INT Ch 1.1

The phone’s ringtone droned on monotonously in the darkness. Haewon lay face down on the bed. A light touch brushed over his bare back, nudging his shoulder blade—a signal to pick up the phone. Haewon didn’t move.

The ringing continued without pause, relentless. Recognizing that the caller wouldn’t give up until it was answered, the man beside Haewon, still caught between sleep and wakefulness, finally let out a groan and sat up in Haewon’s stead.

“Just leave it.”

Haewon was awake. He could feel the man’s gaze pause on him, then look down. Haewon repeated himself.

“Let it be. They’ll give up eventually.”

“That’s already the second time it’s rung.”

To be precise, it was the third.

The ringtone faded for a moment, only to resume at intervals, now the third time. Haewon’s callers were a select few: the man lying next to him, his stepmother, who called to give him his monthly allowance like a beggar’s handout, and a handful of acquaintances from high school, among others.

This call was likely from a high school classmate. He typically called at late hours. He and Haewon were of the same kind—aroused by men and finding release through them.

Ah, what a bother.

Haewon pulled a pillow over his head, burrowing as much as he could into the bed, trying to escape from the annoyances.

The man, sitting up, kissed Haewon’s bare back before getting off the bed. Declining a spacious residence offered by a record label, he was staying at a hotel.

When he came to Korea, he usually stayed at this hotel, for a few weeks at most, or sometimes just a few days. Just below the executive lounge, he tried to stay in the same room whenever possible.

Haewon’s phone wasn’t in the bedroom but on the table in the meeting room. The man had barely taken a few steps when the ringing stopped. Still, he went to the meeting room and brought the phone back.

Haewon removed the pillow and turned over with a drowsy look. The wall clock read 2 a.m. The man sat back down against the headboard, holding Haewon’s phone, fully awake now.

Haewon merely watched as he inspected his phone without seeking permission.

“…Lee Taeshin? Who’s that?”

He glanced at Haewon after checking the missed call. The gleam in his eyes suggested caution rather than curiosity. Haewon looked up at him from where he lay, half-buried in the bed.

“One-thirty, one-forty-eight, and two o’clock… He called three times.”

His memory had been accurate.

“Lee Taeshin, sounds like a guy’s name. Who is he?”

“A friend from high school.”

Although Haewon was a year younger, Taeshin had told him early on not to call him ‘senior’ or ‘hyung.’ Haewon hadn’t wanted to, either. He didn’t see him as a senior, and calling him ‘hyung’ was absurd. He barely wanted to call him a friend; in truth, Lee Taeshin was just someone he knew from high school.

Avoiding further explanations, Haewon briefly replied, then turned his body away toward the man. He was only wearing briefs. Haewon’s gaze naturally shifted to his lower half.

“Are you two close? Calling three times at this hour seems rude in Korea, doesn’t it?”

It would be rude in America too. Having grown up and lived there, the man seemed unaware that basic manners and decency didn’t differ much between Korea and the U.S. He always seemed to seek Haewon’s confirmation on universal etiquette.

“That’s why I told you to leave it.”

“A stalker? This could be grounds for reporting.”

The man scrolled through not only today’s missed calls but also previous call logs. Haewon’s incoming calls were limited to a few people.

His stepmother, Lee Taeshin, and Senior Choi. When the man came to Korea every few months, a new name might occasionally appear in Haewon’s call log, but it rarely deviated from this small list.

Few people sought out Haewon, and he didn’t reach out to many, either. He kept a phone mostly to order delivery. His busy father seldom contacted him, but his stepmother, keen on exerting her influence, called often, spilling words he didn’t care to hear. She babbled on, indifferent to whether Haewon was listening.

Out of ten calls from Taeshin, Haewon would answer one. As for his stepmother, he would answer right away whenever possible. Making her wait would mean risking the money she owed him.

The man grew visibly serious while scanning the missed calls, but then the phone rang again. He held out the screen to Haewon. It was Taeshin.

“Persistent friend, isn’t he? Aren’t you going to answer?”

He held the phone out, wanting Haewon to take the call in his presence and let him hear the conversation.

Haewon frowned, not wanting to answer. The man’s expression turned mischievous as he took the call himself. He had clearly intended to do this from the beginning. Haewon didn’t bother stopping him.

“Hello. This is Moon Haewon’s phone. Yes, that’s right. Do you know what time it is? May I ask how you’re connected to Moon Haewon?”

The man intentionally lowered his voice, wanting to intimidate. Judging by his relaxed expression, it seemed to be working as planned.

Taeshin was that kind of person. Haewon could almost hear his timid, apologetic voice shrinking in response. He listened indifferently, not expecting much from the call.

“I see. He’s right here—would you like to speak to him?”

The man, quickly discerning from the brief exchange that Taeshin lacked any charm that might attract Haewon, responded with exaggerated politeness, extending the phone to Haewon.

Haewon felt absolutely no interest in this kind of person. The man hadn’t been perceptive in catching on to Taeshin’s lack of appeal in that brief conversation. Even a fool could recognize what kind of person Lee Taeshin was after a few words.

