INT Ch 1.2

“I’m already being treated like a weirdo, and now I’ll probably be seen as a madman.”

He let out a dry, deflated laugh and leaned his sweaty forehead against Haewon’s shoulder. His aroused member brushed against bare skin.

“I actually thought you were avoiding live performances because you lacked skill.”

“I don’t like live performances.”

“Not only do you get me aroused, but you make me feel cheap—where the hell have you been hiding until now?”

He kept talking close to Haewon’s neck, making the nape of his neck tingle. Haewon shrank his shoulders and avoided the occasional hot brushes of his lips.

“It’s because of directors like you who listen with their bodies instead of their ears when I perform. I absolutely hate it when someone doesn’t listen to my performance and chews on something else instead.”

“I’m not joking.”

He sighed deeply and sank down. He roughly wiped off the evidence with a tissue and adjusted his pants. He gestured to leave first and turned away. After he left, Haewon stood alone for quite some time before heading to the recording studio.

After three performances, the OK sign was given. Although it was a task that needed to be finished by today, it wrapped up faster than expected.

Kim Jaemin handed Haewon the hotel key card. With a few tracks still left to record, he hinted that Haewon should go to the hotel first. As far as Kim Jaemin knew, Haewon had nothing on his schedule. Haewon had the impression of being a freelancer who was overly free and just lazing around.

Haewon took a taxi right in front of the recording studio and headed straight to the hotel.

He checked his phone, seeing a message that said the work was continuing to drag on, but he felt no reaction as he took a pleasant bath and got a massage in his room. He even ordered room service that was almost a feast. He put everything in Kim Jaemin’s name and quickly signed the bill.

After turning on the TV and wandering through the pay channels, he lightly dressed and headed to the lounge. The spacious lounge was decorated with a bar on one side and a café on the other, and it was fairly crowded. Only guests who had made reservations could enter through the entrance, where a small dispute was happening between an unhappy guest and a staff member, and he found a seat near the window.

After ordering a cocktail, Haewon turned his gaze to the night view outside. The scenery was so beautiful that he felt he could pay to see it. Although his father was wealthy, for him, who had to borrow monthly living expenses from his stepmother, it was a bit of a luxurious sight.

If you looked closely, it could be messy, complicated, and sometimes even shabby.

While receiving the massage, the afterglow of his performance loosened with the night view and cocktail.

As Haewon was sitting idly, someone sat down at the empty table next to him. A man dressed in golf wear and a woman who had obviously put a lot of effort into her appearance in a form-fitting dress sat down quite close to Haewon. With nothing in particular to do and growing accustomed to the awe inspired by the night view, Haewon’s gaze began to wander.

“Woojin, what do you want? Whiskey?”

The waiter politely offered them the menu. The woman didn’t even look at it and asked the man. He also refused the menu and quickly ordered in a low voice.

“I’m good on the alcohol. Just give me an iced Americano with an extra shot.”

“Then I’ll have a fresh fruit juice, kiwi please.”

“Understood.”

The man was mostly obscured, showing only the back of his head, but the couple looked good together. The woman’s smooth calves, crossed over each other, were gleaming. Her toenails sparkled with a well-done pedicure.

Haewon hadn’t felt much of anything sexy about her body, but the short skirt and hair removal had resulted in long legs that glistened, and the strappy sandals with a satan red pedicure around her slender ankles looked quite sensual.

As he stared absentmindedly, the woman noticed his gaze and uncomfortably scanned Haewon’s face, twisting her position slightly to shift away. Feeling like he had been too overtly staring and suddenly treated as a pervert, Haewon sheepishly turned his eyes elsewhere.

He fell back into a state of forgetfulness, letting the night view and the lounge music wash over him as he waited leisurely for Kim Jaemin to return. This time, when Haewon felt the gaze, he turned his head and met the woman’s eyes. She turned her head toward the man in surprise after their eyes met. It was either curiosity or a glimmer of interest in her eyes. Sorry, but Haewon was in the same situation as her; he couldn’t give her what she wanted.

He hadn’t intended to listen, but their conversation naturally entered his ears. The woman mostly asked questions, and the man, whether by nature or disinterest, reacted rather listlessly.

Ah, if he were that woman, he might have poured the drink he was holding onto the man’s face out of humiliation and stormed off. Of course, lacking such passion, he would probably just leave silently. Haewon thought trivial thoughts while listening to their conversation.

“I heard the grass over there is terrible and poorly maintained. Is there a problem with your driver? You should change it.”

“Sit further away.”

He warned the woman who kept getting too close, almost dismissively. She backed away, acting as if to assert that she was a mature woman compatible with him.

“Well, golf isn’t really your style, is it, Woojin?”

The man’s lack of cooperation often interrupted their conversation. Whenever the dialogue halted, the woman sipped her juice. The man kept checking something on his phone, looking very busy.

Time passed quite a bit. As Haewon was leaving the lounge, he scribbled a lackluster signature on the bill presented by the staff and stood in front of the elevator.

Kim Jaemin might have returned. If so, he would have seen Haewon’s phone ringing alone on the table. Knowing he was quietly holed up in the hotel he suggested without running off, he might be looking for him right now. The thought that Kim Jaemin might be searching for him made Haewon reluctant to return to his room.

Should he go for a swim? Or maybe exercise?

Haewon didn’t particularly enjoy being active. However, he forced himself to engage in basic exercise to maintain his performance quality. Before he could decide whether to go straight to his room, the elevator arrived.

