“Huh? I wasn’t thinking about anything though?”
“Then why didn’t you answer?”
“Answer what? Did you ask me something?”
“……I didn’t ask anything. You were spacing out.”
Yi-hyeon, who’d fallen right into Han Jun’s assumption, felt the tips of his ears turn red.
“Sorry. I just…… thought the two of you looked good together.”
“That’s ridiculous! Holy shit, look at this—I’ve got goosebumps.”
Han Jun jumped up and shoved out his forearm. On the skin wrapped around solid muscle, tiny goosebumps really had risen.
“Why do you have goosebumps?”
“What do you mean, why? If someone told you that you and your friend looked good together, wouldn’t you freak out?”
After picturing himself next to Han Jun, Yi-hyeon muttered in a barely audible voice.
“…..I don’t think I would. She’s pretty.”
“She’s just a kid who lived next door. That’s why we were close. We were friends back then, but we don’t even keep in touch now.”
“Ah……”
Yi-hyeon dragged out the end of his word. There were so many things he wanted to ask, but he could only swallow them down.
“And what’s so pretty about her anyway? You’re prettier.”
At Han Jun’s words, the heat that had been charring Yi-hyeon’s chest surged up to his face, making both cheeks burn hot.
“Huh?”
“I said you’re better than her. How many times do I have to say it? Are you an attention seeker or something?”
“I—I mean, what are you talking about? What’s pretty about me? You’re suddenly saying nonsense.”
He denied it and avoided Han Jun’s gaze, but the heat refused to die down.
“What’s nonsense about it? You’re the prettiest one in our school. That’s why assholes like Seo Wonseok latch onto you.”
“He’s just doing that because I’m an easy target. And besides, guys sticking to other guys because they’re ‘pretty’—that doesn’t make sense.”
“You keep saying ‘guys, guys,’ but you don’t actually think it’s that strange, do you? Right?”
Han Jun tilted his head slightly as he asked. His voice, which had been light and joking until just moments ago, carried a noticeable weight now.
Yi-hyeon just stared back with wide, unblinking eyes. With a short exhale—huh—Han Jun threw out another question. And that question was more than enough to scorch Yi-hyeon’s already overheated throat.
“Why? You think you could never date a guy?”
His esophagus felt dry and cracked, stinging as if splitting apart. Was Han Jun testing him because he’d noticed something? Even in that brief instant, with his heart pounding loudly in his ears, dozens of sample answers raced through Yi-hyeon’s mind.
But none of them felt right. After agonizing over it, all he managed was to throw the question back.
“What about you? Do you think you could?”
It wasn’t to check whether there was a possibility between him and Han Jun. It was partly an attempt to dodge the situation. And somewhere deep down, it was also because he hoped that when his feelings were eventually exposed, Han Jun might hate him a little less.
But Han Jun didn’t give him the answer he wanted. He leaned in so close it was almost pressing his face to Yi-hyeon’s, tilting his eyes at a strange angle.
“What do you think?”
The roundabout questioning made Yi-hyeon dizzy.
“I asked first.”
“Yeah. And I answered. I’m asking what you think.”
“……That’s not fair. You’re just throwing my question back at me.”
Saying this kind of conversation wasn’t fun anymore, Yi-hyeon tried to stand up, using the bathroom as an excuse—but Han Jun grabbed his shoulder and forced him back down.
“You can’t leave without wrapping it up.”
“Wrapping up what.”
“I think it’s impossible.”
Han Jun’s single sentence turned into a heavy boulder that crushed down on Yi-hyeon’s heart. The weight was so suffocating it felt like even his airways were being blocked. So it really was like that. This was a feeling that could never be exposed, not until the very end. He’d known it already, but having it confirmed like an execution shot carved a new kind of pain into him.
It was a dull, crushing ache.
“Got it. Then can I go to the bathroom now?”
