Chapter 70
The air in the apartment was charged with a frantic, energy that only a live stream with nearly a million eyes can produce, the live had already amassed 700 thousand viewers and it was still rising. The ring light in front of them cast a halo of brightness, making every pore visible illuminating their charm. Haru felt the heat of the specialized lamps on his skin, but the true warmth - the prickle of a different kind of heat - was coming from the split-screen monitor where Raiven's face sat, composed and devastatingly handsome.
The game began under Se-hee's boisterous direction. It was a rapid-fire round of charades, a digital version of the classic party game where the lag of a transcontinental internet connection added a layer of comedic frustration.
Raiven was a revelation. To the audience, he was the "IcePrince" of Re-Draft, but here, he was sharp, intuitive, and frighteningly quick. He guessed obscure phrases and modern slang with a professional ease that spoke of how in touch he was with everything around him. Haru, on the other hand, was an absolute disaster.
"Haru! It's a literal TikTok dance! How do you not know this?" Se-hee shrieked, her laughter echoing through the room as Haru stood there, frozen, trying to interpret a gesture that looked more like someone swatting away a particularly persistent fly than a viral choreography.
"I don't... I don't watch those!" Haru defended himself, his voice dropping into a grumble.
"You're like an old man trapped in a young body," Se-hee teased, leaning toward the camera to address the surging chat. "Guys, he knew the answer to the question about 90s cinema in two seconds, but you ask him about the 21st century and he looks like he's trying to read a dead language."she let out a laugh.
Haru mumbled under his breath about how the 90s were simply a more "refined era of culture," but his irritation was mostly a mask.
Every time he failed, Raiven would let out a soft, melodic chuckle that vibrated through the speakers. Raiven's eyes would linger on Haru's, stealing glances that felt like physical touches. Haru, however, was a master of the "near-miss" gaze; he looked at the chat, he looked at the props, he looked at the sponsored drink in his hand - he looked at everything except the man who was currently taking apart his defenses in front of 850,000 people.
"You're a sore loser, Haru-ya," Raiven teased, his voice a sleepy purr that made the chat scroll so fast it became a vertical blur of white light.
"The questions are rigged," Haru countered, taking a long, deliberate sip of the sponsored drink Se-hee had secured. He made sure to tilt the label toward the lens. Even in his state of internal panic, the entrepreneur in him was thinking of the logistics. If this stream was going to be the most-watched event of the month, he was going to make sure Se-hee's sponsors got their money's worth. He wanted her to be successful; he wanted her to have the security he hadn't yet achieved in this life.
Finally, the games ended, and the "InterrogationPhase" began.
Se-hee clapped her hands together, her eyes shining with the predatory glee of a natural-born host. "Okay! The chat is moving so fast I think my tablet is going to catch fire, but I've picked a few questions for our guest. Raiven, are you ready?"
"Ready," Raiven said, leaning back. He looked tired - the shadows under his eyes were deep even through the lighting - but he answered with an energy that Haru recognized it was a performance, a beautiful and exhausting one.
"How is the tour going?" Se-hee asked, her tone shifting into a professional "TalkShow" register.
"It's going well," Raiven replied, tilting his head. "A bit tired from the constant travel, and the time zones are a bit of a nightmare, but I'm happiest when I'm on stage. Seeing the fans… it makes the exhaustion worth it."
Haru watched him silently. He had seen Raiven's interviews before - the practiced answers, the guarded eyes. But seeing it happen live, knowing the man behind the mask who moped about hotel pillows and texted him about cartoons, was surreal. It warmed Haru's heart to see the energy Raiven poured into the fans, even when his eyes were underscored by the faint shadows of sleep deprivation.
Se-hee pushed the limit, adding three more questions to the agreed-upon five. She asked about his music, his inspirations, and his craft. Raiven didn't miss a beat. He told the audience he had "something special" coming up soon and that everyone should tune in - a subtle hint at a solo project or a new Re-Draft comeback that sent the viewers into a frenzy.