There was no one inside the elevator. Haewon pressed the floor button. The door, which was about to close, opened again. It was the couple who had sat at the next table. The woman, trying to board the elevator with her arm linked with the man’s, froze upon spotting Haewon. He stepped aside a bit to make room for them to get on.

As he turned his gaze, his eyes met the man’s. When he was seated, he thought of just a wealthy young businessman, but he was quite different from the expected image.

He wasn’t just a simple handsome guy. He had distinct facial features and a sharp gaze that seemed to pierce through. His intelligent demeanor overwhelmed the other. It felt like facing a black wall, an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. It was the first time Haewon felt something just from someone else’s appearance. If he hadn’t been wearing golf attire, he might have felt crushed under that wildness if he had been in proper formal wear.

“How many floors did you say?”

“40th floor.”

In response to the woman’s question, the man answered and loosened her crossed arms. Coincidentally, it was the same floor where Kim Jaemin was staying. The button had already been pressed. The woman cast another glance at Haewon, and the man withdrew his interest.

The scent of the man’s skin was noticeable. Haewon stepped back, leaning against a corner wall. He was excessively indifferent to others, even struggling to match the names and faces of fellow symphony members he had worked with. He had little concern for anyone. Yet, for some reason, he felt a disturbance when it came to this man.

Haewon had never seen him before. However, he was engulfed by a strange feeling as if he knew the man. It was déjà vu. Forgetting someone with such a face meant there was something wrong in his mind. No matter how much he searched his memory, he could not recall. While he was puzzled, staring at the man’s back, the elevator soon reached the 40th floor.

They got off first. Coincidentally, the direction of the hallway they were heading matched. He had a feeling he knew where they were staying. There were only two rooms in this direction. Kim Jaemin was staying on the right, so it must be the left. As expected, they turned left while Haewon moved in the opposite direction.

“I’m bored alone, so hurry up and finish your talk.”

The woman flirted. The man seemed to have another appointment. He didn’t respond. Just before he opened the door with his card key, he glanced back, making eye contact with the woman. She quickly averted her gaze and leaned more against the man.

Haewon opened the door and entered the room before them. It seemed Kim Jaemin had returned; his jacket was carelessly thrown over the sofa, and the bathroom light was on.

Where have I seen him…?

No matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t recall. Haewon soon gave up thinking and collapsed onto the bed. The images of the man and the woman that lingered like an afterimage gradually faded from his mind.

While he rubbed his face against the crinkling bed sheets, Kim Jaemin, who had just come out of the shower, approached him. He was completely naked, water dripping from his body.

As he lay over Haewon, he immediately took off his pants and underwear. When Haewon turned to look at him, he pressed his lips against Haewon’s without leaving any space, forcefully pushing his tongue inside. Haewon slightly parted his lips, letting him explore as he relaxed his body.

It seemed those involved had already listened to the recording made today. The record company contacted Haewon. He wasn’t surprised by this response. He had worked too hard and gained attention. Work was increasing, but he wasn’t too keen on it. Watching Haewon continue to decline over the phone, Kim Jaemin asked with an odd expression.

“People who can’t get jobs will curse you. Is lazing around the task of life?”

“It’s not something I do to make money.”

“Where did the person who used to talk about pricing go?”

“Still, when I do it, I believe I should get paid properly.”

Kim Jaemin smiled at Haewon’s blunt tone.

He handed a coffee that had arrived through room service to Haewon. Haewon, still lying on the bed, gestured towards the side table. Kim Jaemin smiled softly and, like a diligent and faithful butler, neatly set the coffee, milk, and sugar on the table.

“You’d be better off being a pet in some household than a pro.”

“With this kind of treatment, being raised by someone isn’t so bad. Eat, sleep… and then poop.”

“Still, you look the sexiest when you play.”

As Haewon propped himself up from lying flat to reach for the coffee on the side table, Kim Jaemin suddenly slipped his hand between Haewon’s gown and caressed his chest. His hand brushed against Haewon’s nipple, and the gown slipped off his shoulder. After repeatedly expressing his desires, Haewon found Kim Jaemin’s touch bothersome. He twisted his upper body to indicate that he didn’t want it.

“Just drink your coffee.”

“The expression you have when you’re completely immersed with a violin resting on your shoulder, slowly drawing the bow…”

His gaze became hazy as he recalled Haewon playing in the booth. Removing his hand from Haewon’s chest, Haewon raised his shoulder to reach for the coffee, but was once again stopped by Kim Jaemin. He abandoned the coffee and lay back down on the bed.

“That’s why I don’t perform in front of people. It gets this strange… because of people.”

Haewon raised his knees between Kim Jaemin’s thighs, which were dominating him. The gown opened, and Haewon’s bare knees touched his groin. Slowly lifting his knees, he pressed down on the heated flesh.

It must have hurt quite a bit, but Kim Jaemin didn’t change his position as if enjoying it. Instead, he lowered his waist slightly, resting his groin completely against Haewon’s knees. A hot sensation spread down his legs. Haewon tensed his toes and lifted his knees, rubbing slowly against him.

“Music is meant to be listened to.”

“…Don’t stop. Keep going.”

When Haewon pressed down hard, trying to avoid him, Kim Jaemin pressed down on Haewon’s shoulder. Haewon grimaced. Satisfying someone wasn’t something he was accustomed to. He lowered his knees. At that moment, Kim Jaemin lowered his waist and pressed his groin against Haewon’s bare thigh. Like a horny dog rubbing against its owner, he moaned, rubbing his covered genitals against Haewon’s thigh. Uncomfortable with him lying fully on top of him, Haewon tried to push him away.

