PTK Ch 5

The daily two-hour weight training sessions made Euihyun forget the sense of season. During workouts, it felt like his joints and muscles were twisting, but after sweating profusely, the pain faded, leaving a refreshing clarity.

At the call to stop, he leaned his upper body forward. Sweat dripped from his face onto the mat. His vision blurred yellow. His trembling limbs made even standing still a challenge.

The trainer approached, checking a chart.

“Compared to two days ago, body fat is down 0.2 kilograms, and muscle mass is steadily increasing. Keep this up, and you’ll shape up quickly. Great work today. Keep following along.”

“…Haa, thank you.”

“Alright, see you tomorrow.”

The trainer promised the next session with a cheerful tone and left the gym first. Euihyun rested briefly before heading to the shower.

Before washing, he looked in the mirror. Though he’d only started training after removing his cast a short while ago, he could feel his body firming up. The goal wasn’t to bulk up indiscriminately but to craft an aesthetically pleasing physique befitting an actor. As a result, muscle gain was modest relative to the effort. However, the overall lines from neck to shoulders, chest, and abdomen had noticeably refined.

After briefly assessing his condition, he washed off the sweat with lukewarm water. His exhausted, trained body soaked from head to toe. He stood under the pouring water for a while before leisurely drying off.

After showering, he went to the locker room and slowly wiped down. While slipping into his underwear, he thought about what to buy on the way home and what to eat for dinner. Just as he was pulling up the underwear caught around his thighs, the closed door swung open without warning.

“……!”

Startled, he reflexively yanked up the underwear. In his haste, the hem twisted messily. The person entering froze momentarily but regained composure faster than Euihyun.

“Oh, Euihyun.”

It was Cha Yiljoo, greeting him familiarly. Euihyun instinctively curled in on himself. The slightly flipped hem of his underwear was a small relief, though not much comfort. Why did he have to run into Yiljoo here, in this state? Flustered, he didn’t know how to react.

“You’re already working out?”

Oblivious to Euihyun’s burning embarrassment, Yiljoo stepped closer. Euihyun shrank further, frantically rummaging through his locker for a T-shirt. His hurried hands tangled the clothes, thwarting his efforts.

“W-what brings you here…?”

“My schedule ended early, so I thought I’d get a workout in.”

Yiljoo’s words trailed off. His gaze landed on Euihyun, struggling to pull on a T-shirt caught at the neck. The twisted fabric wouldn’t budge. As Euihyun tugged harder, Yiljoo asked casually.

“Need help?”

“No! I mean… I’m fine.”

Flustered, he declined and yanked the shirt down. Only then did Yiljoo’s surprised expression come into view. Euihyun realized he’d overreacted. His face burned, and his head dropped automatically.

“Oh, Manager Park was looking for you.”

Yiljoo’s face and tone were as calm as ever. Only Euihyun had been flailing in panic. The realization brought a wave of futile embarrassment. With a fading voice, he managed a “Yes.”

“I’m off to work out then.”

Yiljoo flashed his usual bright smile and walked to an empty locker. Euihyun gave a quick bow and fled the room. Closing the frosted glass door, he glanced back instinctively. A faint, flesh-colored silhouette flickered beyond. His heart raced inexplicably, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Euihyun, you’re still here?”

“……!”

He hadn’t noticed Park Hanyoung approaching. Hanyoung, seeing Euihyun jump, was startled in turn. Only then did Euihyun realize he’d been staring at Yiljoo—偷窥, more like. Why? His pulse pounded in his ears faster than ever.

When Hanyoung glanced curiously over Euihyun’s shoulder, Yiljoo had already vanished into the gym. Tilting his head, Hanyoung soon recalled his purpose.

“By the way, we finally got a schedule for you.”

“A schedule?”

He hadn’t received any scripts yet. Annual events like award shows had ended with the new year, and he hadn’t had any special meetings with Simon Kim. What could it be?

“A photoshoot.”

“A photoshoot…?”

“It’s a domestic clothing brand. Yiljoo signed a modeling contract with them this year. They needed a sub-model for the spring/summer season shoot, so we took it.”

In short, it was a package deal. Since signing with TAP Agency, Euihyun had repeatedly benefited from Yiljoo’s help. The agency likely saw it as mutual benefit using a high-profile artist, but for Euihyun, constantly receiving felt burdensome. He kept taking on roles he wasn’t suited for. His expression betrayed his lack of confidence.

“Will it be okay? I’ve never done a photoshoot.”

“That’s why you try it.”

Hanyoung bolstered his spirits, undeterred. He seemed set on pushing forward regardless of Euihyun’s opinion. Strictly speaking, a clothing photoshoot wasn’t a creative project, so Euihyun couldn’t invoke the autonomy clause from his contract. An undeniable reason sealed the deal.

“Yiljoo strongly recommended you, and the client agreed, so let’s do our best.”

As expected. It was always thanks to Yiljoo. Euihyun couldn’t refuse and risk troubling him. Sighing softly, he said, “Alright.”

Trying a new genre was always thrilling. If a photoshoot was a form of acting, it was acting. But this time, he couldn’t be purely excited.

🎥

At the Nonhyeon-dong studio, Yiljoo was absent. His prior schedule was delayed, so he’d arrive thirty or forty minutes late. They adjusted the order, starting with Euihyun’s styling. Three or four staff members worked on his hair and makeup.

His first photoshoot makeup left him staring blankly at his transforming reflection. Contoured features and emphasized eyes created an almost unreal mask. Black spray and a clean part in his hair further altered him into someone else.

“Wow, I barely recognize you.”

Hanyoung, checking progress, widened his eyes. Euihyun gave an awkward smile. He couldn’t imagine how this unfamiliar self would look on camera.

After styling, the cloth around his neck was removed. The outfit, which had felt out of place on his bare face, now harmonized perfectly. Reminiscent of medieval European hunting attire, it was modernly reinterpreted. The fitted top, with a long, formal tail, paired with elastic white pants tucked into knee-high leather boots. Heavy makeup masked his natural features, giving the impression of a figure stepping out of a painting.

Hanyoung nudged the dazed Euihyun, saying, “Let’s greet the photographer.” At the set, the photographer was adjusting compositions, with the brand manager nearby. Hanyoung introduced them.

“This is Photographer Hong Yoon, who’ll handle the shoot. Beside him is the brand manager, Jeong Eunjoo.”

“Hello, I’m Jung Euihyun.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Jeong Eunjoo.”

Eunjoo offered a handshake first. As Euihyun took her hand, she openly said, “You’re so pretty.” His face flushed red. Hong Yoon, chuckling mischievously, extended his hand next.