A person with a cowardly tone, no backbone, and a limited vocabulary that felt crude and simplistic. In today’s world, someone without charm was quickly dismissed, often viewed as trivial, especially when coupled with poverty.

The phone was held to Haewon’s ear, sparing him the need to reach for it himself, a gesture of understanding from the other man. Reluctantly, Haewon spoke.

“Hello.”

― Haewon, who was that guy who picked up just now?

“Someone I know.”

― Are you two together? Just the two of you?

“We’re working on something.”

Haewon closed his eyes, still holding the phone. The man who had been sitting at the bed’s headboard now lay down next to him, brushing his hand lightly over Haewon’s side as he turned toward him, drawing closer with warmth and touch.

The air in the suite felt dry, the kind that left skin a bit rough. His bare skin pressed against Haewon’s, trailing gentle kisses from his shoulder to his neck and then his nape. Haewon didn’t move, feeling the brush of his hair as he passed. After all, he was just with someone he knew, working, in the middle of the night.

― I finally talked to him for the first time today.

“Ah.”

Recently, Taeshin’s calls had all been about “that guy.” The man Taeshin was infatuated with. Haewon had no interest in knowing any details: who Taeshin liked, why he liked him, how he’d first met him by chance, whether they’d even spoken. None of that mattered to Haewon, nor did he want to hear it.

Haewon had never been one to take an interest in other people. It was even more unlikely he would care about someone he didn’t know, and even less so about hearing third-hand details from someone who wasn’t even his friend. Yet, because of Taeshin’s persistence, he’d found himself knowing more about this infatuation than he wanted to.

He knew that the man was a prosecutor, tall, with an impressive physique and apparently strikingly good looks—plus a host of other details Taeshin would incessantly rattle off.

― You know Han Mihee? He came to her recital tonight. He was there with Chairman Kim Jeonggeun from Hankyung Group. Do you know him? My dad knows him. I hesitated, but I managed to say hi. His voice is amazing. I was really close; you’d understand if you saw him—he’s really handsome. I can’t even describe it properly, but he’s really something.

The fact that Taeshin’s attempts to describe his features were so lackluster, despite his supposed talent in the arts, was somehow even more surprising than the supposed allure of this “amazing” man.

The man’s mouth moved from Haewon’s shoulder to his chest, his tongue tracing a circle over Haewon’s nipple. Haewon covered his eyes with an arm.

― Are you listening?

“…I’m listening.”

Haewon barely managed a reply. Taeshin’s admiration for that man continued without pause.

Haewon had never seen him in person. If Taeshin’s description was to be believed, the man had looks that bordered on the unreal. Broad shoulders, a well-toned body, delicate eyelashes, a perfectly shaped nose, and a captivating mouth that would tempt anyone to say something just to be near him—it was all so exaggerated it was laughable.

Haewon’s nipples hardened at the man’s touch, which he captured and gently nibbled between his lips. Haewon closed his eyes, unintentionally conjuring an image of Taeshin’s infatuation.

“Ah.”

― What’s wrong?

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

The man trailing kisses down Haewon’s chest stifled a small laugh. His lips moved lower, from Haewon’s chest to his navel, and then to his lower abdomen. At last, Haewon lowered his hand to grasp the man’s hair, gripping it firmly to halt his advance.

― But I think he might already have a girlfriend. He didn’t bring her to Mihee’s recital, but he refused when someone offered to introduce them. So maybe he’s already seeing someone? Or maybe he’s just not interested in relationships? Prosecutors are busy, after all.

“If there’s no chance, you should let it go.”

He really didn’t want to listen to this anymore.

Haewon always spoke plainly to Taeshin, but Taeshin only saw it as further proof that Haewon was the one person in his life who would be honest with him. Haewon regretted letting Taeshin see that side of him back in high school—it had been a careless mistake. Now, Taeshin considered Haewon his closest friend, the only one who would tell him the truth.

It had been ten years already. Unlike Taeshin, Haewon didn’t see him as his best friend. Taeshin’s tenacious nature, the same one that kept him calling until Haewon picked up, extended to his feelings for that man.

Meeting that man by chance at a public event, he had fallen at first sight and then proceeded cautiously until, within a month, he’d managed to shake his hand and exchange names—whether the man remembered it or not. Taeshin thought of this as progress.

They say it’s never wise to offer romantic advice, even to friends. With same-gender crushes, it was all the more complicated.

The man’s mouth, now tracing Haewon’s inner thigh, tugged down Haewon’s underwear. Haewon looked down at him, catching the red gleam of desire in his gaze.

― Haewon, are you listening to me? What do you think?

“I don’t think anything.”

― But what would you do?

“I’d give up. Chasing straight guys won’t get you anywhere; you’ll only end up hurt.”

This time, he meant it. He genuinely wanted to warn Taeshin, but he knew Taeshin would ignore him. That was the nature of all people who longed for someone out of reach.

