chapter 147
The next morning arrived far too quickly.
Haru barely remembered falling asleep.
He had spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet sounds of the apartment around him. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind returned to the same things. The dinner with Raiven's family. His conversation with Raiven in the car. The expression on Raiven's face when Chang-seo's name appeared on Haru's phone.
It shouldn't have bothered him this much.
Chang-seo was his past.
That was all he was supposed to be.
Yes. They had a project to complete, scenes to rehearse, and eventually a production schedule that would become even more demanding. Sunghoon had worked with difficult people before. He had met actors he didn't particularly like and directors whose methods frustrated him.
He could handle one more.
But Chang-seo wasn't just another actor.
He was someone who had been part of Raiven's life long before Haru had ever existed in it.
That was what made everything different.
By the time Haru arrived at the rehearsal studio, he had convinced himself that he was going to stop thinking about it.
At least for the time being.
The set was already busy.
Crew members moved between rooms carrying equipment and folders while assistants checked schedules. Someone was adjusting the lighting in one corner while another person was discussing the set design with the director. The familiar chaos of production usually comforted Haru. There was something reassuring about having a schedule that told him exactly where he needed to be and what he needed to do.
Work didn't care about his relationship.
Work didn't care about Raiven's family.
Work didn't care about the things he was afraid to ask.
He signed in, greeted a few familiar faces, and headed toward the dressing room.
Chang-seo was already there.
Haru noticed him immediately.
He was sitting near the window with the script resting loosely in one hand. He looked completely at ease, dressed simply for waiting for his stylist, his hair pushed back from his face. There was nothing threatening about him.
Nothing that would make someone watching from across the room think twice.
Haru hated that.
He hated how ordinary Chang-seo looked.
After everything Haru knew about him, he wanted some visible sign that would justify the discomfort crawling beneath his skin.
Instead, Chang-seo looked like any other actor.
When their eyes met, Chang-seo smiled.
"Morning."
Haru returned the greeting.
"Morning."
Nothing more.
He sat several seats away and opened his script.
For the first few minutes, they barely interacted.
Haru forced himself to concentrate.
He had learned long ago that acting required him to separate his personal emotions from the person standing in front of the camera. Whatever he was feeling belonged to Haru.
The character belonged to someone else.
So he read his lines.
He listened.
He adjusted his movements and made notes.
And slowly, the uneasiness began to fade.
When he was done dressing and he was in front of the camera it was like he was a whole different person.
At least until Chang-seo spoke to him during a break.
"You've improved."
Haru looked up from his script.
"What?"
Chang-seo leaned against the table beside him.
"Your delivery. It's different from before."
Neither encounter thus far had been particularly memorable for Haru beyond the fact that Chang-seo had been there.
Apparently, it had been different for Chang-seo.
Haru closed his script.
"So you've been paying attention."
Chang-seo smiled slightly.
"It's difficult not to. You're everywhere lately."
There was no accusation in the words.
It could have been a compliment.
Haru couldn't decide whether that made him more uncomfortable.
"That's part of the job."
Chang-seo looked toward the rehearsal room.
"You seem to be doing well."
"I'm trying."
"You deserve it."
Haru studied him.
There was something about the way Chang-seo spoke that made it difficult to tell whether he was being sincere.
Haru had expected arrogance.
He had expected some kind of hostility.
Instead, Chang-seo was polite.
Almost excessively so.
The director called everyone back before Haru could respond.
He returned to his place and pushed the conversation out of his mind.
At least he tried.
The shoot continued.
There was one particular scene that required Haru and Chang-seo to stand close together while delivering a tense exchange. It wasn't romantic. It wasn't particularly intimate.
Still, Haru found himself acutely aware of every movement.
Chang-seo knew exactly how to hold himself.
He knew when to move closer.
When to pause.
When to lower his voice.
It was obvious why he had survived in the industry for so long.
He was good.
Very good.
And Haru hated admitting it.
After the scene ended, the director nodded approvingly.
"That's better. Keep that tension between you two."
Haru stepped back.
Chang-seo looked at him.
"Tension?"
Haru gave him a dry smile.
"You don't feel it?"
For the first time, Chang-seo's expression changed.
Only slightly.
Then he laughed.
"Maybe."
Haru couldn't tell whether he was joking.
The rest of the afternoon passed without anything significant happening.
And somehow, that was worse.
There were no arguments.
No insults.
No inappropriate comments.
Nothing Haru could point to and say, There. That's what I was worried about.
Chang-seo simply worked.
He was professional.
He listened to the director.
He helped another actor with a scene.
He thanked the staff.
He even remembered one of the assistants' names.
Then, during another break, Chang-seo casually asked:
"How is Jae-wook?"
Haru froze.
It lasted less than a second.
