Yoon Do-yeong quietly watched the subdued Kang Hyeon as he continued eating his tteokbokki. Partway through, he got curious about the news and turned on the TV, switching from a variety channel to a 24-hour news station. Among the stories was a report about a first-term lawmaker involved in stock manipulation using borrowed-name accounts.
But on his phone, the trending headlines were dominated by entertainment gossip—articles featuring a blurred-out image of Lee Ji-gyeong designed to stir up intrigue.
Even as he ate, Do-yeong’s phone kept ringing. His expression remained ice-cold throughout each call. Kang Hyeon glanced at him and, out of habit, refreshed the news feed on his phone.
[Yoon Do-yeong sponsoring his gay best friend?]
[Who is the actor sponsored by Yoon Do-yeong?]
[All of Yoon Do-yeong’s friends are gay—what about him?]
As the headlines stacked up, Kang Hyeon found it hard to breathe. His hand, still holding the phone, trembled slightly, and cold sweat traced a path down his spine.
He had no idea why such articles were suddenly exploding. As he sat there frozen, Do-yeong’s voice cut in—low, calm, and sharp.
“There isn’t a single crew member who doesn’t know that the wardrobe was a sponsorship. If there’s confusion, clarify it through the agency.”
Do-yeong sounded almost amused, but the strength in his voice left no room for doubt.
“The sports car? That was the first one I ever bought under my name. It stood out too much to actually drive, so I just told him to use it instead of letting it sit in the garage. The luxury watch was a birthday gift. I don’t obsess over whether it’s a limited edition or not. And the outfits? I bought those before I bulked up from training—they don’t fit anymore. So I lent them to Edith’s shop as a sponsorship.”
Kang Hyeon looked at him, startled by how easily he explained everything, as if these accusations were nothing more than dust on his shoulder.
“You expect me to track and respond to every stupid article like this? Next time, bring your agency CEO with you. Who the hell let this garbage end up in front of my eyes?”
The bitterness in Do-yeong’s voice deepened as he muttered, “Of all things, they try to tie me to being gay.”
That single sentence made Kang Hyeon’s heart lurch unpleasantly. Unable to look at him, his eyes shifted to the window.
Not long after, the doctor on rounds came in and declared that Do-yeong’s health was stable. However, he also recommended psychiatric counseling and left a questionnaire behind.
While Do-yeong handled yet another phone call, Kang Hyeon read through the form. The questions blurred together—except for one. “Do you feel anxious, afraid, or like others are judging you?”
Eventually, Chief Choi and the agency CEO arrived. A little while later, Do-yeong’s mother came, too. Sensing that his presence was no longer needed, Kang Hyeon politely excused himself and stepped out.
His steps were heavy as he made his way toward the bus stop. A bus arrived just in time. He boarded without thinking and stared blankly out the window.
The city, now wrapped in darkness, glimmered with dizzying lights and people weaving between them like threads in chaos. Kang Hyeon closed his eyes and leaned his head against the glass.
When he got home, he collapsed onto the bed.
For a long time, he just lay there, unmoving. Eventually, he picked up his phone, scrolling through the news out of habit.
[Yoon Do-yeong dating idol Lee Ji-young]
[Secret getaway with singer girlfriend?]
[Matching rings? The mystery woman is HN Entertainment’s Lee Ji-young]
Romance headlines started flooding in all at once. His eyes dulled as he stared at the screen.
There was a clear, elegant shot of Lee Ji-young—probably a still from a music video—beside Do-yeong’s profile photo. Something inside him felt hollow, like a piece had been scooped out.
Now, finally, he understood what the words liking someone actually meant.
But he didn’t feel bitter or embarrassed about having misread the situation.
He just kept repeating to himself—this is normal. This is how it’s supposed to be.
Accepting it like that, he stared at the screen with empty eyes and turned it off.
Just then, a series of messages came in.
[It’s just a scandal.]
[It means nothing, so don’t worry.]
Kang Hyeon stared at the punctuation—the way every sentence ended with a period. Slowly, he typed his reply.
[I’m not worried.]
After sending the short message, he looked over at the flower on the table. The once-brilliant, vibrant petals of the rose begonia had browned. Several had already fallen to the floor.
He quietly brushed away the dead petals.
Then, hoping to distract himself, he put on a movie. His eyes were locked on the screen, but the plot didn’t register. The dialogue barely reached his ears—even though it was in Korean.
The next day marked the final shoot for Intersection Murder.
For two days straight, entertainment news had been abuzz with Yoon Do-yeong’s dating rumors. Candid airport photos of him and Lee Ji-young were circulating online, though no one knew when they were taken.
In the images, they walked side by side in casual clothes, Do-yeong wearing a ring on his ring finger and Ji-young on her index. A zoomed-in, cropped shot of their hands went viral in forums.