“First time meeting, right? I saw your profile photos, but I was worried they might be exaggerated. Glad that’s not the case.”

“Sorry?”

“Even as a supporting model, we were concerned if you’d be too small next to Cha Yiljoo.”

Eunjoo and Hong Yoon exchanged a knowing look before confirming pre-briefed details.

“It’s your first photoshoot, right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I’ll give you cues for most things, so don’t be nervous and just follow along. Think of it as acting, but expressed statically. No need to overdo it. Got it?”

Euihyun nodded silently. Eunjoo then briefed him on the shoot’s concept, the brand’s values, and target audience. Euihyun listened intently, as if receiving a script synopsis for the first time.

A greyhound appeared on set. Hong Yoon added, as if just remembering.

“You’ll shoot with him today. You don’t dislike dogs, do you? Any allergies?”

“I’m fine.”

Euihyun reached out to stroke the greyhound’s back. Its sleek tail wagged. Hong Yoon said, “Good,” and pointed to the camera area without further comment. Holding the leash, Euihyun moved to the marked cross-shaped standing point and faced the camera.

“Let’s start lightly. Look at the camera, chin slightly down!”

Following the instruction, Euihyun lowered his chin and gazed steadily at the lens. The shutter clicked repeatedly. Minor requests followed—turn your head, move only your eyes. He complied silently. Within five minutes, the shutter must have snapped over 500 times. Photos appeared on the monitor in real-time. Eunjoo scrutinized each, jotting notes in her notebook.

After the standing shots, Hong Yoon gestured to wait. He went to the monitor to review the images. Euihyun relaxed his tense body.

“Jung Euihyun, let’s try sitting.”

Hong Yoon returned quickly, requesting a pose change without specifics. Euihyun knelt on one knee, naturally placing one hand on it and the other on the greyhound’s back beside him.

“That’s it! Stay like that. Look at the camera!”

As before, Euihyun straightened his neck and stared at the lens. He suppressed unnecessary emotions to keep his expression neutral. The shutter sounded incessantly in his ears. Relaxing his eyes, he gazed softly at the lens, careful not to tense his closed lips.

Shooting continued in between. Eunjoo and the staff at the monitor grew busier. But Euihyun’s focus remained solely on the camera, oblivious to time passing.

“Great!”

Hong Yoon suddenly lowered the camera and shouted. Another staff member approached, saying they’d change outfits. The solo shoot wrapped in a blink. Despite minimal pose changes, the monitor displayed hundreds of shots.

“Good work.”

Euihyun bowed repeatedly on his way to the dressing room. Handing the leash to the greyhound’s owner, he petted its back again.

The studio entrance grew noisy. Turning, he saw Yiljoo entering. As usual, he greeted each staff member with a smile, shaking hands heartily with Hong Yoon and Eunjoo.

After the round of greetings, Yiljoo scanned the room. His eyes met Euihyun’s, who was still petting the greyhound and stood belatedly. Yiljoo approached immediately.

“Done shooting?”

“Yes, just now. They said I’ll change and then do the two-shot…”

“Too bad. If I’d come earlier, I could’ve seen your solo shots.”

He sounded genuinely disappointed. Euihyun fidgeted with the back of his head. Then he remembered the staff nearby.

“Oh, I need to get to the dressing room.”

“Alright, see you later.”

As Euihyun left, Yiljoo walked to the monitor. Hong Yoon and Eunjoo flipped through photos, exchanging opinions.

“Hmm. Much better than expected.”

“Right? We didn’t expect much since it’s his first time, but there’s this hidden story in his look, even without dramatic expressions.”

“The way he captures emotion feels different from models—maybe because he’s an actor?”

“He’s tall, so he wears the clothes well too.”

Yiljoo stayed silent, intently studying the photos. He spoke only after a while.

“That shot’s nice.”

At his comment, the scrolling photos paused. Hong Yoon, closely examining Euihyun’s image, grinned triumphantly at Eunjoo.

“What do you think? I’d say we nailed one.”

“I love it.”

Eunjoo agreed readily.

Yiljoo left the monitor and headed to the dressing room. Euihyun was nowhere in sight. A curtain used as a changing area was slightly ajar. Without hesitation, he walked toward it. Peering in, he saw Euihyun changing with his back turned, alone without staff assistance.

As Euihyun removed his jacket, his bare back was exposed. It was smooth, without excess. His moderately broad shoulders felt soft rather than rigid. A lean waist and distinct spine stood out. With each arm movement, his shoulder blades flexed subtly. Yiljoo’s gaze lingered inexplicably on a small mole just above Euihyun’s waist.

“Cha Yiljoo, let’s start with makeup.”

At the sudden call, Euihyun, mid-change, whipped around. But Yiljoo was gone. Tilting his head, Euihyun finished dressing. He neatly hung the first outfit, previously strewn on the floor, on a hanger.

Emerging from the curtain, Yiljoo was getting makeup done. Their eyes met in the mirror, and Yiljoo smiled silently. Euihyun bowed and left the dressing room. A staff member followed, fixing his hair, mussed from changing. Hong Yoon and Eunjoo welcomed him.

“Jung Euihyun, the photos turned out great.”

“I wondered why Yiljoo insisted on you, but I’m impressed. Honestly, you exceeded expectations.”

Overwhelmed by praise, Euihyun didn’t know where to look. He knew better than anyone he hadn’t done that well. It was unfamiliar work, and without the photographer’s detailed guidance, he’d have floundered. He mentally credited others.

While basking in compliments, Hanyoung, grinning, explained the remaining schedule.

“Next, they’ll shoot Yiljoo’s solo shots. Since he’s the main model, he’ll change into about four outfits. The two-shot will follow, so it’ll take a while. What do you want to do? Wait here? Or rest in the car for a bit?”

“I’ll wait here.”

“Good call. Watching others shoot is great learning.”

Euihyun nodded affirmatively, though he wasn’t sure if that was his sole reason for staying.

Soon, Yiljoo appeared on set, ready. His outfit was similar to Euihyun’s, yet the voluminous, gold-sprayed hair or makeup made it entirely different. The greyhound’s leash was handed to him. Hong Yoon said, “Let’s do a test,” as Yiljoo stood naturally before the camera.

Without replying, Yiljoo gazed steadily at the lens. He didn’t strike poses, turn his head, or shift his eyes. Yet, it felt as if the scattered air around him stilled momentarily.

When full shooting began, Hong Yoon went silent, giving no directions. He moved frantically, capturing Yiljoo’s ever-changing presence. Eunjoo, watching Yiljoo directly instead of the monitor, looked satisfied.

