. He answered the call just as it was about to cut off. Meanwhile, Jang Daewoong had started drinking.

“I need to head to the company.”

As soon as the call ended, he stood. His eyes met Jang Daewoong’s, filled with concern and unspoken pleas. Euihyun gave a faint smile. Jang Daewoong watched him leave, saying, “Go,” and let out a heavy sigh.

“How’s it feel to finish a project?”

Simon Kim asked, offering a box of cookies. Feeling it’d be rude to refuse, Euihyun picked the least sweet-looking one. Simon Kim then placed the box in front of him, seemingly misunderstanding that he liked them.

“I’m not sure yet.”

“They say you don’t feel like you’ve done anything until the final product’s out. Once you start promoting and the premiere happens, it’ll sink in.”

He smiled, but Euihyun felt too awkward to meet his eyes. Probably because of his guilt.

“But now that you’ve made it this far, you won’t ask for another meeting, right?”

“…No.”

“I didn’t ask earlier because I didn’t want to stress you out. Yiljoo said it was probably because so many changes happened at once, and the sudden attention spooked you. Was that really it?”

Euihyun nodded. He wasn’t confident he could lie as well as Cha Yiljoo. And part of it was true.

Simon Kim didn’t seem to fully buy the excuse but didn’t pry further. Nodding once as if letting it slide, he grinned.

“Good to hear. I was worried you’d buried someone or something.”

“I’m sorry for causing concern.”

“That’s not why I said it. Can you grab me a ganache?”

Not knowing what a ganache was, Euihyun handed over what looked closest to it. Despite being within reach, Simon Kim made him fetch it, saying it was an amandine chocolate. When Euihyun fumbled to find the real ganache, Simon Kim chuckled with delight.

“Someone who fumbles over a cookie isn’t likely to do anything bad.”

Muttering as if to himself or for Euihyun to hear, he pulled an envelope from a drawer and handed it over.

“Yiljoo asked me to give this to you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s no fun if I tell you. Open it yourself.”

Carefully, Euihyun opened the envelope. Inside were two tickets, likely for a movie—VIP passes for the premiere of Cha Yiljoo’s next film, Guilty.

“Have you been in touch lately?”

The last time he saw Cha Yiljoo was on the rooftop. He’d been filming in China since. They exchanged occasional messages, but nothing special—no calls.

“A couple times… just checking-in texts.”

“He’s alive then? I was wondering if he’d died, only getting reports through Manager Han.”

He laughed, but he seemed mildly annoyed. Or maybe Euihyun was imagining it.

“If possible, make sure to attend that premiere. Get photographed, subtly promote your new film—producers will love it.”

He hinted with a sly look. It was such a producer-like idea that Euihyun let out a small laugh.

A star is a powerful promotional tool. From the clothes and accessories they wear to their workout routines, favorite music, and go-to restaurants—Cha Yiljoo was like that. So much so that Euihyun himself gained attention just for being associated with him, or mistaken as such. From the exclusive contract with TAP Agency to global brand ad shoots—none would’ve happened without Cha Yiljoo. Attending the premiere to promote his film also relied on Cha Yiljoo’s halo.

Euihyun had never thought his position was lowly. He’d never scrambled to climb higher. Since starting acting, his only goal was to be a good actor.

But meeting Cha Yiljoo made him keep looking at his own feet. He wondered if someone as mismatched as him had the right to stay by his side, using his kindness as an excuse.

Euihyun gave a bitter smile, fidgeting with the premiere tickets.

🎥

The buzz around Cha Yiljoo’s first domestic project was immense. The premiere venue was packed with prominent directors, major investors, and recognizable celebrities. The photo zone, swarmed by most entertainment media, was as chaotic as a market alley. Reporters juggled cameras colliding with every move while frantically snapping shots.

Attendees flaunted their connections to the director or cast. Cha Yiljoo’s name was on everyone’s lips, regardless of profession, gender, or age.

Euihyun arrived at the venue at a suitable time. A staff member checked his ticket and said, “This way,” leading him forward. Following absentmindedly, he ended up at the photo zone. The moment he stood before the cameras, flashes erupted from all sides. Reporters’ requests flooded in.

