Euntae’s task was to run a few errands for Gyeonhui in place of Jinwoo. It wasn’t complicated, but since it required going in and out multiple times, it was tricky for both Gyeonhui and Jinwoo to handle. Euntae had already picked up the wine Gyeonhui had ordered over the phone on his way, and he handed it over. Gyeonhui took the wine and gave Euntae a list he had jotted down while waiting.
“Just get what’s written here.”
The list was of groceries available at a nearby mart. As Euntae scanned the list, Gyeonhui apologized for giving him such a tedious task. Whether out of politeness or genuine feeling, his awkward expression made him seem like a decent person.
“It’s fine. It’s my job.”
Euntae added that he’d be back soon and left the apartment. Standing in front of the elevator, he waited for it to arrive, staring blankly at the number panel. In the silence, thoughts of Yeojun crept in.
Junho would surely assign another manager, but Euntae worried about whether they’d take good care of Yeojun. Even if someone more experienced than him—a mere seven-month rookie—was assigned, Euntae knew they wouldn’t be as dedicated. The more senior and skilled managers already had their own top-tier stars to manage, leaving little time for Yeojun. And even if someone else took over—even if Junho himself or the veteran Hyunho stepped in—Euntae wouldn’t feel as at ease as he did when he was the one handling things. Either way, it frustrated him that he couldn’t be there for Yeojun himself. Until recently, he hadn’t been solely responsible for Yeojun’s affairs, and he hadn’t been particularly bothered by it. But today, it gnawed at him.
Was it because it had been impossible then, but possible now? Back then, no matter how passionate he was, he could never open the last door to Yeojun’s heart—and he hadn’t thought he should. But now, he wondered if that door might open if he was passionate enough.
Thump. Thump. The buds of desire sprouted.
***
The clock now read 4:20. Euntae had faithfully run errands for Gyeonhui, and as a result, Gyeonhui had started cooking a while ago. It seemed he was preparing dinner for someone—obviously his boyfriend. After finishing the errands, there wasn’t much left for Euntae to do. He wasn’t told he could leave, so he ended up sitting on a stool in front of the island, watching Gyeonhui cook. Occasionally, Gyeonhui, whose hands weren’t free, would ask Euntae to bring something. It seemed like the only reason he wasn’t being allowed to leave was for these small tasks.
The two men didn’t exchange much conversation beyond what was necessary. Gyeonhui was focused on cooking, and Euntae seemed a little different from usual. He wasn’t particularly chatty to begin with. Slice. Slice. Watching the vegetables being cut, Euntae found himself strangely focused. It wasn’t because Gyeonhui’s knife skills were impressive—quite the opposite. Gyeonhui wasn’t skilled, and his cutting was unsteady. It wasn’t dangerous enough to stop him, but it made the onlooker feel a little on edge. Euntae marveled at how Gyeonhui had even thought to cook with such skills.
“Your boyfriend must love this.”
The words slipped out unthinkingly. At first, he wondered what kind of masterpiece would emerge from those clumsy hands. Then he thought about how this wealthy man—this chaebol—would eat whatever came out of them. Someone with that much money could have gourmet meals three times a day, yet here he was, eating whatever mysterious creation came from Gyeonhui’s hands. Of course, he ate it because he was his boyfriend. And not just any boyfriend—one who inspired reporters to camp outside their home day and night, such was the depth of their love.
“Do you think so? I hope he doesn’t complain.”
“Do you cook often?”
“No, not really. But lately, I’ve been stuck at home, so I end up doing it.”
“Has he ever complained about your cooking?”
“No. Never.”
Gyeonhui’s answer was firm. Euntae knew from the start that he was just being modest, but it still felt like Gyeonhui was boasting about how his boyfriend was such a good person that he’d eat anything. Euntae smiled slightly. Despite his various thoughts, his earlier comment had been sincere. No one would dislike a meal made with care, and Gyeonhui seemed genuinely devoted. How much more precious would that devotion seem in his boyfriend’s eyes? If it were me, I might cry over food Yeojun made for me, Euntae thought absurdly.
“I’ll let you off soon. This meal is for our chaebol to eat first, so I can’t share. You should be free before you get too hungry.”
Euntae just smiled at the thought of how carefree Gyeonhui was. Because of his coming out, reporters were camped outside in the cold, and the company was in chaos, yet Gyeonhui himself seemed perfectly at peace. It was as if this home existed in a different world.
“What do you like so much about your boyfriend?”
