Into The Thrill

"We’re living together—Choi Hyunmi already knows."

"Ah."
"You talk to her about stuff like that? She has zero prejudice, like none. Super chill. Said we should live happily together, not lie to each other, and trust one another."
"She said that?"

Woojin simply smiled. He and Haewon continued their conversation while watching each other's reflections in the mirror.
"Should we do a formal meeting with my dad too?"
"Yeah? Should I ask him, 'Sir, may I continue living with your son?'"

"My stepmom’s gonna flip. She’s the one who drifted into our family with no roots, and now she’ll be whispering in my dad’s ear to kick me off the family register."
"Sounds fun. I’ll take care of all the legal issues."
"…Yeah. That’d be hilarious."

Resting his hand on the arm Woojin had wrapped around his shoulder, Haewon leaned into him and stared into the mirror.
It wasn’t just that he was looking at a pretty face. They were, quite simply, a shockingly good match. The man Taeshin had loved to the point of death—Haewon had rejected him at first, ignored him… but in the end, he’d come to love him. In the end, he’d brought him to his side like this.
Made him his own. His person.
"How much wine did you drink that you couldn’t even drive?"

"We finished the bottle we left last time."
"You must’ve had a good time with my mom. You two actually seem to get along."
"Yeah… I was super polite too."

"Then that’s enough."
He knew Haewon had met with Professor Park Jong-hoon. He knew and didn’t ask. Didn’t pry. Woojin pressed a kiss to Haewon’s crown and let go of his shoulder.
After he left the bathroom, Haewon turned on the faucet. The water ran on its own, filling the room with sound. He raised his eyes to the mirror.

"Is there really such a person… someone who absolutely can’t love? Someone who could never love someone else?"
He murmured the words, eyes fixed on his reflection.
But he wasn’t looking at himself. He was looking through the mirror—at Taeshin.

Lee Taeshin, who had once called him out behind the school and, without caring how it would come off, had poured out his heart.
“There’s someone I like. Should I tell them? Should I not? What would you do?”
"Don’t say anything. That person doesn’t like you back."

"I really like him. I think I really love that guy."
"…That person doesn’t like you back."
He hadn’t been ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) loved.

Taeshin had realized that Woojin didn’t love him.
"Are you sure he likes you? Would he take his clothes off in front of you?"
"Woojin hyung… did he play with you?"
"Haewon."

"I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d call and talk to you."
"Haewon."
"You realized he didn’t love you, didn’t you."

When he blinked, dry tears dropped soundlessly onto his cheeks.
∞ ∞ ∞
"What are you watching so intently?"

Jung Ho-myung matched Woojin’s pace, glancing at the phone he was holding.
"Weekend drama."
"…"

On the screen, the male lead looked down adoringly at the female lead just as she stirred awake in bed. He kissed her hair. Wind drifted in through the open window. The white curtains fluttered as the gorgeous couple tangled in the sheets—just watching them was enough to make anyone feel drunk on beauty.
Jung Ho-myung glanced at the screen and then, startled, asked Woojin with suspicion:
"Did you… go on a blind date with this actress?"

"What?"
Woojin lifted only his eyes to glare at him.
"I’m asking if you had a blind date with the female lead here."

"What kind of nonsense is that?"
"Then why are you watching this kind of thing?"
"Don’t you think it’s weirder to jump to conclusions just because I’m watching a drama?"

"So you're saying no?"
"Of course not."

Woojin had someone he was seeing. The idea of a blind date was absurd—not just in terms of time or energy, but because he had no need for it.

He always had to reserve part of his attention to ensure Haewon continued to desire him. Watching these kinds of dramas and practicing their romantic gestures was part of that effort.
"You like these kinds of shows? Seriously?"
Jung Ho-myung looked genuinely taken aback.

"Am I not allowed to watch whatever I want?"
Woojin replied indifferently and turned off the video.
Videos like that had been helpful in his relationship with Haewon. Mimicking others’ behavior was crucial. It was the quickest way to blend in—copying those with good social instincts.

Though Woojin no longer needed to pretend to fit in, and rarely mimicked others unless there was a very specific reason, Haewon was always the exception.
Their relationship was evolving exactly the way he wanted—shaping into the ideal couple, as picturesque as those in the videos.
Woojin checked his messages. A new set of photos and location updates had arrived from Jaseok.

Haewon’s movements and expressions were all captured—Jaseok had been following him since the underground garage, making sure he didn’t deviate from schedule, taking photos every two hours as promised.
This morning, Jaseok had taken a photo of Haewon, violin case slung over his shoulder, crossing through the concert hall’s main entrance with a slightly languid expression.
It was the usual routine.