“Jung Euihyun, say a few words!”

“Give us a greeting!”

“Look over here too!”

He couldn’t tell which way to look. In the end, he clasped his hands politely and dutifully gazed left, center, then right. Amidst it, calls for encouraging words or expectations kept coming. He could’ve shouted “Fighting!” or “Big hit!” like others. Per Simon Kim’s advice, he could’ve said, “Please support Guilty and show lots of love for my upcoming film too.”

“I’ll enjoy the screening.”

But that was all Euihyun said. With a bow, he tried to slip away. Reporters hurriedly called him back.

“Wait! Just a few more shots!”

“Jung Euihyun, over here too!”

Only after enduring a barrage of flashes could he escape the chaos.

“Actor Jung!”

Just as he caught his breath, a familiar voice called out. It was Kim Jihee. He’d offered her a spare ticket, asking if she’d like to watch together. She’d gladly accepted, passing her media-assigned seat to a junior.

Kim Jihee rushed over, scanning Euihyun from head to toe. She broke into a satisfied smile.

“You dressed up nicely today.”

“…The CEO made me. Shall we head in?”

Awkwardly rubbing his neck, he fled into the theater. Kim Jihee grumbled, “Why?” but by the time they reached their assigned seats, she was thrilled, saying it was thanks to Euihyun she got such a spot. As showtime neared, empty seats dwindled rapidly. At the scheduled time, the entrances were sealed.

The emcee took the stage. He was skilled, quickly calming the somewhat chaotic atmosphere. Without delay, he called up the director and cast.

Led by the director, five actors ascended the stage. Applause poured in. Euihyun’s gaze swept over the cast, locking onto Cha Yiljoo. He looked a bit thinner since they last met. He’d filmed late the previous night and flown in that morning, Euihyun heard. Despite the fatigue, he appeared flawless.

Cha Yiljoo smiled, waving at each camera. He scanned the audience, giving eye greetings to acquaintances. Euihyun was grateful to be lost in the crowd. He could look at him freely until Cha Yiljoo noticed him. His heart fluttered faintly. Seeing him, even from afar, was this joyful.

The next moment, their eyes met. Or perhaps Cha Yiljoo was looking at someone nearby. Still, seeing his unfaltering smile made Euihyun’s ears burn. Should he nod? Wave lightly? While deliberating, Cha Yiljoo’s gaze shifted from Euihyun to the director. Ah. The tension in his body deflated.

“It’s a film we worked hard on, so I hope you enjoy it. We went through quite a bit to get Cha Yiljoo’s clothes off. It’s a rare chance to appreciate his nude performance, so please keep your eyes wide open and watch closely.”

Laughter erupted from all around at the director’s joke. Someone even whistled mischievously. Cha Yiljoo merely raised the corners of his mouth, showing no sign of embarrassment.

The microphone was soon passed to him. Flashes went off more fiercely than before.

“Thank you for coming here. I’ve never closely observed my own body in my life, but thanks to the director, I think I’ll get to see it to my heart’s content. Guilty is a work where we tried many adventurous things, including the nude scenes. I hope you enjoy watching it.”

He deftly handled the playful jab, which softened the atmosphere considerably. The other actors gave brief greetings and left the stage. Soon, all the theater lights dimmed, and the film began. The audience quietly turned their eyes to the screen.

Guilty excelled in its intricate depiction of psychological dynamics between characters. Yet, it remarkably didn’t lose mainstream appeal. Well-placed events heightened dramatic tension, and vibrant characters with witty dialogue smoothly carried potentially dull sections. A profound script, flawless cinematography, and the stellar performances of seasoned actors made it a masterpiece. The immersion was so intense that Euihyun forgot he was at a premiere.

“There it is, there it is.”

Kim Jihee’s sudden excitement pulled his consciousness back to reality. Snapping out of it, he saw Cha Yiljoo’s nude scene, as previewed by the director, filling the screen. It was only his bare back, but Euihyun couldn’t tear his eyes away.