"And now," Se-hee said, her voice dropping into a devious, low tone. "It's time for Haru to take the hot seat. Raiven, as our winner, you get to ask Haru whatever you want."
"Hey," Haru said, his voice dropping into that low, resonant frequency that always seemed to quiet a room. "So, what do you want to ask me?"
A tingle of pure, unadulterated dread mixed with a spark of excitement sparked in the pit of his stomach.
Their eyes locked through the digital glass. For a second, the 850,000 strangers disappeared.
"It's been a long time, Haru," Raiven teased. His voice was a sleepy purr, and he leaned closer to his own camera, his face filling the screen.
The chat went into a collective meltdown.
The weight behind those words was heavy. Haru knew exactly what he meant. They spoke almost every day via voice calls, but Haru had been declining video calls. He had refused to show his face, terrified that the sight of Raiven's would shatter the precarious wall he was building.
"You guys are really good friends!" Se-hee interjected, clearly enjoying the way she was pushing Haru's buttons. "Can I ask how you two even met?"
"It was on - -" they both began at the same time.
The synchronization was so perfect it was eerie. Se-hee let out a giggle, clucking her tongue. "Oh my god, you guys are too cute. It's like you're reading each other's minds."
"We met at a commercial shoot," Haru said quickly, looking away. It was a half-truth. He knew Raiven had mentioned they had met much earlier in Haru's life - the 'Old Haru's' life - but Sunghoon didn't have those memories. Since Raiven didn't counter him, they let the lie stand as a convenient bridge for the public.
Se-hee snarled playfully. "You are always so stingy with the details, Haru!"
"I don't really have many questions to ask," Raiven said suddenly, his expression softening. "Maybe I'll think of some later, in private."
"Not even one?" Se-hee asked, disappointed. "The fans are dying over here!"
"Maybe one," Raiven said. His voice dropped an octave, losing its performative edge. He looked directly at Haru's window. "How is your Christmas going, Haru? Really?"
Haru felt a lump form in his throat. He recognized the tone - it wasn't the idol Raiven asking a question for a stream. It was Jae-wook, the man who had stayed up late to talk to him.He was genuinely worried. He was searching for the "panic" he might have sensed in their recent voice calls.
Haru smiled it genuine, weary. "It's going good, Raiven. I'm having a good time."
Raiven nodded slowly, seemingly satisfied. He leaned back in his hotel chair, the tension leaving his shoulders. "I have to go now. It was nice talking to you both. Merry Christmas, everyone."
He waved to the viewers, and then, with a final, lingering look at Haru, his screen went black.
The stream continued for another twenty minutes - a few more games and a final "thank you" to the sponsors - before Se-hee finally hit the 'End Stream' button. The silence that followed was deafening. The glow of the ring light died, leaving the room in the soft, natural dimness of a Seoul winter evening.
They cleaned up in a heavy, contemplative quiet. Se-hee moved around the room, gathering game props and tossing them into a cardboard box. She kept stealing glances at Haru, who was methodically folding the wires of the microphone setup.
"He genuinely likes you," she said suddenly. Her voice was flat, devoid of its earlier teasing. It was a statement of fact.
Haru's hands froze on the cable. A sudden chill swept through him, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe.
"I know," he whispered. The sadness in his voice was thick, tasting like the copper and ash of his guilt.
"So..." Se-hee stood straight, crossing her arms as she watched him.
Haru remained bent over the equipment, his face shadowed and conflicted. The two crossroads were looming before him again, each path leading to a different kind of destruction. If he stayed, he was a fraud using a living man to fix a dead memory. If he left, he would be the one to cause the pain in Raiven's eyes.
"I don't know," he said, his heart dropping into the hollow of his stomach. "I honestly don't know."
Se-hee walked over and pulled him into a brief, grounding hug. "Just do what your heart tells you, Haru-ya."
She let go and went back to cleaning, leaving Haru standing in the middle of the room.