“Can I have a chair?”

Yiljoo requested suddenly. Hong Yoon nodded, and prop staff hurried to deliver a chair with armrests, a velvet back, and seat, exuding antique charm.

Yiljoo sat with legs spread, pulling the greyhound forward. From the front, it looked nestled between his legs. He rested its muzzle on his thigh, leaning back loosely while keeping his gaze calmly on the camera.

The shutter clicked continuously. The surroundings fell silent, all eyes fixed on him. Whether he closed his eyes, looked at the camera, or slightly tilted his head, each shot’s mood shifted distinctly. Euihyun watched, wide-eyed, forgetting momentarily that this was a shoot, a meticulously staged scene.

Yiljoo shifted poses naturally. Now, he leaned forward, holding the greyhound’s neck with both hands, staring intensely at the camera. The primal allure hidden in his aristocratic face poured out unfiltered.

His energy was almost destructive. For him, shooting was about shattering the surroundings and painting them in his colors. Euihyun realized starkly, painfully, why Yiljoo was the lead and he the support.

An unidentifiable unease crept up his nape again. His heart began to race wildly. The pounding pulse deafened his ears.

Even in the same clothes, in the same setting, they were utterly different.

Euihyun could say with certainty: Yiljoo was a different breed of human. Yet, he couldn’t break free from the torrent pulling him toward Yiljoo.

He simply couldn’t.

🎥

“Not bad for a first photoshoot.”

Simon Kim flipped through the photobook, offering his assessment. Euihyun sat beside him, silent. Even seeing the shoot’s results printed didn’t make it feel real.

“I’m curious about your thoughts, Euihyun. How was it?”

“It was very awkward, and I was completely out of it.”

“Did you watch Yiljoo shoot too?”

“Yes.”

“What did you think?”

“I was just glad I went first…”

The honest reply made Simon Kim and Park Hanyoung burst into laughter. Euihyun’s ears subtly reddened. Simon Kim stifled his laugh, then asked with a mischievous expression.

“He looks like he’d devour you, doesn’t he?”

“…Yes.”

Euihyun admitted readily, relieved that he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

“He’s ruthless. Completely crushes the other’s drive.”

Simon Kim clicked his tongue, chiding the absent Yiljoo. It felt like subtle bragging. At times, Euihyun wondered about their relationship.

The topic soon shifted to Euihyun’s future activities.

“It’s about time we concretize Euihyun’s activity plans. We’re getting multiple calls a day asking if Jung Euihyun is going international. That’s how much media attention he’s getting, and the public seems quite interested too.”

“Oh… yes.”

“The planning team discussed various directions and advised limiting his activities for now. Since signing the exclusive contract, he’s only done the award show and this photoshoot, so media curiosity is at its peak. Interview requests keep coming, but we’ve held them off. It’s not exactly mystique, but I’d like Euihyun to become an actor with a completely different positioning than before.”

Simon Kim looked at Euihyun, saying, “Understand?” Euihyun nodded eagerly, like a model student absorbing every word of a teacher’s lesson. Simon Kim smiled softly and continued.

“So, for a while, we’ll expose Euihyun very selectively. The photoshoot was one way. It’s unfamiliar work, so it might feel awkward, but I hope you’ll trust us and follow along.”

“Understood.”

“We should also roughly decide on your next project. Among the offers, we’ve shortlisted two. They’re not blockbusters, but the characters are unlike any you’ve played, so they’re good for a transformation.”

As the topic of projects arose, Hanyoung pulled out two prepared scripts. Euihyun stared at them blankly as Simon Kim elaborated.

“We promised, didn’t we? To guarantee autonomy in project choices. The planning team analyzed both and found them solid in character, story structure, direction, and impact. So, I’d like you to think carefully and decide.”

A film role was a rare opportunity. His past experiences were mostly minor parts. Then and now, the size of the role didn’t matter. The mere fact that someone sought him out was joy enough. He clutched the two scripts to his chest, his heart trembling.

Back home, he read and reread the scripts. After multiple passes, he could recite some lines by heart. Both projects appealed to him, and the assigned roles sparked ambition. Whether they’d be hits or how much he’d stand out was irrelevant.

However, he couldn’t star in both projects. Even setting aside the overlapping schedules, he lacked confidence. During a project, he practically lived as the character. He needed to fully immerse himself in the role to act with ease. He had never tackled two roles at once and didn’t dare try.

As he grappled with this endless dilemma, the doorbell rang suddenly. Heading to the door, he habitually checked the clock. It was already well past seven. The sun had set, leaving the house dim. He turned on the light and asked, “Who is it?” No visitors were scheduled, and he hadn’t ordered delivery or packages.

“It’s me, Euihyun.”

An unexpected voice answered. Startled, he froze before hurriedly opening the door. As he lowered the handle in a daze, Cha Yiljoo appeared through the widening gap. It wasn’t a mistake.

“…How.”

“Glad you’re home. The lights were off, so I thought you hadn’t returned yet.”

Yiljoo smiled brightly. His casual demeanor was so natural it almost made Euihyun wonder if he’d invited him over. Too shocked to offer an invitation to enter, Euihyun stood there. Yiljoo extended a rustling bag toward him. Even as Euihyun took it, his face remained full of questions.

“I’ve always wanted to try this—showing up unannounced at a friend’s place. I came with a light heart and heavy hands, so you can’t kick me out, okay?”

“…Oh.”

Having accepted the bag, Euihyun couldn’t just turn him away. With no special plans or prior commitments, he had no excuse to refuse. His only concern was the untidy state of his home.

Finally, he opened the door wider and said, “Come in.” Yiljoo entered without hesitation. Seeing him close the door, it seemed Manager Han hadn’t come along.

“Have you eaten, Euihyun?”

“No, not yet.”

“Perfect. I brought ingredients for jeongol. It just came to mind.”

“Oh,” Euihyun said, checking the bag. It contained beef for jeongol, various vegetables, and an assortment of fruits.

He rolled up his sleeves immediately. With practiced hands, he washed and prepped the vegetables, cutting them into bite-sized pieces. In a pot for jeongol, he added shrimp, kelp, and green onions to make broth. As he seasoned it with soy sauce and tasted it, Yiljoo loitered behind him.

“Need any help?”

“No, please sit. I’m done.”

“Then let me do the dishes later.”

