Chapter 34: After Wrap

“Haa…”

The moment they got into the car, a fatigue-laden sigh spilled from the passenger seat.

Through the window, Han-geon could see staff busily packing up equipment.

Watching their movements, he carefully pulled the car out.

It was already the second week of filming.

Shooting that started early in the morning only ended once night fell.

They spent a full, packed week like that, went back to their homes in Seoul to rest over the weekend, then returned.

After ten straight days on set, even Han-geon—who’d known nothing at first—was beginning to understand how things flowed.

A crescent moon hung in the sky.

Maybe because they were a step removed from the city’s artificial heat, the nights here weren’t unbearably hot.

That alone felt like a blessing.

Eun-gyeol suffered twice as much in hot environments.

“Today was rough too, huh?

You really worked hard.”

“Yeah.

You too.”

Eun-gyeol closed his eyes and leaned his head against the passenger seat.

He didn’t look like he had the energy to keep talking, so Han-geon stayed quiet and drove them toward the hotel.

As the lead actor, Eun-gyeol’s workload was overwhelmingly larger than everyone else’s.

Spending the entire day burning through emotions and stamina should’ve left him exhausted, yet he handled it better than anyone.

Han-geon felt proud and admiring of his friend—and at the same time, a little heartbroken for him.

After parking, they stepped out of the car side by side.

Han-geon was about to press the 15th-floor button in the elevator when Eun-gyeol suddenly flicked him a glance.

“Han-geon.

Want to grab a drink before we go in?

On the rooftop.”

“I’m fine with it, but… aren’t you tired?”

“It’s fine.

We’re not working—this is just for fun.”

The mouth that had been set in a straight line in the car now held a clear, refreshing smile.

His face looked subtly buoyant.

There was no reason to refuse.

Han-geon tapped the card key and pressed the top-floor button.

He let out a soft wow as they entered the lounge.

Compared to places Eun-gyeol usually went, this might be modest—but it still had atmosphere and felt nice.

They took a seat at an outdoor table and skimmed the menu.

Han-geon was going to order beer, but at Eun-gyeol’s suggestion to try a cocktail, he chose one that was a beautiful ocean-blue.

Eun-gyeol ordered the same, then turned his gaze outward.

“That’s the valley over there.

And that side’s downtown.”

“Oh… not bad.

Smells kind of like the mountains.”

As they admired the view, their cocktails arrived.

One sip revealed it to be very sweet—but deceptively strong.

So this is how people get drunk without realizing it, Han-geon thought.

“Han-geon.”

“Yeah?”

“How is it?”

Though the question was vague, Han-geon immediately understood.

He pulled one corner of his mouth up.

“It’s good.”

“What’s so good that you’re smiling like that?”

“Just… everything.”

The cool, pleasant weather.

The pretty cocktails on the table.

The crescent moon they were both looking at.

And above all—the person sitting across from him.

Everything felt overwhelmingly beautiful.

Filming was going smoothly, and the worry that he might mess things up as a manager had proven unnecessary—this job suited him well.

Or rather, being Cha Eun-gyeol’s manager suited him well.

Either way, it was a perfect night.

Everything was good.

There was no reason not to smile.

Relaxed, he reached for his glass.

The sweet, pretty, dangerous liquid slid down his throat.

“So—how is it, working as a manager?

What do you like about it?”

Watching Eun-gyeol’s eyes curve lazily, Han-geon hummed softly.

“Just… everything.

The work itself suits me, the people I work with are all great, the environment, the conditions…”

There was something he liked most of all, but he couldn’t say that to the person himself, so he trailed off.

Eun-gyeol smiled faintly, eyes warm.

“That’s a relief.”

“And… seeing you up close like this, you’re even more impressive.”

“In what way?”

“You.

I honestly don’t get how you act like that.

Memorizing all those medical terms alone is incredible.

Sometimes you really look like an actual doctor.

So…”

For once, Han-geon’s usually steady eyes sparkled with color.

Like an excited child, he rambled on about the friend he loved, a smile he couldn’t hide spreading across his face.

“So?”

Just as he was about to continue, their eyes met.

Eun-gyeol, leaning loosely against the table and clearly holding back laughter, was urging him on.

Han-geon snapped his mouth shut.