In the shower scene, his skin glistened with water. The broad shoulders and expansive back evoked an odd sense of reassurance. When he raised his arm to sweep back his hair, balanced muscles moved fluidly. Pale water droplets trailed slowly down his straight spine to his firm waist. Euihyun followed that languid movement intently. His mouth grew dry. His fingertips tingled for no reason. Despite the screen between them, it felt no different from greedily drinking in Cha Yiljoo with his eyes.

Feeling inexplicably embarrassed, he lowered his gaze, then raised it again. By then, the screen framed Cha Yiljoo’s hips. The taut buttocks rising sharply from his waist and the strong thighs below exuded a raw, wild allure. As he watched the muscled thighs, his Adam’s apple faintly bobbed.

Cha Yiljoo’s nude scene lasted a mere two or three minutes. Yet, those moments felt like hours. When the scene abruptly shifted, Euihyun realized he was reluctantly disappointed. That realization shocked him.

Thump, thump, thump. His heart began to race wildly. From then on, he couldn’t bear to look at the screen. He kept his head down, waiting anxiously for the film to end. As his nerves frayed, time marched on, and the movie hurtled toward its conclusion.

“What’s up, Actor Jung? Did you fall asleep?”

Her question finally made him lift his head. The end credits were already rolling on the screen. He let out a soft breath. His palms were clammy with cold sweat.

As the screening ended, the surroundings brightened. Audience members began leaving one by one. Euihyun waited for the exit to clear, turning on his phone. A messenger icon appeared at the top, signaling an unread message. It was from Cha Yiljoo.

I have to leave right away, so I can’t say goodbye. I’ll contact you later.

As expected, he didn’t even have a moment to breathe. Despite being so busy, Euihyun was simply grateful that Cha Yiljoo made time for him. He pondered what to reply, typing and deleting the message several times. Just then, Kim Jihee suddenly tapped his arm. Though it was a light touch, he flinched instinctively.

“What’s that? Why so startled? I called, but you didn’t hear.”

“…Oh. What did you say?”

Like a guilty child, he slipped his phone into his pocket.

“I asked if you have any plans after this.”

“I don’t.”

“Then have dinner with me. I’ll be right back from the restroom.”

She unilaterally handed him her bag. By then, only reporters packing up equipment remained in the theater. Euihyun glanced around and pulled out his phone again. He opened the messenger to finish drafting a reply.

At that moment, a quiet conversation pierced his ears.

“He never misses these official events, huh? Didn’t he say he’s busy filming a new project?”

“That’s exactly why he shows up. To flaunt connections, promote his film on the side, and manage his image with a quick appearance. It’s three birds with one stone. Honestly, people claiming to be close always show up to these events like it’s proof, but there’s never a single private photo. Doesn’t that say it all?”

“Yeah. He got cozy with Cha Yiljoo right around that exclusive contract, right? That ad shot in the States was supposedly thanks to Cha Yiljoo’s pull too.”

“They know and play along. What do you want to eat?”

Euihyun’s hand froze. They’d spoken in hushed tones, but he heard every word.

Not all their speculations were true, but he had to acknowledge what was. He was at this event because of Cha Yiljoo. They weren’t maliciously slandering without basis. Though unspoken, most probably thought the same.

He’d never schemed to achieve anything using Cha Yiljoo. They weren’t even that close to begin with. But people didn’t care about Euihyun’s intentions. They misunderstood what they saw and believed it as truth.

It all stemmed from one issue. To anyone, Euihyun was clearly mismatched with Cha Yiljoo. He was far too inadequate to stand by his side.

Euihyun looked up at the screen. He finally understood the emotion that had been stirring deep within him.

He wanted to stand under dazzling lights with Cha Yiljoo. To become someone worthy of him. To wear his own clothes, not someone else’s, and stand proudly. So he’d no longer feel shabby. So no one would question his place by Cha Yiljoo’s side. For the first time, he felt ambition.

🎥

Guilty drew high attendance, reaching one million viewers in just four days. With no major competitors, predictions estimated it could easily hit five million. The rapidly growing audience drew even more viewers. There was no dispute that Guilty would be the year’s biggest hit. Its success was even more remarkable for not being a purely entertainment-driven film.