Reluctantly, Euihyun said, “Okay,” but he wasn’t the type to let a guest clean up. He arranged the prepared ingredients neatly in the pot. Yiljoo watched with satisfaction before setting spoons on the table. He then retrieved bottled water from the fridge and two cups from the cupboard. His movements were unhesitant, as if he’d rummaged through before. Sitting down, his face brimmed with anticipation.

Euihyun placed a portable burner on one side of the table and set the pot on it. When he lit the flame, the broth began to simmer. The neatly arranged ingredients looked even more appetizing.

Euihyun brought the jeongol beef and rice to the table. He pulled his chair as far back as possible to avoid any contact with Yiljoo.

Waiting for the meat to cook, he ladled a generous portion into a bowl and handed it to Yiljoo. Yiljoo took a sip of the broth first. His Adam’s apple moved smoothly. After savoring the taste, he let his lips curve downward.

“It’s warm.”

“Eat a lot.”

Euihyun, quietly observing Yiljoo’s reaction, smiled softly. Yiljoo said, “Thank you for the meal,” and began eating in earnest. Watching him silently, Euihyun belatedly picked up his spoon. It had been a while since he’d had jeongol. Unlike other dishes, this one he couldn’t make alone.

The hot broth seemed to chase away the chill in his body. As Yiljoo said, it was warm. A faint smile spread across his lips. Food seemed to have a healing power. Eating something delicious lifted his mood, and warm food soothed an empty stomach. Sharing it with good company made it even better.

Yiljoo transferred some freshly cooked meat to Euihyun’s bowl. Despite Euihyun’s protests that he’d eat it himself, Yiljoo persisted, passing over several pieces before taking his own share and asking abruptly.

“Did I upset you by showing up unannounced?”

“…No. I was just a bit startled.”

“So you were upset?”

He pressed again, catching Euihyun’s evasion. His face held a gentle smile, but it was playfully teasing. Unable to meet Yiljoo’s gaze, Euihyun lowered his eyes slightly. Then he slowly shook his head. Because of this, he couldn’t see Yiljoo’s reaction. He only sensed, from the tickling shift in the air above his bowed head, that Yiljoo was smiling.

Euihyun resumed eating when Yiljoo said, “It’ll get cold.” Yiljoo watched him eat for a while before introducing a new topic.

“I’ll have to go abroad again in a few days.”

“Oh, for a schedule?”

“Yes. We’re about to start filming, and once I’m in a project, it’ll be hard to make time. So we’re moving up some existing schedules. I can’t cancel contracted ads just for one project.”

The fact that Yiljoo made time to visit amidst such a busy schedule oddly warmed Euihyun’s heart. Even if he just needed someone to share a meal with.

Fearing his buoyant feelings might show, Euihyun kept his head down, sipping broth repeatedly. Somehow, it tasted sweeter. Though he hadn’t eaten much, his stomach felt full.

Around then, Yiljoo began, saying he’d meant to ask last time.

“Those flowerpots. They’re placed oddly.”

Yiljoo was looking somewhere over Euihyun’s shoulder. Following his gaze, Euihyun saw the pots on the floor.

“Just to get them more sunlight.”

“Sunlight?”

“This house faces east, so even at midday, it doesn’t get much light. No matter how much care I give, the plants always wilt and die. I thought maybe placing them where light comes in might help.”

“But as the sun moves, doesn’t the angle of light change?”

Euihyun nodded without answering. His neat face held a hint of embarrassment.

No way. Yiljoo looked at the pots again. Their positions differed from the morning he’d first stayed over. Had Euihyun moved them to follow the sun? As suspicion turned to certainty, a chuckle escaped. He tried to suppress it for Euihyun’s sake, but it wasn’t easy. As expected, Euihyun’s head dropped, his ears reddening.

“Isn’t that tedious?”

Yiljoo asked with a smiling face. Euihyun shook his head.

“Thinking I’m caring for living things gives me strength…”

He trailed off, explaining his reasoning. Did he think it’d be laughed at? Yiljoo covered his twitching mouth with his hand. Still, the laughter wouldn’t hide easily.

Euihyun’s face was now bright red. Feeling bad for leaving him like that, Yiljoo changed the subject.

“So what were you doing all this time? No dinner, lights off. Manager Park said you went home early. Did I interrupt your sleep?”

“No. Actually, it’s about my next project. I was reading scripts.”

“Scripts, as in movies? What kind?”

“Two projects, both good, so I’m torn. They’re completely different roles.”

“Can you give me a hint? I might not be much help.”

Without much hesitation, Euihyun stood and went to his room, returning with the scripts. Yiljoo eagerly extended his hand.

The first was a romance film. Euihyun was cast as a friend who cares for the protagonist while secretly harboring love. In the end, he watches the protagonist return to their place, burying his feelings. Supporting characters who devote themselves to unrequited love often garner as much attention as leads.

The other was a queer film, a genre new actors often choose to gain recognition. Many recently prominent young actors had experience in such projects.

The planning team’s intent in selecting these was clear. Yiljoo nodded, understanding Euihyun’s dilemma. Then he held out one script.

“I prefer this one.”

Yiljoo chose the romance film. Before explaining why, he shared his acting philosophy.

“I think to act properly, you need to understand the character to their core.”

“I feel the same.”

Euihyun agreed readily. Yiljoo elaborated, as if asking what there was to hesitate about.

“That’s why I think it might be hard to relate. A man loving another man… I don’t really know if that’s realistically possible.”

A man loving another man. If that’s realistically possible.

The phrase echoed in Euihyun’s mind. It wasn’t a shocking statement. Most people think that way, and he already knew Yiljoo was heterosexual. Yet, he couldn’t understand why his heart suddenly pounded. It wasn’t as if he’d been harshly criticized.

To hide his agitation, Euihyun spooned cold broth into his mouth. Meanwhile, Yiljoo continued.

“While living abroad, some guys made passes at me. Shamelessly.”

Something precariously teetering inside Euihyun finally crashed. His hands trembled slightly, so he quickly set down his spoon. He gulped the water in his cup. Only then did breathing feel a bit easier.

“The blatant stares and touches were quite unpleasant. Maybe it was just the type who approached me, but it felt like sex was all they had in mind. And to call that love? Even for a movie, isn’t that too unrealistic?”

Recalling past experiences, Yiljoo’s expression had hardened. Euihyun forced a smile. His lips might have trembled. Yiljoo didn’t seem to notice his awkwardness—or Euihyun wanted to believe so.

After a brief silence, Yiljoo asked in a puzzled tone.

“Why the hesitation? Is there something off-putting about this one?”

“It’s not that. It’s more about how to treat a woman… Acting in love feels awkward.”

“Awkward?”

“Yes. I’ve never done a project entirely about love.”

