When he came out after washing up, Seung-hyeon was sitting on the sofa, his face showing that the drowsiness had slightly worn off. He said he wanted to watch a movie that was scheduled to air in five minutes on the movie channel and fixed the channel there.
For Seon-woo, it was a film he had never seen before, but the title alone made it obvious it was a romance.
The movie was calm and slow-paced. Even Seon-woo found his attention drifting from time to time, so it must’ve been even harder for the already sleepy Seung-hyeon. Not long after the movie began, Seung-hyeon leaned in closer as if sleep was catching up with him, so Seon-woo let him rest more comfortably by offering his shoulder.
As if he’d been waiting for it, Seung-hyeon rested his head against him. Watching the screen with sleepy, flickering eyes, he suddenly spoke.
“I saw this movie once when it first came out in theaters.”
“What was the title again?”
“Love Railroad.”
Seon-woo narrowed his eyes.
“Who did you see it with?”
Romance films like this aren’t the type people usually watch alone at the theater. The chances were high that he had gone with someone. Now that he thought about it, while Seung-hyeon had said he didn’t have much experience, he never explicitly stated that he’d never been in a relationship.
Seung-hyeon chuckled with his head still resting on him. The slight tremble of that laughter passed through Seon-woo’s body.
“I went alone.”
A part of him felt relieved. And at the same time, he found himself curious—what had happened that led Seung-hyeon to watch such a movie alone in a theater?
“You don’t believe me?”
When Seon-woo didn’t answer, Seung-hyeon asked. It wasn’t that he doubted him or felt any dissatisfaction—he was simply curious. So he calmly shook his head.
“You wouldn’t lie to me.”
“Of course not.”
“Well, for a second there I thought you had the nerve to put on a movie you watched with some random person in front of me.”
Whatever he found so funny, Seung-hyeon laughed again. It seemed like he was laughing more than usual, maybe because he was still a bit out of it with sleep—almost like someone tipsy.
With the quiet, continuous dialogue of the mellow film playing in the background like soft music, Seung-hyeon went on.
“That day, I just happened to go to the theater alone. No real reason. I think I got a free movie ticket after donating blood or something like that, and it felt like a hassle to find someone to go with…”
“And you weren’t seeing anyone at the time?”
“There wasn’t anyone.”
Seon-woo threw the question out there again, fishing a little, and Seung-hyeon seemed genuinely amused. His body, which had only been lightly leaning on him before, now pressed fully against Seon-woo as he tilted his head like he was using his shoulder as a pillow and wrapped an arm around his waist.
“That was the only movie showing at the time, so I just ended up watching it by chance.”
He said by chance twice. Seon-woo couldn’t help glancing at the screen, wondering if that repetition had something to do with the movie’s central theme.
“I’m not really into romance movies.”
The contradiction of saying that while watching one made Seon-woo chuckle quietly as well.
“Then why did you want to watch this, of all things?”
“Just… it made me think of you, Director.”
After hearing that, the amused chuckle faded away. With a faint, tender smile playing at his lips, Seon-woo gazed down at the round back of Seung-hyeon’s head resting against him.
Seon-woo, too, often found himself thinking of him throughout the day for no particular reason.
When he happened to eat alone, he’d unconsciously recall what Gwak Seung-hyeon liked or disliked. While riding in a chauffeur-driven car, he’d catch sight of a flower shop or a street vendor and be reminded of the small gifts Seung-hyeon had once given him. Sitting at his office desk, mid-task, he would suddenly remember Seung-hyeon sitting across from him, chin propped on his hand, looking at him.
These small recollections of someone’s preferences and shared memories—maybe that’s what love really is.
If that’s the case, then perhaps Seung-hyeon had also come across the movie title at random during his day and ended up thinking about him.
Probably.
—I’ve fallen in love with you. I can’t live without you anymore.
—I’m only someone who brings you pain.
—I still love you.
On-screen, the actors were delivering their lines in tearful, melodramatic confessions of love. One holding on, the other trying to push away.
Even if the film was called cliché and overdone, there was a reason such stories resonated with so many people.
Not too long ago, those lines would’ve been completely incomprehensible to Seon-woo.
But now, those supposedly trite words hit strangely hard. As weighty as Seung-hyeon’s sleeping body resting against him. As warm as his body heat seeping in.
Gwak Seon-woo looked down at the peacefully sleeping face of his lover.