“The coffee is getting cold.”

“Haah, ugh… just stay still.”

His breath was ragged. Pressing his face against Haewon’s cheek, the man’s body squirmed, crushing down on him. He ran his hands down and explored between Haewon’s legs. It seemed that mere rubbing wasn’t enough to satisfy him, as he slowly raised his upper body and asked,

“Can you give me a blowjob?”

“No.”

He rarely performs oral acts, especially not on his end. While he was satisfied with the man’s genitals, Haewon didn’t particularly enjoy putting them in his mouth and sucking. The man’s expression became incredibly sulky and regretful. Kim Jaemin, feeling disappointed, undid his belt buckle and lowered his zipper, revealing his erect penis.

He took Haewon’s left hand, which was pressing down on the violin strings, and made him grip his hardened member. He wrapped his hand around the moist, sticky flesh. Kim Jaemin moaned as if it hurt.

“You can do it with your hand, right?”

“If it means you’ll get off me, then I will.”

Haewon, holding onto Kim Jaemin’s unwavering erection, slowly stroked him. Like he was performing, he moved his hand, admiring the transparent, boyish excitement of the man. He caressed the heated glans and circled the tip with his thumb. Adding his right hand, he began to pleasure him seriously.

“Ha… I’m going crazy.”

It must be an excitement that he cannot even understand himself. He was engulfed in a passion he couldn’t control, like a boy experiencing his first wet dream, despite having had countless sexual encounters.

Haewon looked up at him, locking eyes. In rhythm with the hand that caressed him, Kim Jaemin bucked his hips. The muscles in his arms, supporting his body, stood out. A moment later, Kim Jaemin groaned like a beast, releasing his semen. The hot, watery liquid splattered onto Haewon’s stomach.

Haewon ran his hand along the sticky shaft until it was marked with traces of release. He wiped his wet hand on the shower robe and shoved him away as he panted heavily. Haewon propped himself up and said,

“The coffee must be cold by now. Make a new one for me.”

As Haewon started to get out of bed, he felt a firm grip on the back of his neck. The sudden force was painful, giving him no chance to resist before Kim Jaemin grabbed a fistful of his hair, forcing him to face him. Surprised, Haewon widened his eyes, only for Kim Jaemin to press his hot lips against his. Haewon’s body collapsed onto the bed along with him.

∞ ∞ ∞

After their intense encounter, Haewon drifted off into a deep sleep, his body sinking into a lethargic state, floating through a dreamlike darkness. Somewhere in the distance, a sound emerged—a phone ringing.

The sound stirred Haewon from his sleep, even as it roused Kim Jaemin, who lay entangled with him. With a sleepy groan, Kim Jaemin wrapped his arms more tightly around Haewon’s waist, pressing him closer as the relentless ringing continued. Jaemin let out an annoyed sigh.

“This is just stalking at this point,” he muttered in a low voice, releasing Haewon from his embrace as he reached for the phone that had fallen to the floor.

Haewon couldn’t care less about who was calling or whether Jaemin answered. He felt completely drained, his body heavy and unresponsive. Despite having thought he liked Jaemin’s style, he now wasn’t so sure. He resented both Jaemin’s rough passion and his own inability to muster the strength to even lift his eyelids. Frowning slightly, he lay motionless on his stomach.

“Hey. What was the name again? Lee Taeshin?”

The moment he answered, Jaemin launched into his complaints.

“Do you know what time it is? It’s past three in the morning. Even if we’re close, calling at this hour is seriously rude, don’t you think? It’s beyond excessive.”

From the other end of the line, Taeshin’s profuse apologies seemed almost audible. Haewon disliked both Jaemin’s impatient tone and Taeshin’s constant apologizing. Slowly, he managed to sit up, his hair falling over his forehead and blurring his vision. He brushed it aside, reaching a hand toward Jaemin.

“Give me the phone.”

Jaemin looked like he wanted to say something more but reluctantly handed Haewon the phone, then collapsed back onto the bed. In the dim light, his tanned skin and well-defined body were visible in shadow. Haewon stared between his spread legs as he brought the phone to his ear.

“It’s me.”

―Sorry. Did I wake you again? You’re usually up at this hour, so I thought maybe you hadn’t slept yet.

Taeshin’s anxious explanations irritated Haewon. He snapped back.

“What’s the matter?”

―Oh, nothing special… I just couldn’t sleep and thought maybe I could talk to you.

Suppressing a sigh, Haewon slumped back onto the bed, covering his eyes with his arm. Taeshin’s voice seemed to come from a distant place, words fading in and out as Haewon barely processed them. Like background noise from a radio, nothing he was saying seemed worth paying attention to.

Haewon lay there, half-asleep, drifting in and out. Then he gradually opened his eyes, glimpsing a dim half-moon through the hotel window, its pale light veiled by clouds, spreading a cold haze like fog.

“What? Say that again.”

―I… I slept with him.

“Slept with him?”

―Yeah, I mentioned him before, didn’t I? He’s a special prosecutor. My father’s friend is apparently involved in this case, so I helped out a bit, and he offered to buy me dinner to thank me. I didn’t know what to do, so I tried calling you, but you didn’t answer… so I ended up going. I must have lost my mind; all I could think about was confessing my feelings.