“Have you never been in love?”

“I have. But…”

He trailed off. He couldn’t just admit he didn’t understand a man’s love for a woman.

Yiljoo seemed to weigh the words Euihyun swallowed. It could lead to a misunderstanding, but Euihyun didn’t correct it.

“How about practicing? Try thinking of someone as lovable.”

“Does practice make that work?”

“If practice doesn’t work, you’d have to fall in love for real. That’s a big problem, isn’t it? An actor unable to portray love convincingly. It’s a universal theme in countless projects.”

He wasn’t wrong. Euihyun nodded silently, and Yiljoo offered his help.

“If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

“Thank you for the offer.”

“I’m personally curious.”

He left some ambiguity. Euihyun suddenly looked up at Yiljoo. His tone was teasing, but there was no playfulness in his eyes.

“What Euihyun looks like when he’s in love.”

His heart raced. His ears felt like they were burning. His eyes widened, unable to blink. Yiljoo wore his usual smile, yet why did his gaze feel so provocative?

“Excuse me, I need the bathroom.”

Flustered, Euihyun stood and rushed to the bathroom. Closing the door, he saw his reflection in the mirror, not as ridiculous as he’d feared. He sighed in relief.

He didn’t know why he kept getting nervous. Why did Yiljoo’s words make his heart chill one moment and soar the next?

A bad premonition struck. His mind scrambled to recall what this oscillation between heaven and hell foreshadowed. He consciously halted the thought. Whatever it was, he shouldn’t realize it.

“So, Euihyun.”

Yiljoo, now in his shoes, said goodbye.

“Yes, take care.”

“I’ll call you.”

That had become Yiljoo’s recent farewell. “I’ll call you.” Was it odd to feel joy at a promise of next time? Euihyun awkwardly rubbed his nape and bowed. Yiljoo, as always, smiled brightly.

Yiljoo left, and the door closed. The steady sound of his footsteps on the stairs faded. The sound of a car door opening and the engine starting followed. Soon, all noise subsided.

Euihyun lingered by the door. Turning, he faced an empty table. The only trace of Yiljoo’s visit was the pile of dishes in the sink. Euihyun had rushed Yiljoo out, insisting on cleaning himself, without even offering tea. If they’d talked more, it would’ve been nice. A deep regret mingled with his sigh.

Heading to the sink, he stopped abruptly. His gaze fell on the scripts on the table.

“I’m personally curious. What Euihyun looks like when he’s in love.”

He lowered his head slowly. His ears burned again. His heart began to race wildly. But a memory that followed plunged his soaring heart into a cold snowfield.

“While living abroad, some guys made passes at me. Shamelessly.”

Euihyun slowly rolled up his sleeves. His eyes stared blankly. He turned on the water and added detergent. Soon, his hands were covered in suds. For a while, the quiet house echoed only with the occasional clink of dishes.

He blocked out all thoughts, focusing solely on washing. Cleaned dishes were neatly stacked. He wiped down the sink thoroughly before removing his gloves.

Then he tilted his head. Clenching a fist, he tapped his chest a few times.

“…Indigestion?”

Something heavy seemed lodged in his chest, making it tight.

🎥

“Now, shall we practice a self-introduction and greeting for the real thing?”

The English instructor abruptly closed the textbook. Euihyun looked at him, puzzled. It wasn’t their first lesson, so why suddenly practice introductions? He couldn’t fathom it. The instructor, seeing his lukewarm reaction, looked equally confused.

“Haven’t you heard yet?”

“Heard what…?”

“Oh, maybe they planned to tell you after. Before class, your manager specifically asked me to prepare. There’s a company anniversary event in the U.S. in a few days.”

Euihyun recalled hearing something similar before. Still, he hadn’t expected to prepare so suddenly. Was he really going to America? Would Yiljoo be at the anniversary event?

Lost in thought, the instructor handed him a printout.

“Given the occasion, I’ve prepared polite expressions. If there’s anything you want to add, feel free to ask.”

The lesson proceeded not as conversation but as rote memorization. Euihyun read and memorized the sentences on the printout. The instructor focused particularly on correcting his pronunciation.

“Let’s stop here for today. Practice hard at home.”

“Yes, thank you for your effort.”

As the instructor left, the door reopened almost immediately. Park Hanyoung entered, offering a bottle of water as usual and asking, “Good lesson?”

“Yes. But about America…”

“The instructor spilled the beans, huh? Five days from now, there’s an anniversary event in the U.S. Every year, we host a party for investors and industry folks who’ve supported the company. The CEO wants to introduce you this time. That’s why you need to nail your introduction.”

He smiled, casually piling on the pressure. Euihyun, looking uneasy, checked the schedule first.

“When do we leave?”

“Three days from now. The CEO’s already there, and Yiljoo’s side is in the U.S. for work, so they’ll join us there. We’ll stay about a week.”

Worrying about his plants while leaving home for days. Euihyun chuckled suddenly, and Hanyoung laughed too, asking, “What’s up?” Euihyun shook his head, saying it was nothing. Hanyoung didn’t press and outlined the U.S. tasks.

“We’ll also shoot new profile photos while we’re there. There’s a photographer you can only meet there. They’ll capture your charm perfectly.”

Euihyun nodded, but it didn’t feel real. He couldn’t tell if he was excited or not.

He’d vaguely thought the U.S. headquarters or funding had nothing to do with him. Now, the significance was sinking in. It felt like standing on an entirely new path.

🎥

The long flight left no time to soak in the foreign ambiance. After immigration, they boarded a waiting car to the hotel. He vaguely recalled showering and crawling into bed, then nothing. He jolted awake, startled. The realization that the alarm hadn’t rung hit him.

“…….”

A stark white ceiling filled his vision. Rolling his eyes, he saw large curtained windows and ornate furniture. He slowly sat up. His body was on a bed far too big for one.

Dazed, he went to the window and parted the curtains. Hurried pedestrians, tangled traffic, yellow cabs, and shop signs unfolded below. Scenes straight out of a movie. He was really in America.

As he stared out, a knock sounded. Park Hanyoung’s voice followed, “Euihyun, are you up?” His mind fully awakened. Panicking, he checked the time. The bedside clock read 2:40. It couldn’t be morning. He’d overslept.

Grasping the situation, he rushed to the door. Flinging it open, he saw Hanyoung, eyes wide, already dressed to go out.

“Just woke up?”

“…Yes. Sorry.”

He awkwardly smoothed his bedhead. Hanyoung glanced at his watch, saying, “It’ll be tight.”

“Quickly wash up and come down. We’ll eat lunch and head to the shop.”

