Chapter 98
"You've basically moved out," Se-hee's voice crackled through the phone, thick with a dramatic, exaggerated pout that Haru could practically see through the line. "The apartment is completely dead, Haru. I'm basically living in a mausoleum. If I wanted to talk to walls, I would have stayed in my hometown."
Haru adjusted the collar of the oversized knit sweater he was wearing , a soft, charcoal-gray piece that smelled distinctly of sandalwood and cedar - as he balanced the phone between his shoulder and his ear. "I haven't moved out, Se-hee. I've just been... busy with the post-premiere schedule and wrapping up the filming."
"Busy? Right. 'Busy' living in a penthouse overlooking the entire Han River," she teased, her tone turning wicked. "Haru-ya, I am not stupid."
Haru's fingers froze on the fabric of the sleeve. He looked down, a sudden wave of self-consciousness hitting him. It was true. Over the last few weeks, the shift had happened so gradually that he hadn't even registered the logistics of it. First, it was a spare toothbrush. Then, a few changes of clothes left in the master bathroom after a long night. Now, an entire section of Raiven's massive, walk-in closet had been cleared out, his own understated, darker pieces mingling seamlessly with Raiven's high-fashion wardrobe.
He had unconsciously moved into Raiven's apartment.
Even his current wardrobe was proof.
Though they were nearly the same height and shared a similar athletic build, Raiven's clothes were tailored broader across the shoulders, leaving the thick charcoal knit hanging loose and structural against Haru's frame. It felt like being wrapped in a constant, heavy embrace.
A small knot of caution tightened in his chest. I need to be careful, Sunghoon's old instincts whispered. Moving in together so quickly, especially under the relentless glare of the public eye, was a logistical nightmare for a rising actor and a global idol. If a single reporter caught wind of the permanence of his stay, the narrative would shift from "close friends" to "something scandalous" in a matter of seconds.
"I'll come by the apartment tonight," Haru corrected gently, forcing a lighter tone to mask his sudden thoughts. "I'll treat you to dinner. Stop whining."
"You better! Bring some of that expensive beef if you're coming from the rich district," she cheered, completely easily swayed. "See you tonight!"
When the call ended, Haru looked around the sprawling living room. The afternoon sun filtered through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, golden boxes across the hardwood floor. It was quiet - Raiven had an early production meeting at TRace - but the apartment didn't feel cold. There were two coffee mugs drying by the sink. A script he had been reading was left open on the marble island. A pair of his sneakers sat neatly next to Raiven's leather boots by the entryway.
Without realizing it, he had turned this luxurious, sterile fortress into a home.
The subsequent weeks dissolved into a blur of domestic rhythm and simmering, uninhibited passion. With his arm officially cleared and the remaining heavy action sequences for finally wrapped, the physical tension between them mutated into something insatiable. Raiven seemed determined to mark every inch of the penthouse as theirs, testing the boundaries of Haru's body at every opportunity.
There were nights that began on the cold marble of the kitchen island, the steam from forgotten food long gone as Raiven lifted Haru's thighs onto his shoulders, driving deep and relentless until Haru's breathy moans echoed off the minimalist tiling. There were mornings in the fogged-up glass of the shower, Haru's hands slick with soap against the tile wall as Raiven took him from behind, his large hands anchoring Haru's hips with intensity.
Even the long leather sofa in the living room became a casualty of their desire. Raiven would pull him down after a long day, shifting Haru beneath him without a word. Haru willingly surrendered his body to the pleasure Raiven provided, his head thrown back against the cushions, his fingers tangling in Raiven's hair as he wept out low, fractured sounds into the quiet of the night. Every encounter felt heavy, deliberate, and fiercely possessive.
Yet, when Haru finally kept his promise and traveled across the city to spend two nights back at his old apartment with Se-hee, the sudden absence left Raiven navigating a strangely hollow space.
Walking through his own front door after a grueling day at the studio, Raiven stopped in the middle of the kitchen. The penthouse was pristine, but the silence was heavy. There was no clothes discarded on the chair, no rhythmic scratching of a highlighter against a script page, no low voice humming in the bathroom. For the first time in his life, Raiven realized exactly how much physical and emotional space Haru had occupied. The apartment felt cold again, and the loneliness was a physical ache.
"You're actually a celebrity now," Se-hee remarked, leaning across the small grill at the local barbecue restaurant they had frequented. She dropped a perfectly charred piece of meat onto Haru's plate. "I had to book this back corner table just so we wouldn't get stared at the entire time."
"It's just the momentum from the drama," Haru said, pulling his black baseball cap lower over his eyes.
"Don't minimize it. Gyeongseong High aired episode six last night, and the internet is practically melting," she said, pulling up her phone. "Especially since a certain global superstar decided to do some free PR."
Haru paused, his chopsticks hovering.
Raiven had posted a simple, monochromatic shot of Haru on his personal Instagram account, an account with over 60 million followers. The caption had been simple: "An exceptional performance. Support Gyeongseong High."
The endorsement had caused a localized digital earthquake. The metrics were staggering. Within twelve hours, Haru's official Instagram profile had crossed the coveted one-million-follower milestone, an unprecedented feat for a guest-starring rookie whose episodes were only halfway through the season's broadcast cycle.
" Fei Entertainment's email is probably smoking right now," Se-hee chuckled, her eyes sparkling with genuine pride. "Mae-rin's team is already vetting scripts for your next project. Lead roles, Haru. Real ones."
"I saw them on the counter before I left," Haru murmured, thinking of the stack of envelopes waiting for him back at the penthouse.
"Since you hit one million, you need to give back a little," Se-hee advised, tapping her chin. "You should do a live stream. Just fifteen minutes. Let the fans see you casually, without the persona from the show. It solidifies the fanbase while the iron is hot."
Haru considered it, recognizing the tactical value of her advice. Sunghoon had known the choreography of public relations perfectly; a well-timed, grounded live stream could solidify casual viewers. "I'll think about it. Maybe later this week."
The reality of Alice's warning manifested the moment they stepped out of the restaurant.
The evening air was crisp, and the street was moderately crowded with young couples and students. Haru kept his head down, hands jammed into the pockets of his jacket, but the anonymity he had worn was fraying at the edges.
"Excuse me..." A young woman paused on the sidewalk, her eyes wide as she stared at his profile. She clutched her friend's arm, her voice rising in a frantic whisper. "Are you... Actor Haru? From Gyeongseong High?"
Haru offered a polite, measured smile, nodding slightly. "Ah, yes. Hello."
"Oh my god! Your acting is incredible! The dining room scene made me cry," she squealed, her friend already pulling out a phone. "Can we please get a quick signature?"
Within seconds, a small cluster of bystanders began to form, heads turning as the name Haru rippled through the immediate vicinity. He felt the sudden, heavy weight of dozens of eyes locking onto him - some evaluating his height, others recognizing him from the recent trending topics, and a few younger men observing his stance with quiet curiosity. The atmosphere on the street shifted instantly, turning sharp and watchful.
As he politely signed the scrap of paper and pulled Se-hee gently through the growing crowd, the cold air hit his face. The attention was shifting. The spotlight was turning toward him with the force of a high-velocity train, tracking his every step, his every movement.
He was climbing back to the top, but the higher he went, he felt the tightrope became narrower.