“Isn’t he seeing someone?”

For the first time, Haewon felt genuinely compelled to listen, shaking off the remnants of sleep. This was somewhat intriguing.

He continued to listen intently, realizing for the first time that Taeshin’s long-time crush was a real person—an actual man with whom Taeshin had shared his feelings and spent a night. This kind of story caught his interest.

―I don’t know. It just slipped out that I liked him… and he looked at me like I was crazy. I wanted to die of embarrassment, but he said he’d think about it.

“So?”

―Haewon, he’s so kind. We met a few more times after that. Then he asked if I was sure about my feelings—whether I’d really be comfortable undressing in front of him.

“Comfortable undressing in front of him?”

If it had been Haewon, he would’ve scoffed at the absurdity, but Taeshin had taken it as a response to his confession.

―I went to him and said that yes, I could. And he… he hugged me.

His voice was filled with joy. Haewon could practically picture the man embracing a trembling Taeshin.

“And then you slept together?”

―It was incredible, Haewon. He was so gentle. I wanted to tell you first.

“…”

―I think I’m in love with him. I think I truly love him.

Ah, he was probably lying there now, touching the still-warm, empty spot next to him where that man had been. While Haewon had been locked in a rough night with Kim Jaemin, Taeshin had been making love to someone else. Indeed, at this hour, there were likely many people locked in each other’s arms.

Taeshin kept going on, explaining how nervous he’d been, how much he’d trembled, and how deeply he’d enjoyed it. Haewon just lay there silently, listening without a word.

Could this be the fruition of his long, arduous crush?

It didn’t make sense. If the man Taeshin described was real—a prosecutor, no less—it was unlikely he would take a risk embracing someone who confessed their love on a whim without considering the implications, especially if that person lacked social awareness. Yet, Taeshin seemed convinced of the man’s lack of ulterior motives. Haewon had no desire to voice his opinion that Taeshin might be getting used; it would only dampen the happiness in his friend’s voice.

Most of Haewon’s friends from art school came from well-off families, but Taeshin was among the wealthiest. Given his involvement in a case linked to his father’s friend, Haewon couldn’t shake the suspicion that the prosecutor might have something to gain. After knowing Taeshin for over ten years, Haewon knew his friend’s naivety all too well.

Haewon rolled over, changing position, and found himself meeting Kim Jaemin’s gaze, who had apparently been watching him.

This is what love looks like. These are the eyes of someone who cares.

If it were truly love, he wouldn’t have left Taeshin to fend for himself. A man in love wouldn’t do that.

Jaemin reached out, gathering Haewon’s hair in his hand and gently pulling him to face him directly.

“The evaluation is over. Now, go to sleep.”

Haewon ended the call with Taeshin, who was lost in bliss, and passed the phone back to Jaemin, who immediately powered it off and dropped it onto the carpeted floor with a soft thud.

“I’d like to hear your evaluation of this session,” he murmured lazily, pressing his lips close to Haewon’s. Haewon closed his eyes and spread his legs as Jaemin adjusted his position.

After their second round, Haewon couldn’t fall asleep. Kim Jaemin drifted off, but Haewon lay awake, unable to quiet his mind. As dawn’s early light began to seep in, he quietly got up, pulling on light clothing and stepping out of the hotel room.

The hotel lounge, open 24 hours, was empty, save for a few staff members preparing breakfast. Finding the setting too bustling, he left after a quick coffee.

Thinking of a quiet place, he headed to the pool. He borrowed a swimsuit from the front desk, changed alone in the locker room, and entered the pool area after a brief rinse.

The pool’s sterile scent greeted him, and just as he expected, it was empty, with no sound save the hum of the water filters. His footsteps echoed across the tiles. He dived into the pool, swimming slowly toward the other end, feeling the resistance of the water around him.

Upon reaching the far end, he clung to the lane divider, catching his breath. He glanced up, noticing a swimmer in the adjacent lane gliding swiftly toward him with powerful strokes, hardly feeling the water’s resistance. His skill was impressive, his speed suggesting years of training or perhaps professional experience.

Unlike Haewon, who had paused, the man turned gracefully and continued his rapid pace.

After a few laps, Haewon switched to a backstroke and moved lazily along the lane before stepping out of the pool.

Under the warm shower, he noticed a faint line on his thigh, a mark left by the tight swimsuit. He took it off and draped it over the glass partition before turning on the water. As he washed off, he noticed a figure beyond the foggy glass—another man in the neighboring stall. He hadn’t realized he was no longer alone.

This stall was the only one occupied. Of all the available spaces, someone had chosen the one right next to him. Haewon couldn’t help but glance over.

The man, whom he now recognized as the impressive swimmer, towered over Haewon with a solid, muscular build. Haewon noticed his large feet through the transparent lower part of the divider. Following his gaze upward, he saw the silhouette of the man’s hand sliding down his well-built torso. Though blurred, the image was suggestive enough to hint at his physical form.

Haewon had never understood people’s obsession with strict fitness regimes. Besides his basic fitness routine, he had little interest in building muscle, grateful instead for his naturally good physique.

Still, he couldn’t help but be intrigued. He turned away, trying to ignore the allure.

After finishing his shower, he returned to the locker area, drying himself with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist as he ruffled his wet hair. Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching.

“Is this yours?”

He turned, slightly surprised to see the swimmer standing there, holding the small swimsuit by a fingertip, water dripping from it.

“Oh.”

