The two sat facing each other at the round kitchen table, not at the island counter.
They placed the pot in the center of the table and heaped two large bowls full of fried rice.
There’s a saying that when men go to a bathhouse together or spend a night under the same roof, they naturally become closer.
Song Hyunsoo wanted to add one more thing to that.
When you put two fried eggs on top, each hold a spoon, and dig into kimchi fried rice while chatting, whether man or woman, you end up bonding more deeply.
“Those damn sasaeng fans! I know all about them, having lived with the idol group ‘Layered’,”
Song Hyunsoo grumbled, recalling the sasaeng fans who always camped out in front of their house back then.
“They’d make noise all day in the alley, so the neighbors gave us dirty looks. They’d scribble graffiti all over the walls, and the landlord made us pay more rent. Even when we just slipped on slippers to take out the trash, they’d snap photos nonstop. They call themselves ‘Layered’ fans, but then laugh behind my back at my pictures! You have no idea how much trouble my acquaintances and I went through.”
After his passionate rant, Song Hyunsoo glanced sideways at Yoon Jooho while scooping another spoonful of fried rice.
“Your friend Jin doesn’t complain about stuff like that, does he?”
“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him complain.”
“See? That’s just like him. I was always whining…”
Every time Song Hyunsoo got into fights with sasaeng fans, he’d snap at the other ‘Layered’ members, telling them to drag those fans out and get out of the dorm quickly.
He even took his frustration out on Choi Hongseo several times.
Looking back now, it was only regret.
“If it weren’t for him, we probably wouldn’t have lasted a year in the dorm before tearing each other apart. He was always the mediator.”
Jooho’s spoonfuls, which had been moving steadily, slowed down.
Leaning back against the chair, he stared quietly at Song Hyunsoo.
The spoon in his hand twitched slightly, and his tightly pressed lips showed some dissatisfaction.
Noticing Jooho’s gaze, Song Hyunsoo stopped mid-scoop.
“What is it?”
“You. Do you like Jung Jin or something?”
What the—
“No one who actually knows him would dislike him, right?”
As if it was a universal truth like there being only one sun in the sky and that after enduring the night, the sun will rise Song Hyunsoo replied and stuffed the piled spoonful of fried rice into his mouth.
Jooho snorted and put his spoon down.
“Such great trust.”
Swallowing the rice that filled his mouth after just a few chews, Song Hyunsoo picked up the water bottle beside him.
“Not to brag, but there aren’t many people I like in this world. You’re one of the few.”
“What’s so good about me?”
“You’re friends with him too, so you must know what kind of person he is.”
“……”
Jooho neither confirmed nor denied.
He quietly watched Song Hyunsoo gulp down water, then raised an eyebrow in an annoyed way and picked up his spoon again.
“Well, I don’t remember you ever being so kind to me that you’d praise me like a junior does.”
“Me? That can’t be.”
Jooho lifted his spoon but stopped halfway and put it back into the bowl.
Tilting his head sideways, he licked his lips.
Under the table, his long leg brushed against Song Hyunsoo’s calf.
“You’re called Yoon Gyeolho, right? Yeah, right. You’re ‘Il Dan Jeong Ji’, aren’t you?”
‘Il Dan Jeong Ji’ was the name of Jung Jin’s fan cafe.
Putting down the water he was drinking, Song Hyunsoo engaged in a leg battle with Jooho.
“I never said I was Yoon Gyeolho! You just assumed that yourself.”
Their four legs clashed and crossed like kids having a knife fight.
Then suddenly, Jooho stretched his leg longer and firmly trapped Song Hyunsoo’s calf between his own two.
“You’re definitely ‘Il Dan Jeong Ji.’”
Then he withdrew his leg and picked up his spoon again.
Song Hyunsoo watched Jooho’s composed face as he focused on finishing the remaining fried rice.
A playful idea suddenly struck him.
“Hey, senior, are you jealous? Because I seem to like Jin more than you?”
Jooho’s eyes snapped wide open in mock anger.
“Who? What?”
“Nothing. I said something silly. Let’s eat, senior.”
Song Hyunsoo quickly wiped the smile off his face and straightened up, leaning back to show he had no intention of fighting.
Maybe it was because his eyes were long and deep, but when he squinted and looked up like that, it was actually a little intimidating.
But then, seeing him carefully chew and swallow the food I made was genuinely charming.
Maybe it was because his lips were pretty.
Those pretty lips made even eating look graceful.
Unlike me, who shoveled big spoonfuls with a mouthful of rice, he scooped just enough for one bite, pressed his lips tightly, and chewed slowly.
From where I stood, it looked dignified.
Of course, once he started talking, that dignity went out the window.
He looks so good eating.
It’s like a miracle— the most beautiful face becomes even more beautiful.
