DTM | Chapter 2.2

***

 

The interview proceeded smoothly. Kwon Yi-tae kept the mood engaging with witty answers instead of predictable ones, and despite the volume of conversation, he managed to give clean and sincere responses without a single slip of the tongue.

The moment the camera turned on, it was as if Kwon became a completely different person, donning a gentlemanly mask. Fans only ever saw that version of him, so they probably never harbored even a shred of doubt about his personality.

Oh, here we go again.

During the interview, there were moments when his gaze would settle on me. Whether it was intentional or habitual, I couldn’t tell, but I desperately wished he’d stop staring. Even when I switched seats, his persistent gaze followed me, and it finally dawned on me—he was doing it on purpose.

Each time our eyes met, I instinctively covered my backside. The hallucination of being spanked kept replaying in my mind.

Kwon would glance at me, and I would shield my rear. This ridiculous cycle repeated several times until, in the middle of answering a question, Kwon’s eyes narrowed briefly. It was a fleeting reaction, but there was no way the camera wouldn’t pick up on the subtle movement. Since it happened mid-sentence, it was impossible to edit out.

Eventually, Kim PD called for a break.

“We’ve been going nonstop. Let’s take a 15-minute break.”

As the staff bustled to rearrange equipment and prepare for the next segment, Kwon got up from his seat. Seeing him stride directly toward me, I quickly turned away. Why? Why is he coming over here? I began rifling through a stack of already-reviewed scripts, pretending to look busy.

“Writer Yoo.”

“……”

“Hey, Writer Yoo.”

“……”

“Yoo Eun….”

“Yes, what is it?”

Feigning ignorance didn’t work, and his increasingly casual tone of address forced me to face him. Tilting his head slightly to one side, Kwon spoke bluntly.

“Do you have hemorrhoids?”

“…….”

His words were so out of the blue that all my tension evaporated in an instant. What the hell was he saying? Unable to mask my bewildered expression, I stared at him. His face betrayed no hint of mischief or teasing.

“You used to sit on the toilet for at least 30 minutes back in the day because of constipation…”

“Wait, hold on. What are you even talking about?”

“I’m asking if you feel pain in your rectum or if there’s any bleeding.”

“…….”

“Do you poop blood?”

He said the mortifying words without so much as flinching. I was too stunned to speak. They say extreme embarrassment can render you speechless, and that was exactly my predicament. I had no idea where to even begin addressing this absurdity. Left gaping like a fish, I noticed Kwon’s eyebrow arch slightly.

Although his face remained expressionless, there was an air of irritation creeping into his demeanor. He added curtly:

“What? Should I stop caring whether you poop blood or not?”

The idea of explaining my rectal health to Kwon in this situation was beyond ridiculous. The constipation he remembered had been a brief phase in my early twenties when I’d gone overboard dieting. But bringing that up felt equally absurd.

Suppressing my confusion, I forced a composed tone as I replied, though the tension in my grip on the script betrayed me.

“Let’s just focus on the next interview.”

Please, just stop obsessing over my rear and go away.

“Sure.”

Without much fuss, Kwon returned to his spot surrounded by cameras and lights.

“Writer Yoo, do you actually have hemorrhoids?” 

Kim PD asked, tapping me on the back. How long had he been eavesdropping?

“No, I don’t.”

“See? I told you to get up and walk around occasionally. Sitting too long was bound to cause problems.”

“What?! Writer Yoo has hemorrhoids?!” 

Go Hyeong-woo blurted out loudly enough for the Dawn Entertainment staff in the distance to turn and look our way.

“Hyeong-woo, lower your voice!” 

I hissed, trying to hush him, but Kim PD chimed in next, even louder.

“Hiding it doesn’t cure the illness. It’s fine. We’re all on the same team.”

“I’m telling you, I don’t have hemorrhoids! I’m perfectly healthy!”

“Alright, alright, fine. Attention, everyone! Writer Yoo does not have hemorrhoids. Got it? No misunderstandings, please!”

Kim PD’s announcement was met with chuckles and assurances of “Don’t worry!” from the staff, but the damage was done. Frustrated, I rubbed my scalp and pressed my hand to my forehead. What could I do—show them proof? Seriously!?

