Chapter 33
Haru emerged from the guest room minutes later, looking like a blurred reflection of the man in the kitchen. He was drowning in Raiven's borrowed clothes - a pair of heavy, charcoal-grey sweatpants and a hoodie that was several sizes too large. It was a habit he was falling into far too easily, a domestic comfort that should have felt invasive, yet it somehow felt comfortable.
"So, where are we going?" Haru asked, tugging at the waist of the oversized sweatpants.
Raiven looked up from his tablet, his expression blank for a heartbeat. "What?"
"Is there somewhere you've always wanted to go?" Haru pressed, his gaze steady.
Raiven's hesitation was visceral. He bit his lip,a rare crack in his composure, a shadow of genuine uncertainty crossing his face. No one had ever asked him that. For years, his geography had been defined by soundstages, practice rooms, and airport lounges. He didn't have a "somewhere." He only had "schedules." He realized, with a sudden, hollow ache, that he didn't have an answer.
Sunghoon saw it immediately, he felt a pang of recognition. He'd lived that life - the tunnel vision of ambition that leaves the rest of the world a blur. He had only learned to breathe when he fell in love, and even then, the air had been stolen from him.
With a soft sigh, Haru stepped closer and patted Raiven's shoulder. The contact was brief but grounded.
"Don't worry. There are plenty of places left to see," Haru said, snagging Raiven's black baseball cap and mask from the console.
"Let's go."
Raiven followed, his eyes fixed on Haru's back as they stood in the silent descent of the elevator. He'd already admitted it to himself the night before: Haru had become an anchor. A blunt, bossy, indispensable ,annoying treasure .H was becoming the only person Raiven actually wanted to see when the lights went down.
"Keys," Haru demanded as the doors opened to the basement garage. "And I'm not going to crash it, so stop making that face." He giggled, wiggling his fingers.
Raiven dropped the fobs into his palm, watching with a trace of nerves as Haru slid into the driver's seat. He'd never seen Haru drive before, but the man handled the steering wheel with an old-school confidence, checking the mirrors with a meticulousness that felt practiced.
"Let's go get some street food," Haru announced, the engine roaring to life.
"Street food?" Raiven echoed, sinking into the leather seat. He was a notoriously picky eater, his palate ruined by years of calorie-counting and his mother's rigid policing of his diet. "We could just order in."
"Ordering in isn't an experience," Haru countered, weaving through the lanes.
Gwangjang Market was a riot of steam and noise, a violent contrast to the sterile perfection of Raiven's penthouse. Even behind their masks, the electric hum of the crowd made them feel alive, invisible in the swarm. For Haru, the market was a time machine. The rhythmic thwack of knives and the scent of sesame oil felt like the Seoul he'd known in the 90s, a familiar ghost in a modern shell.
Raiven was tentative, but Haru simply grabbed his hand, pulling him toward a stall piled with Bindaetteok. The batter hit the oil with a hiss that sounded like applause. Haru snagged a piece, blew on it frantically, and shoved it into his mouth before offering another to Raiven.
"Eat," Haru commanded.
Raiven looked at the oily pancake as if it were a live grenade. But under Haru's insistent gaze, he lowered his mask and took a bite. The crunch was deafening; the center was savory and soft. Haru watched him with a victorious grin.
"Good, right?" Haru smiled victoriously.
"Yeah," Raiven mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets, though his shoulders finally began to lose their defensive hunch.
They wove through the labyrinth of "Ajummas" and steaming vats, sharing addictive Mayak Kimbap and spicy Bibim-guksu.
"You eat like you've been starving," Raiven murmured, watching Haru navigate the noodles with gusto. But Raiven was eating, too - small, cautious bites that grew more frequent as the savory flavors cut through his usual anxiety. For the first time in his life, he wasn't counting calories or calculating the hours of cardio he'd need to burn off the salt. He was just tasting. He thought of his mother, her voice a constant recording in his head about "maintaining the image," and for the first time, he hit the 'mute' button. He wasn't scanning for a lens. He was just a guy arguing with a friend about whether the Sannakji was "too lively" to eat.
"Stop being a coward," Haru laughed, trying to coax him into a taste. Raiven dodged, a genuine sound of amusement escaping him as he moved away. Haru scoffed but didnt insist further. Raiven had dodged the octopus but didn't pull away from the arm around his shoulder. In the middle of the roar of the market, he felt strangely invisible and protected all at once.
They ended the night with Hotteok, the brown sugar syrup scorching and sweet. A drop landed on Haru's hoodie, and Raiven was quick to hand him a napkin. "You're so messy," he said, his voice devoid of its usual edge.
They walked back to the car in a comfortable, heavy silence. Once they were inside the cabin, the quiet felt different,less like a vacuum and more like a shared secret.
"Thanks," Raiven said softly.
"You barely ate anything," Haru complained, though his tone was gentle. He looked over as they cleared the parking lot. "Raiven... is there really nothing you want to do?"
"Nothing. I never had the time to think about it."
Haru frowned, his grip tightening on the wheel.
"I'm giving you an assignment, then, and its mandatory."
"An assignment?"
"Next time, we're doing something you want. Start brainstorming.I don't care if it's sitting in a park or staring at a wall. "
Raiven smiled - a real, unforced curve of the lips - and leaned back. "You know... we've met before," he said, the admission catching Haru so off guard he nearly tapped the brakes.
Haru's mind raced. He'd had his suspicions during the commercial shoot - the way Raiven looked at him with such intense, confusing familiarity - but he'd dismissed it.
"How? Where?"
"It was years ago," Raiven said, his eyes drifting to Haru's profile. "You were different back then."
"Different how?"
"For one, you didn't boss me around."
"I don't boss you around," Haru shot back defensively.
Raiven let out a dry snort. "We only met a couple of times briefly. But you were... quieter."
"When was it?"
Raiven looked out the window as the city lights blurred past. "Don't you remember?"