Euntae had originally meant to ask, “Aren’t you worried?” A top-tier celebrity coming out could lose everything, and the public reaction wasn’t exactly positive right now. So why was Gyeonhui so at ease? Of course, the answer was obvious. He trusted his boyfriend. He trusted their love. Euntae was curious—what did it feel like to love someone so deeply? What was that feeling like?
***
At that very moment, Yeojun was diligently posing for his drama profile shoot. His role wasn’t major enough to appear in the main posters, but they still needed photos for the character description page. As Euntae had said when they first talked about the project, “It’s a role with quite an impact.” Yeojun’s character was important—not a lead or supporting role with massive screen time, but a pivotal figure without whom the story couldn’t progress. That was why the profile shoot was being done with more care than his role’s weight might suggest.
“Mr. Yeojun, the writer specifically requested it. We need to make you look very sexy.”
Hyungi, the photographer in charge of the drama’s posters and profile shoots, flashed the camera at Yeojun as he spoke. Between poses, Yeojun smiled awkwardly. He had thought they’d just take a few shots, but Hyungi demanded a variety of expressions and angles. Occasionally, he mentioned that the writer had emphasized the importance of capturing Yeojun’s unique aura. Hyungi wasn’t lying, and Yeojun understood why the writer had said that. Even if his role wasn’t large, it was crucial, so the writer’s words made sense. Still, the attention directed at him was a little overwhelming.
The studio was crowded with people—staff from the studio, of course, but also other actors who needed profile shots. After the profile shoots, the main cast’s poster shoot would follow. Some were resting comfortably in the waiting area, but others were watching Yeojun’s shoot. Their gazes didn’t feel entirely kind, and Yeojun knew it wasn’t just his imagination. The industry was fiercely competitive, and it was common for people to judge and rank each other. Every word from a writer or director could become ammunition or motivation. Yeojun had survived in this cutthroat world for over a decade, but that didn’t mean it was ever easy.
And today, of all days, Euntae isn’t here. As he finished his shoot and stepped away from the camera, Yeojun sighed inwardly. He didn’t know when Euntae had become such a source of strength, but today, he felt like he wouldn’t have had to struggle so much in this stiff atmosphere if Euntae had been by his side. Euntae had a way of putting people at ease. When Yeojun didn’t want to deal with things, Euntae would distract him with noise, and when Yeojun needed encouragement, Euntae—nine years his junior—would surprisingly offer mature support. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they said. For a while now, whenever something came up, Euntae had been there. Now that he was alone, Yeojun felt an unexpected emptiness. Another manager had come, but they were only filling in temporarily. They dropped Yeojun off at the shoot, told him to call when he was done, and left. Yeojun wondered if that was acceptable, but since the manager wasn’t his dedicated one, he didn’t have much to say.
“Good work.”
After finishing the shoot and returning to the waiting area to pack up, a voice suddenly came from behind him. The voice alone was enough to tell him who it was—unfortunately, it was Seungju. Yeojun ignored him and focused on packing his things. Seungju didn’t acknowledge Yeojun either, but he didn’t leave. It seemed like he was looking for a fight, especially after addressing Yeojun as if he were a subordinate.
“When are you going to let Yoon Dogyeong go?”
Seungju’s words, perfectly aligned with Yeojun’s expectations, finally made Yeojun turn to face him. But he didn’t say anything, just stared blankly. Seungju, impatient and thin-skinned, opened his mouth again.
“You’re not trying to hold her back now, are you? Stop making excuses about timing or the company and just let her go.”
Dogyeong had called Seungju petty, so why had she chosen someone even pettier than herself? Well, Yeojun didn’t think Seungju was a bad person. Someone who received so much love from the public and had achieved success in this harsh industry must have their reasons. So, while Seungju acted like this around Yeojun, he was probably a decent star elsewhere—maybe even a great guy in front of Dogyeong. But regardless of how he acted elsewhere, he was crossing a line right now, in front of Yeojun. That was just rude.
“Does Yoon Dogyeong know you’re acting like this?”
Yeojun’s question made Seungju frown. Yeojun sighed lightly and continued.
“She might not snitch on you, but don’t act so pathetic.”
“Hey, Seo Yeojun. Watch your mouth—”
“Yeah, I like to run my mouth. So get lost, kid.”
For a moment, Yeojun considered saying, “That’s why she doesn’t want a divorce.” But he didn’t want to stoop that low, so he stopped himself. Of course, Seungju wasn’t the type to take this lying down, and he opened his mouth to retort. But just then, someone called for him from outside the waiting area, and Seungju ha
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
