By Zephyria He had slept with Jung Ji-in for several years.
‘A relationship with no responsibility towards each other.’
It was a meeting that began with mutual agreement on that from the start.
It was dry, required no emotional connection, and therefore, it was comfortable for Yoon Joo-ho.
Even though it was a long-standing relationship, there were times when they only slept together two or three times a year. Because there was no obligation to make time to meet despite their busy schedules. They sometimes parted ways after drinking and talking about acting, without sleeping together. Because they respected each other’s perspectives on acting, separate from their physical relationship.
They were, quite literally, sex friends, friends who occasionally had sex.
Jung Ji-in also seemed indifferent to playing love games, just like himself. That’s why Yoon Joo-ho didn’t suspect. He believed Jung Ji-in was also satisfied with this relationship.
“Don’t you know the last time we slept together… was half a year ago?”
Therefore, when Jung Ji-in refused to sleep with him and said that, he interpreted it as dissatisfaction with the overly infrequent relationship. Six months was a bit much. He even felt a sense of self-reflection.
“I’ve fallen seriously in love with someone, so I’m not sleeping with you anymore.”
Only after hearing that declaration did he realize that a more serious situation had unfolded than he had anticipated.
Seriously liking someone, being faithful only to that one person, reporting every detail of their day—what they ate, who they met, where they went—and having to explain to resolve feelings of jealousy or suspicion… For Yoon Joo-ho, dating was like labor.
He thought Jung Ji-in felt the same way.
He thought Jung Ji-in was the person who understood him best and with whom he connected the most.
Someone who asked for nothing, didn’t cling annoyingly, and was always there, unchanging, when he looked back. Unchangingness held significant value for Yoon Joo-ho.
So he was surprised. That Jung Ji-in had someone he liked, and liked a lot.
Wasn’t a conventional romantic relationship also impossible for Jung Ji-in?
He felt left behind.
“When I told you we should stop, I thought I could make it disappear like it never happened, just like before. But this time, it wasn’t possible.”
He had never heard Jung Ji-in’s voice like that before.
The person who used to ask Yoon Joo-ho for a cigarette in a blunt tone after sex was now whispering sweet nothings to the person he loved deeply.
“Han-ah, I love you.”
Like common lovers. Like ordinary people lost in the temporary emotion of love.
When he heard those words of confession over the phone, Yoon Joo-ho knew there was no room left to salvage their relationship.
Much was lacking between Yoon Joo-ho and Jung Ji-in.
There were no sweet whispers, no promises of the future, not even dates at romantic restaurants. Not even the post-coital intimacy of holding and caressing each other.
That was Yoon Joo-ho’s way, and he believed it was the same for Jung Ji-in. Because Jung Ji-in had never raised any complaints.
But Jung Ji-in wasn’t uninterested in romance or love either. He was simply uninterested in a relationship with Yoon Joo-ho.
Yoon Joo-ho realized only after he knew he had lost it. That feeling of not wanting to lose it was possessiveness, and the reason people bound each other and held each other accountable in romantic relationships.
He was alone from the start in the cozy world he believed he was understood in and was a part of.
Yoon Joo-ho put out his cigarette, picked up a beer can, and stood up. He unlocked the door lock installed at the entrance of the Master Zone with his fingerprint.
Immediately beyond the door was a hallway, which connected to the main bedroom, bathroom, dressing room, and study. It was a structure that allowed Yoon Joo-ho to safely protect the important spaces he primarily used by installing a door lock only at the entrance to the Master Zone.
In the past, a fan had broken into his bedroom. Several managers had stolen expensive items from Yoon Joo-ho, such as his watch, bag, wine, or whiskey. After the same incident repeated multiple times, they began installing door locks in every important room of the house. Now, besides Yoon Joo-ho, only Director Bang could open and enter the door locks directly.
The atmosphere of the bedroom was somewhat different from the living room or other rooms. It was a place he never let anyone into, even when inviting guests home. This was Yoon Joo-ho’s own cave.
While trophies and awards were ostentatiously displayed in the hallway due to his parents’ insistence, the display cabinet in the bedroom stored scripts from the works he had acted in and character analysis notes he had personally written. Along with trophies made by fans and Yoon Joo-ho’s figurines.
Furthermore, the bedroom interior was meticulously designed for sleep.
He brought in a Swedish bed worth hundreds of millions of won. All lighting was indirect. A dimmer switch was installed to finely adjust the brightness. Automated blinds and blackout curtains that completely blocked external light. His favorite scented candles, and a large original poster of A Better Tomorrow by the bedside.
Entering the bedroom, Yoon Joo-ho first looked for the remote.
As always, the TV was tuned to his preferred channel. An entertainment program where people exchanged silly jokes and burst into laughter. He set the volume to 5 and tossed the remote onto the bed, next to his phone.
Turning around to light a scented candle, Yoon Joo-ho stopped abruptly.
“…”
A large shopping bag from a major bookstore, propped against the nightstand by the bed, caught his eye.
It was the books and notebook he received from Song Hyun-soo.
He had brought the shopping bag into the bedroom but hadn’t had time to open it amidst the rush of year-end parties.
After lighting the scented candle, he took the shopping bag and settled into the single sofa by the window.
A deflated laugh escaped him the moment he took out the contents.