Grass Ring soon hit theaters as well. It had to settle for about 80 screens. Critics’ reviews were decent but not exceptional. Audiences, unless die-hard romance fans, were mostly casual. Two months into Guilty’s box office dominance, Grass Ring and other concurrent releases struggled to gain traction in its shadow.

As its run neared its end, reactions began to emerge. Blockbusters had delayed other new releases, and viewers who’d seen Guilty started exploring other films. Those who watched Grass Ring were delighted by the unexpected gem.

The main audience was young women. They left numerous reviews on SNS, blogs, and communities. Notably, it wasn’t the plot or lead actors that stood out but Euihyun’s performance. Many, familiar with him only in passing and unaware of his name, became fans through the film.

The number of screens, which had dwindled, began to rise again. Still under one million viewers, it couldn’t objectively be called a hit. Yet, mentions of Euihyun remained steady, translating directly into buzz metrics.

When the film reclaimed over 100 screens in its third week, the media took notice of the phenomenon. Led by tacky headlines like “The Rise of a Monster Scene-Stealer,” a flood of reexaminations of “Actor Jung Euihyun” followed.

Final attendance: 1.53 million. It didn’t rank among blockbusters but far exceeded the break-even point. No one, not even the director or investors, had expected Grass Ring to achieve such results. Notably, Euihyun’s name was never absent from reviews.

Audiences raved about his portrayal of pure love. When introducing Grass Ring, Euihyun’s acting was mentioned more often than the leads’. By then, entertainment media began sending love calls.

One such outlet was a currently airing entertainment show.

“For today’s Star Date segment, we’re meeting actor Jung Euihyun, who stole hearts in Grass Ring. Have you seen the film?”

“Yes, I have. These days, people meet and part so easily, don’t they? I wondered what true love is, whether selfless love that prioritizes the other could exist, and this film gave me an answer. Knowing someone so well from watching them for so long that you understand their needs without words, staying a step back to support them steadfastly instead of rushing in, and even cheering for their love—that’s the epitome of a real man.”

“Exactly. Known for his pure love performance, Jung Euihyun has recently earned the nickname ‘Back-View Heartthrob.’ Let’s meet him now.”

After the lively segment intro, Euihyun’s face filled the screen. He looked as neat as ever. Whether nervous or not, he answered questions earnestly without shifting his posture. The camera captured every faint smile when faced with tricky questions.

“Yiljoo, what are you watching so intently? Are you ready?”

Manager Han, finishing a call on the balcony, looked at Cha Yiljoo curiously. Cha Yiljoo sat on the bed’s edge, watching a TV he usually ignored. Whether because it was the only Korean channel or by choice was unclear.

The screen showed short, edited clips from the buzzed-about film. His restrained emotions, the subtle truth slipping out when no one watched, and the hurried effort to conceal it—each moment drew exaggerated gasps from the studio audience.

“Jung Euihyun’s been making waves lately. The CEO must be grinning ear to ear.”

Manager Han tossed in a comment. Cha Yiljoo kept his eyes on the screen without responding.

After leaving him be for a while, Manager Han checked the time. They needed to leave soon to arrive on schedule. Just as he was about to urge Cha Yiljoo, who showed no sign of moving, Cha Yiljoo spoke up.

“Why’s everyone making a fuss now? Euihyun’s always been like that.”

His gaze remained fixed on Euihyun on the screen. Manager Han glanced at the TV, then pondered Euihyun’s personality and actions. Soon, he tilted his head.

“Jung Euihyun? I wouldn’t know.”

🎥

“Looks like Yiljoo’s got a producer’s eye.”

Simon Kim wore a deeply satisfied smile. He’d just received multiple casting offers from Park Hanyoung.

There was Cha Yiljoo’s recommendation, and Simon Kim had personally confirmed Euihyun’s potential, but he hadn’t rated him highly. The risk of not being a complete newcomer was significant. An unfamiliar face might’ve been better, but a veteran actor seen here and there with a vague presence struggled to break a fixed image. That issue was unrelated to acting skill. It’s why most stars rarely see a second peak.