Soon after, the articles accusing Do-yeong of being a gay sponsor—and all mentions of his “gay friends”—vanished completely.
There were a few scattered posts online—a voice recording from the night Ji-gyeong drunkenly came to Kang Hyeon’s place, and claims that he was being sponsored by Do-yeong—but they disappeared quickly.
When Kang Hyeon first found that audio, it felt like a slap to the back of the head.
That night, drunk and emotional, Ji-gyeong had rambled about every little gift Do-yeong had given him, clearly upset and overwhelmed. Kang Hyeon had comforted him, trying to say whatever he could to ease his pain.
But why had he recorded it?
If it was to hurt him, then why did the attack seem directed at Do-yeong instead? That made things even harder to understand.
He tried to put himself in Ji-gyeong’s shoes, to make sense of it, but nothing about it made sense.
Instead, he started to understand why Do-yeong guarded himself so carefully, why he kept people at a distance.
If they had stayed just acquaintances—senior and junior in the industry—Ji-gyeong never would’ve exposed something so personal. And Kang Hyeon wouldn’t have ended up so hurt either.
As confusion clouded his thoughts, another wave of dating rumors dropped.
Do-yeong issued a public statement through his agency a few days later. The next day, Lee Ji-young’s agency, HN, released a follow-up.
Because of the timing—and how carefully it was staggered—the rumors spread even more.
But soon, another scandal overtook them: a celebrity drug case.
Unlike Ji-gyeong’s anonymous initials, the name of the actor involved was made public, and the internet exploded with stories and videos.
For several days, online entertainment news was flooded with gossip, drowning out the political stock manipulation scandal entirely. Even TV stations stopped talking about that, shifting to a foreign diplomatic issue instead.
Eventually, the rumor about the rookie gay actor vanished altogether.
Articles reported that Ji-gyeong had dropped out of Return of the Moon due to injuries, and his spot in a commercial was filled by Yoon Do-yeong.
After that, no matter what you searched, the gay rookie actor story didn’t come up anymore. Neither did the dating rumors about Do-yeong.
Kang Hyeon’s gaze turned vacant.
Ji-gyeong’s desperate, tearful voice—“I’ll just kill myself!”—echoed in his ears, and Do-yeong’s calm, precise response replayed in his mind.
“We have to be careful—because we’re celebrities. Always keep your head down. It’s exhausting.”
“Watch every word, every move. Don’t go near anywhere that feels off. Don’t go anywhere you can’t be seen.”
Do-yeong’s words sounded like warnings now.
And Ji-gyeong’s frightened voice—
“Hyung… I’m scared…”
“Hic… I miss you. I’m really scared. I don’t know what to do…”
Kang Hyeon squeezed his eyes shut.
But the hateful, ignorant comments he’d seen under those headlines clung to his eyelids like oil—so vile he couldn’t even repeat them out loud.
A message alert pinged.
[Hyeon-ah, I changed my phone. Save this number.]
Kang Hyeon stared at the message. Even without it being saved in his contacts, he knew exactly who had sent it.
There was only one person who changed their number every time it got leaked.
And only one person who always—always—used a period at the end of every sentence.
He stared at the number for a long time. But he didn’t save it.
***
Early in the morning, dressed in a short-sleeved shirt, Kang Hyeon packed two pots of rose begonias into a paper bag. He also threw a few comfy outfits and the script for Brilliant Choice into his backpack.
After checking the room one last time, he stepped out.
Listening to music through his earbuds, he headed to Baek Ga-yeong’s café for the first time in a while. He timed it to match her usual arrival, but the place wasn’t open yet, so he waited outside.
Soon, the door opened from inside. She must’ve come in through the back. She looked surprised.
“Why are you waiting outside?”
“I’m not a part-timer anymore. Didn’t think I should just waltz in.”
“What nonsense. You could’ve come in, done some cleaning, refilled the beans.”
Smiling faintly, Kang Hyeon pulled out the rose begonias and placed them on the counter.
“What’s with the flowers?”
“Do-yeong gave them to me. But I think they’d be happier here.”
“I’m not great at taking care of plants, you know.”
As she turned the blooming flowers this way and that, Kang Hyeon gave a soft smile.
“Just think of them as half-cactus. Water them when the soil dries out. A lot of the petals are gone now… but they’ll bloom again. They do well. See here? The new buds?”
“How dry is dry though?”
“When the soil’s really parched. But even if you water them a bit early, it’s not a big deal.”
He brushed it off casually, then brewed a cup of coffee, warmed up some milk, and stood beside her just like old times.
They drank slowly together.
Then, carefully, he spoke.
“…Have you heard anything about Ji-gyeong?”
