* * *
Jingyeom found himself in a quandary about what to do next after quitting his job.
He had barely adjusted to being a full-time employee before this sudden turn of events.
Each time he left a job in such unfavorable circumstances, it made him wonder if the universe itself was conspiring against him.
With some free time on his hands, he decided to visit the salon.
Though he hadn’t paid much attention to his hair before, his injured hand made managing his long hair inconvenient.
Initially planning to cut it short, he tried a perm for the first time instead.
‘I just told them to do whatever they thought would look good… then nearly fainted when I heard the price.’
It was pricey, but the style suited him.
Instead of perming short hair, he’d done it with his longer hair, and the result was quite stunning.
No wonder people went to salons for a change of pace.
The only downside was the lingering smell of chemicals, forcing him to lay towels over his pillow at night.
His daily life hadn’t changed much: eat at set times, clean, go for walks.
It was an existence almost identical to before.
At least staying in touch with Soohyuk kept him from feeling too lonely.
But as a working professional, Soohyuk had his own busy periods.
One lazy afternoon, Jingyeom scrolled through Soohyuk’s social media posts, re-reading everything Soohyuk had uploaded.
Every photo featured hands.
The backgrounds varied, but no other subjects ever appeared.
“…”
Deep in thought, Jingyeom suddenly sat up as if making a decision.
‘This… this is unfair to both Soohyuk-hyung and Jinwoo.’
He realized it was time to face the task he’d been putting off out of fear—something he’d long treated as overdue homework.
“Alright, today’s the day!”
Since it was Friday, even if Jinwoo was shocked, he’d have the weekend to recover without disrupting work.
If Jinwoo needed time to process or be alone, Jingyeom could stay at Soohyuk’s place temporarily.
Spring, with its fluttering cherry blossoms, was just around the corner. He wanted to tell Jinwoo before that.
Fearing he might ramble if he spoke unprepared, Jingyeom took out a notebook from his drawer and reread what he’d written.
He had resolved to tell the truth so many times, only to falter repeatedly.
Each time, he jotted down his thoughts, leading to pages filled with fragmented musings.
The writing was often smudged, and the paper crumpled, marked by tears.
‘Should I just organize all this and hand it over?’
Sometimes, a letter conveyed feelings more clearly than spoken words.
It would avoid nervous stuttering or going off-topic mid-conversation.
Besides, Jingyeom worried he might cry while speaking, making things even harder.
If Jinwoo cried, Jingyeom wanted to comfort him, but he feared breaking down alongside him.
However, as he tried to rewrite the letter, Jingyeom collapsed onto the desk.
His injured hand wasn’t fully healed, and gripping the pen tightly made his writing messy and illegible.
“This isn’t going to work.”
With only a few lines written, he couldn’t even decipher his own words.
Resolving to speak directly, he rehearsed scenarios in his head, preparing himself as best he could while waiting for Jinwoo.
But an hour before Jinwoo’s usual arrival time, Jingyeom’s phone rang.
“…What? Today? So suddenly?”
Jingyeom stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting his outfit.
Everyone else would likely be dressed formally, so he felt he couldn’t be too casual.
He put on a shirt with a knit vest and paired it with slacks, giving him a polished look.
Instead of his usual canvas bag, he opted for the sling bag Soohyuk had once given him.
Jinwoo had returned it, but somehow it had found its way back to him.
When he went downstairs, Cheongoh was waiting beside a black sedan.
“Hello!”
“Good evening. Please, get in.”
Cheongoh opened the back door for him.
“Can I sit in the front instead?”
“As you wish.”
After ensuring Jingyeom had fastened his seatbelt, Cheongoh started the car.
As they drove, Jingyeom glanced at the GPS, noting their destination was a hotel.
“Why are we going to a hotel for dinner?” he wondered aloud, suddenly recalling a past memory.
‘Could it be… that place?’
The first time the three of them had dined together was at a hotel restaurant.
‘That time… I almost died from that peach sherbet.’
Since then, food-related issues hadn’t been a problem, likely because those around him took extra care.
Although it wasn’t rush hour, the traffic was heavy.
They listened to a radio talk show, with Jingyeom chiming in occasionally, to which Cheongoh responded briefly.
When they arrived, it wasn’t the same hotel from before.
Cheongoh didn’t accompany him, so Jingyeom took the elevator alone.
Upon mentioning Yang Wonyoung’s name at the reception, a staff member led him to a room.
Four people were already inside.
In the quiet atmosphere, Jingyeom greeted them softly.
“Hello…”
“Welcome, Jingyeom!”
As expected, Secretary Yang greeted him with a bright smile.
“Welcome.”
