Up until now, he’d only read his messages without responding, but today he replied immediately. It felt like the sulking had finally passed, and that lightened his heart a bit.
[Wanna get king crab?]
[Not hungry]
[Steak?]
[Sashimi]
[Soju?]
[I love you]
[If you love me, you should’ve replied sooner]
When he pointed out how he ignored his previous messages, Lee Ji-gyeong bombarded him with a flood of heart emojis.
[Fucking love you, you bastard hyung]
[Match your words and action
[Love you, hyung~]
[Sure thing]
[You sound old as hell]
[Why are you dissing my grandpa?]
[…Your grandpa replies with “Sure thing”?]
[Yeah]
[But you’re not my grandpa]
A smile crept across Kang Hyeon’s lips as he started typing swiftly.
[I like it best when Grandpa replies like that.]
[Sure thing~]
[Just arrived at the agency]
[Good luck with the shoot~ Love you like hell]
He stared for a while at the words “love you,” which had popped up more than once, then got off the subway. Feeling a strange urge, he stood off to the side of the road and scrolled back through his past conversations with Lee Ji-gyeong. At some point, he’d started using an absurd number of cute emojis. He hadn’t noticed before, but it turns out Ji-gyeong was quite the affectionate type.
“He’s even bigger than me, for god’s sake…”
It was slightly cringey, but at the same time, kind of cute, and he let out a small chuckle. Then, finally, he turned his attention to Yoon Do-yeong—the one he’d been putting off replying to—and started typing with care. A few words in, he deleted them. Typed again, deleted again. A faint heaviness in his chest made him shift his weight from heel to toe as he hesitated before sending the message.
[Thanks]
That was all he could manage. He wasn’t the type to ramble anyway, and that one word held every emotion he couldn’t say out loud. He’d been unnecessarily cold when leaving Do-yeong’s house, and yet, the guy still supported him like nothing had happened. It made him feel nothing but grateful. A tangle of mixed emotions began pressing into his chest and slowly spread through his whole body.
Feeling that his reply was far too dry, he scrolled through the emoji list. He avoided the heart ones and looked for the most neutral smiley face he could find—but before he could choose one, another message came from Yoon Do-yeong.
[Let’s go for a drive to the sea when I’m back.]
Kang Hyeon stared at the message for a long time. He remembered dragging the homebody Do-yeong out on all kinds of excursions. He’d never seen the winter sea before, and the thought of it sparked a bit of curiosity.
[I want to see the ocean.]
Another message came in quickly.
[Sunset or sunrise?]
[Both.]
[Pick one.]
Though Do-yeong had read the message instantly, there was no reply. As he waited, the tips of Hyeon’s fingers turned red from the cold. He blew warm breath into his hands but couldn’t take his eyes off the phone screen. Just as he was about to give up and start walking again, a message came in.
[Why do I have to pick just one?]
He sighed—deeply. His breath spread like mist in the cold air as he tapped out a reply.
[You’ve got café work, don’t you?]
[We can book a hotel, relax, and watch the sunrise after a good night’s sleep.]
“That’s exactly why it won’t work.”
The words slipped out under his breath. He swallowed back the next line—How the hell am I supposed to share a room with you?—and sent a different message instead.
[Let’s watch the sunset, grab dinner, and catch a late-night movie.]
[You pick the movie.]
Apparently satisfied with the new itinerary, Do-yeong replied right away.
[Let’s do it the day I get back.]
[Sure]
Hyeon sent the reply and tucked his phone into his pocket. Despite his resolve to keep some distance, he’d just ended up making date plans. Feeling stupid, he let out a long sigh and stepped into the entertainment agency building, his face stung by the chilly wind.
The office was unusually quiet and empty. It looked like most of the staff had been assigned to work with Yoon Do-yeong, and only a skeleton crew remained.
He greeted the front desk staff and waited for the manager, who was in a meeting. He headed to the waiting room, where a tall, broad-shouldered man was drinking coffee with a grim expression. When the man saw Hyeon, he stood up.
“You’re here?”
“It’s been a while, Dong-il.”
Kim Dong-il was a 26-year-old rookie actor from the same agency—rugged, masculine, a jack-of-all-sports type. He was usually boisterous and full of laughter, always bringing positive energy to those around him. But today, all of that was gone—he seemed completely deflated.
“Something wrong?”
“Ah… well…”
He hesitated for a long time before finally speaking.
“I got cast as a royal guard in a fusion sageuk called Return of the Moon.”
“Congratulations. That role suits you perfectly.”
With his sturdy build and sharp features, it was a perfect match.
“No… I mean… It looks like it’s on hold now.”