The man took Haewon’s erection into his mouth, his hands steady on Haewon’s thighs. Haewon tilted his head back, sinking into the bed. The man’s touch was relentless. Haewon stifled a groan, mindful that Taeshin might hear.

Taeshin was still singing praises for the man. Haewon had his doubts that the man was even worth the admiration. He suspected that Taeshin’s crush was one of those types, using his looks and status to go through women without ever committing. Expecting loyalty from someone like that was the height of foolishness.

Haewon’s breathing quickened.

“I just woke up. Let’s… let’s talk later.”

― Oh, you were sleeping? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll call again later. You have to answer, okay?

“Got it. Just hang up, alright?”

Haewon ended the call without waiting for Taeshin’s response. Tossing the phone aside, he tightened his grip on the man’s hair with both hands.

“It hurts, ah…!”

The man’s tongue latched firmly onto Haewon’s sensitive skin. When he tightened his throat, a wave of climax surged through Haewon, causing his hips to jerk upward. Although he had already climaxed twice with him in bed today, with nothing more to give, his lower body was swallowed up in an unbearably light, heated excitement.

Haewon lifted his lower body into the air, climaxing into the man’s mouth. His lips quivered as he released. The man took out a tissue and spat the fluid into it.

A smirk played at the man’s mouth. Haewon, tears welling in his eyes, glared at him with a look of reproach.

The man slid up between Haewon’s legs, settling over him. His arousal pressed down below. Haewon wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders, burying his face into his neck and moving with each thrust as he entered. The bed, with its springy mattress, creaked with each movement.

“Ease up on your hands a bit. You’re going into recording the day after tomorrow.”

“No way. Some people get hefty signing bonuses and even housing allowances.”

“You set your own worth.”

With sunglasses masking his expression like a mask, he responded with a smile to Haewon’s sullen remark. He often smiled at Haewon. It meant he liked him.

On Friday morning, the hotel restaurant was quiet. They were the only ones having brunch; everyone else had only coffee or tea on their tables, speaking softly to match the mood set by the music.

Haewon and the man sat in a spot where the morning sunlight streamed transparently through the hotel’s full-length windows. It was a place most people avoided because of the sunlight, so the area around them was empty.

He had a set daily sunlight intake. Even if it meant wearing sunglasses, he had an hour’s worth of sunlight intake still left to catch.

Haewon squinted against the direct sunlight and sipped his coffee. He, too, was soaking in the sunlight with him. If he didn’t expose himself to enough sun in the summer to the point of getting a tan, he would suffer from colds in the winter. Suddenly, he felt the urge to go to Bangkok.

“Even your eyelashes are a transparent brown. Did you know that?”

He reached out to touch Haewon’s cheek and brushed his thumb over his eyelashes. Taeshin had gone on and on last night about how incredibly long the man’s eyelashes were. Haewon had never actually seen the man himself. From what Taeshin said, he was the most perfect, extraordinary man in the world. It seemed doubtful that such a flawless person could even exist. Like most people in one-sided love, he must have had something in his eye.

The man’s hand fell away from Haewon’s face, leaving a trace of regret. He was aware of others’ gazes around them. He pushed up the sunglasses that had slid down his nose.

“So, you’re really not going to do it?”

“What will you give me?”

“Everything you ask for.”

“That’s more than generous for someone who’s getting peanuts.”

Haewon had never wanted anything. It had always been that way since he was young. There was nothing he wanted to have, nothing he wanted to become. His father, finding this pitiful, poured money into specialized lessons for Haewon, saying that if he wasn’t interested in studying, he should at least have one thing he was good at. His father thought Haewon might have inherited some artistic talent from his biological mother. He made him try piano, painting, horseback riding, violin—anything that came to mind.

Among those, the violin was what he stuck with the longest. When he was young, he even won prizes in competitions he entered without much thought. He entered art schools for elementary and high school, then went on to university, all with the violin.

While he was at the music college, he acquired a violin that even professors envied. Its European spruce wood, almost three hundred years old, had elegant curves and a deep, delicate tone.

With the finest instrument and after six years of study, he graduated from university and joined the Asia’s top orchestra sponsored by the Hankyung Foundation, only to leave within a few months.

If it had been a place where he could simply graduate, Haewon would have endured it like he did in school. But that place wasn’t somewhere one graduated from. When he left the orchestra, he told his father he was switching to freelance work.

His father, having no knowledge of music, took the word “freelance” as something akin to Haewon’s “perfect pitch”—just as he had taken a music major’s casual remark that Haewon had perfect pitch at face value when Haewon was nine. He thought freelancing was even better than the Hankyung Symphony.

Anyway, Haewon was a violinist. He had enough recognition that capable composers would specifically include violin solos and choose him for performances.

Aside from that, he rarely had work, but as a freelancer, he could get by comfortably without giving private lessons, largely thanks to his wealthy father.