He could only mutter, staring at the swimsuit dangling from the man’s hand. As the man raised an eyebrow, water droplets landed on Haewon’s thigh.

“Yes, that’s mine.”

Without a word of thanks or apology, he snatched it back, laying the damp fabric over his towel.

The man, expression unreadable, turned to his own locker. Haewon glanced over, suddenly feeling awkward as he continued drying himself. They exchanged a brief glance, and Haewon realized that his earlier assumptions about the man’s physique hadn’t been exaggerated.

His gaze was bold, not overly assertive, but sincere, his presence leaving an unmistakable impression.

Where had he seen him before?

Haewon found himself unconsciously staring at him for a long while, thinking of the lounge from last night. He was the man who had been with the woman sporting meticulously done pedicures. Even just a gaze carried a certain piercing sharpness that slowly swept over Haewon. And the face that turned away indifferently seemed to faintly smile for a moment.

“……”

Attributing it to a trick of his imagination, Haewon shifted his gaze, tossed his hair back, and opened his locker. In the mirror attached to the locker door, his freshly washed face reflected back at him. As he bent down to retrieve his undergarments, bright red marks on his neck and shoulders caught his eye. He suddenly realized why the man had been smirking. Haewon’s hand moved to cover his nape, and, glancing quickly into the mirror, he saw the man still standing behind him, locking eyes with him once more.

Neither of them avoided the gaze. It wasn’t a pointless battle over who would look away first; it was just that they were there, staring, and an instant stretched on as if it would last forever. Finally, the man looked away as his phone began ringing. In the mirror, Haewon watched as the man lowered his gaze and brought the phone from his locker to his ear.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

The deep, low tone of his voice matched his appearance perfectly.

“I’ll arrange a meeting soon. Tell them not to worry; I already checked everything out in advance.”

The man’s tone remained steady, as if he didn’t care in the slightest that Haewon was listening. It was a cold, emotionless tone, as though he were giving work instructions.

Haewon draped a towel around his neck, hiding the red marks left by Kim Jaemin, and put on his underwear.

Once the call was over, the man tossed his phone down and quickly dressed. Without unnecessary movements, he was fully clothed and out of the changing room by the time Haewon had pulled on his pants. Haewon hadn’t paid particular attention to his leaving, but the moment the man disappeared, Haewon’s breathing grew louder, as if he’d been holding it back.

Facing his own reflection in the mirror, Haewon removed the towel covering his neck and shoulders. The marks were indeed noticeable and abundant. This tendency of leaving marks wasn’t a positive sign. Haewon frowned as he ran his hands over the kiss marks scattered across his upper body.

Kim Jaemin was already awake. As soon as Haewon entered the hotel room, he asked where he had been. Haewon didn’t answer but picked up his phone from the floor by the bed. It didn’t respond, likely dead from last night when it had been turned off, so he just slipped it into his pocket.

“Where to? Don’t tell me you’ve been swimming.”

Curious about Haewon’s early morning activity, he asked.

“I like working out.”

“Doesn’t seem like the kind of body that would.”

Pulling Haewon into an embrace from behind, he traced Haewon’s stomach and chest. There were muscles, but they didn’t look like the product of diligent exercise. Kim Jaemin’s lips brushed along the messy kiss marks he’d left on Haewon’s neck and shoulders.

“I have work today.”

“Thought you didn’t play for money.”

“It’s not that. I have a lesson.”

“You teach, too?”

He sounded surprised, as if it were unfathomable for someone like Haewon, who usually seemed indifferent to others, to instruct anyone. Haewon didn’t refute the assumption but gave him a steady look.

“I take lessons, not give them.”

“You take lessons? Why?”

It seemed equally confusing to him, as if he had just heard something unbelievable.

“Can’t I take lessons?”

“Didn’t you leave the symphony to avoid that kind of thing?”

“That was tolerable, but other aspects drove me out.”

Things like the hierarchy and cliques were tough to endure even for someone less difficult than him. Haewon hadn’t left a top symphony out of courage but rather because he had a wealthy father who could cushion the fall.

Even someone as aloof as Haewon had to maintain some connections to sustain himself. He needed to prepare for the possibility that his father might fail or cut off his support.

Life becomes shabby without money, and Haewon didn’t want to live that way. He wanted to sleep in hotels, dine in fancy restaurants, wear his preferred brand of clothing, and attend concerts without hesitation. Hearing others perform would inspire him. Most importantly, he wanted to avoid ever having to sell his instrument in a worst-case scenario.

It was strange—he had no particular passion or attachment, yet he wanted to avoid that outcome. Considering it, Haewon thought it might be wise to have some kind of backup plan in place, so he looked over at Kim Jaemin.

“What are you thinking about so deeply?”

“……”

He gazed at Kim Jaemin, who held him without letting go. Suddenly, everything felt burdensome. Haewon wasn’t the type to be overly cautious or well-prepared. If he kept up his occasional lessons and rare jobs, he’d have options; if it ever came to selling his instrument, he’d just sell himself instead.

Haewon loosened Kim Jaemin’s clingy arm, picked up his wallet, sunglasses, and violin case.

“I’ve got a mixing session today. Shall we have dinner later?”

“I have plans for dinner.”

“You’re not coming over?”

“If I have time. Don’t wait for me.”

Leaving behind Kim Jaemin’s wistful gaze, Haewon exited the hotel. As he stepped out of the lobby, the bright morning sun stung his eyes. Shielding them with sunglasses, he found the sunlight as irksome and annoying as the bustling morning. He raised his hand to hail a waiting taxi.

