Chapter 29: Still Flustered

His mind went blank—bleached white.

That electric current that had been skimming dangerously close to breaking through his skin vanished in an instant.

Did he know?

Did he already know about his feelings?

Was this his roundabout way of calling him out?

No—don’t get ahead of yourself.

Jumping to conclusions now would ruin everything.

Just calm down.

Think.

Slowly…

“Y-you know how it is,” he finally forced out. “Guys… that happens.

Anytime, anywhere.”

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah.

It’s just—being healthy and all…”

Thank God.

His mouth, at least, had spat out a socially acceptable excuse.

But the faint smirk tugging at Eun-gyeol’s lips felt like mockery.

As if to say, ‘That’s the best excuse you’ve got?’

“You’re a little too healthy though.”

“…”

“You get hard way too often, Han-geon.”

The fragile thread holding his thoughts together snapped again.

What was that supposed to mean?

Had he seen everything over the past weeks?

Every time Eun-gyeol barged into his place, his body had never behaved.
“Healthy,” sure.

More like “hopelessly reactive.”

“What’re you so stiff about.

I’m joking.”

With that single line, the tension—stretched thin to the breaking point—finally dissolved.

Eun-gyeol, still leisurely looking up at him, jerked his chin.

“How long are you gonna hold me?

My wrist hurts.”

“Huh?

O-oh.

Sorry.”

Only then did Han-geon realize he was still gripping Eun-gyeol’s wrist.

Hard.

The pale skin was marked with a vivid red imprint—his imprint.

His stomach dropped.

“Oh… shit.

What do I do?

What do I do about this?”

He was doomed.

He had just bruised the wrist of a man who had to shoot all day tomorrow.

Great.

Manager, bodyguard—whatever title he held, he had just hurt his own actor.

While Han-geon fluttered around like a guilty puppy, panic draining all color from his face, Eun-gyeol only looked amused.

He even turned his wrist this way and that, admiring the mark as if it were interesting.

“It’s fine.

Don’t overreact.”

“But—!

What if it bruises—”

“My skin marks easily but it doesn’t bruise easily.

Relax.”

A little of the panic ebbed, but the guilt didn’t.

What kind of manager leaves marks on his actor’s body?

He really had no right to call himself qualified.

He’d have to be even more careful from now on.

“I’m gonna shower.”

“Okay… I’ll, uh… I’m gonna take a walk.

Need some air.”

“Where are you going?

Wait till I’m done and I’ll come with.”

“No, no.

Just fifteen minutes around the building.

You shower and rest early.”

Card key in hand, Han-geon slipped out.

Straight to the elevator.

Straight to the lobby.

Straight out into the night.

Outside the hotel’s parking lot, a small path branched off—a walking trail wrapped around the hotel grounds.

Perfect.

He needed to cool off.

The humid night air clung to him as he walked, sweat quickly forming—he didn’t care.

He could finally breathe.

What now?

He was screwed.

He’d thought he had grown numb from years of one-sided love.

Apparently not.

A single comment, a single touch from that man still shattered him every time.

Why had Eun-gyeol said those things?

Was he warning him?

Was it a subtle “I know exactly what you’re thinking, don’t get ideas”?

His stomach twisted.

But then—
He let out a small laugh.

Even after hearing Eun-gyeol say, “What intentions would I have touching some guy’s body?”
As if the very idea of Han-geon thinking too deeply was absurd.

If Eun-gyeol knew, would he really tolerate Han-geon’s existence so casually?

He couldn’t confidently say yes.

That truth carved into him painfully.

He couldn’t know the man’s heart.

So he’d have to keep holding his own together.

Keep hiding it.

Keep pretending nothing was there.

He clenched and unclenched his fists.

His steps stayed steady, even as his mind swirled like storm clouds.

Moths buzzed around the path lights, throwing themselves into the heat again and again.

Han-geon let out a humorless breath.

At 6 a.m., the alarm buzzed.

Han-geon silenced it instantly and sat up.

The sky outside was already turning pale.

The remnants of his dream clung to him vividly.

Why had he dreamed of that?

A dream of childhood—of him and Eun-gyeol playing joyfully.

Both elementary school kids.

Walking to school together, eating lunch, going home side by side.

Playing on swings until late, running around playing cops and robbers, washing up together, doing homework together.

Then suddenly, they were in middle school—
The exact moment he had woken up embarrassed, underwear damp, after dreaming about Eun-gyeol for the first time.

That same shock replayed in the dream.

He lifted the blanket in a panic—
And the alarm blared.

Even in sleep, he couldn’t escape Cha Eun-gyeol.

He laughed weakly.

He splashed water onto his face, grateful—at least he hadn’t had an actual wet dream this time.

After drinking some cold water, his eyes drifted to the sleeping figure beside him.

He couldn’t look away.

That small, pale face.

The person who had kept him awake half the night was so defenseless, so peaceful now.

And beautiful.

He dragged his gaze away and went to the bathroom for a cold wash.

It was 6:15.

Time to wake him.

“Gyeol.”

He approached the bed gently.

“Gyeol-ah.”

“….”

“Wake up.

You need to shower and get ready.”

His eyelids twitched, but nothing else moved.

He tried again—“Cha Eun-gyeol.”
This time, the beautiful brows knit faintly in irritation.

Still, the lump under the blanket didn’t budge.

He reached for the blanket to pull it back—

A hot grip clamped onto his wrist.

With a tug, he was pulled onto the bed.

“H-hey—what—”

Eun-gyeol’s eyes cracked open halfway.

A sleepy, husky voice spilled out.

“Got reminded of the old days.”

His voice—slow, slurred, drowsy—echoed in Han-geon’s chest like a low hum.

His eyes, glazed with sleep, fixed on Han-geon.

The grip on his wrist pulsed with warmth, the heartbeat betraying his nerves.

“Of… of what?”

“You used to call me that.”

“…Ah.

Yeah.”

Back then—elementary school—
“Gyeol.”
“Gyeol-ah.”
He used to say it all the time, just because it sounded cute.

Because the syllable “Gyeol” felt pretty on his tongue.

He must’ve said it in his sleep after that dream.

“You know,” Eun-gyeol murmured, voice dripping with drowsy affection,
“You were the only one who called me that.”

“And… I liked it when you did.”

A warm, ticklish sensation rippled through Han-geon’s stomach.
“So let go first,” he muttered weakly, ears burning. “Your hand’s hot.”

“I like it.

Your skin’s cool.”

His tone was arrogant, almost pouty.

His fingers moved lazily over Han-geon’s arm, each slow touch leaving a trail of heat.

“When I touch you,” he whispered,
“it feels like I cool down.”

He only ever thought about himself.

If Han-geon stayed any longer, he’d melt completely.

Before he could protest again, the hand released him.

Eun-gyeol got up, stretching.

“I’ll shower.”

“…Yeah.”

Once the water began running, Han-geon forced himself to breathe, looking outside at the set building visible from the window.

Time to pull himself together.

His phone buzzed—Yoojin.

—Han-geon-ssi, did you sleep well?

Is Eun-gyeol awake?

“Yes, noona.

Good morning.

He’s showering now.”

She laughed softly.

—Okay, great.

I’ll be there soon for hair and makeup.

Tell him to get ready.

“Yes.

See you soon.”

He hung up.

His heart drummed pleasantly.

He stood, applying lotion, then changed into a fresh shirt and pants.