The summer sunlight was clear and warm. Thanks to the air conditioning blasting in the hotel, the indoor temperature was cool enough to need a cardigan. The sunlight covered Haewon’s body like a warm blanket, easing the goosebumps and chill that had briefly flared up.

The man reached out and picked up a crispy piece of bacon. A capable composer and producer, he was a U.S. citizen, and true to his American identity, his taste in food and sex was very Western. Only his name, “Kim Jaemin,” was distinctly Korean.

Haewon had collaborated on several classical albums produced by him. Some of them had even been major hits. Most of his work was done at his home in the U.S., with producing and recording in a studio in Seoul. When he came to Korea, he would stay for a few months, a few weeks, or just a few days before leaving.

“When I’m with you, it’s like… time flows differently.”

Kim Jaemin muttered as if to himself. Haewon, still staring out the window, showed little reaction to his words. Jaemin likely meant it as a compliment, but it didn’t make him particularly happy or grateful.

Haewon was fundamentally a lazy, indolent person. He never got impatient and didn’t know what anxiety felt like. Being with someone like him, it was natural that someone as busy as Jaemin would feel time moving differently. Jaemin seemed to take this as a positive thing, treating his work trips to Seoul like vacations to the Mediterranean.

He would always call Haewon when he arrived at the airport, and Haewon never turned him down. After the bacon, he picked up some bread. Breadcrumbs fell onto his shirt.

“Practice well. I won’t go easy on you during recording.”

“Like when we have sex?”

At Haewon’s remark, he laughed with a deflated sound. He lazily leaned back against the sofa.

“Maybe we should try it once.”

He mumbled to himself, glancing at Haewon before continuing.

“In an empty studio.”

“Studios all have CCTV nowadays.”

“Oh, do they?”

He sighed, ruffling the back of his head as if genuinely disappointed.

Haewon felt comfortable around him. He liked that he didn’t overdo it with jokes, that his style was clean, that he preferred Western food and Western-style sex. But most of all, he liked that, after a set period, he would return to the U.S.

He was well aware of his own position and possessed the rationality to control his impulses. He didn’t impose his feelings on Haewon, nor did he try to confine him.

When he left, they became completely separate entities. Even while together, they made no plans for the future. Perhaps it was comfortable precisely because it was a relationship that could easily end without fuss. Clinging to each other wouldn’t do either of them any good.

“You haven’t even sight-read it yet, have you?”

“I haven’t even opened the score.”

He burst into laughter. It was hardly something a composer should tolerate. Kim Jaemin laughed often. It meant he liked Haewon. There was something strangely frivolous about how frequently he smiled.

∞ ∞ ∞

Haewon played the violin for four to five hours a day. Having done this for twenty years, he may have sounded lazy and unenthusiastic to Kim Jaemin, but in truth, he rarely skipped practice.

He didn’t play out of a desire to; it had simply become a habit. Pressing the strings had become a routine for Haewon, as natural as washing his face or brushing his teeth.

His fingertips were calloused, and his nails were always kept short. At times, he disliked how ingrained this routine had become. As he adjusted the slightly tilted bridge to stand upright, the sharp metallic sound of the four strings struck his ears, rising taut.

He used the full bow, concentrating on each note. As he moved the bow, the copious rosin he’d applied settled like dust. With his eyes closed, he turned the pegs, tuning the strings to an A. Although he’d tuned it just yesterday, after a day had passed, the strings loosened slightly, dropping about a half-step.

Once the strings were tuned, he kept his eyes closed and started to play Bach’s Partita No. 2, from the first movement to the Sarabande, slowly.

Kim Jaemin had suggested he try modern music, but Haewon preferred classical. He especially liked Bach’s Partita No. 2, and in particular, he would play the unaccompanied Chaconne every time he practiced.

Although he didn’t know the entire Partita by heart, he could play No. 2 without the sheet music. He also liked Vitali’s Chaconne, but he played Bach’s Chaconne more frequently.

The weighty Adagio in D minor felt like a requiem sending off a soul or like the calm, steady smile of a strong man.

Haewon played the bow with intensity. His fingers, unusually long compared to most, pressed down firmly on the fingerboard. With force that seemed ready to snap the strings, he played until, at some point, he opened his eyes and found that time had flown by.

His professor once said he always felt tense listening to Haewon’s Partita, worried that Haewon’s intense bowing might snap a string. Playing the Partita often left his entire arm and even his wrist aching.

In the soundproofed studio apartment, only his own sounds echoed in the empty space. Although it was along a busy street, even car horns couldn’t be heard. Haewon had a habit of gazing out the empty window of his apartment after finishing his practice, staring for a long time at the gray city outside, as though someone might be there.

He unfolded Kim Jaemin’s composition on the music stand. It was a solo violin piece that had been used as an OST in a hit drama, with a few additional tracks and a main theme, now being remade into a formal album.

Declining recommendations from leading soloists, Kim Jaemin had kindly chosen Haewon, an unknown violinist who’d left the Hankeong Symphony. Haewon knew it wasn’t in exchange for sex. Although convincing the producers took time, Kim Jaemin felt that Haewon’s sharp yet delicate phrasing, highlighted by his close-to-the-bridge bowing technique, suited this piece.