Euihyun nodded and darted to the bathroom. Hanyoung’s voice trailed, “I’ll wait in the lobby.” He stripped hurriedly, blitzing through shampoo and shower. He brushed his teeth right after washing his face. For years, he’d managed time well without a manager, but had he grown lax? Jet lag or accumulated fatigue had knocked him out. Normally, he’d wake before the alarm, but he hadn’t even heard it.

Rummaging through his bag, he pulled on suitable clothes. His hair was barely dry. He shook out the blankets to find his phone. Without time to check messages, he left the room.

The elevator took ages to reach the lobby. The large front desk was already bustling. As he stepped out, a cart loaded with bags rolled by, and guests streamed in and out. Outside, limos, vans, and taxis waited and departed. Amid the chaos, he spotted Hanyoung.

“Manager.”

“Oh, you’re here. What for lunch? Korean? Western? There’s a Thai place nearby.”

“Anything’s fine.”

“Let’s grab something quick then.”

Hanyoung set down his newspaper and led the way. They took the elevator to the second-floor food court. Past peak hours, most shops were on break. They entered a local food spot, one of three still open.

Hanyoung ordered penne, Euihyun a handmade burger. Food arrived quickly. His stomach wasn’t settling, so he ate only the fries, leaving the burger untouched.

“Why? There’s time—eat it all.”

“It’s not going down.”

“Want to order something else?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“If it’s not going down, I can’t force you… Are you already nervous? No need. At tonight’s party, the CEO will introduce you to key people. You just shake hands. If you need an interpreter, I’ll be right there, so don’t worry.”

“Okay.”

Glancing at his watch, Park Hanyoung said, “Shall we go?” A designated vehicle was waiting at the main entrance. As they headed to the shop, Euihyun took in the scenery along the road. Perhaps because he was only seeing it through the window, it still felt unreal, like facing a screen.

The shop was a twenty-minute drive away. Upon giving his name at the counter, he was led to a private area. Following the staff, he spotted Cha Yiljoo, who had arrived earlier. Seeing him unexpectedly sparked a sense of delight. Euihyun approached Yiljoo, who was chatting with the lead designer, and offered a subtle greeting.

“You’re here early?”

“Oh, Euihyun, you’re here?”

Yiljoo glanced at Euihyun through the mirror. With a slight smile, he resumed his conversation with the designer. A staff member approached and guided the idle Euihyun to a seat beside Yiljoo. Their reflections in the mirror formed a stark contrast. Yiljoo, nearly done with styling, looked every bit the dazzling star, while Euihyun, with damp, curly hair, could pass for an ordinary person. And the clothes he was wearing only added to the difference.

Soon, staff swooped in to mask Euihyun’s embarrassment. His freshly washed hair was styled without shampooing again, and makeup was applied simultaneously. Meanwhile, Yiljoo stepped back to sit, sipping tea and chatting with familiar shop staff, occasionally glancing at Euihyun. Though nothing intimate was exposed, enduring Yiljoo’s blatant gaze was challenging.

Euihyun changed into the prepared outfit and stood before a full-length mirror. During the final check, his eyes drifted not to his reflection but to Yiljoo. That lingering gaze only broke when Yiljoo approached, startling Euihyun.

“You look good in a suit.”

His heart pounded as if he’d been caught staring. Euihyun steadied himself and returned the compliment.

“You look great too, Yiljoo.”

Yiljoo didn’t respond. The lengthening silence felt odd, so Euihyun looked up. In the mirror, Yiljoo was staring at him with a subtle smile. Had he made a mistake? Or was something off about his appearance?

“What’s…”

“I don’t think you’ve ever called me that before.”

“Sorry?”

“My name. I thought you didn’t know it.”

Had he? He hadn’t deliberately avoided it. Still, being asked to say it again felt impossible somehow.

“If you’re ready, let’s go.”

Yiljoo gently urged. They boarded the same vehicle Euihyun had arrived in. The hotel hosting the party was about ten minutes away, they were told.

“Good thing. These events are usually boring, but this year, I’ve got you, Euihyun.”

Yiljoo’s expression seemed genuinely pleased. Euihyun averted his eyes and gave a wry smile. He should be used to it by now, but Yiljoo’s way of speaking was hard to adjust to. It was likely just polite talk, yet his words made Euihyun feel like he was someone significant to him. Then, seeing Yiljoo treat others the same way left him with unwarranted disappointment.

The car reached the party venue in a blink. Following Manager Han and Park Hanyoung, they headed to the hotel’s event hall. Everything was set for welcoming guests. Standing tables were laden with finger foods, and a full range of drinks was available. Soft music filled the hall. Early guests were already sipping drinks and chatting.

“You two finally made it.”

Turning at the familiar voice, Euihyun saw Simon Kim approaching with a smile. Before he could properly greet him, Simon led them away.

As Hanyoung had foretold, Euihyun was introduced to several people. Yiljoo shook hands familiarly, exchanging pleasantries. Euihyun politely clasped their extended hands with both of his, barely keeping up with the mood.

At the appointed hour, the host took the stage. With a seasoned yet businesslike tone, he proceeded with the event.

First came Simon Kim’s speech. He listed TAP Agency’s achievements, naming those who had contributed and expressing gratitude. Next, Yiljoo was called to the stage. His remarks were unsurprising, but no one could look away while he spoke.

The host then turned to Euihyun.

[Next, we’d like to invite TAP Agency’s new face, Jung Euihyun.]

Instantly, all eyes turned to him. His body stiffened. No thoughts came as he ascended the stage—or rather, he couldn’t think. The gathered crowd paused their activities to watch him. Their faces held slight curiosity and anticipation.

Swallowing quietly, he began delivering the rehearsed greeting. Reciting it was more accurate than saying it.

[Hello. I’m Jung Euihyun, exclusively signed with TAP Agency. It’s an honor to greet you all here. I’d like to thank CEO Simon Kim and Manager Park Hanyoung for giving me this opportunity and supporting me wholeheartedly. I’m also grateful to all the staff working behind the scenes. I’ll work hard so that those of you watching with affection won’t be disappointed.]

As the prepared speech ended, applause erupted. It felt like encouragement for someone inexperienced. Euihyun gave an awkward bow and started to step back but hesitated.

There was someone he truly needed to thank. Without him, Euihyun wouldn’t have signed with this agency or stood here. Yet he hadn’t properly expressed his gratitude. After a brief pause, Euihyun grasped the microphone again.

“…Um, one more thing. Cha Yiljoo, thank you for everything.”