Two books, a notebook, and an 11-color pen set, all in a size and thickness that fit easily in his hand.
The cover of the spiral notebook, which flipped upwards, featured drawings of several cat characters. They were a mother cat and kittens spending peaceful time together.
“Look at that sense. It’s terrifying.”
Yoon Joo-ho, who wouldn’t even bring a single chopstick into his home if it didn’t suit his taste. Yet, instead of frowning, he let out a hollow laugh.
Each of the eleven pens had a different cat character drawn on it. Persian, Siamese, Abyssinian, Exotic…
He opened the PVC vinyl cover, took out one pen, and clicked the top.
“Is this a gift for starting elementary school?”
Chuckling, he spun the pen in his hand and then picked up a book.
The book Song Hyun-soo had chosen was, grandly, a humanities book compiled from short excerpts of a famous German philosopher’s writings.
As he flipped through the pages, Yoon Joo-ho couldn’t stop laughing. He couldn’t imagine what kind of face the hot-tempered guy, who would stuff his cheeks with strawberries and burst into tears over trivial matters, had when he picked out this book. No, it was precisely because he could imagine it so well that he laughed.
He wanted me to sit at a desk and write down these philosophical maxims by hand.
Even the quack doctors who promised to help him sleep had never recommended such a thing. It was obvious he wouldn’t listen even if they did.
Setting the book down on the table in front of the sofa, Yoon Joo-ho casually flipped through the notebook’s pages.
“…”
After turning the cute cover, a message was left on the first inside page.
“Senior, honestly, I’m ignorant.”
“I know,” he muttered, as if hearing a senior’s voice from somewhere, haha.
“Even this famous philosopher, I’ve only barely heard his name. I skimmed through the books at the bookstore, but I had no idea what he was talking about…”
“But I chose this book because of page xx. I saw a picture of that page online, and it felt like it was about you, Senior.”
“You’ve always been my hero. Like Baek Kang was to Lee San. Don’t doubt my fan spirit.”
“I like movies where the hero doesn’t get hurt at all.”
“So, Senior, don’t lose to anyone.”
“Go to a free and high place.”
In the soft light, Yoon Joo-ho stared silently at the letters, written with the firm pressure of an elementary school boy, for a moment.
‘Mr. Yoon Joo-ho, it’s an honor to meet you. I’m a fan!’
How many times had he heard pleasantries of that sort in his life? Ten thousand? No, a hundred thousand? He still heard them dozens of times a day. It had been over a decade since he stopped taking those words at face value.
However, there were certainly moments when he encountered confessions that moved him.
Moments when he felt glad he had persevered in acting, even when things were sometimes shitty. Meeting a good fan like this. Like now.
Amidst the low TV volume, like white noise, his phone’s notification chimed.
Yoon Joo-ho got up from the sofa and checked his phone, which he had tossed on the bed. It was Song Hyun-soo.
“You’re no gentleman.”
He chuckled and checked the message.
《Senior, I apologize for bothering you while you’re resting. This is actor Song Hyun-soo. I took this selfie in your building’s elevator today. Would it be okay to post it on my SNS? The background barely shows, so it’s unlikely anyone could tell where it is… but just in case, I’m asking beforehand.》
“What is this now?”
He found it absurd that the guy who argued back fiercely when face-to-face was so polite and respectful in messages. He scrolled down to check the attached photo and walked back to the sofa. Ting. The next message arrived immediately.
《We can’t have a scandal, after all.》
He was sure the guy hesitated before sending it.
“He’s so damn funny.”
The feeling of hitting rock bottom after getting chewed out by Director Bang had recovered without him even realizing it. Yoon Joo-ho flopped onto the sofa and, grinning, typed his reply.
《It would be troublesome if a scandal broke out before we even started filming.
But this isn’t an issue of location?
Why are you so bad at taking selfies?
Take a few more and send them.》
After sending the message, he opened the book. He flipped through the pages to find the one Song Hyun-soo had said reminded him of Yoon Joo-ho. Rustle, rustle. The sound of turning pages was pleasant. The feel of the paper fluttering in his hand.
Jung Ji-in, whom he met for the first time in a year, wore a ring on his left ring finger. Although he had complex feelings, it wasn’t as painful as it had been a year ago.
Like Director Bang’s words that time would solve everything, the sense of loss that felt like death eventually faded.
He wasn’t trying to say that the emotions at the time were nothing in retrospect. They were by no means nothing.
It was just that if the current Yoon Joo-ho seemed strange in some way, it was no longer because of Jung Ji-in.
“Yoon Joo-ho, you can’t fool me. The day you went to see the play before Actor Jung left for Paris. You started acting strange around then.”
Director Bang was still sharp about Yoon Joo-ho. But at the same time, he was missing something. Something crucial.
The period Director Bang mentioned when Yoon Joo-ho started acting strange.
It overlapped with the last time Yoon Joo-ho met Jung Ji-in before he left for Paris, but it was also around the time the person named Song Hyun-soo appeared in Yoon Joo-ho’s life.
Yoon Joo-ho rolled the pen with cat characters in his hand, turned to the first page of the notebook, and began to write the first sentence of the page Song Hyun-soo mentioned.
After writing the first sentence, strangely, he didn’t want to stop writing. A certain strength welled up within him. Yoon Joo-ho continued to write.
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Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra