The transition from the velvet-lined sanctuary of the hanok to the sterile, reality of the city was a jarring descent. Inside the chauffeured car, the air was climate-controlled and scentless, a stark contrast to the lingering aroma of cedarwood and sweat that still clung to Haru's skin beneath his clothes. As the vehicle glided through the slushy streets of Seoul, the silence between the two men was heavy, not with awkwardness, but with the profound gravity of what had shifted between them.
Raiven's hand moved slowly, almost tentatively, across the leather upholstery. It was a grounding gesture, a silent claim. When his fingers finally laced through Haru's, Haru didn't pull away. He looked down at their intertwined hands, tracing the contrast between Raiven's slender, artistic fingers and his own. The winter sun, pale and sharp, sliced through the tinted windows, illuminating the fine hairs on their knuckles and the subtle pulse in Raiven's wrist. For a moment, Haru felt the dizzying sensation of being tethered to the earth by that single point of contact.
Raiven remained silent, his profile etched against the moving backdrop of the bustling city. He looked like the idol the world knew - composed, ethereal, untouchable - but the grip he held on Haru's hand was fierce, almost desperate. Haru squeezed back, a silent promise, before turning his gaze toward the window.
When they reached the private terminal of the airport, the bubble finally began to thin. The driver, a man of invisible discretion, stepped out to open the door. The rush of cold air was a physical slap, reminding Haru that the sanctuary was gone. Raiven turned to him one last time before stepping into the fray. He pulled Haru into a deep, lingering hug, burying his face in Haru's neck for a second before pressing a tender peck to his cheek.
"we'll talk later," Raiven murmured.
Mrs. Lee was waiting near the entrance, her expression a mask of professional neutrality, though her eyes flickered briefly to Haru. Raiven adjusted his sling bag, his posture shifting as he stepped onto the pavement. Just before he vanished into the sliding glass doors, he paused. He turned back, the sunlight catching the slightly exposed blue of his hair, and flashed Haru a smile.
As the car pulled away, Haru felt a sudden, hollow ache in his chest. It was a phantom limb syndrome of the soul; as soon as Raiven was out of eyeshot, the oxygen in the car felt thin. He was alone again.
The return to his apartment was like waking up from a dream into a cold, grey reality. As Haru pushed the door open, he was immediately met with the smell of fried snacks and the flickering blue light of the television. Se-hee was perched on the couch, a bowl of "bites" in her lap, her eyes narrowing with a predatory curiosity the moment he stepped into the entryway.
"New clothes?" she teased, her voice trailing off into a knowing hum. She didn't need to ask; she recognized the high-end designer labels that Haru could never afford on his own. She knew exactly whose closet he had raided.
Haru felt the heat rise to his face. He tried to muster a sneer, but the sheer exhaustion and lingering bliss of the night made it a weak effort. Before she could launch into a full-scale investigation of the hickeys visible just above his collar, Haru reached out and grabbed her playfully, pulling her into a messy, sibling-like scuffle. They rolled around on the cushions for a moment, a chaotic tangle of limbs and laughter, before they untangled, both panting. Se-hee smoothed her hair, her expression shifting from playful to laser-focused.
"How did it go?" she asked, popping a snack into her mouth and watching him intently.
"Wouldn't you like to know," Haru scoffed, reaching into her bowl and stealing a handful of his own. The crunching provided a momentary shield.
Se-hee raised her hands in a defensive gesture. "Look, how could I deny the man? He put up a very good argument." She tried to look repentant for acting as the bait that had left him 'stranded' with the world's biggest idol, but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her. "I couldn't deny him i am a sucker for romantic antics "
"So you decided play cupid and apent the new year alone." Haru asked, diverting the topic.
"You might not know this, but unlike you, I actually have many friends," she teased, sticking her tongue out.
Haru rolled his eyes, sinking deeper into the soft fabric of the couch. The domesticity of the moment felt like a safety net, catching him after the high-altitude fall of the last twenty-four hours.
"So…" Se-hee's voice dropped, becoming hesitant. She looked toward the TV, but her body was tense with anticipation. "I mean, the talk. Did you settle things?"
Haru let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to drain the remaining energy from his system. He knew what she was asking. He knew the plan they had discussed - the boundaries, the distance.
"He asked me to be his boyfriend," Haru said.
Se-hee almost choked on a bite. She froze, the snack halfway to her mouth, before she slowly lowered her hand and stared at him, her eyes wide with shock. "And…?"
"I said yes," Haru said, finally looking away, unable to meet her gaze.
"Well… that is a development," Se-hee said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "I thought you said it was too dangerous. I thought you said you couldn't afford to get attached."
Haru sat up, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "I know! I know what I said. I should have stuck to the plan. But everything happened so fast, Se-hee. The lights, the mountain, the way he looked at me… it felt nice. He felt nice."
"You really like him, don't you?" she asked, her voice filled with a sudden, jarring sympathy.
"I do," Haru sighed, dropping his head into his hands. "I am terrified but I really do."
"Then you have to figure out your feelings, Haru," she stated, her tone shifting into that of a protective sister. "You can't have it all."