Next time, maybe I’ll buy ingredients and try making mille-feuille nabe.
Holding his spoon to finish the last bit of rice, Song Hyunsoo spoke with a satisfied smile.
“See?”
“See what?”
“Eating warm rice made at home calmed your nerves and put you in a better mood, right?”
Yoon Jooho, with only one last spoonful left, stared silently at Song Hyunsoo for a moment.
Maybe it was because he was an actor, but sometimes his gaze didn’t feel like a simple look— it was more like a line from a play.
A silent line hidden in a code that you had to carefully decipher.
Like right now.
But understanding the meaning of such a complicated and tricky code wasn’t easy.
Jooho shrugged as he picked up his spoon again and said,
“I don’t think it’s because of the rice, really.”
“Admit it was good. You ate everything I served.”
“I never said it was bad. Just don’t misunderstand.”
He could have just said it was delicious, but instead, “I never said it was bad.”
Seriously, that sounds like he’s the nephew of that “It’s honey” auntie.
I should get a DNA test.
As I debated whether to eat the small amount of rice left in the pot, Jooho, who had finished his bowl, got up.
“Can I eat the rest?”
“Go ahead.”
He wiped his lips with a tissue and disappeared somewhere.
Soon after, he reappeared with a shopping bag.
In the middle of the white bag was a small logo of a famous Italian luxury outdoor brand, one I knew well.
So he must have gone shopping again for a “bit.”
Thinking nothing of it, I prepared to finish the leftover fried rice, when Jooho suddenly pushed the shopping bag toward me.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Just take it.”
He pushed it toward me again, and I awkwardly accepted it.
As I walked toward the fridge, Jooho said,
“Consider it a Christmas present. You only gave me one last time. I hate being in debt.”
“Th-this is for me?”
Judging by the size of the bag and its weight resting on my lap, it definitely wasn’t a T-shirt or cap.
Jooho pulled a can of beer from the fridge and looked at me, silently asking if I wanted one.
I shook my head.
“I bought it for myself. Didn’t even open it because I didn’t like the color.”
Out of the white cover bag came a bright orange padded jacket.
The down padding was fluffy and cozy like a woolly cloud filled with just the right amount of air.
For a moment, I was mesmerized by the jacket’s stunning appearance, then hurried to check the size. Of course…
“You said you bought this for yourself, right? This isn’t your size.”
I’m not short or scrawny, but it definitely wasn’t a jacket size that would fit Jooho either.
Ha, that top-tier tsundere, seriously.
Fine, let’s just say I picked it up somewhere.
“But it feels a bit much to give a 20,000-won gift and get a 2-million-won one in return…”
Jooho sat down in the chair to my left and said,
“It’s not 2 million won.”
“Even more expensive??”
If so, there was no way I could accept it.
Once, Jung Jin had given me a luxury brand suit as a gift, but that situation was very different.
At least then, the item wasn’t bought by Jin directly— it was gifted to him by the brand, and as he told me, it didn’t suit his taste either.
Unless someone was a really close friend like a lifelong buddy it would be one thing.
But receiving a jacket worth several million won from Yoon Jooho?
Song Hyunsoo didn’t think they were that close.
Maybe if they were dating.
But Jooho was firm.
“Take it. I’m giving it as a bribe.”
“A bribe for what? You’ve got no reason to butter me up.”
It’s not like I have more experience, more popularity, or more money.
It’s not like I can get Jooho cast in a project, or introduce him to some famous PD or director.
The best I can offer is kimchi fried rice.
And if I’m being generous, I guess I could introduce him to Jeongho.
Should I do that? Want me to introduce you to Jeongho?
“I’ve got a reason now.”
“And what would that be?”
What could he possibly want from me that he’d hand over a jacket that cost over two million won? Don’t tell me—
Without realizing it, Hyunsoo shoved the jacket back into Jooho’s arms.
“Look, I don’t do anything illegal.”
Jooho, mid-sip of his beer, stared at him like he couldn’t believe what he just heard, then clicked his tongue.
With a flick, he tossed the jacket right back at Hyunsoo.
“I’m planning to run a cocktail bar at my birthday party next week just as a fun event. I need someone to manage it.”
“A cocktail bar?”
“Not just the usual stuff. I want someone who can create original cocktails tailored to each guest’s image or request.”
“…”
“Interested?”
“Of course I am!”
“Great.”
“But someone like you could hire a high-end bartender with a big paycheck. Why me?”
Jooho tilted his head, idly running his fingers along the condensation on his beer can.
“Dunno. Why do you think it’s you?”
And then, under the table, his leg brushed Hyunsoo’s again, this time a little differently.
Their calves, inner sides touching, rubbed against each other ever so slightly.
“You guess. I sure don’t know.”
Even though he was speaking aloud, it still felt like some kind of silent, encrypted message.