The piece wasn’t particularly difficult. He got through the sight-reading almost perfectly on the first try. Although everything else about Kim Jaemin suited his taste, Haewon didn’t particularly appreciate his musicality. It was one-off, stimulating, and not classical. For him, that was a matter of integrity.

He practiced it a couple more times, lost interest, and put his violin back in its case.

Haewon spent his days lazily. He’d wake up past nine, take a slow shower, warm a slice of bread in the toaster, and eat it, then begin his violin practice, often before his hair was even dry. Most days, he played for at least two hours, sometimes stretching to four or five.

He usually played pieces he’d memorized or been guided on. New pieces, to avoid developing preconceived notions, he learned through his professor’s lessons. Occasionally, if he heard a famous soloist perform, he’d look up and play their pieces, but his repertoire rarely changed.

After practice, he felt hungry. Haewon didn’t cook. Side dishes and soup could be bought from a store, and he knew how to make rice. Washing the rice and putting it in a rice cooker was easy, and these days, electric rice cookers kindly indicated when the rice was ready.

After eating, he would put on a cap and head out. He’d walk aimlessly among the busy crowds, browse books in bookstores, or sit in a café to kill time.

Around the time regular employees were coming home from work, he’d return to his apartment and turn on the TV. Without watching it, he’d leave it on just to fill the silence. The soundproofing made it so silent that even the street noise couldn’t reach him, and he found the quiet hard to bear.

His father knew of this lifestyle but didn’t criticize it. He believed that artists were different from others. For him, it was normal that anyone involved in the arts should be unique.

Haewon’s birth mother was also very different from others. She was more sensitive and unwilling to compromise with a dirty world.

While he lived in solitude, he didn’t feel lonely. When immersed in it, even boredom became nothing. At times, the irregularities that disrupted his routine felt annoying and bothersome. The most bothersome of them all was Taeshin’s calls, like now.

He left his phone ringing. But it wasn’t bothersome enough to want to cut ties or change his number. His laziness was such that even changing his number felt like too much of a hassle. Cutting ties required a certain level of diligence.

When he didn’t answer, text messages piled up. Haewon would usually read the last one to get a gist of Taeshin’s message. These days, he’d delete messages, including spam like loan offers and credit services, without even reading them. They were undoubtedly all about the man Taeshin pined for, so he didn’t care to read them.

Taeshin’s crush had changed every few years, but never before had it been this intense or prolonged. He wondered why he was listening to relationship advice from a high school senior he wasn’t particularly close with. It was a thought he often had when checking the backlog of messages and missed calls.

Haewon and Taeshin had attended the same arts high school. Taeshin studied sculpture, and Haewon majored in violin. Their fields were different, so they’d had little reason to get close. But it was a tragedy that Taeshin had witnessed something he shouldn’t have: a moment in an empty classroom after everyone had gone home.

In the piano practice room, only a piano instructor, who assisted students with their practical exams, and Haewon remained. The instructor’s fingers, as long as Haewon’s, brushed Haewon’s neck and earlobe, their lips pressing intensely, fervently sharing saliva, devouring each other.

Like all timid people, Taeshin didn’t carelessly disclose what he’d seen through that small window. Haewon, who had few friends even back then, was sitting alone in the empty classroom after everyone had left. He looked up, puzzled, at Taeshin, who had come to find him without any explanation.

Taeshin had called Haewon to the back yard of the school. And there, with no one else around, he had spoken without preamble.

“I thought I was the only one. I thought it was strange.”

“……. “

Haewon had no connection with him. He didn’t know his name, his face, or even that a student named Lee Taeshin attended this school until that moment. But the instant he heard Taeshin’s first words, Haewon realized that Taeshin had somehow found out about his incident with the instructor in the practice room.

When Haewon remained silent and just stared at him, Taeshin flashed an unremarkable smile, one so typical of unremarkable people, and added,

“Although I’m a year above you, let’s just be friends. You can speak casually with me too.”

“……. “

“I have someone I like. Should I confess? Or keep it to myself? What do you usually do in situations like this?”

Haewon continued to look at him wordlessly, and Taeshin mistook his silence for attentive listening rather than indifference. This misunderstanding piled up like a mountain, and somehow, ten years slipped by.

Now, he and Taeshin had grown close enough that it could be called friendship. Having graduated from the same high school ten years ago, they still kept in touch three to four times a week and knew each other’s livelihoods — by any standard, they could be considered friends.

As he thought through various things, the obnoxious ringing of his phone finally stopped.

Once or twice out of every ten calls — that was how often Haewon answered his calls. Out of those, one or two times were motivated by irritation at the relentless ringing, not by any intention of welcoming him. He would answer just to tell Taeshin to stop calling so often.

Even knowing how much Haewon disliked and was annoyed by it, Taeshin persistently called him because he had no one else to turn to.