He’d only ever thought these things to himself—yet he’d slipped into gushing in front of Eun-gyeol out of habit.

“…It’s nothing.”

“Finish what you were saying.

I liked hearing it.”

“That was it.”

At Han-geon’s blunt reply, Eun-gyeol’s smile deepened.

Feeling like he was about to be teased endlessly, Han-geon hurried to change the subject.

“But you—don’t you get nervous?”

“Nervous about what?”

“There are so many people watching.

But you don’t really seem nervous at all.”

“What’s there to be nervous about?

I’m doing what I’ve wanted to do since forever.”

His voice was calm—no pride, no forced modesty.

Cool, Han-geon thought.

He really is different.

He was just lifting his glass when—

“And you?”

“…Huh?”

“You’re doing what you wanted to do too, right?”

Eun-gyeol’s voice resembled the crescent moon they’d been watching—quiet, pale, and the kind that drew truths out of you before you realized it.

So Han-geon had no choice but to nod.

“…Yeah.”

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to meet Eun-gyeol’s eyes.

He tilted his gaze down at the table and muttered, hoping it sounded casual.

“This is what I wanted to do.”

A short laugh followed.

Before Han-geon could look up, a large hand came to rest briefly on his thigh.

His muscles went rigid in an instant.

The hand, placed without any apparent intention, soon lifted away.

“That’s good, then.”

A languid voice.

Eun-gyeol looked pleased with the answer.

For a while, neither of them spoke, just drank.

When Eun-gyeol called over a server and ordered gin and tonics, Han-geon followed suit.

He didn’t know many cocktail names, but this one—he knew—was Eun-gyeol’s favorite.

“Nice.

I always just drink beer—this is different.”

At Han-geon’s plain comment, Eun-gyeol chuckled.

“Drinking with you makes me want to go back there for once.

That old pojangmacha I used to go to in college.

I keep thinking about their udon and soju lately.”

The words came out like mild whining.

Nostalgia softened Eun-gyeol’s gaze.

Rarely, Han-geon shook his head.

“That place… yeah, it’s good.

But it’s always too crowded.”

“If we wear hats and keep it low-key, it’s fine.”

“…I’ll think about it.”

“Seeing you like this, you really are a manager now.”

Eun-gyeol rolled his glass idly in his hand, looking quite satisfied.

“Then again—you’ve always been like that.”

“…Like what?”

“You know me better than those old manager bastards ever did.

You worry more, too.”

“…”

They were coworkers.

You’re my friend.

Of course it’s different.

With that unspoken addition, Han-geon couldn’t agree or deny—he just sipped his drink.

Everything he did, everything he felt, seemed to be neatly categorized under the single word friend in Eun-gyeol’s eyes.

Then what did friend mean to him?

His throat felt dry.

He swallowed the sweet-bitter liquid lingering in his mouth.

Soft jazz filled the space between them.

Glasses were replaced naturally.

A pleasant buzz crept in.

By the time he was nearly done with his third drink—

“Han-geon.

You know this, right?

Starting next week, I’ll be in rut.”

The unexpected topic nearly made him choke.

Suddenly, he couldn’t taste anything.

He forced the drink down like swallowing sand and managed to answer.

“…Yeah.”

There was no way not to know.

Because of Eun-gyeol’s rut, filming would pause for a week.

There were three trait-typed actors on set, and the schedule had been generously planned around their cycles from the start.

“You should rest well during that time too.

You won’t need to come in.”

His grip tightened reflexively.

Afraid the glass might crack, Han-geon quickly lowered his hand beneath the table.

“…It’ll be hard if you’re alone.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Even to himself, they sounded impulsive.

Eun-gyeol only lifted an eyebrow slightly, staying silent.

Growing anxious, Han-geon rushed on.

“…I mean—if there’s anything I can help with… I’ll help.”

“…”

“I’m your manager.

Don’t suffer alone…”

The more he spoke, the more frantic he sounded, so he stopped.

Did I emphasize “manager” too much?

Regret welled up as Eun-gyeol’s silence grew uncomfortable.

Slowly rolling the glass in his hand, Eun-gyeol watched him with a gaze that felt like laying him out on a cutting board and dissecting him piece by piece.

Finally, Eun-gyeol spoke.

“You know that what you just said is extremely dangerous, right?”