“Why would I lie to you?”
Kang Hyeon answered casually, but Yoon Do-yeong’s eyes clouded with hurt. He couldn’t tell whether Kang Hyeon had really dated someone and erased all traces of her after breaking up, or if it had just been an excuse to fend him off. Still—whatever the truth was, if he’d once had a lover, shouldn’t he at least have told him a little about them?
But bringing up the topic now would only make him realize that his phone had been snooped through, and that would surely piss him off. So Do-yeong decided to drop it for now. He lifted the corners of his lips into a faint smile and kept his gaze fixed on the smartphone.
“I wanted to have dinner with you today and go for a drive after.”
“Let’s go.”
“Your face says you’re tired.”
“I’m fine.”
While they talked, Do-yeong swiftly scrolled through Kang Hyeon’s message thread with Lee Ji-gyeong, then deleted every screen he’d opened. Next, he pulled up the search bar and typed in Yeongsan Semiconductor. He added MiraeCom2 and rookie actor suicide attempt. Of course, he tapped on each major article so they’d show up as read, then simply turned off the phone screen and handed it back.
“Instead of a drive, want to come to my place, relax, and crash there tonight?”
“……”
“I’d rather go somewhere private, out of sight. But there aren’t many places like that.”
“Let’s just watch a movie.”
“Sure. We can watch one at my place, drink a little too.”
“……”
“Come on. I cleaned up the guest room.”
There was a subtle gleam of expectation in Do-yeong’s eyes, a touch of shyness glimmering beneath. But to Kang Hyeon, the invitation carried a shade of temptation that made it hard to swallow his food.
“If my place feels uncomfortable, we can go to a hotel.”
“……”
“We could grab a drink at the bar first, then go up to the room and crash.”
The soft insistence made Kang Hyeon’s head spin. Maybe it really was just another meaningless invitation like the countless nights of “friendly” hangouts they’d shared before—but since he couldn’t see him as just a friend anymore, he couldn’t take it that way.
Should I just tell him today?
The thought flickered for a moment before he shook his head. He looked worn out from the heavy makeup used for his murderer role, his hair matted with sweat. If he were going to confess, he wanted it to be somewhere nice—like a good restaurant or a quiet bar, not a pork soup joint.
“No.”
The instant refusal made Do-yeong’s expression stiffen.
“Why not?”
“I’m more comfortable at home. I can’t really sleep elsewhere.”
“……Maybe it’s time to get a new bed then? KK size?”
“Don’t go in my room.”
While Kang Hyeon was speaking, the news channel on the TV shifted to coverage of a rookie actor’s suicide attempt. The mother was reportedly protesting alone in front of the agency. His eyes instinctively turned toward the screen, and Do-yeong followed his gaze for a brief glance. Soon, the broadcast moved on—to a drug scandal at an entertainment bar.
“Do-yeong.”
“Yeah?”
“That Yeongsan Semiconductor you mentioned before—one of the sponsored actors… could it be…?”
His eyes asked if it was that rookie actor. Do-yeong’s reply came flat and unbothered.
“Same agency, from what I know.”
“Which agency?”
“Why’re you asking?”
The sudden counter-question caught Kang Hyeon off guard.
“You getting curious? Want me to tell you everything? I can even dig up photos if you want—find out who that rookie actor is, name and all.”
“No, it’s fine.”
He quickly cut off Do-yeong’s pushy tone and hurried to finish his now-lukewarm soup. Do-yeong scooped some of his own soup into Kang Hyeon’s bowl, but his gaze drifted past him. Kang Hyeon followed it to the TV, where a hair styling product CF featuring Lee Ji-gyeong was playing.
“Ji-gyeong looks good on camera.”
“Yeah. The clothing shoot came out well too.”
“Told you.”
“……”
“He’s lost some weight lately—it gives him a more refined look.”
“Guess he’s keeping up with his routine.”
Kang Hyeon didn’t respond to the compliment, just lifted his spoon again. He couldn’t help picturing Ji-gyeong’s tearful face from that night, drunk and trembling, overlaid with the bright smile on the TV screen. The image of him slumped against a wall, face buried in his hands, kept flashing in his mind. He’d looked noticeably gaunt and pale just days later. The tears streaming down to his chin, the way his body swayed under the weight of alcohol—all of it replayed vividly.
His chest tightened; he couldn’t bring himself to eat the portion Do-yeong had given him. Though he’d been eating steadily just moments ago, now he sat frozen with his spoon midair.
“Full already?”
“Guess I ate too fast. Can’t fit any more.”
Do-yeong quietly took back the bowl and finished it himself. Then the two stood up. The TV was now showing another ad—this time a snack commercial featuring Ji-gyeong alongside other celebrities. Kang Hyeon caught a brief glimpse of Ji-gyeong’s startled expression before walking out, and Do-yeong followed behind him. After they left, the TV switched again—to a report on the Yeongsan Semiconductor tax audit.
