By Zephyria 
As he handed over the slippers, Yoon Joo-ho made eye contact with Song Hyun-soo. His gaze clearly held something, but he immediately looked away and didn’t speak.
At the end of the long hallway, Yoon Joo-ho turned not towards the living room, but the kitchen. He looked back at Song Hyun-soo, who was following him, and gestured towards the refrigerator with one hand while rubbing the back of his neck.
“Find something to drink. Hyung isn’t here… I don’t even know where anything is.”
“Yes.”
As he headed to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water, he glanced and saw remnants of something half-eaten on the island counter. A sports bag was also placed on a stool.
“Were you eating?”
Looking closer, it wasn’t a meal, just pale chicken breast, sweet potatoes, and a few types of greens.
“What is this? How can a person survive eating this at your age?”
“I’m on a diet.”
Yoon Joo-ho replied listlessly as he slumped onto the stool.
“Don’t you eat more than this for bulking up?”
“I’m trying to gain muscle, not become a giant.”
Song Hyun-soo took off his backpack and put it down, pointing at the chicken breast and sweet potatoes, which were completely unappetizing.
“Even if you’re on a diet, shouldn’t you eat something more appealing… Did you just microwave this?”
“It’s meant to be microwaved for convenience.”
Watching Yoon Joo-ho lean his elbow on the counter and poke at the cherry tomatoes and broccoli with a fork, even a glutton who could devour five bowls of jajangmyeon would lose their appetite.
He wasn’t even bothering to transfer the salad to a plate, just eating it straight from the disposable container. Even though I would put ungrilled Spam straight from the can on my own table and eat it with a spoon, seeing my actor, whom I’d been a fan of since elementary school, just wolfing down a meal like this turned my stomach.
“Why are you acting like that, when your body is your asset? You care so much about your looks.”
Yoon Joo-ho, holding a fork upside down between his teeth, scoffed as he spun around on the stool.
“Well, I’m someone who has nothing but looks to offer. What else do I have if you take that away?”
The king of confidence, the king of arrogance, why was he being so twisted again?
Looking around the kitchen, which was as clean as a model home, almost starkly so, Song Hyun-soo said, “I’ve been curious for a while, but you don’t manage this place yourself, do you, hyung?”
“As if.”
Right. If there was anyone in reality who washed rice with dish soap, it would be hyung.
“Then doesn’t that person cook for you? They could make food and leave it in the fridge, and you could just heat it up whenever.”
Yoon Joo-ho stopped spinning his chair and shook his head, snorting. “I’d rather order delivery. I don’t eat food someone else made in my own home. Unless it’s made right in front of me.”
“Why? Did something happen in the past?”
“…”
Yoon Joo-ho didn’t answer. Instead, he speared a piece of broccoli with his fork, popped it into his mouth, and started spinning on the stool again. It was like watching a child playing instead of eating at the table, and I felt like swatting him, but… it seemed like our kid might have had a rough day at school, so I should probably let it slide.
“Should I make something for you now?”
Yoon Joo-ho looked up at Song Hyun-soo, who was standing opposite him, with a flicker of interest.
“You know how to cook?”
“It’s not exactly cooking. Kimchi… fried… rice…”
Tracing the edge of the counter with his fingertips, Song Hyun-soo’s voice lost its confidence. Yoon Joo-ho frowned, looking as if he couldn’t believe his ears or perhaps what he’d just heard, and leaned his upper body towards Song Hyun-soo.
“What? What are you going to make? What kind of dish?”
“Are you looking down on kimchi fried rice? The kimchi fried rice I make is special!”
“How special is this kimchi fried rice? Does it have wild ginseng in it?”
“I don’t stir-fry it. I put all the ingredients in the pot at once and steam it.”
“If you don’t stir-fry it, can you even call it fried rice?”
He’s really as meticulous as his own face.
“Anyway, it’ll be ready soon. Just don’t ask me to make it every day.”
Song Hyun-soo took off his jumper, hung it on the back of a chair at the round dining table next to the counter, and went to the kitchen sink to wash his hands.
“Do you have kimchi at home?”
“You’re really going to make it?”
“Eating warm rice makes people feel at ease and gives them peace of mind. Your constant grumpiness, hyung, might be because of your diet. Where’s the kimchi?”
Yoon Joo-ho, though his expression was displeased, put down his fork and got up to get the kimchi.
The kimchi wasn’t stored in the typical 5- or 6-liter containers found in ordinary households. What Yoon Joo-ho took out of a glass container looked like store-bought kimchi at first glance. It seemed his parents, who apparently doted on their son so much, didn’t care about his refrigerator’s contents. Even I, living in a rooftop apartment with a 10 million won deposit and 400,000 won monthly rent, have three kinds of kimchi sent from home stacked up.
“I’m not lifting a finger.”
“You don’t need to help. It’s super simple. Oh, you don’t have any cooked rice, do you? Do you have instant rice?”
Yoon Joo-ho, leaning against the refrigerator with his arms crossed, pointed to a corner of the kitchen with his fingertip. Song Hyun-soo started rummaging through other cabinets for a pot.
“Then, hyung, could you heat up five packs of instant rice?”
“Who’s going to eat five packs?”
“I’ll eat with you. For two guys, five packs of instant rice is just a snack.”
At least, it was for Song Hyun-soo and Jung-ho.