With Cha Yiljoo as a safe bet, investing in Euihyun was a gamble. Even at the agency’s anniversary event, many investors expressed concerns.

Yet, he delivered beyond expectations. With his gentle face, he kept surprising people.

When Euihyun chose Grass Ring, Simon Kim was more skeptical than trusting. The character wasn’t a lead and lacked sophistication. The style didn’t align with modern sensibilities, making a hit unlikely.

All that doubt was overturned. Euihyun took the most ordinary story’s most predictable character and made it distinctly his own. He seemed unaware of what he’d accomplished.

Called to the CEO’s office, Euihyun looked utterly bewildered. Understandably so. It was highly unusual for a non-lead in a non-blockbuster to gain such attention.

His profile had already soared after a print ad shoot in the States. Simon Kim, inwardly worried about meeting those high expectations, was overjoyed. Lately, he’d catch himself chuckling at meals or in bed.

Euihyun nervously glanced at Simon Kim, who looked at him with an oddly proud expression.

“How’s it feel, Euihyun? Hitting home runs back-to-back?”

“Well… I’m still reeling.”

“People are already lining up to work with you on your next project. Not solo, but there’s a good number of ad model offers too. Search your name, and hundreds of articles pop up. Need more to feel the fame?”

He teased that Euihyun was greedier than he looked. Euihyun awkwardly rubbed his neck.

It wasn’t like waking up a star overnight. Treatment and public interest had grown compared to his near-obscurity, but his reputation hadn’t transformed drastically. He was like a trending search term—hot now, but easily forgotten if pushed back. At least, that’s how Euihyun saw it. Only Euihyun.

“I got lucky. I didn’t do anything.”

“Nothing? You think stealing hearts is easy? Even a national actor can’t make people love them with one performance. That’s not something human effort controls. How’d you think to clean someone’s shoes with your clothes? It wasn’t even in the script.”

The relentless praise left him at a loss. Embarrassed, he kept picking at his hands. The excessive attention felt more burdensome than joyful.

Simon Kim, aware of Euihyun’s nature, shifted topics appropriately.

“Anyway, you’ll be busier from now on. The planning team says we need to reassess your future direction and goals. Thanks to you exceeding expectations. You must be exhausted, so take a break and prepare for your next project.”

“Yes.”

Only then did Euihyun’s face relax. Most people would rejoice at small successes. Aspiring actors typically dream of fame. What made Euihyun different? He was like a farmer who, while tilling fields, stumbled upon a treasure chest and fumbled with the unexpected fortune. That, too, was part of his charm, if you could call it that.

Simon Kim suggested a celebration.

“We should celebrate properly. Let’s have a company dinner. I’ll treat everyone to something fancy tonight.”

Park Hanyoung cleared his throat, giving him a look. Simon Kim, recalling something forgotten, looked reluctant.

“It’s Euihyun’s birthday, right? Then tonight won’t do.”

“What?”

Caught off guard, Euihyun’s eyes widened. Surprised by the reaction, Simon Kim grew puzzled.

“It’s your birthday, isn’t it? That’s what your ID says.”

“…Oh, yes.”

“Forgetting your own birthday—you must be out of it. Since it’s a special day, you probably have plans, so we’ll do the dinner another time.”

Euihyun nodded silently. Truthfully, he hadn’t realized it was his birthday until Simon Kim mentioned it. He’d been too busy to track dates, but he also didn’t celebrate it. This year was no different—just another ordinary day. To avoid embarrassing Simon Kim or Park Hanyoung, he pretended to have plans.

“Then go on. I won’t keep you.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I should be thanking you.”

Simon Kim grinned. Promising another time, Euihyun left the office. Park Hanyoung followed, calling, “Euihyun,” and handed him a box.

“You’re probably sick of cake all day.”

“…Oh, thank you.”

“I should’ve given it earlier, but I was too busy. If the CEO hadn’t reminded me, I’d have missed it entirely. It’s too late this year, but next time, let’s celebrate with the company.”

