Chapter 10
“Change lanes here. Don’t miss the timing and go straight again.”
“……Got it, babe.”
Tae Igyeol answered casually, his face carefully blank. Mo Eunje burst out laughing.
“Still going with the ‘one-day anniversary’ thing?”
“……”
“Then, babe, buy me a pair of sneakers. You know, the ones that look like rags because someone else wore them first. You’ve got those, but I don’t, so if you buy me a pair, we can be a couple with matching sneakers. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
Mo Eunje smirked, his voice dripping with sweetness. Tae Igyeol had seen that expression a thousand times, but it still made his heart race—so adorable it was infuriating. He sighed inwardly and changed lanes.
“Thought you were just a lunatic, but turns out you’re a lunatic and a thief.”
If he could, he’d buy Mo Eunje a hundred pairs of sneakers. But if he actually did, Mo Eunje would probably feel burdened, even though he was the one who asked. Then he’d start overthinking—Did I do something wrong? Am I asking for too much?—and Tae Igyeol knew it all too well.
“Weren’t we supposed to be a ‘one-day couple’? If you’re gonna play along, at least put some effort into it. Your acting skills are trash. Ugh, boring.”
“You really want me to buy them?”
“Thought you were just a lunatic, but you’re a lunatic and a sucker. Why would you buy me expensive sneakers?”
Mo Eunje mimicked Tae Igyeol’s tone perfectly. Just as he expected. Tae Igyeol never knew which beat to follow—Mo Eunje always kept him guessing. And every time, he fell for it.
“You were the one bringing up the drama department, and now you’re asking if I’m messing with you? Fuck, are you toying with me?”
This time, Tae Igyeol didn’t miss the turn and entered the department store parking lot.
“Who else would I mess around with if not you?”
“Sigh…… How can a novelist not know the difference between messing with someone and just hanging out?”
“Park over there. It’s closer to the entrance.”
The only way to keep a safe distance from Mo Eunje—without being his lover—was to suppress every impulse to give him everything. Without any real justification for their relationship, he couldn’t even freely give Mo Eunje what he wanted.
Not even the feelings he’d kept hidden for so long.
“Babe. Love you. Let’s make today our one-day anniversary.”
Mo Eunje’s voice, granting their relationship legitimacy, echoed endlessly in his mind.
***
Mo Eunje was lying with his head on Tae Igyeol’s thigh, watching a movie, when he checked his messages.
Ban Hajun: [I’m heading to Yangpyeong now.]
3:51 PM
Ban Hajun: [A senior alum asked me to fill in for a last-minute role in an indie film.]
Ban Hajun: [Sorry, but can we push the birthday party to next Saturday? ㅠㅠ]
Ban Hajun: [So sorry ㅠㅠㅠㅠ]
Ban Hajun: [(Rabbit emoji banging its head on the ground in despair)]
3:52 PM
The plans were unilaterally canceled.
After lunch with Song Yeonhwa yesterday, Tae Igyeol had driven them to the department store. He’d been sleep-deprived lately, but Tae Igyeol was usually meticulous—missing a traffic signal and nearly overshooting the department store entrance, a route he knew by heart, was out of character.
At the department store, they’d bought Ban Hajun’s birthday gift, then stopped at a warehouse-style supermarket for barbecue charcoal. Even then, Tae Igyeol had been unusually spaced out, even handing over his driver’s license instead of his credit card at the checkout.
If he wasn’t just tired, then the stock losses must have been worse than he’d let on. Normally, he diversified his investments, but Tae Igyeol occasionally went all-in—maybe he’d lost the full 500 million. If not, there was nothing else that could rattle him like this.
***
“This guy’s dad is a legendary director, and his mom’s a hit drama writer—why’s he always filling in for no-shows?”
Ban Hajun was in the same theater and film department as Tae Igyeol, active in school events, and well-liked by seniors and juniors alike for his easygoing nature.
“At least he’s getting roles. His parents won’t even cast him as an extra—his acting’s that bad. This is probably his first gig in six months.”
Mo Eunje replied casually as he typed a response.
3:53 PM [Break a leg.]
Ban Hajun: [Yeah.]
3:53 PM
Gye Minho: [You got lines this time?]