Soohyuk’s composed greeting felt unfamiliar, making Jingyeom glance away awkwardly toward Wonbeom, who sat beside him.
“Hyung, sit here,” Jinwoo said, pulling out the chair next to him.
‘He’s calling me ‘hyung’ again.’
Since the day they’d found the album, Jinwoo had been alternating between calling him “hyung” and “Gyeom-ah.”
Having rarely used “hyung” since changing his tone of address, Jingyeom had initially thought it was due to old habits.
However, the instances were becoming more frequent.
Just as he was pondering this, he was momentarily distracted by the large glass window.
Though it was a private room, one wall was completely open, offering a breathtaking view of the sunset.
‘Beautiful.’
It was his first time seeing the Han River from such a vantage point, and it felt novel.
While he wanted to take a closer look, he restrained himself and sat down.
Placing his bag on an empty chair, he looked up, meeting Soohyuk’s gaze.
Soohyuk’s attention was on the sling bag, recognizing it as the one he had given Jingyeom.
Startled by Secretary Yang’s voice, Jingyeom turned his head.
“Jingyeom, how’s your hand? You’re still wearing a bandage?”
“Oh, it’s much better now.”
“That’s a relief. Secretary Baek was really worried about you.”
Although Jinwoo contacted him less frequently than before, he still messaged during lunch breaks or other spare moments.
They weren’t physically close like before, but their desks were still within sight, making Jinwoo’s presence a constant.
Recently, though, Jinwoo’s demeanor had changed. Others had noticed too.
His current mood reminded Secretary Yang of Jinwoo’s earlier, sharper personality when he first joined the company.
He suspected something had happened between Jinwoo and Jingyeom again.
‘The timing, honestly.’
Secretary Yang shot a brief glance at Wonbeom.
He had thought things would resolve naturally with time, but suddenly, this gathering had been arranged.
Seeing them together now, however, their relationship seemed better than he had feared.
Feeling slightly reassured, Secretary Yang continued, “It’s a good thing it wasn’t worse. It could’ve been a serious accident.”
If something had happened to Jingyeom, the futures of the three men present here might not have remained intact.
At Secretary Yang’s worried remark, Jingyeom gave a short nod.
“Jinwoo must’ve had a hard time. He just got out of the hospital, and now he’s stuck taking care of me again.”
“I don’t think of it as hard work. You shouldn’t either.”
Jingyeom widened his eyes momentarily at the unusually firm tone, then smiled faintly and nodded again.
The atmosphere chilled in an instant, prompting Secretary Yang to let out an awkward laugh.
It had seemed like things were going well, but apparently not.
“Oh. I’m hungry.”
The food arrived just in time, but as a course meal, it came out one dish at a time.
The long gaps between dishes extended the eating time and, consequently, the silence.
Secretary Yang couldn’t understand why he had to be here in this uncomfortable setting.
If it were just a regular meal, it would’ve been fine, but the atmosphere was so icy that he couldn’t tell if the food was going down his throat or his nose.
Wonbeom, the one who orchestrated this gathering, remained silent, and even Soohyuk, who spoke a little, had clammed up.
As a result, Secretary Yang was left alone to fill the void with meaningless comments like, “This tastes good,” or “The shape is unusual.”
Eventually, though, he ran out of things to say, and even he fell silent.
The room became enveloped in an oppressive stillness.
Jingyeom, sitting there, was quite tense.
He had planned to tell Jinwoo about his relationship with Soohyuk today, but this sudden group gathering had thrown his mind into chaos.
The unexpected invitation from Wonbeom, who hadn’t contacted him in ages, made him suspicious.
‘Did Wonbeom hyung call this meeting because he knows something?’
Jingyeom kept glancing at Wonbeom during the meal, unable to shake off the unsettling thought that he might have figured out the truth about him and Soohyuk and was planning to reveal it here.
His anxiety wouldn’t subside.
‘I need to tell Jinwoo myself…’
He couldn’t bear the idea of someone else spilling the secret.
He was so anxious that he even considered dragging Jinwoo outside to talk right then and there.
His heart raced, the beats climbing past 90 and nearing 100.
Jingyeom tried to steady his breathing, checking his smartwatch intermittently.
‘This is why you shouldn’t do anything wrong…’
He had had plenty of chances to tell Jinwoo before now.
But every time, he hesitated, unsure of how to phrase it.
One day passed, then another, and soon a month had slipped by.
It felt like he was paying for all that procrastination now, his heart trembling with dread.
Fortunately, the meal concluded without any major issues.
However, Jingyeom remained on edge until the very end.
Because… this wasn’t the end of the night!
* * *
Poor jingyeom 😆
Wow hahah