“……”
“I don’t think it’s the production company. I think… it’s our CEO…”
Hyeon’s eyes trembled slightly as he watched Dong-il struggle to get the words out. As Hyeon’s expression turned serious, Dong-il finally managed to say more.
“Until the meeting with the stunt director yesterday, everything was going great. But today… something feels really off.”
His voice trembled, and he looked like he was on the verge of tears. His frustration and sadness were written in every breath, every word, every twitch of his body. While watching him pour it all out, Hyeon couldn’t think of words of comfort. Instead, he found himself studying Dong-il’s expression—That’s the kind of raw emotion I need to capture in my acting.
After watching him quietly for a moment, Hyeon straightened up and asked bluntly, trying to get a clearer picture.
“Did they tell you your role’s been changed?”
“…I don’t know. All I know is, I went to pick up the script today, and the manager looked really flustered and told me to wait. Then he just kept making phone calls instead of going into the meeting. A bit later, he popped out and suddenly started talking about some webtoon adaptation before leaving again.”
It sounded eerily familiar. Hyeon had gone through the exact same thing once—some behind-the-scenes shift causing a manager to scramble and try to reassign him.
He thought for a moment, then met Dong-il’s eyes. The other man looked like he was waiting—maybe hoping—that Hyeon would have some answers, some wisdom from someone who’d been through it.
“I might be wrong, and maybe I’m jumping to conclusions, but… that role might be getting reassigned.”
Dong-il’s eyes widened in shock. Hyeon continued, calmly.
“You’ve probably heard the rumors. In the worst-case scenario, you show up on set, get into costume, and then find out your role’s been taken.”
“I’ve heard stuff like that… I just never thought it would happen to me.”
Dong-il let out a long, deep sigh. Hyeon immediately felt like maybe he’d spoken too soon.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you anxious when nothing’s certain yet.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ve been asking around, but everyone at the agency just keeps saying they don’t know anything. Honestly, that’s the weirdest part. No one’s even trying to find out. And being told to ‘just wait’—that’s shady, too.”
“…Even if they don’t tell you, they’re probably scrambling to place you in something out of guilt. You’ll have to audition again, sure, but even if it’s a small part, I think they’ll try. Acting’s a long game. Just think of this as a detour and keep your head up.”
Trying to offer a little more comfort, Hyeon pulled out his phone.
“Let me buy you a drink, then—just for listening to my reckless mouth. Hopefully, it’ll be a celebratory drink.”
“…I’d rather it be a celebration too.”
Dong-il managed a bitter smile but, true to his upbeat nature, added, “Thanks for being straight with me,” and entered his number into Hyeon’s phone.
The air still felt a little awkward between them, but just then, stylist Yoo Kyung-mi stepped through the door. She’d worked with Hyeon on a few other projects, so they greeted each other warmly.
“The schedule shifted a bit, so we’ll pick out your outfit first, Hyeon.”
He said goodbye to Dong-il and followed the stylist to the fitting room. Among the racks of clothing, she’d already pulled out a few select outfits and accessories. He tried them on as directed and checked himself in the mirror. The design was simple but refined—only issue was, the fit was too loose. She adjusted the back with pins to tighten it.
In the large mirror opposite him, something familiar caught his eye: a travel suitcase. Not just any luxury suitcase—he recognized it immediately. He’d seen Do-yeong packing that exact case, so he knew it was his.
The stylist opened the suitcase and pulled out a watch and shoes. The shoes were obviously expensive—and way too big.
Hyeon bit down on his lower lip and forced his voice to sound neutral.
“Kyung-mi, did Do-yeong sponsor this?”
“Just the clothes. The watch is yours, apparently.”
Hyeon blinked in confusion.
“He said it’s a gift for landing the drama role. Said you helped a lot with his acting practice and that he picked it out really carefully. Surprise~!”
The stylist grinned and held up the watch playfully. Hyeon took it and started to take it off.
“I’ll just use one of the company’s props.”
“What are you talking about? That watch is perfect for the concept.”
“It’s not that. I just… didn’t hear anything about getting a watch.”
“He left it with me and said it was a gift.”
Startled, Hyeon immediately called Yoon Do-yeong—but he didn’t pick up. Meanwhile, the stylist fastened the watch back on him.
“You should keep it on for now. If it gets lost, that’d be a mess. And it’s a good promo piece—people always zoom in on what actors wear. Post a clip or a shot with it and it’ll get attention.”
“It’s just… it’s expensive. Makes me uncomfortable.”
She casually helped him into his coat.
“The outfit you’re wearing right now costs over ten grand. What’s one more watch? Talk to Do-yeong about the gift thing later.”
Before he could say anything else, there was a knock and the door opened.