Park Hanyoung apologized for his oversight. To ease his guilt, Euihyun smiled and said, “Yes.”

“Need a ride to your plans?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Don’t drink too much, and have fun. If anything comes up, call me anytime, no matter how late.”

Park Hanyoung’s sincere concern wasn’t unwelcome. But the belated bitterness was unavoidable.

He hadn’t set a destination. Yet, his feet kept moving somewhere. Had he ever spent a birthday specially? Maybe in the past. Some long-forgotten time he couldn’t recall.

He entered a deserted market alley. It wasn’t childish sentiment. He didn’t expect his struggling birth mother to acknowledge the day’s meaning. He just wanted to confirm the root of his kite-like existence, its string long severed, because it was his birthday.

But for some reason, his heart felt inexplicably uneasy. The street, usually devoid of people, seemed especially desolate. As he neared the shop, anxiety surged. Something was off. There was no smell of oil.

Sure enough, the shop door was locked. No note, as she’d leave if visiting the hospital, was posted.

It didn’t seem like a simple day off. Kitchen utensils and tools were strewn outside. The door was secured with a rusty lock, and no signs of life came from within. Through gaps in the window film, he saw tables and chairs in disarray.

She was gone. Again, without a word.

Was it fear of her ex-husband’s sporadic visits? Or was she tired of the financial stranglehold under the guise of development? Or, perhaps, she finally lost the nerve to face the son she’d abandoned.

He felt hollow. Like the discarded items on the street, Euihyun felt abandoned again. The fragile thread he’d desperately clung to had finally snapped.

He didn’t know where to find her now. Or if he should. He wanted nothing from her. Knowing her life was hard enough, he didn’t even seek her apologies. He’d only wished she’d stay somewhere he could occasionally check on. Bonds, no matter how tightly held, slip away like water.

He was alone again.

The stark realization of his situation hit him. His heart grew endlessly desolate.

Just then, a gaunt stray dog staggered by. It was the same one he’d seen whenever he visited. Starved for days, its skin clung to protruding bones. It wouldn’t last another day like that.

Clicking his tongue, he called to it. He set the cake Park Hanyoung gave him in front of it. The dog, drooling, hesitated warily. When he said, “Eat,” it crept forward in a low crouch, licking the side. Tasting the sweetness, it devoured the rest greedily. Its limp tail began to wag faintly.

Watching quietly, he reached out. The matted, filthy fur didn’t bother him. But the dog, sensing his hand, fled in panic. Euihyun’s hand, left grasping air, slowly clenched into a fist.

Though spring had arrived, his heart remained stuck in winter.

The bartender, wiping glasses, suddenly looked toward the entrance. Recognizing the arriving guest, he bowed politely. Simon Kim turned around. Cha Yiljoo, with a displeased expression, entered his view. Simon Kim sang, “Welcome,” and nodded to the seat beside him.

“You said it was urgent.”

“Urgent, indeed. Do you know how crucial a company dinner is for business? A one-on-one with the CEO is a given.”

He bantered, unfazed by Cha Yiljoo’s clear irritation. The bartender placed a fresh glass in front of Cha Yiljoo. Simon Kim filled it, grumbling.

“No need to act pricey. You’re just filling in, Yiljoo. I wanted to drink with our Euihyun today, but it’s his birthday, of all days. He’s got plans, so I had to let him go, reluctantly. So, Yiljoo, you’ll have to cover for Euihyun’s share…”

“It’s Euihyun’s birthday?”

“Yeah.”

“And you just let him go?”

“I told you. He had plans, so I stepped back.”

He’s probably blackout drunk by now, Simon Kim added. People who’ve never lacked anything sure know how to do thoughtless harm under the guise of kindness.

Euihyun had no known friends or acquaintances. Rarely was anyone seen by his side. Even Kim Jihee, whom he occasionally met, didn’t seem like someone he was at ease with. Did he lack the time to form deep bonds? Or did his unique identity make him keep his distance?

On a birthday without family, friends, or a lover, where was he, and what was he doing? His thoughts sank endlessly deeper.

“Aren’t you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what, out of the blue?”