∞ ∞ ∞

“Your shoulders are too tense. Relax.”

Although Haewon didn’t feel particularly tense, the professor always said the same thing. The professor, a highly regarded music conservatory instructor, had guided Haewon since his early admissions days.

Upon discovering that nine-year-old Haewon had perfect pitch, a budding college student insisted he should pursue music, prompting Haewon’s father to spend generously to find him a good teacher. But Haewon, lacking strong motivation, didn’t mesh well with strict teaching styles. While he hadn’t outright avoided lessons, he often remained indifferent to his teachers’ instructions when he wasn’t in the mood to learn.

Those who were only in it for the money simply went through the motions and left, so Haewon’s skills never improved, regardless of how highly qualified his teachers were.

The professor, known for producing world-class violinists, wasn’t someone who could be hired with the usual fees charged to just anyone. Fortunately, thanks to his well-off father, Haewon was able to get an opportunity to perform in front of him. Even though Haewon’s level of skill was, by most accounts, unimpressive, the professor decided to take him under his wing.

Under the professor’s guidance, Haewon was able to enter Yewon School. When Haewon was a first-year student there, the professor was already in his thirties and held a full professorship at a certain prestigious music school. Now, he was the head of the music department at the same university, and he continued to provide Haewon with lessons—for free.

The professor had also been the one to acquire Haewon’s violin, which even other professors coveted. While there were many people willing to pay a premium just for the chance to perform for the professor, Haewon, who found taking lessons a hassle, was nothing more than an obscure freelancer who’d practically been ousted from the symphony rather than leaving on his own accord.

“Your shoulders are too tense.”

The professor, observing from behind, placed his hand on Haewon’s arm as he was about to draw the bow in a long stroke. His fingers slid along Haewon’s arm, coveting his talent as if examining a prized possession, and eventually rested on his shoulder.

Haewon lowered the violin he had tucked between his chin and shoulder. Perhaps because he hadn’t slept well due to Kim Jaemin the night before, he wasn’t in top form.

The professor’s hands massaged his shoulders with gentle but firm pressure. The notes on the sheet music, intricately woven together, lay idle, awaiting someone to bring them to life with sound.

The violin, which was regularly serviced by a specialist once a month, and the body of the player were equally important instruments. The professor had often emphasized that a musician’s body was also an instrument.

“You need to practice the trills every day before starting a piece. Don’t rush into playing the whole piece,” the professor instructed.

“Yes.”

“Start slow, like with vibrato, and let your muscles completely relax before picking up speed.”

Haewon lifted his violin to his shoulder. He grasped the bow in his right hand, lightly setting the bow hair on the strings. The E string, recently replaced with a different brand, felt different each time it made contact with the bow, its increased tension making his fingers ache more than usual.

“Relax your fingers in lower positions. Ease the tension in your shoulders and arms, too. Pay attention to your fourth finger in slow tempos, and play carefully to maintain accuracy. I always stress the importance of precise finger positioning.”

With each instruction, Haewon adjusted his technique accordingly.

“Control the bow, and don’t play mindlessly. Interpret as you play.”

The phrase “interpret the music” was something Haewon had heard more times than he could count. Music, after all, was a humanities field; without understanding the era or the composer’s context, interpretation was impossible, and proper music couldn’t be performed. Technique alone wasn’t enough; one had to infuse emotion and, in that moment, become the composer. Focusing on the composer’s motives and expressions was essential for a true interpretation.

Whenever he heard such advice, Haewon often thought musicians were similar to actors, immersing themselves in emotions created by others. The professor nodded, urging him to continue, as he adjusted Haewon’s elbow to the correct angle.

Haewon learned that Kim Jaemin had returned to the U.S. through a final message he sent. Haewon had missed a few calls from him and hadn’t answered. Though he wasn’t the type to leave lingering messages, Jaemin sent one when he couldn’t reach Haewon before departing. It was brief, saying that if Haewon ever wanted to visit the U.S., he should reach out. Haewon didn’t respond; he didn’t check the message until two days later, making it too late to reply.

In the meantime, Haewon did a few gigs. His routine resumed as usual—lessons with his professor, maintaining basic fitness with tennis and swimming, attending concerts, and dining at upscale restaurants. He was called into the recording studio a few times as a session musician for a fairly popular singer’s album, and the pay was decent. The album Kim Jaemin produced seemed to be doing well, as Haewon received a substantial payment from the residuals.

Regardless of his financial state, Haewon never neglected the monthly stipend he received. On the scheduled day set by his stepmother, he went to his family home. His father’s car was parked out front. As Haewon stepped out of the taxi, he met his father, who was just getting out of his car.

“Oh, our eldest son. Been a while, hasn’t it? Two months?”

Holding the violin over his shoulder, Haewon replied to his father’s question. As long as Haewon was seen with his violin, his father assumed he was living responsibly. Haewon wasn’t carrying it just for show; he had his violin with him today because he’d just come from a lesson.

“Just back from a business trip?”

“This one was a bit long—around two weeks.”

“You’ve been going often lately.”

“Have to work hard. Our Haejung is already six years old, you know. Dad has to do his best.”

Haewon nearly laughed at the absurdity of his father’s dutiful talk. He looked at his father incredulously, but the man, oblivious, handed his luggage to the chauffeur and put a hand on Haewon’s shoulder, pulling him toward the gate. Haewon hated physical contact with his father, but his grip was so firm that he practically dragged Haewon inside.