But just when the morning seemed to be wrapping up without a hitch, Haewon suddenly stopped mid-step and turned his head.
Just as Jaseok lowered his phone from taking the shot, their eyes locked.
Startled, Jaseok froze. Haewon, eyes fixed straight on him, quickly advanced toward the car he’d parked on the side of the road. Jaseok rolled up the window and tried to drive off, but Haewon stepped in front of the vehicle, blocking his escape.

Jaseok gripped the wheel tightly and ducked his head. Haewon came up to the driver’s side and knocked on the window. When there was no response, the knocking turned sharp and urgent. Finally, Jaseok rolled it down.
"Can I help you?"
Feigning ignorance, Jaseok asked blandly. Haewon replied, face expressionless:

"Let’s have a talk, Mr. Stalker."
"…I’m sorry?"
"You're on my car’s black box, tailing me from the apartment garage. Want to go to the police station with me? Or do you want to handle it right now?"

"I think you’re misunderstanding. I came here because I had business nearby."
"You’ve been recorded for three days."
"…"

"What kind of business do you have here?"
His gaze bore into Jaseok, filled with suspicion and accusation.
"I’m not that kind of person. I really had business here—"

"You live in that building?"
"Sorry? Y-yes… I live there."
"Someone like you couldn’t live there."

Haewon’s gaze swept over him like a needle. Then his eyes settled on Jaseok’s face. You? Live there? his stare said. Jaseok swallowed hard, his throat dry as if stuffed with straw.
"Get out of the car."
Haewon made an annoyed motion, telling him to stop wasting time and come out.

They moved to a nearby coffee shop. Jaseok, looking ashen, sat in front of Haewon, sipping coffee through a straw as Haewon calmly scrolled through his phone.
The place was nearly empty except for the corner table where they sat. Aside from the low background music, it was deathly quiet.
Haewon’s face didn’t change at all as he checked each photo and message Jaseok had sent Woojin. His expression remained cold and unreadable from beginning to end as his eyes skimmed the screen.

"…So Hyun Woojin never came to a single one of my concerts. Instead, he listened from afar and sent reviews? This is it? This pathetic write-up? If you’re going to pretend to critique something, at least do your homework and write it well."
"……"
Of all things, Jaseok hadn’t deleted the texts or photos he’d sent Woojin. Everything from the very first day he started following Haewon up until today remained intact. Woojin had told him multiple times to erase everything and periodically wipe the phone, but Jaseok, assuming nothing would happen, had ignored it—and that was his mistake.

His hands, resting on his knees, slowly curled into trembling fists. Being caught by the target himself wasn’t the worst part. Haewon, as far as Jaseok had observed, wasn’t a threatening person. Just some privileged violinist born into money, living a cushy life. But if Hyun Woojin found out… That was unthinkable. A chill ran down his spine, and his face twisted in dismay.
"What, the guy who stopped me from flying to Bangkok—that was you too?"
"……"

"The one who told me to delete your number and never contact you again. You really put on a good act, huh? Pretty convincing. I really believed it was over. I cried my eyes out thinking I got dumped."
Haewon raised his eyebrows at the frozen Jaseok, casually scrolling through the messages the man had sent to Woojin. He chuckled now and then as if reading some amusing article, but the sound of that laughter—dry and destructive—only unsettled Jaseok more.
Haewon sucked his coffee through a straw while slowly and thoroughly going through every report Jaseok had submitted. When he finally reached the last update sent that morning, he flicked Jaseok’s phone onto the table like it was garbage. Jaseok stared at the device, as if it were a bomb about to explode.

The silence was sharp and heavy. As Haewon stared blankly out the window, Jaseok carefully reached for his phone. Just then, Haewon spoke, and Jaseok’s hand recoiled back to his lap.
"I used to think no job was beneath anyone. But now… now I see there are lowly jobs. I didn’t realize people made a living doing this kind of shit. Then again, there are people whose job is to kill, so I guess this is nothing."
"…I’m sorry. I’ve worked with Prosecutor Hyun for a long time, as a source. I thought you were a suspect. That’s the kind of person I’ve always tailed."

Jaseok tried to sound aggrieved.
"Anyone could tell this is just some deranged bastard with obsessive jealousy stalking his partner, and you thought I was the criminal?"
"I’m sorry."

"When did you start following me?"
"Last fall… around October, I think."

Even forming the words seemed painful. Jaseok winced deeply.

"So, right after we broke up."
"……"
"By any chance, when Henry Chang came to Korea and performed with the orchestra—were you there for that? You know who he is, right? The violinist."

