Chapter 144: Side Story Part 3 Episode 7 – A Necessary Person

When Yujin tilted her head and asked, Eun-gyeol immediately shook his head.

Han-geon, still a little dazed, pulled out the handkerchief he’d stuffed haphazardly into his pocket.

“…This?

But I wiped my sweat with it earlier, so it’s kind of dirty…”

“Hurry.”

She urged him so urgently that he ended up handing it over without thinking.

While Yujin gently wiped away the makeup smudged on Juwon’s lips, Eun-gyeol—who had been frowning the entire time—hurriedly pressed the handkerchief to his own nose and mouth.

“Ugh, then the makeup will come off.”

Despite Yujin’s protest, Eun-gyeol didn’t budge.

With his face buried in the handkerchief, he repeatedly drew in deep breaths and let them out.

Han-geon subtly shifted his bulky frame to block Eun-gyeol from view.

Fortunately, Eun-gyeol had his back to where Juwon was, and there was some distance between them and the spot where she was getting her makeup retouched, so it didn’t stand out—but if someone saw them, it could easily be misunderstood.

“What’s wrong all of a sudden?

Do you feel sick?”

He asked quietly, worried, but Eun-gyeol shook his head without a word.

Only after repeating that breathing pattern several times did he finally lower the handkerchief.

Once Yujin finished the touch-up makeup thoroughly, the director’s call followed immediately.

“Just like before, you two!

Your chemistry is amazing.

Alright, here we go.

Ready!”

At the director’s energetic cue, the scene they had just filmed began again, this time with a different camera angle.

This time, Han-geon didn’t look away.

Normally, Eun-gyeol listened very attentively to Han-geon’s feedback.

Rather than telling him, “I couldn’t watch your kissing scene at all, so I didn’t,” it would be far more professional—and far more like a manager—to say something, anything.

Even knowing that.

No matter how hard he tried to relax his tightly clenched fist.

Even though he knew better than anyone how ugly it was to let personal feelings interfere with work like this.

And yet…

“I love you.”

That sweet voice, softly brushing across the very bottom of his heart, was not meant for him.

The shock of that fact was hard to shake off.

And before he could even recover from it, Eun-gyeol stepped forward decisively.

He layered his lips over Juwon’s trembling, beautiful ones.

So gentle, so careful, as if handling a fragile glass sculpture that might shatter at any moment.

“…I’m going to the restroom for a bit.”

His stomach churned so badly he couldn’t stay there another second.

Waiting for the scene to end and the cut to be called, Han-geon quietly excused himself, using the restroom as a pretext.

Normally, managers rarely left their spot because there was always something to take care of between takes, but right now, there was no room in his head for anything except the need to get away.

Even as he slipped out in a daze, he glanced back and saw Eun-gyeol talking animatedly with the director while reviewing the monitor alongside Juwon.

Han-geon ran to the restroom and turned on the sink first thing.

Only after scooping up cold water and splashing it mercilessly onto his face did he realize just how hot his skin had been.

To wash away everything clinging to his face—self-reproach and other impure emotions included—Han-geon scrubbed obsessively, washing his face over and over again.

“…Ha.”

Eventually, the sound of running water stopped.

The moment he looked into the mirror, a hollow sigh escaped him.

“What am I even doing?”

After standing there blankly for a moment, Han-geon let out a long breath, his cheeks puffing out as he exhaled.

Even after all that washing, his heart was still pounding, so he chose the faster route: acceptance.

‘Yeah.

It’s ugly, but… it’s okay to feel upset.

After all, I’m his lover, and his spouse.

But this feeling can’t get in the way of Eun-gyeol’s work.

Upset or not, I need to shake it off quickly and go back to his side.’

‘That aside, what should I say when Eun-gyeol asks how the scene he filmed this time was?

I couldn’t exactly admit that once I squeezed my eyes shut, and another time I ran to the bathroom because I was so upset.’

‘I felt bad for Eun-gyeol, but just this once, I’d give a safe, neutral answer.

Separate from how upset I’d felt watching the kiss, I’d talk about the impressions I’d had objectively.

That the emotions showed clearly in his expression, that the two of them would probably look beautiful on screen, that the ratings would likely do well… things like that.’

After taking several deep breaths and wiping his face clean, Han-geon steeled himself and returned to the set.

It seemed the monitoring with the director had ended, because Eun-gyeol approached him with a bright smile.

“Where’d you go?”

“Restroom.

Ahem—good job.”

“…Yeah?

But what’s wrong with your face?”

Of course—his instincts were annoyingly sharp.

Eun-gyeol’s gaze slowly swept over Han-geon’s damp bangs and the face he’d scrubbed raw with cold water to cool himself down.