He wanted to put distance between himself and Han Jun—run away from reality, at least for the moment. As he tried to stand again, the grip on his shoulder tightened. The dull ache shooting through it kept him from rising, and Yi-hyeon looked back at Han Jun’s face.
“But lately, strangely enough, I’ve been thinking it might be possible. Depending on the situation.”
Even knowing it was pointless hope, Yi-hyeon’s heart fluttered as he desperately tried to grasp that thin ray of light.
“What kind of…… situation?”
He asked carefully. Han Jun responded with his signature smiling eyes, tugging up the corner of his lips.
“Who knows? What kind of situation do you think it’d be? Want to guess?”
At that moment, Yi-hyeon realized it was a joke again, and the excitement he’d felt collapsed in on itself. Of course. What else would it be? Ashamed of being briefly swept up in something positive, Yi-hyeon shoved Han Jun away, telling him to stop teasing him already. Then he turned away, standing up and hiding his darkened expression.
He washed his face with cold water in the bathroom to steady his emotions before coming back out. Even then, Han Jun was still looking at the photos. So absorbed that he didn’t even notice Yi-hyeon approaching—it was a picture filled with his mother’s smile, radiant like sunlight.
The photo was taken against a sea that looked slightly different from the overseas ocean she’d lived by, with what seemed like the interior of a luxurious hotel suite behind them.
Actress Joo Mi-yeon was gazing out at the ocean reflected in the large window, then turning toward whoever was taking the photo, smiling brightly.
“Did you take this picture?”
Only then did Han Jun realize Yi-hyeon was there. He flinched slightly before nodding.
“You took it really well. This looks exactly like the Korean sea.”
“Of course it does. It’s Korea.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. My mom’s second house in Gangwon.”
“Like a vacation home? Wow, the view’s amazing.”
The fact that the actress, who’d been surrounded by countless rumors, had returned to Korea was enough to mobilize all kinds of media outlets. On top of that, there were even rumors she had an illegitimate child. Reporters, PDs, and even cyber wreckers swarmed in, all trying to be the first to land an interview about her son’s existence. Yet there wasn’t a single piece of information released—not about her son, not even about Joo Mi-yeon herself. She cut off all contact with the press.
As a result, public curiosity about her only grew, and online spaces began to fill with secretly filmed videos and false information posted solely to rack up views. And without exception, those videos were flooded with degrading, humiliating comments.
She’d only come because she wanted to see her son, who was studying in Korea. Slowly, Mi-yeon began to feel suffocated. When Chairman Joo learned of this, he built a small structure on one of his least useful, most secluded plots of land and let Actress Joo Mi-yeon rest there.
While listening to Han Jun, Yi-hyeon silently stared at the photo. The shape of the rocks along the sea in the background looked strangely familiar. Then he remembered a single photograph from an old news article about Actress Joo Mi-yeon’s death.
Those rocks look exactly like the ones where they said her body was found…… no way.
“Let’s stop looking now.”
Sure enough, Han Jun closed the window without moving on to the next photo. He’d expected that looking through photos might stir up a painful memory or two—but he hadn’t imagined one so dark would be hidden among them.
Was it a mistake to ask to see them?
As Yi-hyeon swallowed, bitterness lingering on his tongue, he heard the sound of the front door opening downstairs. The click of high heels stepping onto the marble entryway made it obvious that Mi-jin had returned. A moment later, footsteps climbed the stairs, followed by a click as the door opened and Mi-jin poked her head inside.
“I heard you brought a friend over, so I told myself not to say anything stupid. Is today the day the world ends or something?”
Mi-jin beamed, waving cheerfully at Yi-hyeon as she said, “Hi?”
Seeing a familiar face, Yi-hyeon jumped up with a smile and bowed at a perfect ninety degrees.
“Hello. My name is Yoon Yi-hyeon.”
“What? Did you leave your manners at the office when you clocked out? You don’t know how to knock? That’s why my aunt is still sing—”
“Isn’t that enough?”
Is this not updating on Thursdays anymore?