His mind blanked, and he blurted it out in Korean. Then he bowed again and fled the stage. Amid puzzled head tilts, Yiljoo, unexpectedly named, widened his eyes. He soon let his lips curve, laughing silently.

Relief flooded in—it was finally over. But his face burned just as much. Rubbing his flushed ears, he was approached by Simon Kim.

“Euihyun, shall we make some rounds for greetings?”

“Oh, yes.”

He quickly followed Simon Kim. With a businesslike smile, Simon introduced Euihyun to countless people. At first, Euihyun tried to memorize names, but soon they all blurred together.

After greeting nearly everyone at the party, forgotten fatigue rushed back. He slipped to a corner to catch his breath.

“Care for a drink?”

Yiljoo approached, offering wine. Euihyun accepted the glass with both hands. Yiljoo lightly clinked his glass against Euihyun’s and took a sip of the red wine. Euihyun quietly watched the wine roll under Yiljoo’s tongue, smoothly passing his Adam’s apple. He only realized he was staring when Yiljoo spoke abruptly.

“What’s tomorrow?”

“Oh,” Euihyun let out a dazed sound, replying a beat late.

“I’m scheduled to shoot profile photos.”

“That’ll be quick then?”

“Probably.”

Nodding, he sipped the wine he’d been holding. Despite its sweetness, it was still alcohol, with a characteristic bitterness lingering on his tongue.

“I’ve got a print ad shoot tomorrow morning. If it wraps early, maybe before lunch, want to grab a meal together?”

Euihyun didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” He nodded eagerly. Yiljoo, looking pleased, said, “Call me when you’re done.” Only then did Euihyun feel embarrassed for answering so quickly.

He downed the rest of the wine. Strangely, this time, the bitterness was barely noticeable.

🎥

Right after the profile shoot, Euihyun grabbed his phone. A message had arrived.

Something came up, so it’s taking longer than expected. If it’s okay, can you come here?

Issues often arise on set. Was it serious? Concerned, he checked the shoot location in the message. Park Hanyoung handed him his coat.

“Heading back to the hotel?”

“No, I’m meeting Cha Yiljoo for a meal…”

“Where are you meeting? I’ll drive you.”

Showing him the message, Hanyoung said, “About fifteen minutes.” They left the studio immediately.

At the shoot location Yiljoo had given, Manager Han was waiting. Following him inside, Euihyun sensed a chaotic atmosphere. The shoot hadn’t even started.

“Is something wrong?”

“One of the models hasn’t shown up.”

It was rare but not unheard of—a common hiccup. Even in a professional world, human errors happened.

The staff gathered on set didn’t notice Euihyun’s arrival. With so many people involved and an unexpected issue, they had no time to look around. No one moved frantically, but their expressions were uniformly urgent.

Yiljoo was resting on one side, dressed in a fitted black shirt and pants. His hair was slicked back with pomade, not a strand out of place. Polished long-toed shoes broke the monotony of the all-black look. Heavy makeup made him seem like a different person, yet it suited him perfectly.

Staring openly, Euihyun flinched. His eyes had locked with Yiljoo’s. As if he hadn’t been lounging indifferently, Yiljoo smiled brightly and approached. Up close, his makeup stood out even more.

His eyebrows, darker and sharper than usual, framed strikingly defined eyes. His muted lips exuded both restraint and a strange sensuality. The deep V-neck shirt revealed his chiseled pecs. Euihyun instinctively stepped back.

“You’re here, Euihyun?”

“Yes.”

“What do we do? This might take a while.”

He looked troubled. It seemed they hadn’t shot a single frame. The models’ schedules must have been tightly coordinated. Rescheduling or finding a replacement on the spot would be tough. No one could predict when shooting would start.

“Should we eat another time then?”

Gauging the mood, Euihyun asked softly. It was the logical choice. Even with no schedule, he couldn’t just linger at someone else’s shoot. But Yiljoo didn’t reply. He could’ve postponed or told Euihyun to wait elsewhere, and Euihyun wouldn’t have minded. Yet Yiljoo held back, looking faintly displeased.

At that moment, a staff member rushed over, holding multiple phones—likely the contact coordinator. He relayed the absent model’s situation to the shoot director and the client. The staff’s irritated faces hardened collectively. Yiljoo whispered to the clueless Euihyun.

“Sounds like they got into a car accident on the way.”

The scattered staff gathered. Each offered serious opinions. The rapid conversation was nearly incomprehensible. They seemed to be debating whether to proceed without the model or find a replacement.

The discussion grew heated without reaching a clear resolution. Time slipped by uselessly. The waiting models looked increasingly tired. Yiljoo, who had been watching silently, said, “Hold on,” and left his seat. He began speaking with the staff.

After a while, the staff turned to Euihyun in unison. Bewildered, he glanced around. But there was no one nearby to draw their attention.

The group began openly discussing Euihyun. Their rapid, fervent English was impossible to follow. Yiljoo beckoned Manager Han, who joined them, exchanged a few words, and showed something on his phone to the director. The director scrutinized it before passing it to the client.

Euihyun stood awkwardly. If he could escape, he would, but the piercing gazes pinned him in place.

Soon, the director and client approached Euihyun directly. They scanned him from head to toe with serious expressions. A bad feeling crept in.

Reaching a decision, they called Yiljoo over, conveyed their thoughts, and stared at Euihyun again. Even the models, waiting for the shoot to start, glanced at him. Looking at Yiljoo in confusion, he said nonchalantly.

“Looks like you’ll have to help, Euihyun.”

“…Help with what?”

“Modeling.”

Grinning, he suggested something absurd. As the meaning sank in, Euihyun waved his hands in panic, words tumbling out.

“No, no way. How could I…”

This wasn’t a small feature in a local fashion magazine but a print ad for global distribution. Even if his face wasn’t shown, it was impossible. No debate needed—it just wasn’t happening.

Yiljoo grabbed Euihyun’s arm, who looked ready to faint. Stunned by the firm grip, Euihyun stared. Yiljoo’s persuasive tone was endlessly gentle.

“The client insists on six models, but where do we find a replacement now? We can’t drag someone out of emergency surgery. This shoot was barely scheduled as it is. The next cancellation might be mine. Once I’m in a project, it’s hard to step away. I might owe hefty penalties. Scrambling for a model agency now won’t get us someone suitable today. So please, help, Euihyun.”

“Even so, I can’t. I’m not confident.”

Euihyun’s face looked ready to cry. It was Yiljoo’s request, so he wanted to comply. Especially knowing Yiljoo could be in trouble, he desperately wanted to help. But this wasn’t right. Yiljoo grabbed Euihyun’s other arm, forcing him to face him as he shook his head.

