Her eyes shifted slowly, as if deep in thought. Watching her, Yoon Do-yeong instinctively took a step back. His gaze shrank, unable to meet hers anymore, like a frightened child.
“…Noona.”
“You… had a girlfriend, didn’t you?”
Her voice trailed off, and she recalled how, back in college, Do-yeong’s relationships never lasted more than a few months. How they’d used his breakups as an excuse to drink and party.
“Does Hyeon know about all this?”
“…”
“That voice recording… was it real?”
“No. I just… gave it as a gift. It wasn’t some kind of sponsorship or anything.”
“No, that’s not what I meant…”
She let out a shallow sigh and gestured for him to lower his voice, continuing quietly.
“Does Hyeon know you’re gay?”
Her words struck dead center, and all the strength drained from Do-yeong’s voice.
“…No.”
“What about Hyeon’s sexual identity?”
“…I thought he might be bisexual, but… I don’t think so anymore.”
“Hyeon probably still thinks of you as a friend. What the hell did you do to make him feel so uncomfortable? Did you confess?”
That word—uncomfortable—echoed in his mind, dragging up what Hyeon had said during their final phone call.
—You make me uncomfortable.
It had hurt then, but now, recalling it, the shame was suffocating. What must it have felt like for Hyeon, who’d been forcing himself to match Do-yeong’s pace all this time? His face burned with humiliation, and it felt like his chest was being crushed—he couldn’t breathe. Still, he forced himself to answer calmly.
“…I didn’t confess. But I made it obvious. Really obvious. Like I was begging him to look only at me…”
He couldn’t continue. He had exploited Hyeon’s naturally kind nature, manipulating him into constantly taking care of him. He had used his sleep disorder as an excuse, faked panic attacks, and clung to Hyeon even in the hospital to provoke worry.
“So you were clinging to a kid who was already drowning.”
Ga-yeong’s blunt words cut deep. Do-yeong bit his lower lip, unable to respond. Hyeon, who had to support himself, probably juggled multiple part-time jobs. He was constantly on the move, fighting to land acting roles. He’d tried leaning on Goo Seong-do for help after finally meeting someone reliable, only to be turned down. Knowing that, Do-yeong had tried helping in subtle ways. It started with small gifts disguised as wardrobe sponsorships—gifts he stopped when Hyeon clearly felt uncomfortable.
His lips parted, hesitating between speaking and staying silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was weak, unsure of his own actions.
“I just… wanted to help financially, so I gave him a card…”
“What are you, some kind of benefactor? Why would you give him a card? That’s humiliating.”
Her scathing criticism hit him like a slap, and he asked in disbelief,
“Did it really look like that?”
His expression was so earnest that Ga-yeong blinked several times in disbelief, before sighing lightly.
“How could you act so thoughtlessly toward someone trying their best to live honestly? The fact that you meant no harm only makes it more painful.”
“Isn’t it normal for friends to help each other out sometimes?”
“Then Hyeon would’ve said something. He’d have asked for help if he needed it.”
“…”
“He told me that since his apartment’s on a lease, he could switch to monthly rent and scrape by for a year. He figured if he kept doing side jobs, he could manage daily expenses. Hyeon’s probably got it all mapped out. Why would you just come in and render all that effort meaningless—make him feel pathetic?”
Her brutal honesty tore through him like a blade. Even though he knew he’d messed up, a reflexive excuse slipped out.
“Other people are happy to accept help.”
“Because they either want something from you, or they’re getting paid to obey you.”
“You pay Hyeon a lot for part-time work too.”
“Because he earns it. He comes in at dawn, cleans the store and the restrooms, restocks everything, writes up the supply orders. The café opens at ten, but he’s serving customers at 8 a.m. sharp. Sure, those two hours bring in extra revenue, but he wants to pull his weight. There’s no other café open around here that early, so we’ve built a loyal morning crowd. He did that. Hyeon built that from the ground up.”
“But doesn’t he miss a lot of work for auditions and shoots?”
“Hyeon has no paid leave. No lunch breaks.”
“Isn’t that a little much?”
“Yeah, I’m a total slave driver. That’s why when he says he needs a day off, I give it to him. Even when it’s to celebrate a certain someone’s birthday.”
She shot him a sharp look. Do-yeong pressed his lips together, but finally opened his mouth.