***
A deep sigh slipped from Kang Hyeon’s lips. The drive with Do-yeong hadn’t lasted long. They’d bought coffee and headed to a lakeside spot, but the moment Do-yeong turned his phone on to charge it, messages started pouring in like a storm.
[Something wrong?]
[Yeah. Gotta make a payment today.]
[Payment?]
[I commissioned a job. It’ll be done in a few hours. Once it’s finished, I have to pay right away or there’ll be problems. When it’s paid work, late payment kills trust.]
[……What kind of job?]
[Various errands. Stuff my father and I can’t do openly.]
The mention of his father—a member of the National Assembly—made Kang Hyeon stop asking.
[Sorry, babe. Let’s postpone the date to next time.]
Do-yeong said it lightly, almost teasingly, then turned the car around and dropped him off. Looking at himself in the bathroom mirror afterward, Kang Hyeon was oddly relieved they’d only had dinner.
His hair was clumped from sweat, his skin blotchy from scrubbing off thick stage makeup. The sight made him sigh again. He took a hot shower and collapsed on the bed, pulling up his calendar to check his next filming schedule. Then, curious about viewer reactions to the drama airing on cable, he opened the search tab.
Someone had uploaded screenshots of his recent scenes on SNS. Comments said things like, “Wish he were my boyfriend,” “He’s so cute,” “His face is even smaller in person.” The short, gushy remarks made him grin.
It felt good—like he was finally gaining fans. He kept reading, scrolling through the replies, until he decided to search his name again just to see if there were more mentions. That’s when he noticed the recent searches. They were the ones from earlier—Do-yeong’s from the soup shop.
Yeongsan Semiconductor, MiraeCom2, rookie actor suicide attempt.
A sigh escaped him. Reading through the articles Do-yeong had opened, he couldn’t help thinking of Ji-gyeong—who had once said he’d do anything to succeed. Seeing him in so many CFs lately, it seemed his agency was really pushing him. But with his temper and fragile state of mind, it worried him. This was his moment to rise—yet one small misstep could blow up into a scandal. He wanted to tell him to be careful.
After some thought, he sent a message.
[Saw your CF.]
The read mark appeared instantly, but there was no reply.
[Looks like things are tense with the politicians lately. Gotta be careful—actors are easy targets right now.]
Again, it was read immediately, but no response came. Sighing, he put down his phone and picked up his script. He was reviewing a group scene scheduled to film in three days—his lines were simple. As he practiced, he pictured the bank teller he’d seen a few days earlier while opening a savings account. Then his phone buzzed.
[Hyung… Can you talk?]
Seeing Ji-gyeong’s name, he pressed call right away.
“What’s up? Something wrong?”
—Hyung… um…
His voice wavered, starting and stopping. When all that came out was a sigh, Kang Hyeon gently asked,
“What is it?”
—Is it okay if I ask you something?
“Go ahead.”
—Our agency CEO… got questioned by the police.
His voice trembled slightly, and Kang Hyeon’s tone grew more serious.
“What for?”
—I don’t really know… but that’s not it…
“Then what?”
—That night… after you turned me down… I went clubbing for a bit.
“And?”
—I think someone took pictures.
“Who?”
—That night… I, uh… met someone. I was drunk and went into a room with them…
“And what did you do?”
—I was too wasted… can’t remember properly.
His tone was thick with self-blame. Kang Hyeon remembered that next evening—Ji-gyeong behind the café counter, faintly reeking of alcohol. He’d assumed it was just heartbreak and too much to drink—but now, hearing that he’d blacked out completely, his mouth went dry. Who had taken the photos?
“Was it a civilian?”
—Don’t know.
“You just hooked up with anyone?”
—…Yeah.
A shallow sigh slipped from Kang Hyeon.
“How do you know someone took photos?”
—…Uh, the… the…
“Did a reporter contact you?”
—……
“What did your CEO say?”
—He said he’d handle it with money, but now he’s under police investigation…
“You can pay off a reporter. If an article goes up, it can come down.”
—You think so?
“What’s the agency saying?”
—They said they’ll fix it. They have to. They will.
His voice kept shrinking, repeating like a mantra until it started to tremble.
—Hyung, I’m scared…
“If the agency says they’ll handle it, let’s trust them.”
—Ha… Fuck. Who the hell took those photos?
“Don’t drink. Just focus on work from now on.”
—You think I want to drink? I can’t skip tonight’s meeting. Ha…
Then came a muttered curse through his sigh—‘Fucking tax audit, why now…’
The words made Kang Hyeon’s eyes widen. The pronunciation had been slurred, easy to miss—but since Do-yeong had mentioned Yeongsan Semiconductor’s tax investigation earlier, he caught the meaning immediately.