He had no friends of similar temperament, nor did he have many friends in general, much like Haewon himself. Each time Haewon was confronted with Taeshin’s shallow personality, he felt repulsed, unable to understand why someone would reveal themselves so openly to others—an attitude completely opposed to his own nature.

The phone stopped ringing. As the unpleasant noise disappeared, he felt a small twinge of guilt. Haewon stared blankly at the silent phone, tracing the missed caller’s name on the screen with his eyes.

“…….”

He wondered just how desperate Taeshin must be, to turn to someone who couldn’t even be considered a close friend. Still, even with the momentary sympathy that surfaced, Haewon didn’t feel the urge to call him back.

After all, Haewon couldn’t offer him any real help. Life—especially a life like theirs—was something no one else could assist with. One could only carry it alone.

Haewon rarely felt lonely. When he did, he’d head to a familiar bar, where men like him sought one-time encounters. He didn’t maintain any steady relationships there, but one night of indulgence was enough to keep the loneliness and solitude at bay for a while.

Having been mostly alone since childhood, he had grown so accustomed to solitude that it felt almost normal. If there was no one to talk to, Haewon could go over a week without opening his mouth. When Kim Jaemin returned to the U.S., those quiet days would likely continue.

∞ ∞ ∞

Haewon had no interest in his father’s business. He didn’t even know exactly what it entailed. His father was an arms dealer, a successful businessman who imported weapons from the U.S. to supply South Korea and other East Asian countries.

Was there anything as illogical and irrational in this world as war? Ever since learning that his father was in the arms business, Haewon had felt ashamed of his father’s profession. Embarrassed, he would respond vaguely if anyone asked what his father did, simply saying that he worked at a regular company. Adjusting the violin case on his shoulder, Haewon rang the doorbell at his father’s home.

“Oh my, Haewon, it’s been a while.”

“Yes, hello.”

He visited his father’s house about once a month. His stepmother refused to transfer his living expenses to his bank account, insisting he come to collect them in person. Though it was money his father hadn’t exactly earned with integrity, Haewon felt it was his right as a son to receive it, considering his father’s duty to support him. But each time his stepmother handed over the envelope, Haewon couldn’t help but feel like a beggar at someone’s doorstep.

The gate opened, and Haewon walked inside. The garden, now in full summer bloom, looked lush and vibrant. His stepmother, who had little else to occupy her, indulged in gardening as a hobby. She would buy pine trees worth millions without hesitation and plant them in the yard. These pines would have looked far more majestic if set atop a sheer cliff, but here, they only blocked the driveway, standing awkwardly. Following the stone wall and passing through the pine-scented shade, Haewon reached the front door of the modernized house. As he entered, the cool air inside sent a chill down his bare arms.

“It’s been exactly a month. How have you been?”

“Yes, ma’am, how about you?”

“It’s always the same.”

The housekeeper, who had worked there since Haewon was in high school, greeted him. Though he had graduated long ago, she still referred to him as “the student.”

She had been in the house longer than his stepmother, practically an institution. A deeply rooted fixture, she knew how to appease the newer addition, Haewon’s stepmother.

She often muttered complaints to Haewon, likely because he was the only one in the house who would listen. Carefully, she took the violin case from his shoulder and leaned it against the usual wall.

His stepmother was arranging fresh flowers on the reception table.

“If I didn’t give you money, you wouldn’t even come once a month.”

Without any pleasantries, her eyes barely flickered up from the flowers as she threw a scornful glance his way. After one look, she turned her attention back to the flowers, whose stems had been precisely trimmed. She had a knack for floral arrangements.

Haewon settled on the sofa. The leather cushions sank under his weight. The housekeeper served him a drink. Parched, he drank half the iced tea in one go. Leaning back into the sofa, he took a deep breath.

“Aren’t you going to greet me?”

“Didn’t you just confirm I’m alive and well?”

“Listen to that tone.”

“Hello.”

“I’m not doing well, actually.”

“Where’s Father?”

She wasn’t chastising him; her tone was that of a bored wife idly complaining about her husband.

“He’s on a business trip to the U.S.”

“…….”

His father practically lived half the month in the U.S. Although he and his stepmother both suspected the truth, neither ever mentioned it openly. They both knew that his father had likely set up a second home there. His trips grew longer and more frequent, and when he returned, he treated her with exaggerated affection.

When she married Haewon’s father, his stepmother had been a woman as beautiful as a flower. Her beauty had only faded slightly, but she had settled comfortably into the role of a wife, enough that she seemed vastly different from when he first met her.

A silence, full of unspoken words, hung in the air as they each knew exactly what the other was thinking. Haewon finished his iced tea and looked up, noticing Haejeong descending from the stairs on the second floor.

Haejeong had eagerly squeezed into the spot beside her mother, sitting close with a small body tucked between the gaps of the sofa, eyes sparkling with curiosity as she looked at Haewon.

Haewon met the gaze of the six-year-old.

“Hello.”

“You always make sure to greet Haejeong first.”