“Why Euihyun wanted that meeting.”

“I explained. The sudden attention got overwhelming.”

“No, that was the trigger. It made him recall something he couldn’t mention before the contract.”

Grinning slyly, Simon Kim probed sharply. Cha Yiljoo shrugged lightly.

“It’s like me.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It’s deeply personal, not something you can meddle in.”

“It could blow up if it comes out, or it’s nothing if buried?”

“Maybe.”

His answer was frustratingly vague. Simon Kim gave a benevolent look.

“Then shouldn’t I know more, as the CEO?”

“What could you do if you knew?”

Cha Yiljoo asked quietly, as if challenging what Simon Kim had ever done for him. Simon Kim, looking struck, let out a short laugh.

“It’s not something you can control, so don’t stir up trouble and just leave it.”

“That makes me more curious.”

“It’s common here. Everyone pretends it’s not a thing, so it isn’t. Even if you find out, I guarantee we won’t break Euihyun’s contract. So why dig and stress yourself out needlessly?”

“I’m not as fragile as you think. Knowing your story, I’ve never once felt uneasy wondering when it might blow up.”

“I’m the one who’s uneasy. Because of your meddling.”

He throws a blunt fastball. Simon Kim, who rarely backs down, bursts into hearty laughter.

“Alright, alright. I’ll pretend I don’t know. As long as it’s not something like a criminal record, it doesn’t matter.”

“Choose your targets for that kind of imagination.”

“Of course. Our Euihyun is someone who can’t even handle a single cookie.”

“What kind of bizarre talk is that?”

“It’s a thing.”

Simon Kim recalls something and chuckles slyly. For some reason, his demeanor feels off. Cha Yiljoo, habitually lifting his glass, pauses before drinking and mutters. It’s practically a soliloquy.

“…We’re friends, so it’s okay to do that much, right?”

“Huh? What’s that?”

Simon Kim tilts his head at the cryptic remark. Cha Yiljoo doesn’t respond, sinking into his own thoughts. Then, suddenly, he glances at his watch. Eleven o’clock. Confirming the time, he abruptly stands. To a bewildered Simon Kim, he only says, “I’m going.”

“…What?”

Watching Cha Yiljoo vanish in an instant, Simon Kim’s jaw drops in confusion.

He must have wandered for a long time. Without a specific destination or purpose. For just one night, he wanted to walk until he was exhausted. The cool breeze, once chilly, no longer felt cold. Despite skipping dinner, he didn’t notice his hunger.

Cafes, bars, and restaurants he passed were filled with people. On the streets, groups laughed, chatted, or sighed, creating a clamor. It felt like Euihyun’s world alone was silent.

He wasn’t lonely. Those accustomed to companionship often fear solitude more. After so long alone, feeling newly desolate now seemed pointless. There was no reason to be depressed. A birthday is special only because it’s treated as such; if you see it as nothing, it becomes nothing.

He tried not to think of anything as he walked wherever his feet led. Once a thought took hold, countless worries would branch out uncontrollably. His current place, the path he’d walked, and the road ahead. For a moment, he wanted to escape that harsh reality.

Looking up absently, he saw tender leaves clinging to a street tree. They fluttered precariously in the breeze. For no reason, he watched the fragile existence, seemingly ready to fall at any moment. He barely registered the passage of time.

When he consciously looked around, the number of vehicles on the road had dwindled significantly. Hurried pedestrians were scarcely visible. It was time to head back.

His aimless steps led to a nearby bus stop. Boarding the last bus, he gazed out at the fleeting scenery. In the late night, nearing midnight, the world was hurrying to sleep. Another ordinary day passed like this.

He was the only passenger until his stop. Casting a long shadow, he walked under dim streetlights. The quiet residential alleys echoed with the soft sound of his footsteps.

“……?”

It was just as he reached the villa’s entrance. Euihyun’s steps halted abruptly. A silhouette loomed on the low steps by the front door. Though he couldn’t see the face, he knew who it was. He had to know. Above all, it was the familiar scent that reached him first.

“You’re back?”