3:53 PM
Ban Hajun: [No.]
Ban Hajun: [They just need a ridiculously good-looking face.]
3:53 PM
Gye Minho: [Oh… okay.]
Gye Minho: [Good luck.]
3:54 PM
As expected, Tae Igyeol didn’t reply. But the notification marks disappeared, so Ban Hajun would know he’d read it—and he wouldn’t take it personally. They’d been friends for six years now. Mo Eunje and Gye Minho had hit it off first, then Tae Igyeol joined them, and two weeks later, Ban Hajun started tagging along.
***
“Gye Minho’s social radar is completely broken. How’d he last two weeks with these two?”
On the fourth night of drinking soju bombs, Ban Hajun had voiced his confusion. There was no opening between Tae Igyeol and Mo Eunje—no room to squeeze in. But Gye Minho, oblivious, had just blinked.
“Huh? Why? We had fun, didn’t we?”
“If it were me, I’d have died of loneliness being left out with these two.”
“Hajun, you don’t get it. I was worried Igyeol would feel left out with me and Eunje always talking.”
Ban Hajun had been so exasperated he’d downed two soju bombs in a row.
***
“But why’d they call Ban Hajun? If they need a ridiculously good-looking face, shouldn’t you be the one going?”
Mo Eunje, still lying down, reached out to playfully grope Tae Igyeol’s chin. Tae Igyeol immediately scowled.
“Why waste my face? One pretty boy in the family is enough—Tae Iden can handle the face-selling.”
“True. Ban Hajun’s not ridiculously good-looking, but he’s still pretty. Your dad’s company would love his type.”
Most of the male actors under Taeyang Actors, Tae Igyeol’s father’s company, leaned toward clean-cut or delicate good looks rather than Tae Igyeol’s rugged charm.
“Is my dad a charity? Even his well-connected parents don’t push him, so why drag my dad into this?”
“No matter how successful they are, parents and agencies are different.”
“He’s been studying acting since middle school, but he still reads lines like a textbook. He’s just got no talent.”
Cold as it was, Mo Eunje had to admit it to some extent. But since Ban Hajun was a friend, he couldn’t help feeling a pang of pity. A few years back, Mo Eunje himself had struggled with his own lack of talent.
“It’s a scene where he’s crying and begging his lover not to leave, and he delivers it like, ‘Pleeeease. Don’t. Go. I’ll. Do. Better.’ How is that even possible? He’s like a robot programmed to cry.”
“Oh my god, exactly.”
Tae Igyeol imitated Ban Hajun’s infamous line again, and Mo Eunje laughed until he was breathless. Every time Tae Igyeol mocked him, Ban Hajun insisted he’d poured his heart into that performance, but the tone, the breathing—everything was identical.
“Ah, I laughed so hard my jaw hurts… Hah!”
Just as Mo Eunje was catching his breath, his head—resting on Tae Igyeol’s thigh—suddenly thudded onto the couch. Tae Igyeol had abruptly sat up, phone in hand.
“What the hell?!”
“Gotta go. Plans came up.”
The birthday party had been canceled less than 10 minutes ago, and now he suddenly had plans? On weekdays, Tae Igyeol stuck close to home until 3:30 PM for the stock market and hit the gym in the evening, but on weekend afternoons, he often snuck out.
“Who are you meeting?”
“A friend.”
Tae Igyeol pulled his T-shirt off by the collar as he headed to the bedroom, answering curtly. Mo Eunje paused the movie and followed him. His broad, muscular shoulders were sharply defined, his back sculpted yet lean—unexpectedly agile for his size, with more refined muscle than bulk.
“Who? If it’s Gye Minho, just tell him to come here instead.”
“Then who do you want me to call? Gye Minho?”
“Then who is it?”
“A friend you don’t know.”
“You have friends I don’t know?”
“You know all my friends?”
Tae Igyeol started mimicking Mo Eunje’s tone. This was how the rest of the conversation would go—his way of saying he didn’t feel like explaining.
“Make sense. How could you have friends I don’t know?”
“Make sense. How could you know all my friends?”
As expected, Tae Igyeol parroted him back, slipping his arms into a heather-gray shirt. His washboard abs, free of an ounce of fat, flexed as he buttoned up methodically.