“With a six-year-old, adults should always greet them first.”

Ignoring his stepmother’s grumbling, Haewon played innocent. Haejeong, without responding, nestled closer to her mother’s side.

He had lived alone since before Haejeong was born, and their monthly visits were just brief encounters. Although they were half-siblings, she felt as unfamiliar to him as a stranger on the street. It seemed to be the same for her, as she cautiously blinked at him, her curiosity evident.

“I have a recording today. I need to leave.”

“I had the housekeeper prepare lunch. Just eat before you go.”

“I have an appointment.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

With an irritated shake of her arm, his stepmother cut the flower stems. She huffed when Haejeong snuggled up, and Haejeong quickly ducked behind her.

“Why are you becoming so clingy? Can’t you sit properly?”

“Please just give me the money. I need to go.”

With Haewon’s impatient reminder, she shot him a sharp glare.

“Haejeong, go get my bag from the vanity in my room. Your brother has to leave.”

Haejeong, crouched low, reluctantly left her mother’s side, slipped into the left room, and soon returned with the bag. His stepmother continued trimming the flowers, ignoring the bag placed beside her.

“Ma’am, the meal is ready.”

The housekeeper approached, glancing at Haewon, as if to say, See? I told you.

“Haewon, would you like to stay for lunch?”

“No, I have a commitment. I’ll eat next time.”

“I went to great lengths to prepare this meal. Just take a bite before you go.”

“I already have lunch plans. I’m sorry.”

His stepmother finally took out a thick envelope from her handbag and tossed it onto the table. Haewon picked it up and stuffed it into his pocket, feeling more like a debt collector than a son. Without hesitation, he stood up.

“I’ll be going.”

“Like father, like son. You’re no different from him.”

“I’m not like him. Please don’t talk badly. Haejeong, I’ll be off.”

Watching him, wide-eyed, Haejeong involuntarily waved her hand before quickly dropping it, startled by her own action.

Haewon grabbed his violin case and walked out the door. He wouldn’t see them again for another month, and the thought lightened his steps.

As he headed for the gate, he heard hurried footsteps behind him. His stepmother approached quickly, her silk dress billowing. Just a few steps away, she stopped and caught her breath, her face flushed.

“I’m going to get a divorce.”

“…What?”

“I said, I’m getting a divorce.”

After a moment’s thought, Haewon asked, “Why?”

“Do I have to spell it out? Don’t you already know what your father’s been up to?”

“Didn’t you get married under the same circumstances?”

“…What?”

“You moved in with my father when my mother was still alive, didn’t you? So why is it suddenly a problem now?”

“You…you…!”

She raised a trembling hand, her finger pointing angrily, but Haewon quickly brushed it away like swatting a fly.

“Don’t point at me. I’m late. I’m leaving.”

Leaving her fuming behind him, Haewon strode across the garden and rounded the corner, spotting a taxi rolling down the hill. He raised his hand, and the cab stopped promptly.

At the studio, the music label’s representative and Kim Jaemin were already waiting. He was about ten minutes late. The representative, reclining on the couch in the control room, looked away dismissively without greeting Haewon. Jaemin sighed at the representative’s rudeness and approached him.

“You’re late. Did you eat?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Does that mean you haven’t eaten? Should I order something?”

“I’m not in the mood. Let’s just get started.”

“The engineer stepped out to take a call; we’ll begin shortly. Oh, by the way, this is Director Yoon. Have you two met before?”

“Hello.”

Haewon gave a slight nod. The representative barely looked at him, unimpressed. Being an unfamiliar name chosen over seasoned soloists, the representative seemed skeptical, clearly worried about the project’s viability.

Noticing the lack of greeting, Jaemin spoke up irritably.

“I told you I vouch for his skill. Why act so rude in front of him?”

“Well, hardly anyone else has heard him play.”

“As long as the composer approves, that’s all that matters. Did you practice?”

“Once or twice.”

Haewon responded to Kim Jaemin’s question. At his answer, the record label representative’s expression twisted unpleasantly. Kim Jaemin’s hand lightly grasped Haewon’s shoulder. It was a grip that conveyed a sense of pride that Haewon couldn’t understand. Haewon wasn’t his, nor was he something that Kim Jaemin had created. Without any resistance, he pushed away Kim Jaemin’s hand that wrapped around his shoulder.

“Are we doing this in the control room?”

“I’ve cleared out the piano booth. I’ll be miking directly with the amp.”

“I’ll stand.”

“Do as you please.”

Haewon entered the booth carrying his violin case. The lighting was dimly set. He moved the chair out of the way, found a spot in the middle, and set up the microphone. He attached the shoulder rest to the violin he took out from the case and brought it under his chin. With the instrument tucked under his shoulder and chin, he tightened the bow. The rosin that clung to the bow hairs for chamber music fell like dust. He drew the bow across each string in a smooth legato. While he tuned the violin, the recording engineer arrived.