But Chang-seo noticed.
Haru knew he noticed because the faint smile on his face disappeared.
"Why are you asking?"
Chang-seo shrugged.
"I haven't seen him in a long time."
Haru's expression hardened.
"You don't need to."
The words came sharper than intended.
Chang-seo didn't react defensively.
Instead, he looked at Haru for several seconds.
Then he nodded.
"You're right."
That answer unsettled Haru more than an argument would have.
Chang-seo picked up his bottle of water and walked away.
Haru remained where he was.
His heart was beating faster now.
He didn't like the fact that Chang-seo had asked about Raiven.
He didn't like how easily the name had entered the conversation.
And most of all, he didn't like the fact that a part of him had immediately become defensive.
It was irrational.
Raiven was his boyfriend.
Chang-seo was his ex.
Of course Haru didn't want to discuss Raiven with him.
But there was something else.
Something underneath that reaction.
Haru wanted to know what Chang-seo had been to Raiven.
Not the simplified version.
Not the version that had been mentioned in passing.
Not the fragments Hae-rin had carefully shared.
He wanted the truth.
But he wasn't sure Raiven was ready to give it to him.
And Haru wasn't sure he was ready to hear it.
The rehearsal ended later than scheduled.
Haru stepped outside into the cool evening air and immediately checked his phone.
There were several messages.
One from Sehee.
One from his manager.
And one from Raiven.
I'm outside.
Haru stared at the message.
For some reason, relief washed through him.
He hadn't realized how much he had been waiting for it.
He slipped his phone into his pocket and headed toward the parking area.
Raiven was standing beside the car.
He looked tired.
Not exhausted enough to alarm Haru, but enough that Haru noticed.
His dark coat was buttoned neatly, his hair slightly messy from the wind.
When he saw Haru, his expression softened.
"You took your time."
Haru smiled.
"We ran over."
Raiven opened the passenger door for him.
"Get in."
Haru climbed inside.
As Raiven walked around the car, Haru watched him through the window.
He looked normal.
Almost completely normal.
But Haru had learned not to trust appearances anymore.
Raiven entered the driver's seat and started the engine.
"How was it?"
Haru hesitated.
"Fine."
Raiven glanced at him.
"Just fine?"
Haru looked out the window.
"Chang-seo was professional."
The silence that followed was immediate.
Haru turned back.
Raiven's hands were resting on the steering wheel.
His expression hadn't changed.
But his shoulders had.
Only slightly.
"That's good," he said.
Haru watched him.
"Yeah."
The car pulled away from the curb.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Haru wondered whether he should tell Raiven about Chang-seo asking about him.
He decided against it.
Not because he wanted to hide anything.
He simply didn't want to turn every conversation into another interrogation about Chang-seo.
Raiven had already told him he didn't want to talk about him.
Haru wanted to respect that.
But then Raiven spoke.
"Did he say anything?"
Haru looked at him.
"About what?"
"Me."
There it was.
The question Raiven had been trying not to ask.
Haru stared at him for a moment.
"He asked how you were."
Raiven's fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
"And?"
"I told him he didn't need to ask."
Raiven was silent.
Haru studied his profile.
"You don't have to worry."
"I wasn't worried."
Haru almost laughed.
Raiven glanced at him.
After a moment, Raiven looked back at the road.
"I just don't want him bothering you."
"He isn't."
"Yet."
Haru's smile disappeared.
There was something about the way Raiven said it.
Not jealousy.
Not anger.
Fear.
Haru reached across the console.
His hand found Raiven's.
Raiven looked down briefly before intertwining their fingers.
"I can handle myself," Haru said.
"I know."
"Then trust me."
Raiven was quiet.
Haru squeezed his hand.
"Whatever happened between you two, I'm not him."
Raiven's eyes flickered toward him.
"I know."
This time, Haru believed him.
But knowing wasn't the same as being free from fear.
Raiven continued driving.
Haru leaned his head against the window.
He watched the city move past them and thought about the man he had spent the entire day working beside.
Chang-seo hadn't threatened him.
He hadn't insulted him.
He hadn't tried to interfere with his relationship.
He had barely done anything at all.
And yet Haru couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted.
Maybe it wasn't Chang-seo.
Maybe it was him.
Because now that Chang-seo was back in their lives, Haru had begun to understand how much he didn't know.
And the uncertainty was starting to frighten him.
Not because he believed Raiven would leave him.
But because there were parts of Raiven's life that Haru had never been allowed to see.
Parts that still seemed capable of reaching into their present.
Haru looked at their joined hands.
He had promised to stay.
He had promised to give Raiven space.
But staying didn't mean closing his eyes.
Haru wondered whether loving Raiven would eventually require him to face the parts of his past that neither of them wanted to talk about.