Chapter 43
The next morning, Haru woke up in the guest room that had rapidly become farmiliar in his mind. The previous night had been a jagged landscape of half-starts and sudden awakenings; he had only managed to catch a few hours of true, heavy sleep in the grey, liminal space of the wee hours.
When he finally dragged himself out of bed, he caught his reflection in the long mirror near the wardrobe. His eyes were hollow, rimmed with a tired exhaustion that made him look closer to his true soul-age than the twenty-three-year-old face he wore. He let out a long, weary sigh, the sound disappearing into the plush carpets of Raiven's high-end apartment.
In the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face until his skin felt numb, trying to wash away the phantom sensation of chemical-scented cloth then he took a cold shower letting the cold water fall against his skin felt refreshing. When he returned to the bedroom, a fresh set of clothes was laid out on the bench - a pair of baggy, charcoal-colored shorts and a crisp, oversized t-shirt. It was a perfect blend of modern comfort and the 90s silhouette Sunghoon had always preferred a style that he had quickly adopted. He pulled on the Marvin cap he'd been wearing the day before, adjusting the brim low over his eyes.
As he walked into the open-plan kitchen, the smell of something burning hit him.
Raiven was standing over the induction stove, looking stressed. He was scowling at a frying pan, a spatula held like a weapon, as he frantically poked at an egg that was rapidly turning into carbon.
"What exactly are you doing?" Haru asked, a genuine spark of amusement cutting through the morning gloom.
Raiven jumped slightly, cursing under his breath as he twisted the heat dial. "I thought... I would make a fresh batch. The first one didn't go well."
"Give me that before you waste the entire carton," Haru said with a slight, airy giggle. He stepped into Raiven's space, gently pushing him aside with his shoulder. He winced internally as he saw the high heat setting. "What were you trying to do? Scorch the earth?"
He discarded the blackened remains and placed the pan back on the burner, his movements fluid and practiced. He cracked two fresh eggs, the sizzle now gentle and controlled.
Raiven stayed right there, leaning his hip against the counter, watching Haru's hands as they expertly flipped the eggs. The silence between them wasn't heavy anymore; it was domestic.
"How do you live alone in a place this big and not know how to fry a basic egg?" Haru chuckled, sliding the perfect over-easy eggs onto a plate.
"I always just order in," Raiven admitted, his voice low. He sat down on the opposite side of the island as Haru slid the breakfast toward him. "Cooking for one person... it never seemed worth the effort of learning."
Haru clicked his tongue repeatedly, shaking his head with a small, persistent smile. "It's a life skill, Raiven. You can't survive on delivery forever."
Raiven didn't respond to the lecture, but his eyes followed the curve of Haru's smile. He looked relieved - happy to see a flicker of happinesson his face.
They ate in a comfortable rhythm, the quiet of the penthouse punctuated only by the occasional clink of silverware. Haru poured himself a glass of orange juice, the sugar hitting his system and clearing the last of the morning fog.
"Are you really going to the set today?" Raiven asked, his eyes fixing on the bandages around Haru's wrists.
"Yeah. I don't want to inconvenience anyone," Haru said, his tone final. He stood up to rinse his plate.
"You could just call in sick. One day wouldn't hurt the production," Raiven reasoned.
Haru looked up, his gaze steady. "But I'm not sick."
Raiven wanted to argue. He wanted to tell Haru that it was okay to admit he was shaken, that he didn't have to be the iron-willed every second of the day. But he saw the set of Haru's jaw tighten and he understood. For Haru, the set wasn't work; it was his escape. He needed to get lost in a script so he didn't have to be found by his own thoughts.
"How is your house this clean if you can't even handle a stove?" Haru mocked him, trying to lighten the mood as he grabbed his bag from the dining chair.
"I have a cleaning service that comes twice a week," Raiven said casually, grabbing his own sleek sling bag.
"Figures," Haru said, kneeling to pull on his shoes.
"I'll drop you off," Raiven stated. It wasn't a suggestion.
"That's not necessary, I can call a - "
"I want to," Raiven interrupted, already pressing the elevator call button.
Haru didn't protest. He let Raiven drive him, the tinted windows of the luxury sedan shielding him from a world that felt slightly more dangerous than it had forty-eight hours ago.
The day on the set of Gyeongseong High was a blur of high-intensity focus. Haru worked double-time, making sure every line was perfect and every movement was sharp. He immersed himself in his character, the role , especially the scenes they were shooting, felt strangely appropriate for his current state of mind. He was grateful for the added lines the writers had given him; the more work he had, the less room there was for the memory of Kang Min-hyuk's voice.
Alice was a constant shadow, hovering over him with water and snacks. She could sense he was "off" - the way he moved a little too stiffly, the way his eyes lingered on the exits. But she was a professional; she didn't pry. Even when he gave her a flimsy excuse about the bruises on his hands, she simply nodded and whispered to the makeup artist to use a heavy-duty concealer.
The following weeks went by in a similar fashion - a month-long flash of practiced routines and late-night calls. Haru and Raiven couldn't meet in public, so they settled for hours on the phone.
Se-hee teased him relentlessly about sleeping outside too much yet she never crossed the line. Despite her curiosity, she never asked for Raiven's number. She had learned the hard way, now that her channel had accumulated a considerable qmount of followers, that in the digital age, privacy was the most expensive currency a person could own.
But beneath the surface, Haru knew he was ignoring the rot. He had pushed the kidnapping and the revelation of his "father's" debt to the back of his mind, pretending it was a one-time nightmare.
The drama was in its final stages of filming, and Raiven's world tour was looming. The thought of it stung Haru more than he expected. The idea of Raiven being across an ocean, unreachable, made his heart feel hollow. He had grown used to him.
He had convinced himself it was over. A month had passed without an incident.
Then came the final day of the week. Haru walked out of the studio gates, looking for Alice's car. His blood suddenly turned to ice.
Parked in the far corner of the lot was a familiar black van. Three men in dark suits were leaning against it, smoking with the practiced nonchalance of people who knew they were being watched.
Haru's breath hitched. They were the men from that night.
Alice was still inside, tied up in a conversation with the head of wardrobe. Haru stood alone in the fading evening light, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked at the public space .
Would they really dare to take me here? he wondered, his hand sliding into his pocket to grip his phone. But as one of the men looked up and met his gaze with a chilling, knowing smirk, Haru realized that for men like Kang Min-hyuk, a crowd wasn't an obstacle ,it was just more witnesses to ignore.