Before he could say anything, Han-geon hurriedly spoke first.

“I was hot, so I went to wash up in the restroom.

By the way, the kissing scene was really good.

I think the emotional line came through perfectly in your expressions.

Even to me, it looked really beautiful, and I think it’ll come out great on screen.

Feels like it’ll hit peak ratings, honestly.”

Not wanting his agitation to show, he deliberately got ahead of him.

He rattled everything off almost like he was rapping, then smiled awkwardly.

Even as he smiled, he thought to himself that acting really wasn’t something just anyone could do.

In every possible way, this was the worst.

“…..”

Even after the rambling ended, Eun-gyeol didn’t respond.

In his quiet yet probing stare, Han-geon sensed a faint irritation slowly spreading.

Had Eun-gyeol seen through the ugly emotions he’d been feeling?

The thought made him uneasy.

Eun-gyeol slowly ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth.

His smooth lips—so clean now that not even a trace of lipstick remained—parted slowly.

“…Really?

You liked it?”

“Yeah.

I really did.”

If he answered half-heartedly here, it would only make him look suspicious, so Han-geon deliberately put emphasis into his reply.

When Eun-gyeol closed his mouth again and hardened his expression, Han-geon even added, “Really,” just to be sure.

After hearing that answer, Eun-gyeol drew in a deep breath—and then stopped.

The breath he’d held burst out sharply.

“Alright.

If it looked good to you, that’s a relief.”

There was something strangely sharp in his languid voice.

Han-geon’s eyes widened at the sudden shift in temperature.

It was enough to momentarily erase the confusion he’d been feeling just moments ago.

Before he could fully read Eun-gyeol’s mood, filming resumed.

At least the kissing scene they’d shot earlier passed in one take.

There was no more lip contact, but the atmosphere remained plenty ticklish.

Throughout the shoot, Eun-gyeol and Juwon treated each other sweetly, like lovers.

And as he watched Eun-gyeol silently, Han-geon felt a constant pressure in his chest, as if something were lodged there.

At last, the director called out, “Cut!

Good work today, everyone.”

Han-geon let out a deep breath.

After expelling all the air that had been trapped tight in his chest, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion washed over him.

Thinking that he felt unusually drained today, Han-geon trudged over to Eun-gyeol.

“Good job.”

Suppressing all the turmoil, confusion, and self-reproach he’d endured that day, Han-geon quietly smiled at Eun-gyeol.

Eun-gyeol, who had been looking at him silently, suddenly reached out and grabbed Han-geon’s arm.

The grip was strong enough to make him flinch.

“Let’s go back to the lodging.

Now.”

“Wait.

Ah—hey, that hurts.

We should say goodbye first.”

For some reason, Eun-gyeol seemed more rushed than usual.

Forcing his hand free, Han-geon went around greeting the chief manager and the directors one by one.

Even as he did, his own heart was subtly hurrying him along.

Let’s just go back, wash up, and lie down side by side.

If I lie in Eun-gyeol’s arms and breathe in his pheromones, this fatigue—and even the emotions I felt today—will melt away like snow.

It’ll remain as a single experience in my chest, hardening me, making sure I won’t be shaken even if I go through this countless times in the future.

I need Choi Han-geon.

Eun-gyeol always said it like a habit.

That he needed him right now.

And only now did Han-geon think he understood why Eun-gyeol always said those words with such urgency and desperation.

More than ever before, Han-geon needed Cha Eun-gyeol.

Han-geon’s steps grew quicker as he busied himself greeting the staff and crew on set.

No matter how many people there were, this was still a closed space where you saw the same faces for months on end, so relationships mattered.

Strictly speaking, it was more for Eun-gyeol than for himself.

He desperately wanted to go back and rest now that filming was over, but there were still basic courtesies to observe.

When he finished and returned, Eun-gyeol was sitting there crookedly, already fully prepared to head back to the lodging.

“Sorry.

I kept you waiting, didn’t I?

Let’s go—”

“Why are you back already?

I thought you’d come in tomorrow morning.”

Eun-gyeol tossed the words out bluntly.

A moment of silence fell between them.

In Eun-gyeol’s deeply sunken eyes, an unmistakably dangerous light was already flickering.

Seeing him speak with such clear implication, Han-geon opened his mouth calmly.

“Don’t be sarcastic.

This is part of social life too.”

“You.

Here.”

A cold voice leaked out from between Eun-gyeol’s clenched teeth.

“Is there something you need to care about more than me?”

The air grew taut in an instant.

Eyes lowered, heavy with stillness, collided noisily with a gaze lifted sharp with chill.

The tension blooming between him and Eun-gyeol felt so unfamiliar that it was almost alien—precisely because it had been so long since he’d felt it.

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