“It’s very obvious,” Haewon remarked.

“What is?”

“That you’re setting up a whole new life over there.”

“What? What nonsense is that? Are you crazy?!”

His father, taken aback, quickly released Haewon, who brushed off his shoulder where his father had touched him.

“How old is she?”

At Haewon’s question, his father hurriedly looked around. There was no one nearby except for the chauffeur, who was pulling a large suitcase and closing the gate to follow them inside.

“What nonsense! I’d be insane to go through three wives!”

“You’re only on your second.”

“Oh, right. Only two. You brat. Are you doing well? You only come here to collect money, huh?”

Perhaps feeling guilty, his father turned the topic back on Haewon.

“Well, it’d be easier for both of us if you just transferred it to my bank. Or better yet, give me a card. It’s a hassle for me, too, you know.”

“Watch your mouth. If I gave you a card, I wouldn’t see you even once a year, so that’s why I changed things.”

They walked past a few scraggly pines scattered around the grounds and entered the house. The housekeeper opened the door, greeting them warmly.

“Welcome back, sir. Did you have a good trip?”

“Yes, ma’am. Nothing out of the ordinary, I hope?”

“Everything’s been fine. Everyone’s been doing well.”

The housekeeper took his father’s jacket, then greeted Haewon.

“Good to see you too, Haewon. Make sure to stay for dinner. Last time, Madam was quite disappointed you didn’t.”

Haewon placed his violin where he usually left it.

Haewon’s stepmother, wearing bright makeup, appeared at the bedroom door. Haejung ran down the stairs, calling, “Daddy!” His father eagerly rushed over to scoop up his young daughter, making Haewon think that this marriage would probably last.

It was natural for a father to love his child, but his father’s demeanor towards Haejung—his late-born daughter after a lifetime of only seeing his quiet son—was noticeably different from how he treated Haewon.

“Did you have a good trip? Oh, you’re here too?”

His stepmother cast a chilly glance at Haewon after observing the father and daughter’s affectionate display.

“Hello.”

“Really? Is that any way for a son to speak to his mother? Just like a barking dog on the street,” she replied, still holding on to his last words to her. Meanwhile, Haewon’s father, preoccupied with doting on Haejung, gave a weak reprimand with a dismissive “Now, now.”

“Enough. Have a meal before you go. Let’s eat together today.”

“Just give me the money, I need to go,” Haewon replied.

“Do you know when we last ate together as a family?” she asked.

Who cares? Haewon stared at her blankly, uninterested and unwilling to consider her notion of “family.” He didn’t see his stepmother or Haejung as part of his family.

“It was a year ago—on Haejung’s birthday, a year ago.”

“Has it really been that long?” Haewon’s father chimed in. “Haewon, stay and eat with us today. Just one meal, as a family.”

“….”

Who’s family? Haewon wanted to say but merely set his face into a cold expression.

Haejung, still in her father’s embrace, looked at Haewon, as if she, too, wanted to say something. His stepmother, eager to escape the tension, waved her hand and headed into the kitchen, and his father followed, carrying Haejung.

With a heavy sigh, Haewon reluctantly walked inside. Since he happened to arrive at the same time as his father, a meal had already been prepared.

The dining table was full. Normally, his meals consisted of a few side dishes or, more often, takeout and instant meals, so seeing this spread softened his annoyance. He figured he might as well eat while he was here.

“You really put in some effort today, Haejung’s mom,” his father said.

“Not me—the housekeeper did most of it. Sit down, both of you,” she replied. “Haejung, you too. Let go of your dad for a moment.”

For the first time in ages, the four of them, who could never truly fit together, sat face-to-face at the table. Haewon lifted Haejung by her waist and helped her into the chair beside him. She looked at him awkwardly, then quickly glanced away when their eyes met. Haewon indifferently picked up his spoon.

“So, how’s freelancing going for you?” his father asked, barely interested as he chewed his food.

“Well enough to survive,” Haewon replied.

“That’s good. Just keep it at that level—art isn’t meant to be a way to make a living. If you need more, just let me know.”

“Just give me a card,” Haewon retorted, his irritation flaring as he glanced up. His father, catching his fierce gaze, avoided eye contact, turning his attention to Haejung instead.

“Oh, Haejung, eat plenty,” he said, shifting the topic.

“I’m asking for a card,” Haewon pressed.

“If I give you one, we’d never see you—even once a year. Coming to get money from your parents is part of being a son. That’s how you keep your ties,” his father argued.

“A parent has to act like a parent for a child to act like a child,” Haewon replied sharply.

Suppressing the urge to say more—about his father’s rotating wives, about why he had to bring this up now—Haewon stared him down. For once, his father, usually confident in all but Haewon’s reproach, had no response.

His stepmother, still fussing, put another slice of beef on his father’s plate.

“Is that any way to talk to your father? If it’s so bothersome to come here, I’ll bring the side dishes over next time,” she offered.

Haewon didn’t respond and continued to eat, rolling rice around his mouth in silence.

“I could check on your place, too,” she added, watching him carefully.

Haewon nodded, acknowledging her suggestion.

“Then bring it to my apartment,” he said coolly.

“…Really?”

“Yes, that would be convenient for me,” Haewon replied.

“So, starting next month, shall I do that?” she asked eagerly, her eyes shining at the idea.

Haewon’s father, however, looked between them and let out a frustrated sigh.

