The Cutie Is Sick?!

And so I ended up spending the night with the two of them.

There was no real reason to refuse, and honestly, I didn't much feel like it anyway. Besides, if I flat-out flopped onto a bed, one of them would've been shown the door without ceremony — and with Seong Ijun hovering anxiously behind, that felt like too much of a hassle.

When I said I'd just sleep in the guest room, Nam In-hoo asked why he couldn't share a room with me instead. Naturally, Seong Ijun hastily shouted, "Me too…!" right after. It wasn't until Manager Ahn Jinbae, watching this spectacle unfold, dragged a spare mattress in from the guest room that they finally settled down.

Yeah, fine. I don't know what's gotten into you two, but do as you please.

"Can't I just sleep in the same bed as you?"

"……"

"Kidding."

For a split second, I gave him a look of pure, flat disbelief. He must have actually been joking, because even at my haunted expression, Nam In-hoo only snickered.

Even if you mean it as a joke, the person standing next to you doesn't know that.

Sure enough, Seong Ijun shot his hand up, then abruptly converted the motion into a fake cough and pivoted.

"It feels like a waste to just go to sleep. Should we all play a game or something?"

"I have something to do. You two go ahead."

"Huh? What do you have to do…?"

I shook my head at the bewildered Seong Ijun, telling him it was nothing. But when I stepped out of the room, the two came trailing after me like ducklings. I let it slide and made for Manager Ahn Jinbae's room, where the door swung open as if he'd been waiting.

"Actor-nim— oh, and you two as well."

"You must have work to discuss. We'll head back to our room, then."

"No, it's not about work…"

At Nam In-hoo's words, Manager Ahn Jinbae glanced sidelong at me. Apparently it was something a bit awkward to say himself, so I brushed it off.

"It's my day to post on the fan… cafe. I'll write it and then rest, so make yourselves comfortable."

It would take a good hour at least, so please, do fall asleep before then.

But Nam In-hoo, staring at me, broke into a grin. It was oddly chilling.

"Would it be okay if I watched from beside you?"

"M-me too…!"

"Sorry, but the computer's in Jinbae hyung's room."

"I don't mind. Actor-nim."

"……"

Thanks to Manager Ahn Jinbae, who was being helpful in absolutely no way, I ended up writing my post with all three of them at my back. I'd planned to kick them out the moment they became the least bit distracting, but unfortunately, they stayed quiet. Every now and then, whispers drifted back and forth.

"Whoa. There's an entire 'Yeonjae's Diary' category?"

"I contacted the fan club president, and she set it up right away."

"The fans are going to love this…!"

I'd been uploading a post once a month since my birthday. It had felt too one-sided to only write something when receiving a gift, so I'd brought it up first myself — and before even half a day had passed, the category was made.

At first, since the word diary was right there in the title, I'd intended to post once a day. But then Manager Ahn Jinbae, watching me write, shook his head firmly.

He had a point — it had taken me a solid three hours to finish the very first entry. Losing the concrete topic of a gift review had made things even more aimless. Manager Ahn Jinbae told me to just write it like a casual diary, noting what I'd done that day, but who on earth would be curious about that?

This time, after much deliberation, I'd written things I judged to be at least somewhat substantive — lines like: "Compared to drama filming, film shooting seems different in that there's less pressure on time," and "The toe of the shoes I received as a gift got stained, and I was relieved to learn a cleaning method that removes stains cleanly."

'This one's meatier than the last.'

Probably because I'd explained the cleaning method in careful detail, it definitely showed the effort.

I checked the clock. An hour had slipped by without my noticing. All that remained was the closing line.

As I typed out the phrase I'd used consistently until now — "Please take good care of your health." — the comments left on my last post flashed through my mind.

Remembering that comment — apparently my sign-off had made the whole thing feel too stiff — I deleted the words. Fair enough, it was an overly distant turn of phrase. This was already my fourth post; it was about time I loosened up a little.

After fretting over it for a long while, I finally wrote: "Thank you for reading again today. Sleep well."

That's friendly enough, right?

Seemed fine to me. I lifted my hands from the keyboard, feeling quietly proud. I had a vague sense that the room behind me had gone suspiciously quiet, but I was too busy scanning for typos to spare it any thought.

"I'm done."

"……Good work."

"You wrote it so… politely…!"

When I turned around, I saw Nam In-hoo wearing a strangely sour expression and Seong Ijun forcing a smile. I wondered what was up with them, but Nam In-hoo declared that once I'd finished, it was time to play — so we headed back to my room.

I had no idea how this combination was supposed to have fun together, but thankfully the exhausting shoot caught up with them, and both were asleep in no time. Listening to their breathing drift over from the floor below the bed, I slowly closed my eyes.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Yeonjae!"

The moment I opened my eyes, the Fog came bounding over.

"You were so amazing again today! I watched the whole time and didn't even notice it getting late!"

"Yeah? Was it fun?"

"Yeah!"

Ever since the Twins shoot began, the Fog's energy had climbed to new heights. Ever since the whole Oh Seung-hyun ordeal, there'd been a subtle sense of him deflating — but not anymore.

Watching him hop in place, utterly incapable of standing still, I smiled.

"I guess thrillers are more your taste than romance."

"Are they? I don't know! I just think it's so much fun watching Yeonjae play two different humans, back and forth. Heehee!"

What a relief.

We talked for ages, and even then he still seemed bursting with things to say, so I pulled him over to the sofa to sit down first. The Fog, trailing me obediently, suddenly flinched hard and snatched his hand back from mine.

"C-can't I hold you with this hand instead?"

"……"

The hand I'd grabbed was his right one. The hand that had been black ever since he peeled that sticky something away from it. Whether he wore Noh Bi-hyeok's shape or Seong Ijun's, one thing never changed — the right hand was always dark.