“Still… he deserves at least a lunch break.”
“He usually grabs something before his shift even starts. I cover his lunch costs and count that time as paid. I figured he needed the money. It’s our unspoken agreement.”
Though her tone was calm, a faint irritation bled through. Do-yeong, who had never heard her speak ill of anyone before, found a small sense of relief. Still, a worry crept in.
“…Are you uncomfortable because I like Hyeon?”
“I’m uncomfortable because it’s all falling apart.”
“Falling apart?”
“Ji-gyeong liked Hyeon too. That’s why things got awkward between them, right?”
“Did Ji-gyeong tell you that he confessed and got rejected?”
He asked, just in case. Ga-yeong nodded, as if it were obvious.
“I see… So that’s why he was struggling so much.”
“…”
Hearing Ji-gyeong’s name made his already frayed nerves twitch.
“How’d you know Ji-gyeong liked Hyeon?”
“It was obvious. But you? You surprised me. Honestly, I’d have believed it more if you said Hyeon liked you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Hyeon was always looking out for you. People thought he was your manager. Ji-gyeong had a lot to say about how you treated him.”
Do-yeong blinked, stunned by the word treated. He hadn’t realized that’s how it looked to others. Letting out a shaky breath, he asked quietly,
“Is what you’re saying… hard for you to say?”
“No… I’m saying it because no one else will. But yeah, I guess it did look that way.”
He’d known Hyeon was looking out for him, but he’d come to expect it—asking this, asking that. He’d pretended to be clueless and fragile. Used his fame as an excuse to claim he couldn’t move freely on his own. He’d made it seem like he couldn’t function without Hyeon. And Hyeon, wanting to help someone clumsy and overwhelmed, would stick around late into the night.
“I… I took Hyeon’s kindness for granted.”
Realizing yet another flaw, Do-yeong let out a string of bitter sighs. With a blank expression, he muttered slowly,
“You were right. I whined and clung until this happened. Hyeon must’ve been sick of me.”
Letting out a groan of pain, he pressed both hands to his forehead. Ga-yeong quietly watched, then walked to the shelf and grabbed a bottle of juice meant for sale.
“Think of it like you got dumped. And move on.”
“Noona?!”
Startled, he called out. She calmly spoke again, her voice more soothing.
“Even with straight couples, once someone confesses and gets rejected, it’s over. Things can’t go back to the way they were.”
She added matter-of-factly,
“Hyeon was already at his breaking point, then a scandal blew up on top of it. He probably just couldn’t take anymore. Let it be. After some time, when he’s more stable, maybe you two can reconnect.”
“You care about Hyeon. So why are you saying all this?”
“What good is it to poke at someone who went home to recover?”
“Noona…”
“I’m older than you, which is why I’m your noona. So stop calling me that now.”
“I need to meet him. I have to talk to him.”
“And say what? That you won’t cling anymore? That you’re sorry for humiliating him by offering a credit card? That those signs of affection weren’t real and you’re sorry for making him think they were?”
Her pointed questions jabbed into his chest, one after the other. He couldn’t answer—just buried his face in his hands. Ga-yeong popped open the juice and handed it to him.
“What were his last words to you?”
“He said… he can’t trust people like me. That I didn’t feel like a friend to him. He was hurting. Blaming himself.”
“Blaming himself?”
“…He said he struggles with inferiority complexes.”
His cautious words filled the staff room with silence. Do-yeong waited for her to say something—anything—but Ga-yeong stayed deep in thought.
Do-yeong and Hyeon were on completely opposite ends—of status, of life experience, of everything. This wasn’t something a few comforting words could fix. If Hyeon had said something that blunt, it meant the rift between them had grown wide and deep.
After a long pause, Ga-yeong gently patted Do-yeong’s shoulder.
“If Hyeon manages to get through this, maybe you can be friends again. And if you meet someone else, what happened with Hyeon will become just a memory—something you can look back on peacefully.”
“You’re saying… just end it here?”
“He said even being friends is too much. That’s him ending it.”
“Well, I don’t want it to end.”
Do-yeong’s voice rose slightly. She sighed and replied,
“Then tell him the truth. Confess for real—so you don’t regret anything.”
The moment she said that, Do-yeong froze. And with her last words, he finally realized— There was no going back.
