Chapter 38: No Right to Say It

Was what he’d seen that morning really just a warning sign?

For a moment, Han-geon even wondered if he’d simply had a twisted dream on his own—Eun-gyeol’s acting was that gentle.

“Cut!

Wow, Eun-gyeol, your acting is really on fire today.

Guess it’s because it’s the last day?”

“Haha, maybe.

Thank you.”

Even the notoriously picky director looked satisfied enough to raise a thumbs-up.

On the surface, filming proceeded smoothly.

But as time passed, Han-geon’s face—watching Eun-gyeol from the monitors—grew increasingly tense.

Eun-gyeol had told him he’d manage on his own, that even if he looked like he was struggling, Han-geon should leave him be.

Just as he said, there was no problem with the filming itself.

But Han-geon could see it.

Eun-gyeol’s face was slowly turning pale.

Every so often, he sucked in sharp breaths, and even his fingertips began to tremble.

In the end, despite Eun-gyeol’s protests, Han-geon asked the chief manager with mounting anxiety.

As his manager, he couldn’t just stand by while Eun-gyeol barely concealed how much he was struggling.

“All right, cut!

From the next scene onward, we’ll resume shooting in a week.

Good work, everyone.

Get some proper rest!”

“Thank you for your hard work!”

Thankfully, the director readily accepted the manager’s suggestion.

With actors of differing secondary genders working together, there was no reason to stubbornly force a risky shoot.

The moment the decision was announced, Han-geon hurried over to Eun-gyeol.

“Eun-gyeol, that was hard, wasn’t it?

Here—drink some water first.”

“Did you stop it?

Why’d you do that?”

“You’re clearly having a hard time.”

Eun-gyeol didn’t look like he truly meant to scold him anyway.

He took the water and drank it eagerly.

The set buzzed as equipment was packed away.

Han-geon grabbed Eun-gyeol’s arm and led him outside.

Seeing the fine beads of sweat dotting his pale forehead made his heart race even more.

He’d taken three suppressants that morning—maybe the reason he’d been struggling all day was because of the side effects.

From what Han-geon had looked up during breaks, one or two a day was supposed to be the maximum.

What if he’d taken too much?

They should probably go to a hospital first.

Unable to even organize the scattered thoughts flooding his head, Han-geon dug through his pocket for the car keys.

He kept fumbling like an idiot.

At least he’d packed their things ahead of time and loaded them into the van.

“Let’s go to Seoul.

I’ll start the car now.”

“Oppa!”

A sharp voice rang out from behind.

Han-geon froze mid-movement.

The clicking of high heels followed.

It was Juwon.

Somehow she’d already changed clothes—no longer in her filming makeup, but in a body-hugging dress.

Each step made her long straight hair swish softly.

Han-geon’s eyes were drawn, despite himself, to her sleek legs.

Smiling as she lifted the corners of her lips, Juwon casually grabbed Eun-gyeol’s arm.

“I’m heading up now.

Want to ride together in our car?”

“No.

I’ll go separately.”

Eun-gyeol shook his head.

His reply was curt and dry.

The flow of conversation was so natural it felt like this had already been discussed.

“Why?

We’re going to the same place anyway.

Let’s go together.”

Eun-gyeol was the one in rut, yet Juwon seemed more impatient.

Tilting her head cutely, she coaxed him—but Eun-gyeol frowned and tossed out bluntly,

“I don’t have a hobby of doing it in cars.”

In that instant, Han-geon felt his breath catch.

That single sentence tied everything together.

Now he understood what kind of conversation the two of them had been having so naturally.

Where Eun-gyeol was heading.

And who would be playing the role of taking him there.

Juwon’s eyes widened, her face flushing at Eun-gyeol’s words.

But as she quickly glanced around to make sure no one had overheard, it was clear she wasn’t displeased.

“Honestly, oppa, you’re unbelievable… Fine, I’ll contact you once we’re in Seoul.”

Grumbling playfully, Juwon spun around.

Watching her leave with her manager, Han-geon couldn’t even bring himself to turn his head toward Eun-gyeol.

“…”

He felt like he’d turned into a pillar of salt.

As if one strong gust of wind might shave away both his body and heart.

All strength drained out of him like a receding tide—replaced by a surge of despair.

All his fretting now felt unbearably foolish.

Remembering how he’d tried to grab Eun-gyeol’s arm and rush him to Seoul, Han-geon couldn’t suppress a bitter sneer at himself.

So what if he took him to Seoul—what then?

Could he solve Eun-gyeol’s rut for him?

No.

There wasn’t a single thing he could do.

As unfair as it felt—so unfair he wanted to collapse right there—he couldn’t relieve Eun-gyeol’s rut.

There was only one thing he could do.