The calm question came from none other than Cha Yiljoo. Euihyun froze, staring at him blankly. A breath-like sound escaped his parted lips.

“Why are you there…”

“I thought we might miss each other otherwise.”

Cha Yiljoo gave a casual smile. Then he gently shook a rustling object.

“I saw this while passing by and wanted to eat it with you, Euihyun.”

In the clear plastic bag were two steamed buns. He must have waited a while, as tiny water droplets clung to the bag’s surface. How long had he been like this? If he’d waited in the car, Euihyun wouldn’t feel so guilty.

“Your car…”

“I had a drink. Just a sip, though.”

“You could’ve called.”

“I thought I’d only need to wait a little.”

“…What?”

“It just felt that way.”

Cha Yiljoo smiled softly and stood. He stepped aside, waiting for the door to be opened. Euihyun hurriedly pulled out his key. Unbelievably, the house lacked a modern door lock. Between nerves and embarrassment, he fumbled to align the key with the lock.

Once inside, he turned on the heater and tossed his coat haphazardly over a dining chair. Cha Yiljoo familiarly took the seat opposite.

“I’ll make some hot tea.”

He quickly put water on to boil. Cha Yiljoo nodded leisurely. While the water heated, Euihyun rummaged through the drawers. Of course, he was out of the tea he’d bought, with only one green tea bag left. With no choice, he grabbed it, but then heard the sound of a lighter behind him. Since quitting smoking, he’d kept the ashtray buried deep in the cabinet, but he retrieved that too.

“The ashtray’s here…”

Turning to hand it over, he froze. He couldn’t even finish his sentence.

A few matchsticks were stuck into the cold, stiff steamed bun. Tiny flames flickered at their tips. Cha Yiljoo, setting down the lighter he’d just used, looked sheepish.

“I heard it was your birthday and tried to find something like a cake, but time was short. The bakeries were already closed, and the nearby convenience store only had sandwiches and burgers.”

Euihyun walked toward Cha Yiljoo as if drawn by an unseen force, his actions devoid of conscious thought. He couldn’t take his eyes off the hedgehog-like bun. What’s a birthday, anyway? One year, 365 days. Just one day among many. A day meaningless to some. It was to Euihyun too. That’s how he endured. That’s how he kept the loneliness at bay.

Cha Yiljoo, watching Euihyun stare at the burning matches, said, “Blow them out.” Leaning forward, Euihyun let out a long breath. The trembling flames, fighting to stay lit, faded. A brief puff of acrid smoke rose and quickly dissipated. Still, Euihyun couldn’t lift his head.

“Did you make a wish?”

Cha Yiljoo smiled without a trace of doubt. But Euihyun remained motionless.

He tried desperately to hold it down. The emotions swelling uncontrollably, threatening to burst, he struggled to suppress. But the more he pressed, the stronger they rebelled. Cha Yiljoo, with his effortless expression, always unlocked the tightly barred gate.

He couldn’t hold out any longer. He could no longer deceive someone so kind.

“…Why not just leave it be?”

His quiet murmur was tinged with anguish. His gentle eyes creased in pain.

“You caught my eye because you shine no matter where you are. I thought you were a good person because you’re polite and kind to everyone. I liked that, beneath your glamorous exterior, you miss simple home-cooked meals. Your clumsiness with common wooden chopsticks, your thoughtfulness that leaves one shoulder soaked on rainy days, and your inability to overlook small things like today—I like all of it. That’s how…”

Cha Yiljoo gazed at Euihyun with a stunned expression. The words Euihyun muttered had nothing to do with wishes. Had something happened? Eyes mixed with doubt and concern met Euihyun’s as he slowly raised his gaze. Each calm confession felt laborious, and soon, his face looked on the verge of tears. Cha Yiljoo’s eyes widened slightly.

Finally, their gazes locked completely. It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t afraid. Knowing he’d regret it, his heart pounded wildly. Yet, he wanted to confess. He could no longer deceive him.

Looking straight at Cha Yiljoo, Euihyun’s eyes held no trace of lingering attachment or hesitation. Like a sigh, he let his heart go.

“I like you.”