Meanwhile, Kwon sat calmly on the sofa, legs crossed, acting like he hadn’t just turned me into a hypothetical hemorrhoid patient. What was with his sudden obsession with hemorrhoids, anyway? But that wasn’t the only thing bothering me.

What unsettled me more was the realization that, despite the bizarre topic, our conversation hadn’t felt awkward.

The tension of our broken relationship still lingered, but it wasn’t as suffocating as I’d feared. Maybe because Kwon wasn’t pressuring me the way I thought he might.

That didn’t mean I felt any closer to him, or that the awkwardness between us had vanished.

I just hoped the day would end without any more complications… or so I thought.

 

“Wait… ngh, Yi-tae…”

 

Suddenly, my vision blurred, and that familiar hallucination began again. A bead of sweat slowly trickled down from my temple. Frozen in place, I couldn’t even remember how to breathe.

 

“What are you doing? Your master is here, and you’re not crawling over to greet me?”

 

Kwon dragged a nearby chair over and sat down.

 

“Are you protesting because you want me to screw you?”

“No… ngh, no.”

 

Kwon spread his legs apart, and there I was, standing naked between them.

 

“I told you not to spill yourself everywhere. Kneel down and straighten your back.”

“Ngh… please, let me suck you. I want to…”

 

A large hand grabbed my hair, forcing my head down. My face was pressed against the bulge in his pants. Kwon let out a deep, aroused breath, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling.

 

“Unless you want your pretty mouth torn apart, open wide. I’m going to shove it all the way in your throat.”

 

Even as I shut my eyes and tried to block out the sound, the vivid images wouldn’t stop. Please, please, why was this happening! I desperately tried to think of something else like a deer darting through a mountain forest, squirrels running around carrying a mouthful of acorns—but nothing worked.

The sound of a zipper being pulled filled the air. Kwon unzipped his pants and pulled out his massive erection. Desperately, I rubbed my cheek against the shaft, panting heavily.

 

“Huff, ngh…”

 

Kwon teased the tip against my lips before sliding it into my mouth. Despite opening as wide as I could, it was impossible to take him in fully. Veins pulsed along the thick shaft as he slowly thrust in and out.

 

“Haah… damn it, open wider.”

“Mmgh… ngh, ack!”

 

Gripping his thighs, I trembled as Kwon let out an exhilarated breath. As his grip on my hair tightened, he began moving his hips, forcing himself deeper into my throat.

 

“Gah… ngh, ngh!”

 

Kwon’s hips bucked with increasing intensity as he stared down at me. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I didn’t look away. His pace quickened until he let out a guttural breath, slamming my head down against him.

 

“Ahh… damn.”

 

As his hands loosened their grip, I finally pulled away, coughing. His release dripped from my lips, and before I could wipe it away, Kwon gently cupped my face and pushed the fluid back into my mouth with his thumb.

 

“You should lick my dick clean too.”

 

I couldn’t take any more. 

The vividness of the hallucination, as if I had actually experienced it, left me breathless. Heat surged through my body, nearly unbearable. Wait… something was off.

“…Where is this?”

In my confusion, I struggled to remain calm. Instead of focusing on the hallucination of Kwon Yi-tae and myself, I deliberately examined the surrounding environment with my eyes.

A marble floor, a ceiling with a recessed center, black sofas facing a rectangular table, and an L-shaped table… beyond Kwon Yi-tae’s figure, visible through the windows…

“The city view.”

I shot up from my seat like a spring. My body moved before my brain could process what was happening. I bolted out of the lounge, ignoring the startled murmurs behind me.

“Writer Yoo! Where are you going in the middle of filming?!”

I frantically pulled at every door handle I could see. Clunk, clunk. Every door in the building required a keycard to open.

“Haah, keycard…”

Frustrated, I pressed my hand to my forehead, unsure of what to do. Just then, I heard the unlocking sound of a door from nearby. Turning, I spotted Kwon Yi-tae’s manager, whom I had seen a few times before.

“Manager Jeong!”

“Whoa, you startled me! Writer Yoo? Has the filming already wrapped up?”

“That card… is that a master key?”

“Yes, but why…? Oh, are you trying to film scenes in another location—”

“Sorry! I’ll borrow it for a moment!”

