Chapter 80
The video on the laptop screen flickered with the high-definition sheen of modern journalism, but to Haru, it felt like looking through a dusty, blood-stained window into a grave he had climbed out of.
On the screen, Myeon-gu looked like a king in the twilight of his reign. He sat in a bespoke armchair, leaning on a silver-headed cane that screamed of old-world vanity. To the casual observer, he was the visionary elder statesman of K-pop, the man who had turned an industry into a global juggernaut. But Haru - the soul that had once shared cigarettes and secrets with this man in the back of cramped vans - saw the truth. He saw the way Myeon-gu's jaw tightened at a specific frequency of questioning. He saw the "madness" that flickered behind his eyes - a cold, predatory irritation that he had once mistaken for ambition.
The interviewer, a woman with a sharp bob and a reputation for being a bloodhound, leaned in. "There have always been whispers, Mr. Chairman," she began, her voice smooth as silk. "Whispers that the foundation of TRace Entertainment - previously known as TeN Entertainment - wasn't built on loans alone. The timeline is… curious. As soon as Sunghoon died, the legendary actor whose career you managed, you laid claim to his liquid assets and his intellectual property to establish the firm. Is it true?"
Myeon-gu didn't blink. He let out a long, theatrical sigh, his eyes going distant and misty.
"What you are claiming is absurd," Myeon-gu stated, his voice trembling with a carefully curated sorrow. "Sunghoon and I grew up together. We shared bread when we had nothing. He was more than a client; he was like a brother to me. To suggest I would profit from his tragedy is a deep insult to his memory."
"Is that why you distanced yourself from him?" the interviewer countered, her voice dropping an octave. "When the news of his death and the controversy regarding his personal life overlapped, you didn't defend him.You moved on within weeks."
"How dare you!?" Myeon-gu breathed out. For a split second, the mask shattered. His eyes flared with a genuine, ugly anger as he glared at her. "You didn't know him like I did. He was a good person. I did what I had to do to protect the legacy we built together. I would never betray him."
"Then who," the interviewer persisted, ignoring the heat in the room, "is the true founder of TRace Entertainment?"
Myeon-gu's grip on his cane turned his knuckles white. He leaned forward, his voice turning cold and definitive. "I am."
The screen cut to black as the ending credits rolled, followed immediately by a bright, jarring advertisement for a luxury watch.
Haru felt as though the air had been physically sucked out of his lungs. He sat in the silence of his room, his chest heaving as he realized he had forgotten to breathe for the last three minutes. His mind was a kaleidoscope of 1991 - Myeon-gu's flamboyant leopard-print blazer, the way he had smiled when Sunghoon won his award.
He thought that maybe there might be a misunderstanding of the situation that maybe things had been mistranslated somewhere..
The jarring ring of his phone broke the trance. He jumped, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked at the caller ID: Raiven.
Haru closed the laptop with a snap, trying to force the ghost of Myeon-gu back into the dark. He cleared his throat, rubbing his eyes until he saw sparks, he shut his eyes to regain control of his emotions. He cleared his throat twice, trying to scrape the remnants of a panic attack out of his voice, before finally sliding the green icon.
"Hello," he said. He aimed for "normal," but it came out sounding more sandy than he expected.
"How did you sleep?" Raiven's voice came through, rich and resonant. In the background, Haru could hear the muffled voices of staff - the hum of hair dryers, the rapid-fire chatter of stylists in Japanese and Korean, the metallic clinking of jewelry.
"I am fine," Haru answered shyly, his heart performing a strange, fluttering dance that smoothed over the jagged edges of his anger.
"You slept well?" Raiven asked. The casualness was gone, replaced by that deep-seated concern that Haru was beginning to realize was reserved only for him. Raiven hadn't forgotten the 4:00 AM panic attack.
"I should be the one asking you that," Haru stated, shifting his tone to a defensive playfulness. "You're the one who stayed on the phone with me. You're the one with a concert to perform. Did you get even three hours of sleep?"
"I hardly do anyway, so it's no problem," Raiven said casually, followed by the sound of him thanking a stylist in Japanese.
Haru gripped the phone a little tighter. He didn't know how to feel about that comment. He thought of the deep shadows he sometimes saw under Raiven's eyes, masked by expensive concealer.