Watching him awkwardly offer his left hand while hiding the right behind his back, I asked.

"Why? Does it hurt when I touch it?"

"No… it's not that…"

His lips mumbled and fluttered a few times before finally pressing shut. It wasn't the first time I'd seen this. The Fog, who came running to me for everything and chattered away about the smallest nothings, fell silent only around anything related to that sticky something.

When I stared at him intently, his already wandering eyes began darting even faster. I was hesitating over whether to press ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠further when, suddenly, the Fog jerked his head up. Both his eyes had blown wide, as if startled.

"Yeon—."

He opened his mouth in a rush — and in a single instant, the image scattered. Only after watching him dissolve into drifting flakes of mist did I realize my own body had vanished too.

It was a strange feeling. Deeply, profoundly strange. The sensation of not existing in this world.

My voice was ripped away by a violent shock, as if someone had struck me hard across the head. A vertiginous lurch, as though something were about to come pouring out of me at any moment. My vision flipped and inverted over and over, mixing until I was dizzy. I floundered through a world tangled back-to-front.

It was a sense — a touch — that finally cut through the seemingly endless chaos.

The sensation of someone gripping my shoulder and shaking it hard.

"—Hahk!"

"Yeonjae! Are you okay?!"

Words came pouring from somewhere beside me, but I couldn't answer. Feeling as if I were about to suffocate, I gulped desperately for air. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Through the blurring edges of my vision, I saw Seong Ijun — pale and sick with fear.

No, was that the Fog? The real Seong Ijun? I couldn't tell. If that really was Seong Ijun, where was the Fog?

"Hey, breathe! Just breathe!"

I couldn't calm down so easily. There was a crash of something toppling over, and then a familiar voice arrived at my ear.

"Actor-nim. You're all right."

The voice that had reached me faintly, from far away, grew clearer by degrees.

"You're all right. Look at me. Actor-nim."

When the words finally came through distinctly, my airway opened. I opened my eyes; my blurry vision swam and tilted. It was only after a large hand brushed gently across the corners of my eyes that the world sharpened into focus. I met a pair of mild, steady eyes.

"You're doing well. Now breathe out slowly. One step at a time."

I followed the breathing method he coached in that soft, low voice without a single thought in my head. After repeating it over and over, my trembling body slowly came back to me. In reality it couldn't have taken that long, but it felt as though I'd been put through the wringer for a full day.

"I'm… sorry…"

"It's all right. You can let go a little more if you need to."

My body wouldn't hold any strength. Leaning against something firm, I did nothing but breathe, barely managing even that. The sweat trailing down my jaw felt awful.

"……"

I needed to apologize to Seong Ijun and Nam In-hoo too. But even turning my head was beyond me. I could only blink, slow and sluggish, and the hand patting my back seemed to drift farther and farther away.

And with that, I seemed to fall asleep again.

I don't know how much time passed. But the surroundings were, inexplicably, deafeningly loud.

"…that punk."

"Knock it off already…"

Whose voice was that? The excessive racket made me frown without meaning to. At that, someone bellowed in a hoarse voice.

"Hey, you little sh✕t, quit sleeping already!"

"—Hahk!"

My head snapped up at a sound as loud as an air-raid siren. My ears hurt. What kind of lunatic screams directly into someone's ear?

When I tried to open my eyes, a headache like my skull was splitting wrung nothing but a groan out of me. With one ear covered and my head still bowed, the man with the gravelly voice grew anxious and prodded at me.

"Hey. What's wrong. What is it. Does it hurt? F✕k, say something if it hurts."

"You a✕hole, the kid's sleeping and you wake him up for that?"

"You're the ones who told me to wake him, hyung-nims?!"

"Shut your mouth. The kid's sleeping."

Why were these people's mouths so foul? Who were they? Even while groaning, my mind turned over at the unfamiliar voices.

'Up until a minute ago, I was leaning on Manager Ahn Jinbae.'

A dream? Then where was the Fog? What on earth was going on?

My head wouldn't work; I was too disoriented. The headache was unbearable, so first things first — I gritted my teeth and forced my eyes open. And then…

"You hurt somewhere? Don't tell me it's because of your fingernails?"

"Whoa. You're still hurting over that? Hey, when I was your age they cut off one of my fingers and I walked around laughing. Kid really does live an easy life."

"F✕k, you crusty old fossil. It hasn't even been a week, of course it hurts. If you're gonna talk like that, just f✕k off."

"Both of you f✕k off. So damn loud. Somebody bring the medicine! The kid's in pain!"

Rough language I'd never heard in my life came pouring down all at once. As I stared blankly at the ferocious faces around me, I heard a sliding door wrench open with tremendous force.

"Our little cutie's hurt?!"

SLAM! The hanok sliding door sounded as if it might rip clean off its track. Similar sounds rang out here and there, and then people came pouring in from every direction.

"The baby's hurt?"

"What medicine?! Where does it hurt?"

Scars filling entire faces, massive tattoos peeking out between sleeveless shirts, and coarse speech thick with profanity on top. As I slowly looked around, my head began to clear. The faces were familiar.

'Why are these people here…'

Every one of them had been at the script reading. The "actors" who'd spoken those vicious lines with total ease.

"……Um."

"Kid really does look sick. You don't think he got brain-f✕ked, do you?"

"Such pretty words in front of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the kid. F✕k."

"Says the one who should watch his own mouth first, hyung-nim."

I'd barely gotten one word out before everyone's voices tangled into a snarl. When I shut my mouth again, a man carrying a huge medicine box peered down at me, worried.

"You okay, Tae-il? Where does it hurt?"

"……"

These were the gangsters who'd raised Kang Tae-il.

In the story, that is.

……Where on earth was I?