She gave him a sympathetic smile and handed him the bowl of snacks. He took a bite, the saltiness a small comfort, and they settled into the familiar rhythm of their friendship, watching the movie until the sun began to dip below the horizon.
That night, the phone buzzed against his nightstand. It was Raiven, calling from a hotel room in Japan. They talked for nearly an hour - mostly nonsense, flirting, and the soft, breathless silences . When they finally said their goodnights, Haru fell into a deep, dreamless sleep .
But the subconscious is a cruel architect. Haru spent the next few days in a peaceful daze. He worked at the restaurant to pass time and went back home talkedto Raiven and so on. His filming schedule was about to resume and soul he would be busy
The Year 1991…
The memory hit like a physical blow. The air in the dream was chilly, smelling of hairspray and expensive cologne. Sunghoon stood before a triptych of mirrors in a lavish hotel suite, fixing his tuxedo for the hundredth time. The music in the background was a slow, jazzy ballad intended to calm his nerves, but his heart was a frantic bird against his ribs.
The door swung open, and his manager stepped in. To Sunghoon, he was more than a handler; he was his best friend, the one who had belived in him and stood by his side until that point. Today, Myeon-gu, was dressed in a flamboyant leopard-print blazer -a choice so extra it made Sunghoon smile. he truly lived up to every syllable. He was a brilliant, manipulative, and devoted man determined to make it in th industry and now with Sunghoon by his side he had worked tirelessly years make this dream a reality.
"The car is outside, Sunghoon," Myeon-gu said, his voice a smooth, confident purr as he stepped behind Sunghoon to help him into his heavy overcoat. He smoothed the shoulders with meticulous care. "Are you ready for the world to know your name?"
"Yes," Sunghoon said, straightening his back. In the mirror, he looked like a star finally beginning to shine.
"We have worked so hard for this," Myeon-gu whispered, placing his hands on Sunghoon's shoulders. Their eyes met in the glass. For a second, Sunghoon thought he saw a flicker of something dark in Myeon-gu's eyes but it was masked instantly by a sharp, predatory smile.
"Go on then. The driver is waiting."
The scene shifted into a kaleidoscope of camera flashes and screaming fans.
He sat in the crowded hall, watching the glamorous stars of the era ascend the podium. Then, the announcer spoke. His name echoed through the speakers. He walked into the spotlight, the trophy heavy and cold in his hands. He thought he had reached the summit. He didn't know the cliff was right under his feet.
Sunghoon remembered the weight of the Korea Visual and Records Grand Prize Award in his hands the cold metal, the dizzying smell of lilies on the stage. He remembered the feeling of being untouchable. He had told Myeon-gu he wanted to head out alone. He had stepped out of a taxi, clutching his trophy, and raced into the familiar, quiet compound of the opra house.
He was so happy. He wanted to scream with the joy of it.
But as the door opened, the familiarity of the room sent dread through him.
He looked down, and the floor was layered in a thick, visceral crimson. But it wasn't blood. It was Raiven kneeling on the floor of the 1991 opera house, wearing a blood-stained apron, frantically trying to scrub a stain off the wood. He looked up, and his hair was blue, a jarring neon splash against the sepia tones of the past.
"You won!" Raiven smiled, his voice echoing in the hallow room. He left the stain and and walked toward him.
Sunghoon looked at a nearby mirror. The reflection wasn't Haru anymore. It was his old self - the 1991 Sunghoon, dressed in a drenched coat , holding an award that was now dripping with black oil.
Raiven stood in front of him, but as he reached out, his skin began to drain of color, turning a translucent, sickly white.
"Raiven?" Sunghoon gasped.
The award slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor with the sound of a thousand breaking windows, just as it had in every nightmare . He looked down, and Raiven was still smiling, even as blood began to seep from wrist to his fingernails, pooling around his feet.
Sunghoon tried to move, but the room began to stretch. It felt like he was on a treadmill; the harder he ran toward Raiven, the further back he was thrown. The 1991 house dissolved into the penthouse, the walls bleeding grey.
"No!" he screamed in agony as a figure walked towards Raiven his eyes hallow staring directly at harus soul as he knelt down next to raivens slowly weakening body.
"Please, no!" He begged the familiar face of Yeon-woo looking at his tear stained face.
He fell to his knees, begging the universe, begging the void, he begged Yeon-woo but Raiven was still smiling at him, his eyes vacant and dark, as the floor gave way to the deep, freezing water of a swimming pool.
"Please!"
Haru sat up with a violent jolt, his lungs burning as if he had actually been underwater. His heart was a drum, thundering against his ribs so loudly he could hear it in his ears. He was in his room. Haru's room. 2026.
He scrambled for his phone, his hands shaking so violently he almost dropped it. He didn't look at the time. He didn't think about the tour schedule. He just dialed Raiven's private number, his breath coming in shallow, panicked sobs.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
"Please pick up," he whispered into the dark, the fear enveloping his entire being. "Jae-wook, please pick up."
The call went to voicemail.
Haru dropped the phone onto the bed, the silence of the room feeling like a predator.