“I’ll lead you. This is a great opportunity for you too. Don’t let it slip.”

Euihyun groaned. He wanted a hole to crawl into. Caught between indecision, Yiljoo pleaded again, “Euihyun.” He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t shake off Yiljoo’s firm grip.

Drooping his shoulders, Euihyun sighed deeply.

“…I really have no confidence.”

His voice was barely audible. Sensing an opening, Yiljoo smiled with satisfaction.

“It’s okay. You’ll do great.”

He immediately conveyed Euihyun’s agreement, leaving no room to back out. Staff whisked Euihyun to the dressing room. The stalled set buzzed back to life.

“…….”

Euihyun stared blankly at the assigned outfit, then scanned the room. Something seemed missing from the costume.

And no wonder—the outfit on the mannequin was a scrap of fabric so small it barely qualified as clothing. A brief that just covered the essentials and a leather vest that might fit over his shoulder blades. Was this really the shoot’s costume?

Unable to change, he lingered. A staff member approached, moved the flimsy fabric aside, and hung up a backup outfit—a jacket with a mandarin collar and numerous buttons. For some reason, the costume had been swapped. The staff handed new styling guidelines to the dressing room crew.

The team swiftly changed Euihyun’s clothes. The jacket felt tight around his chest and neck. As soon as the buttons were fastened, hair and makeup began simultaneously. The frantic hands made it feel like his hair was being yanked out.

Once the chaotic styling was done, he was sent to the set. The waiting models turned to look. Most, except Yiljoo, were Latino or Hispanic, toweringly tall. Yiljoo was quite tall too. Feeling intimidated was inevitable.

If that were all, it’d be manageable, but their revealing outfits left Euihyun unsure where to look. A particularly fit Black model was half-naked, and a white model wore a full top but only a leather brief below. No one else had as little exposed skin as Euihyun, whose hands and face were all that showed. Even his hands soon disappeared into gloves handed by a staff member.

Before the shoot began, Yiljoo checked with him.

“Have you seen this brand’s ads before?”

“No, never.”

“The concept is simple: sexuality.”

“Sex…”

Euihyun trailed off, glancing around. The set had only male models. Yiljoo’s next words clarified his doubts.

“Homo sexuality is one of their appeals too.”

Euihyun was stunned. He hadn’t expected such a term from Yiljoo. From words alone, he couldn’t grasp what kind of photos they were shooting. He pulled out his phone to search past ads. Finding the images wasn’t hard. Flipping through them, he was shocked again.

This is what they’re shooting now?

He instantly understood why the original outfit was so minimal—and how daunting a proposal he’d accepted. He desperately wanted to flee.

Yiljoo gently supported Euihyun’s back, now rigid as stone. As they closed the distance, Yiljoo’s scent grew stronger.

“I’ll translate all the directions, so don’t worry.”

He whispered soothingly, like comforting a child. A staff member clapped and shouted something—likely signaling the start. Yiljoo led Euihyun to the camera. His feet, stuck to the floor, barely moved. Each step felt impossibly heavy.

The director detailed the shoot’s concept, composition, poses, gazes, and emotions to convey. Yiljoo relayed only what Euihyun needed to focus on.

“They want restraint from you since we’re handling the explicit parts. You know, that thing—ascetic yet maddening.”

Ascetic yet maddening.

The phrase stuck in his ear. It wasn’t about him, yet his ears burned. Yiljoo was merely translating, but it felt like teasing. To hide his fluster, Euihyun nodded vigorously.

The models were positioned like props. The backdrop, not a plain black cloth for easy compositing, featured medieval-style furniture. Marble floors, plaster-sculpted walls, and large, ornate windows created a distinct ambiance.

One model stood by the fireplace, another behind the chair where the main model sat. At a table by the window, a model reclined with his head tilted back. Like pros, they struck poses and set expressions instantly. As Euihyun stood blankly, Yiljoo directed him.

“Straddle me.”

Doubting his ears, Euihyun turned. Yiljoo was lying closest to the camera. Staff meticulously adjusted his outfit on the floor. Despite hearing the order, Euihyun didn’t move. A man approached, demonstrating by standing with legs wide, nodding for Euihyun to follow.

Pushed into it, he couldn’t keep hesitating and cause trouble. Euihyun straddled Yiljoo’s waist. A dressing room staff put a collar on Yiljoo and handed the leash to Euihyun. His hand trembled slightly. Fearing the tremor would travel down the leash, he clenched his fist tightly.

All staff stepped back, and the camera approached. Yiljoo and the models deftly captured their emotions. As shutters clicked nonstop, they subtly varied poses and gazes, pausing intermittently. Like they’d rehearsed, each shot synced perfectly.

“Look at the camera, Euihyun.”

Sensing Euihyun’s struggle, Yiljoo added the instruction. Euihyun apologized reflexively, “Sorry,” and turned to the camera. The shutter speed increased. Intense gazes pierced from behind the camera. It was dizzying.

He shook his head, taking a deep breath. He was the only one out of place. He couldn’t mess this up now. Steeling himself, he recalled his purpose. Clearing all distractions and emotions, he gazed calmly at the camera. Encouraging voices came from the staff.

“This way now.”

Following the next order, he turned his head and flinched. Yiljoo, eyes previously closed, was now looking up at him steadily.

The photographer requested a pose change. Yiljoo tilted his head back and closed his eyes. His chest naturally rose. His fingertips curled with slight tension, lips parted just a bit. A faint crease formed between his brows. Pleasure or pain—staring down at an ambiguous expression, Euihyun’s palm tingled.

Yiljoo’s tilted head made his Adam’s apple prominent. Unable to control his gaze drawn there, Euihyun groaned inwardly.

After about ten shots, the photographer asked for another pose change. More detailed instructions came for Euihyun. Any pose seemed better than before. He was wrong.

“They’re saying to kneel.”

“…What?”

He asked immediately, but Yiljoo only entrusted his face to a dressing room staff. Glancing at the photographer, Euihyun hesitantly bent one knee. The photographer nodded enthusiastically. In his awkward position, Yiljoo added casually.

“No, both knees.”

That would mean contact.

Reading Euihyun’s concern, Yiljoo said breezily, “It’s fine.” Euihyun, glancing at the staff, bent his other knee and sat. The photographer nodded even more vigorously. The loosened leash was wound tighter around his hand. Checking the composition, the photographer drew a long arc with his arm. Yiljoo, listening silently, gave precise directions.

“Put one hand on the floor above my shoulder.”