Drive the person he loved to a hotel so he could have s*x with another partner.

That was his job now.

“Let’s go.”

Eun-gyeol’s voice urging him on was completely ordinary—nothing like someone who’d just said something like that.

“…Yeah.”

He wanted to evaporate on the spot.

And yet, there was no other answer he could give.

The car keys felt like they might crumple in his palm.

He slowly loosened his grip.

The taste of blood filled his mouth.

Han-geon climbed into the driver’s seat.

***

The car was quiet.

Only soft classical music played faintly in the background.

The entire drive to Seoul, Eun-gyeol kept his eyes closed.

His pale face occasionally tightened in pain.

He would draw in a deep breath, then let it out with a tremor.

He looked utterly exhausted.

Han-geon’s grip tightened on the steering wheel.

It felt like his reason was slowly slipping away, and he forced himself to focus.

Watching Eun-gyeol suffer was agony in itself.

Several times, Han-geon nearly reached out—but he restrained himself.

He couldn’t hold his hand.

He couldn’t touch his forehead.

Traffic slowed in places, then eased again.

For Eun-gyeol’s sake, he should have been hoping to arrive as quickly as possible.

And yet, at the same time, he desperately wished they’d never arrive.

Even so, his instincts pushed him to press the accelerator, choosing the fastest route.

Finally, the hotel Eun-gyeol had named came into view.

His breath hitched.

Despite his burning heart, Han-geon guided the car carefully into the private VIP parking area.

A suited staff member emerged and bowed in greeting.

Before opening the door, Han-geon reached into the back seat, took a cap and mask, and handed them to Eun-gyeol.

His small face disappeared beneath the brim.

As the door opened, a butler greeted him politely and fell into step beside him.

“I’ll escort you to your room.”

“Han-geon.”

Standing outside the car, Eun-gyeol looked straight at him, his flushed face drawn tight.

“I’ll contact you.

Answer when I do.”

His lips were bone-dry, refusing to part.

No voice came out.

He only nodded faintly.

Eun-gyeol turned and headed toward the entrance.

“…Gyeol.”

The name slipped out impulsively, stopping him mid-step.

Eun-gyeol turned back slowly.

His face was marked by exhaustion, languor, and heat.

Eun-gyeol had never once found Han-geon annoying—but right now, his eyes seemed to say otherwise.

“What.”

The quiet voice urged him to speak.

“….”

Don’t go.

Can’t you not go?

That was what he screamed inside, more desperately than ever.

But in reality, not a single word came out.

Of course not—these were words he had no right to say.

It was like his lips had been glued shut.

He clenched his fist, then loosened it.

He tried to clear his throat, but it clogged again.

Nervously, he licked his dry lips.

He should be telling him to hurry inside, to rest—anything but standing here like an idiot.

“…If it’s not urgent, let’s talk later.

I’m kind of struggling right now.”

The sensitive, dry voice settled softly against his ear.

Only then did Han-geon snap back to himself.

Veins stood out along Eun-gyeol’s neck; his chest rose and fell harshly.

He was at his limit.

“O-oh… I’m sorry.

Go in… quickly.”

So that was all Han-geon could say, stupidly.

He watched that retreating back until it disappeared completely.

Only then did he get back into the car, turn the wheel, and drive up to ground level.

As he exited the hotel, a familiar van passed by.

Even the license plate was one he recognized from set.

It was Juwon’s van.

Watching it enter the same VIP entrance he’d just left, Han-geon drove out of the hotel grounds.

He didn’t think.

He switched the radio from the soft classical station to the loudest channel he could find.

His body felt like it was on fire, so he cranked up the air conditioning.

He hummed along mechanically to the music—songs he didn’t even know the lyrics to.

His driving grew rough, a stark contrast to how carefully he’d driven just moments ago.

He jerked the wheel and sped up.

If he didn’t do this, his chest felt like it would burst.

He was suffocating.

He rolled all the windows down, then shut them again—afraid there might still be traces of Eun-gyeol inside.

Afraid someone might notice.

It was ridiculous to be so agitated when the owner was already gone, but caution never hurt.

He arrived at the company building and parked in the empty lot.

When he turned off the engine, the blaring music died with it.

The freezing air that had numbed his skin stopped as well.

The body that had held on so stubbornly finally collapsed all at once.

Slumping over the steering wheel, Han-geon released the lip he’d been biting.

“…f*ck.”

The thick fingers gripping the wheel trembled violently.

Burning heat pooled behind his eyelids.

Ragged breaths climbed up his chest and jammed in his throat.

No matter how hard he tried to exhale, the knot stayed lodged in his chest.

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

He muttered “f*ck” over and over, the pitiful curses mixing with the vibration.

A hollow laugh almost escaped—what the hell am I even doing—but it faded just as quickly.