“Why should she go there? Just give him the card. No need to argue over this.”

“But as a musician, he needs someone to look after him,” she insisted.

“Enough. He’s a grown man, and money should be enough,” his father replied, his tone icy. She trailed off, disappointed but relenting.

Haewon focused on his meal, pretending not to notice their exchange. The eight-year age gap between him and his stepmother was all too apparent to his father, and at least he seemed to be mindful of it.

After the meal, Haewon sat on the living room couch, facing his father, who pulled out a card from his wallet and handed it over.

“If you hated coming here, you could’ve just said so.”

“I told you every time,” Haewon replied, slipping the card into his wallet. His stepmother entered, carrying a tray with refreshments.

“Have some tea,” she offered.

She placed the teacup and fruit on the table. Then, suddenly, she knelt on the floor beside Father’s sofa, picked up a fork, and offered him a piece of fruit from the plate.

Both Haewon and Father were just as taken aback as the housekeeper, who widened her eyes at the scene. Awkwardly, Father reached out to accept the fork, but Stepmother shook her head, softly prompting him to open his mouth with an “Ahh.” As if compelled, he opened his mouth and allowed her to feed him the neatly peeled apple slice. He chewed slowly, swallowed, and then turned to Haewon.

“You should get married soon, too. A man should be taken care of like this to succeed in business and enjoy a smooth life.”

“Is it tasty?” Stepmother asked sweetly, offering him another piece of fruit. Father forced it down and pointed at Haewon with a finger as if to say, This is how life should be.

Before long, every piece of fruit on the plate had disappeared into his mouth. Just like a scene from a horror movie, he continued to eat everything she offered, never once saying he was full.

Haewon could no longer bear to watch this pathetic show. He set down what he’d been eating with a clattering sound. Both Father and Stepmother turned to look at him.

“Take care of things at home instead of always running around outside.”

“Take care of things at home? What’s that supposed to mean?”

They looked at him, pointing to themselves as if to ask whom he was talking about. Haewon gave them a look of contempt and stood up. Little Haejung, frightened by Stepmother’s sudden display of subservience, was watching from a distance, observing their expressions.

Haejung’s gaze shifted to Haewon. To her alone, he offered a gentle farewell.

“Goodbye, Haejung.”

“Bye, Oppa…” she murmured, shyly waving from behind a column. He forced a smile in return and turned away. The housekeeper was already waiting at the front door with his violin case.

“I’m off.”

“Haewon, you should visit more often. It’s scary for us women alone in such a big house when the boss is away on business.”

“But isn’t the driver here, and you’re always around too?”

“Are they the same as family?”

“Being here just stresses me out,” he said, shaking his head in refusal. The housekeeper, understanding, quietly saw him out.

With his violin case over his shoulder, Haewon stepped outside, only for his father to follow him. Shooing away his wife who had hesitated to come out, Father closed the door behind him.

Walking beside Haewon, he draped an arm around his shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie.

“Does she know anything?”

“Does she have to know to suspect? Haven’t you heard of instinct?”

“How would she sense it if no one leaked anything?”

“Since when have I cared about such things? Stop pinning it on me.”

“Why wouldn’t you care? It’s your father’s business.”

Father really did seem to have someone hidden away in the U.S., and the thought made Haewon’s face twist in disgust.

“Just stop with the replacements. I don’t care, but isn’t it unfair to Haejung?”

“Of course. I’m not planning on having more kids.”

“Then why not just play around without setting up a household every time?”

“Because it’s thrilling.”

“….”

There was no point in continuing. Father, nearing sixty, looked like an overgrown child with a mischievous grin, as if this flirtation was some secret to youthful vitality.

That same expression was what Father wore whenever he disrespected Haewon’s mother. If he hadn’t treated him well, Haewon would want nothing to do with him, his own father or not, especially given how he treated Haewon’s mother.

Ignoring Father’s ongoing chatter, Haewon walked away down the road. He had achieved his goal of getting the card, so there was no reason to return to this house. Feeling lighter at the thought, he waved down an approaching empty taxi.

∞ ∞ ∞

As the tail end of summer faded, the gingko leaves lining the streets turned yellow, and people dressed warmer. Watching the streets from his high-rise apartment, Haewon felt the change of seasons.

The album he had worked on with Kim Jaemin had sold well, even playing on the radio with Haewon’s music flowing over the airwaves. Maybe because of that, offers began pouring in. He didn’t care about the money. He only accepted jobs based on his mood. If he felt like going, he went; if not, he didn’t. Thanks to Father’s card, he was free to decline jobs he didn’t want.

Calls from Kim Jaemin went unanswered, and Haewon ignored them. He wasn’t interested in idle chatter with someone overseas. So many unknown numbers began calling that he set his phone to silent, which led him to miss a call from Taeshin.

He drifted through his days listlessly. Each morning, he would wake up, shower, and practice. In the afternoons, he exercised, blended in with the crowd, sometimes gave lessons, sometimes performed freelance gigs, and spent the passing season in this routine.

Not long after autumn began, the cold set in quickly. As winter approached, he heard news that the first snow of the year had fallen somewhere.

So, another year is ending uneventfully.

Despite changing his wardrobe for the winter, his routine stayed the same. He would wake, shower, practice, people-watch, perform, and practice again, filling the winter days.

But in that winter, when it seemed like nothing would change, the day after a heavy snowfall—

Taeshin died.

It was suicide.