"You don't usually sleep?" Haru asked, his brow furrowed. "Jae-wook, that's not something to be proud of."
"It's too cumbersome," Raiven stated with that same chilling casualness. His voice dropping into a private register as he presumably stepped away from the staff. "Besides, my schedule is full. There isn't much room for sleep."
To anyone else, it might have sounded like the humble-brag of a hard worker. To Haru, it sounded like a a man who was running on fumes. He felt a wave of protective anger.
"You should sleep more," Haru said, his tone turning stern, maternal almost. "Your body isn't a machine, Jae-wook."
"I sleep better with you there," Raiven countered softly.
The noise in the background seemed to vanish, or perhaps Raiven had simply walked into a private corner. The intimacy of his voice made a ting of pink crawl up Haru's neck and settle in his cheeks. He looked at the reflection in his darkened laptop screen - a messy-haired man in an oversized shirt, blushing because of a phone call.
"What, you want to use me as your pillow?" Haru teased, trying to deflect the heat.
"Yes," Raiven answered shamelessly. The smirk was audible in his voice. "With benefits, of course."
Haru felt like he would disappear into the floorboards. The memory of the "benefits" from when they were at the hanok- the cedarwood scent, the frantic collision of their bodies, the way Raiven had looked at him in the amber light - hit him with the force of a tidal wave.
"What, are you embarrassed?" Raiven asked with a low, melodic laugh. "You were so blunt when we were together, Haru. You didn't seem to have a filter when you were enjoying the benefits. In fact, if I recall, you were the one who flipped us over and told me it was your turn."
"Shut up!" Haru hissed, though a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. "What if someone heard you? You're in a dressing room!"
"I am alone," Raiven stated, his voice dropping into a dangerous, musky frequency. "The staff is in the lounge. You can talk dirty to me if you want. Tell me what you're wearing." teasing him further.
"I… I… I don't know how to," Haru admitted, burying his face in his free hand as if Raiven could see his humiliation through the signal.
A genuine, booming laughter erupted from the other end. It was the sound that millions of people would pay a year's salary to hear, but right now, it belonged only to Haru.
"Don't worry," Raiven teased, his voice softening. "It will come to you when you're horny enough. It's a natural talent."
"After the night we had and how many days my body took to recover, I think my body will be glad to put that talent off for a while," Haru stated, easing into the comfort of the call. He leaned back in his chair, watching the sun hit the dust motes in his room.
"My tour will be done in a month," Raiven said, his tone shifting into something more serious, more expectant. "So you'd better be ready. I'm coming back with a lot of built-up energy."
Haru bit his lip. A month. It felt like an eternity and a heartbeat all at once. "Where is the last stop?"
He already knew. He had memorized the tour schedule weeks ago, tracing Raiven's path. But he didn't want to sound too desperate, too much like a fanboy.
"You want to come?" Raiven asked, cutting straight through the subtext.
"I guess I could drop by," Haru said dismissively, picking at a loose thread on his short. "If I have the time. Filming is going to be busy."
Raiven let out a short, knowing chuckle. "I can get you two tickets."
"I thought I could buy them myself," Haru said shyly. "My first major check for Gyeongseong High just cleared. I wanted to pay my own money."
"Your check came in? Well then," Raiven mused, "I guess the first meal when we meet is on you."
"I will definitely treat you to something," Haru called out, a bit of his old Sunghoon pride resurfacing. "Not expensive, though. I'm still rising actor,"
"Haru," Raiven said, his voice turning practical. "You won't find any tickets now unless it's a reseller, and they triple the amount this close to the date. Even then, the security risk isn't worth it."
"I just didn't want to…"
"You aren't taking advantage of me," Raiven cut in, his voice firm and impossibly tender. "I'm the one taking advantage of the fact that I have the power to put you in a seat where I can see you from the stage. I want to see you there, Haru. It's a selfish request, really."
The intensity of the words hung in the air, thick and undeniable.
Haru closed his eyes, picturing the stadium lights, the roar of the fans, and Raiven looking past the thousands of people to find him.
"I miss you too," Haru admitted, the truth finally slipping past his defenses.
"Then it's a date," Raiven said.