The engineer sat in front of the mixing console in the control room and offered Haewon a casual nod. Kim Jaemin stood with his arms crossed, looking inside with an intensity that seemed to suggest he wanted to get tangled up in the booth.

Haewon finished tuning and put on his headphones. He lightly drew the bow across the strings. A clear sound flowed into his ears. When he pressed the mic’s on switch, the engineer’s voice layered over it.

“To ensure a clean recording, I’ll go stereo with the sound. We can listen back later and adjust the tone or add reverb if needed.”

The engineer pressed the mic off switch. It was as if someone had plugged his ears; he heard nothing.

Haewon stood comfortably, focusing on the background sound through his headphones. He had no intention of reassuring the record label representative, nor did he want to impress him. He didn’t have the urge to surprise anyone either. Since he was being paid, he was merely fulfilling the contract.

He drew the bow down forcefully until the strings snapped. As the pitch rose, his voice cracked desperately along with the strings. Normally, he wasn’t one to wear his emotions on his face to the extent that others would ask if he was feeling bad or angry, but when he played, it was different. Watching his recorded performance, he felt embarrassed enough not to be able to look at himself, his emotions rising to a point where his expression was on the verge of bursting like ripe fruit.

It would be the same now. However, when it came time to perform, he couldn’t control it. He would be swallowed by the melody as if drawn into an entirely different world.

Passing through a heavy prelude, he reached a faster-paced theme, where the rise and climax left him breathless. There was no way to express this feeling similarly twice. Although the notes had jumbled in the middle, there was no time to think about it as he moved into the chorus, releasing the tension in his throat. He pulled through the climax and gently led everything to a calm aftertaste before releasing the bow from the strings.

With his usual expressionless face, Haewon turned to look at Kim Jaemin and the record label representative standing outside the booth.

Kim Jaemin had his arms crossed, his piercing gaze felt as if it could bore a hole through someone. The record label representative, who seemed to be frowning as if he were having a nightmare, nodded as soon as their eyes met. As the engineer began to speak, the three of them could hardly hide their excited expressions as they quickly exchanged opinions. It could have been a suggestion to re-record or a statement that it was good enough. Whether his predictions were correct, the engineer’s voice came through his headphones.

“Can we do it once more? The first one had a good feel, but doing it again might yield something even better.”

“I don’t mind.”

At his indifferent response, they exchanged glances. They decided to record again.

“You said you didn’t practice, but you have a talent for surprising people? Make it thrilling again. Like Itzhak Perlman.”

The direct gaze coming at him was stimulating, causing Haewon to breathe a bit heavier. He tucked the violin between his shoulder and chin and felt around for the fingerboard.

When he was young, pressing the strings had been painful. Before he developed calluses, after playing, his fingertips would be red and swollen. He had endured blisters, skin peeling off, and the pain of pressing the metal strings had faded away. Now, with a three-hundred-year-old instrument and his accumulated skill, he felt like one with it.

“Here we go again.”

As soon as the engineer’s voice faded, the pre-recorded prelude began to play. Haewon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This time, he drew the bow down forcefully again.

∞ ∞ ∞

With a thud, he slammed against the soundproof wall. Kim Jaemin’s solid thigh abruptly forced its way between Haewon’s knees. He rubbed his groin against Haewon’s center. Haewon’s lips were pulled in, drawing blood. Haewon felt as if he were being bitten. He twisted free from the man’s grip on his shoulder.

“Haah, haah, are you crazy? There are people in the next room.”

“I know.”

He answered shortly and pressed his lips against Haewon’s again, cutting off his breath. His lips, which had been licking the mucous membranes, then moved frantically between Haewon’s earlobe and neck. The warm skin rubbing against each other felt damp. Haewon tilted his head back. It seemed that Kim Jaemin would leave marks on his neck. His excited breaths and movements felt pitiful. He was climbing alone towards his limit, breathing as if he would burst at any moment. His excitement was childlike. Haewon twisted his head away.

“I’ll make you strip and play in front of me.”

“Wait… uh.”

Kim Jaemin’s tongue slipped into Haewon’s mouth, tangling up his words. There was a smell of smoke. He soon gave up trying to stop him and let his hands drop. His hand roughly undid the buckle of Haewon’s pants. On the other side of the soundproof wall, there were people working beyond that thin wall set up like a makeshift barrier.

Their noise could be faintly heard. His hand was roughly touching below. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his painfully hard member, rubbing it against Haewon’s. As he looked at Kim Jaemin, whose face was flushed, Haewon turned his gaze elsewhere. He pressed his body close to him, allowing him to release. Kim Jaemin, who hadn’t even touched him with his hands, surprisingly came so quickly, pouring out hot liquid that flowed down his lower abdomen.

“Hey, Director Kim! What’s going on? The coffee’s here.”

“It’s done. I’ll be right there.”

He immediately muffled his breath and produced a calm voice. Then, he gazed at Haewon with heavy breaths. His deepening gaze pierced through the depths of Haewon’s eyes. Haewon looked at him blankly.

“I thought you were going to fuck me while looking at me earlier.”