As Yoon Joo-ho sighed and put the instant rice in the microwave, Song Hyun-soo began chopping the kimchi. The cutting board and knife were gleaming as if new. The soy sauce, olive oil, and sesame oil stored in sliding cabinets were also all new. It seemed he never cooked.
“It would be even tastier with my grandmother’s kimchi,” he muttered, clicking his tongue in regret as he started laying the chopped kimchi on the bottom of the pot.
“By the way, are there any famous tourist spots around here?”
Yoon Joo-ho, peeling the wrapper off the heated instant rice, pointed to his own chest and replied, “There is. A famous tourist spot.”
So arrogant. Even though it was true, it was incredibly arrogant.
But it was better for him to act like a conceited prince than to say he had nothing but looks.
Yoon Joo-ho finished peeling the wrappers off the instant rice, and Song Hyun-soo poured them into the pot one by one.
Having completed the mission of peeling all five packs of instant rice, Yoon Joo-ho moved away from the counter.
“Foreigners were taking pictures in the alley. Were they taking pictures of your house?”
Yoon Joo-ho stopped walking and looked back.
“Are they still lurking around here?”
“Were they here when you came home too?”
Song Hyun-soo drizzled sesame oil over the rice for the last time, covered the pot, and took it to the induction stove. He set it to low heat and quickly cleaned up.
Yoon Joo-ho, who had been standing in front of the living room’s coffee table lighting a cigarette, had moved and was now on the opposite side of the sofa, talking on the phone. It was a landline, not a mobile phone.
His face, pressing his brow with the hand holding the cigarette, looked particularly tired. Seeing his serious expression and hearing his voice, Song Hyun-soo walked out of the kitchen.
“Is something wrong?”
“I checked with the security office to see if those people are still here.”
“Why, who are those people? Aren’t they your fans?”
Yoon Joo-ho, one hand on his hip, nervously sucked on the filter of his cigarette. Then, frowning, he exhaled smoke and sneered.
“Fans… If sasaeng fans are fans, then yes.”
Given that a middle-aged woman, who looked quite wealthy, was among them, Song Hyun-soo hadn’t guessed they were Yoon Joo-ho’s sasaeng fans. Up until now, the sasaeng fans he’d seen were usually high school students with nothing better to do after school hanging around idol dorms, or professional stalkers in their late twenties to mid-thirties.
As he tapped the ash from his cigarette into an ashtray on a display cabinet, Yoon Joo-ho leaned against the cabinet as if sitting on it.
“They were waiting at the entrance to the underground parking lot and ran in front of my car.”
Song Hyun-soo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His reaction came out slowly.
“Why would they do something so dangerous?”
“They wanted me to show my face.”
Yoon Joo-ho explained with an annoyed expression that he almost crashed into the wall of the ramp leading to the parking lot while braking and swerving sharply.
Song Hyun-soo strode over to Yoon Joo-ho. He grabbed Yoon Joo-ho’s broad, firm shoulders and examined his entire body, then cupped his face and looked at it from side to side.
“Are you hurt? Are you okay?”
He didn’t even realize he was manhandling Yoon Joo-ho’s body.
“I’m not hurt. I did lay on the horn like crazy because I was so shocked.”
Yoon Joo-ho’s voice softened due to Song Hyun-soo’s sudden actions.
This person, who would blush and panic if his hand even came close, had boldly touched his body first. Yoon Joo-ho was understandably taken aback.
“They’re completely insane! Trying to ruin someone’s life! It’s fortunate you weren’t hurt this time, but they could have hit you. Or what if they had hit someone? Should I report them to the police right now? I have to!”
Song Hyun-soo practically ran back to the kitchen. He rummaged through the pockets of his jumper, which was draped over a dining chair, to find his phone.
“You shouldn’t let those kinds of people get away with it. We need to pull them out by the roots so they can never do that again.”
Yoon Joo-ho’s hand, which had somehow followed him, grabbed Song Hyun-soo’s upper arm. With a firm pull upwards, Song Hyun-soo looked up from his bent posture.
“It’s fine.”
Yoon Joo-ho added in a soft voice, matching his softened expression.
“Just eat your meal.”
“But what if something like this happens again—!”
Yoon Joo-ho’s grip tightened.
“I’m hungry.”
“…”
“You said it was special kimchi fried rice.”
Song Hyun-soo straightened his back and stood up. Only then did Yoon Joo-ho loosen his grip on his arm and gaze at Song Hyun-soo, who was standing right in front of him, for a moment. It was the first time they had stood so close to each other. The breath from Yoon Joo-ho’s nose was close enough to touch Song Hyun-soo’s lips. He didn’t know where to look.
Yoon Joo-ho’s hand, which had been holding his arm, swept Song Hyun-soo’s bangs back. With his palm holding his hair back so his forehead was clearly visible, Yoon Joo-ho tilted his head.
“…What is it?”
“Why, is there something on your forehead?”
Song Hyun-soo tilted his eyes upwards, as if he could see his own forehead that way. Yoon Joo-ho chuckled briefly and gently pushed his forehead. As if trying to lighten the weight of this physical contact.
“It smells good.”
Watching Yoon Joo-ho saunter towards the induction stove, Song Hyun-soo touched his forehead.
Is it just me? I think I have a slight fever.