By Zephyria “He’s a tough guy who didn’t cry even after watching the last HLC of
“……”
Yoon Joo-ho, who was stopping the camera recording, shrugged his shoulders. It was practically an affirmation.
Leaving the front of the camera, Yoon Joo-ho sat down on the single-seater sofa and picked up his cigarette case and lighter.
He looked exhausted. It required just as much concentration to express restrained emotions subtly as it did to shout and rage.
Yoon Joo-ho drank the tea Director Bang had brought and slowly smoked his cigarette. Song Hyun-soo, who had been watching him the whole time, asked for confirmation.
“Is it true? You understand these kinds of emotions, Sunbae?”
“Are you looking down on me?”
“You, Sunbae?”
“What, did you think this face was incapable of sympathy?”
“No, of course not… but people like you usually have many casual encounters without ever experiencing true love, right?”
“You watch too much drama.”
“So you’re saying you’ve experienced true love?”
Song Hyun-soo wasn’t just surprised; he was shocked.
He had assumed Yoon Joo-ho would only have many sexual encounters, but the fact that he had experienced love was astonishing. Wasn’t he only capable of loving himself?
He couldn’t imagine Yoon Joo-ho spending time on dates, whispering sweet nothings while looking into each other’s eyes, or rushing to see someone in the middle of the night just because he missed them, as people do with their partners…
Yoon Joo-ho, leaning back on the sofa, flicked his cigarette into the ashtray and sneered.
“True love? You’re saying funny things.”
“You mean you’ve had the experience to act like you did just now. Then that’s true love.”
“Hubaenim.”
“……”
“How many projects have I done so far? Do you think all of them were possible because I had the experience?”
“That’s true.”
Come to think of it, he was right. Yoon Joo-ho hadn’t only done melodramas. He couldn’t possibly have acted in roles of such diverse professions, backgrounds, and historical periods based solely on personal experience.
“Well, I know what it feels like to be rejected. Maybe I reflected that without realizing it.”
“……”
Song Hyun-soo’s face contorted intensely. It was the expression of someone who had just heard the most outrageous news about beings who had abandoned their humanity.
“Why the long face?”
“You’ve been rejected? Sunbae?”
“……”
“Was that person blind?”
Yoon Joo-ho’s hand, which was bringing the filter to his lips, stopped. Then, lowering his head, he chuckled, his shoulders shaking. The words that came out before he could even think about them were belatedly awkward, but he had no intention of retracting them.
“I appreciate you saying that, though?”
“No, well… it’s true that you’re incredibly handsome. I was just surprised that someone could reject a top star like you.”
With the filter between his lips, his laughter barely subsiding, Yoon Joo-ho exhaled a sigh-like breath and said, as if in passing.
“She said that time with me meant nothing?”
“……”
Song Hyun-soo couldn’t take this as a joke either. Nothing? He couldn’t believe someone could say that to the great Yoon Joo-ho. He wanted to see the face of such an idiot.
“Could it be… unrequited love?”
“Unrequited love?”
“You wanted that person, but that person didn’t want you. Then isn’t that unrequited love?”
Yoon Joo-ho rested his cigarette-holding hand on the armrest and fell into deep thought for a moment. Then, as if reaching a conclusion, he shook his head.
“It’s a bit different from that? When we were meeting, I didn’t think about love or anything. It’s complicated.”
Yoon Joo-ho crushed the cigarette in the ashtray and gripped the armrests of the sofa. He pushed them away with force and stood up.
“It’s a hundred thousand won per hour. You’re not planning to waste time chatting, are you?”
Glancing at Yoon Joo-ho’s profile as he walked towards the cameras, Song Hyun-soo felt his heart become inexplicably restless.
If one person likes it and the other says no, isn’t that unrequited love? What’s so complicated about it? His muttered thoughts were laced with dissatisfaction.
Yoon Joo-ho turned the cameras back on and returned to the sofa. He looked down at Song Hyun-soo’s hands and clicked his tongue in disbelief.
“What are you doing? Rolling a gimbap?”
Only then did Song Hyun-soo realize.
Without even knowing it, he had been rolling up the script in his hands. Obsessively, almost squeezing it.
Song Hyun-soo shoved his right hand into his padding pocket and held the filter with his left hand this time. Being right-handed to the bone, his left hand movements were clumsy. But his hands were so cold they felt like they would shatter, so he had no choice but to use both hands alternately. His toes, exposed in front of his slippers, were gradually losing sensation.
Is it worth enduring this cold to smoke? I really don’t understand myself either. The hollow chuckle that accompanied this thought quickly dissipated like smoke.
Yoon Joo-ho had strongly desired someone. That alone was shocking. To Song Hyun-soo, Yoon Joo-ho was the object of desire, not someone who could desire another. He had never imagined Yoon Joo-ho could desire someone.
But that wasn’t all.
Yoon Joo-ho didn’t get the person he desired. Yoon Joo-ho, of all people.
Seeing as he insisted it wasn’t unrequited love, did that mean they dated and he got dumped?
That was equally hard to comprehend. No, why would anyone dump Yoon Joo-ho? His personality might be a bit twisted, but his face was perfectly sculpted. Even if someone decided to break up, seeing his face would surely make them change their mind. His face was that high-performance, wasn’t it?
The cigarette had burned down to the filter. Song Hyun-soo’s fingers flicked the butt, extinguishing the ember with a nervous gesture.
Whether Yoon Joo-ho had a crush, or a secret lover, what did that have to do with me? Why was I so bothered by it?
He debated having another cigarette but decided against it. Pushing the pack and lighter back into his pocket, he stepped inside. Even though it was a cold rooftop room, it felt quite warm after being outside. His toes, which had felt like they might burst, began to melt and tingle.
I won’t be able to sleep anyway, so I should have a can of beer.
Song Hyun-soo stopped as he opened the refrigerator door and reached for a beer. He remembered that there was someone he could call at this late hour when he couldn’t sleep. He closed the refrigerator door and took out his phone from his pocket instead.
3 AM. It was 8 PM in Paris, France.
He entered his room, scrolling through his recent call list.
Ji-in hyung’s French number
After five or six rings, the call connected.
“Hyung!”
Instead of words, laughter came from the other end of the phone.
“What is it? Why are you laughing as soon as you answer?”
[The way you call me ‘hyung’ sounds just like a puppy going ‘woof’.]
Was I that happy to hear from hyung? He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and slumped onto the mattress.
“Can we talk now? Do you have time?”
[I just finished dinner and am waiting for dessert.]
“Oh? Should I call back later?”
[No, it’s fine. I’m eating comfortably at home. Is something wrong?]
Jung Ji-in’s last question carried a gentle concern.
“I’m doing great these days, you know. Only good things are happening. I just couldn’t sleep… I thought this would be a good time to call you.”
[Then I’m glad.]
He took off his padding and tossed it carelessly under the mattress, then slid his feet under the blanket. The warmth of the electric blanket made his whole body feel soft and melting.
The sound of the call faded for a moment, and he faintly heard a man’s voice. It sounded like it was in Korean, but he couldn’t quite make out the content. He thought he heard words like ‘someone else,’ ‘puppy,’ or something similar. What was clear was that the tone was somewhat displeased.
“Hyung, are you really able to talk? It’s just a casual call, I can call back later.”
[No, it’s a comfortable setting. I’m really fine. How was the script reading? You thought a lot about it.]