At the question, Jaseok stared longingly at his phone, sitting just out of reach, before finally raising his head. Haewon was watching him intently. Surprisingly calm, for someone facing the person who’d spied on him for months. As if he’d known all along.
Jaseok chewed over the question, trying to remember. He couldn’t recall exactly, so Haewon offered a hint.
"It was early last year."

"That Korean violinist who doesn’t speak Korean? Wasn’t it Brahms?"
Even a dog that listens to poetry for three years learns to recite it—once unable to tell a viola from a violin, Jaseok now knew the difference between Brahms and Bruch, simply from tailing Haewon for so long.
"You were spying on me back then too, reporting to Prosecutor Hyun?"

"…Yes. I thought it was important."
"You really came that day?"
"What, did you think I didn’t and sat there all mopey?"
"Who said I was mopey?"
"You were sitting there all sad. You couldn’t concentrate, turned two pages at once. You didn’t notice the woman next to you glaring? You missed about three bars in the second movement. But at least your Brahms was focused. That’s the expression I like."
"…I thought you weren’t there."
"So it really was you. Not Hyun Woojin. Not even once… not even a single time did he come to see me perform."

"……"
Attending concerts he didn’t even like, observing Haewon’s expressions, his gestures, the people he spoke to—Jaseok had reported everything back, without even understanding how he was being used.
That night, Haewon had made up his mind to bare himself before Woojin. That was the night he had admitted his feelings. That was when everything changed.

The moment he, who had been resisting, finally accepted he was in love.
"How much do you get paid?"
Haewon asked. Jaseok slowly uncurled his clenched fists.

"I’m sorry. I truly thought you were a suspect. At first… I really believed that."
"I asked how much."
"…I’m sorry, Mr. Moon."

"I’ll pay you double. No—triple what Hyun Woojin pays you. Keep watching me. But from now on, report only what I tell you to. I’m guessing you don’t want him finding out I know. You’ll have to keep doing this dirty job to survive, right?"
"……"
"So shut up and do exactly what I say."

Haewon slid the phone toward him. Hesitating, Jaseok picked it up, suddenly aware of its weight.
"You don’t have to pay me. Just don’t tell the prosecutor… He mustn’t know. Please, keep it from him."
"What are you so scared of? What’s he going to do, sue you? He’s a prosecutor who ordered illegal surveillance. If I expose him, you’ve got nothing to fear. Losing your paycheck should be your biggest concern."

"He… He stopped me from doing time. I almost went to prison. He saved me."
"So he’s been blackmailing you and using you however he likes."
"……"

"If he finds out I caught you, he’ll probably throw you in jail. You’re no use to him anymore, right?"
Jaseok nodded faintly. Woojin held enough evidence of his crimes to ruin or protect him at will.
"That can’t happen. Because if it does, I’ll report you too. You know what 'aggravated charges' are, right? The moment you started being Hyun Woojin’s lapdog, you were already in too deep."

"…Mr. Moon."
Jaseok pleaded, calling his name with pathetic despair. Haewon looked at him with cold contempt.
"So keep it from that bastard. He finds out, I get hurt too."

Jaseok left like a man being dragged into a swamp.
Haewon remained, sitting alone in the café.
He did nothing.

Just breathed. Just watched the people rushing past the window.
Everything had been a lie.
Even with the proof right in front of him, he couldn’t believe it. His entire routine—day in and day out, nothing out of the ordinary—had been meticulously observed and reported back every two hours, as if he were some undercover North Korean agent.

Every day since they broke up. Even before that, occasionally.
Not once had Woojin come to a concert. He lied to Haewon’s face with cold precision.
Park Jong-hoon’s words. His mother’s insistence that something was off. All of it was true.

There had been no need for this much deceit—but apart from Woojin’s appearance, everything else had been false. He had approached Haewon under false pretenses and lied at every step.
It was all a lie.
Haewon stared blankly as a scene from the past rushed back.

The first time he saw Woojin—he was at a hotel with Soyoung, Hayeong’s younger sister. She’d called him "Mr. Woojin." They had linked arms, looked like a couple. They rode the elevator together to the 40th floor, where the suites were.
Even the surveillance, the painting he never bought but Woojin hung in his living room, the fact that he never came to a performance, the way Haewon was rendered paralyzed and useless after their breakup—all of that, maybe he could have forgiven.
He could’ve reasoned it away. Told himself Woojin just didn’t know how to deal with love, that he’d only wanted to find a way to make Haewon his.

But not this.
This crossed a line.