Until a book he’d never even read became his reality—he wasn’t sure where along that journey things could still be called coincidence.
So many coincidences had piled on top of each other to lead him to Gwak Seung-hyeon, to fall in love with him.
That ticklish, almost surreal word caught in his throat, prickling like static.
You’re letting a miracle slip by.
But the moment you hold on to that miracle—it becomes fate.
Slowly, Seon-woo reached out and gently brushed his fingers through Seung-hyeon’s hair. As if handling the most precious thing in the world.
The pre-dawn air softly lit the darkened room with a gentle, humid glow.
***
Private Christmas
Winter had fully settled in before they knew it. Naturally so—it was already December. Gwak Seon-woo had switched to wearing a heavier coat, and at home, he found himself spending more and more time clinging to Gwak Seung-hyeon like a piece of gum, especially since Seung-hyeon kept claiming it was cold even with the heat on.
As the end of the year approached, their already packed schedules only grew more hectic. At first, Seon-woo had struggled just to adjust to the workload, but whether it was due to muscle memory or simply because he’d always been a competent professional, he was now managing his duties without much trouble.
That didn’t mean, however, that he could brush off the relentless demands of work like they were nothing. While his body no longer tired easily, his mind was steadily wearing down. The two of them were both coming home late and going to bed even later, barely finding time for each other, and the frustration had started to build up. On especially overwhelming days, Seon-woo even caught himself fantasizing about quitting everything, moving to some warm southern country, and starting a quiet life with Seung-hyeon.
Then, on one of those exhausting days, even before lunchtime rolled around, a notification popped up from Seung-hyeon on the company messenger.
[Team Leader Gwak Seung-hyeon: I have something important I’d like to discuss. May I come to your office now?]
The fact that he chose to send this through messenger instead of a text was… oddly cute. Was he trying to lighten the mood? Still, the phrase “something important I’d like to discuss” sounded rather serious, especially coming through the company messenger—it turned that cuteness into curiosity.
[Director Gwak Seon-woo: Come on up.]
He typed a quick reply and sent it off, then fell into thought. What exactly did he want to discuss? Had something happened?
Seon-woo had a habit of worrying first when it came to anything involving Gwak Seung-hyeon, and so his thoughts began to spiral even though nothing was confirmed yet.
Looking back, there had been enough reason to be suspicious. Seung-hyeon had been acting strangely for a while. He was usually the one who made an effort to wake up before Seon-woo every morning, so it wasn’t unusual for him to already be awake and by his side. What was odd was how he reacted once Seon-woo opened his eyes—like immediately setting down his phone as soon as Seon-woo stirred. Not just in the mornings either, but even when Seon-woo leaned in from behind, he’d react the same way.
Maybe it was just natural behavior if he was trying to focus on their conversation. But Seon-woo had been observing and re-observing Seung-hyeon so closely and for so long that even the tiniest change stood out.
There was a feeling. A sense that he was hiding something.
At first, Seon-woo had chalked it up to stress making him paranoid. But now… maybe today was the day Seung-hyeon was finally going to confess whatever it was he’d been keeping to himself.
So it’s finally happening, he thought as he drummed his fingers on his desk, waiting for Seung-hyeon to arrive.
Sure enough, it didn’t take long for Seung-hyeon to knock at the door. It was as if he’d been ready and waiting to head over the moment Seon-woo replied.
The door opened and—Looking at Seung-hyeon, Seon-woo made a painstaking effort to keep his expression neutral.
“You’re here? Have a seat.”
He gestured toward the chair in front of him, and Seung-hyeon walked over without a word and sat down where he was offered.
“So, what’s this important matter you needed to discuss?”
Seon-woo leaned forward slightly as he asked, resting his chin on the backs of his clasped hands while watching Seung-hyeon’s face.
Hiding his phone—In most cases, that was a classic red flag.
One day, my boyfriend suddenly started flipping his phone face-down. Even when we’re together, he acts like he’s waiting for a message…
In ninety-nine out of a hundred cases, that meant cheating.
But Seung-hyeon? There was no way.
It wasn’t a vague sense of trust—it was certainty.
Seon-woo trusted Seung-hyeon in every way, but especially when it came to things like that, his faith was unshakable.
Most importantly, even if Seung-hyeon seemed to be hiding something, he never wasted the time they spent together. He always gave his all in the moment. Never distracted, never looking elsewhere.
So no, that wasn’t a concern.
And maybe that’s exactly why it worried him even more.