“Huh? Wait, Writer Yoo, you can’t—”

I snatched the keycard from Manager Jeong’s hand without waiting for permission. I darted from door to door, unlocking them one by one and peering inside. Not this one. Not here either… Like a madwoman, I threw open every door I came across, until I reached the end of the hallway.

There, I found a door with a nameplate reading “Kwon Yi-tae” in English. I swiped the card.

“…Ha.”

Marble floors, a domed ceiling, and a sofa. The space from the hallucination was reproduced without a single deviation.

This was my first time visiting Dawn Entertainment today. If the hallucination had stemmed purely from my own desires, it didn’t make sense for me to perfectly visualize a place I’d never seen before.

I couldn’t explain it logically, but one thing was becoming clear: what I had witnessed wasn’t my imagination—it was Kwon Yi-tae’s delusion.

My gut screamed at me that this was the truth.

“What the hell kind of nonsense is this…”

I felt the strength drain from my body. Of all people, I was seeing Kwon Yi-tae’s delusions? And not just any delusions—horrifically perverse fantasies involving me. It was knowledge I desperately wished I didn’t have.

Even though I had identified the source of the hallucinations, it brought no relief. Instead, the weight of it suffocated me further. Who could I even tell about this without being advised to check myself into a psychiatric ward?

Shock and disbelief consumed me. I stood there in a daze until someone’s angry voice broke through from behind.

“Writer Yoo! I didn’t take you for someone who’d make things so difficult. What do you think you’re doing, running off with the keycard?! What is this, a game of tag?”

I handed the keycard back to Manager Jeong with both hands and bowed deeply.

“…I’m sorry.”

“Seriously. I saved your program from the grave, and this is what I get? Sigh. Just go back now.”

“Yes…”

Even after Manager Jeong left, I couldn’t bring myself to return to the lounge where the filming was taking place. Every time I approached the door…

“Ngh, ah! Harder, Yi-tae, harder! Ahhh!”

“For god’s sake, shut up. Shut up, Yoo Eunha.”

…Kwon Yi-tae’s twisted delusions echoed in my head. There was no way I could willingly walk into that hell of naked flesh and moans.

How could I even begin to explain how I felt? It was like a giant question mark and exclamation point were taking turns bashing my skull.

My mind was flooded with chaos. Unable to steady my thoughts, I ended up sitting curled up on the emergency stairwell, staring out at the darkening sky through the window.

“…Should I quit?”

If I quit now, the industry would hear about it. They’d label me as the writer who fled during a special broadcast already on life support. That would be the end of my career. My last program, ruined by Kwon Yi-tae’s sex delusions.

“…Ha… Haha.”

A hollow laugh escaped my lips. I shook my head, trying to brush off the absurdity of the situation.

I’d known Kwon Yi-tae would try to get back at me, but I never imagined it would be like this. What, did he spend the last three years learning witchcraft or something? How else could this happen?

“Writer Yoo! So here you are.”

The emergency door swung open suddenly, and Go Hyeong-woo appeared. He knelt beside me, saying he’d been looking everywhere.

“How’s the shoot…?”

“It’s done, without any problems.”

“That’s a relief.”

“You look really down. What’s wrong?”

“…Just something.”

“I don’t know if this will help, but I’m here if you need me. Sometimes just talking about it makes you feel better. Use me if you need to. I promise I won’t be surprised by anything.”

Despite his usual lack of tact, Go Hyeong-woo offered me unexpected words of comfort. Maybe I was just too emotionally drained, but even his clumsy support seemed to lift my spirits a bit. I turned to look at him directly.

“I didn’t realize you had such depth, Hyeong-woo.”

“Just a small token of my sincerity. Here.”

Go Hyeong-woo handed me a shopping bag. I instinctively took it.

“When did you have time to buy this?”

“Right after the interview, I snuck out.”

“……”

“I understand everything. Really, it’s okay, Writer Yoo.”

“You little shit…”

Inside the bag were a donut-shaped cushion and a pack of mixed nuts. Both greeted me far too innocently for their context.

“Sitting for too long without a cushion must’ve been tough, right? Don’t worry. Even Kwon and the other staff understand. Just don’t be too embarrassed to show up for work, okay? Oh, and nuts are good for hemorrhoids.”

Instead of thanking him, I gripped the donut cushion tightly, as if I might tear it apart.