Into The Thrill

Checking his wristwatch and seeing the time nearing 2 a.m., Haewon rested his head on Woojin’s arm. He pressed his cheek to Woojin’s chest.
Woojin, staring up at the ceiling, ran his hand idly through Haewon’s hair. Under the dim hotel lighting, it felt as if the contours of his face were glowing. His smooth forehead and high nose bridge seemed to draw in all the light.

Haewon propped himself up to look down at Woojin. Woojin met his gaze with eyes that seemed to have been drained of all tension and energy. It was a languid expression, as if he had exhausted all emotions that couldn’t be quenched without some kind of act.
"I was on TV today—no, yesterday. Did you happen to see it?"
"……"

"You didn’t? I guess being on TV is a big deal. I thought my phone was going to catch fire."
Haewon glanced at his phone resting on the sofa table. Woojin’s hand pressed down firmly on the back of his head, making him lie down again, cheek back against his chest. Haewon relaxed and leaned comfortably into him. Woojin’s hand gently stroking his bare back encouraged sleep. Haewon blinked slowly. Each time, his eyelashes tickled Woojin’s skin.
Without warning, Woojin spoke in a flat tone.

"I saw it."
"……You did? How was it? Did I look the same in person?"
"You looked the same."
"Which is better—real life or on screen?"

"……"
Woojin didn’t answer. He stopped stroking Haewon’s back and turned his body to lie facing him. Lying opposite, Woojin brushed Haewon’s hair out of his eyes. Sleep clung heavily to Haewon’s face. With just a bit more warmth, he looked like he’d fall asleep breathing softly any second.
"Haewon."

"……Yeah?"
"Don’t ever shoot something like that again."
"I didn’t know it was being filmed. I didn’t even know I was on TV. I only found out when I checked my phone at the hotel tonight."

"Don’t shoot anything like that again. And don’t go on TV either."
"……Why? Was it bad?"
"I don’t want other guys seeing you."

It wasn’t an order—it was a plea, almost a desperate request. Haewon nodded, promising he wouldn’t.
If he didn’t promise, Woojin’s eyes looked like they might tremble again just like that. It must’ve been the same look Haewon had when he stood shivering in the cold, waiting endlessly in front of Woojin’s officetel.
Woojin pulled Haewon into a suffocatingly tight embrace. Caught in the comforting snare of his arms, Haewon let go of his fading consciousness. His mind slowly sank beneath the surface like it was being pulled under sleep.

∞ ∞ ∞
Wearing the same clothes he had stormed in with last night, Woojin brushed a hand over the rough stubble of his reflection in the mirror. Rubbing the back of his tired neck, he turned to look at Haewon. Haewon, who had just barely pushed himself up from the bed, stumbled over in a robe.
"You should rest a little more. You’re heading out right away?"

Haewon’s voice was hoarse and cracked. Woojin recalled the image of Haewon from the night before—legs spread wide, straddling him, moving with breathless, intoxicating allure. His lower body still ached. Woojin splashed his face several times with cold water as if trying to pull himself together, then replied as if scolding himself.
"I’ve got a meeting. I have to go."
"What was the point of coming all the way here and tiring yourself out?"

"When you come back to Seoul, move in right away. No—I'll move your stuff myself."
"I told you I need to sort through everything. I’ve lived there since college—there’s a ton of stuff to throw out."
"I’ll move everything first. You can sort it out there."
Because of Woojin’s blind, unrelenting push, Haewon felt rushed too. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to live with him—but it was something he wanted to think over. Still, Woojin didn’t give him time to consider anything.

"Why the rush? We can take it slow."
"I want to live with you. Even one day sooner."
"……Aren’t we already living together now?"

"It’s not the same."
When the master of push-and-pull looked at him with that expression, with those eyes, and said something like that, Haewon was left completely speechless. His heart softened, and a quiet smile tugged at his lips. Haewon clung to Woojin’s waist and looked up at him, who was visibly anxious.
"You’re like an old groom all nervous that his young bride might run off before the wedding night."

"……I don’t know what that means."
The fact that Woojin seemed to genuinely not understand made Haewon chuckle faintly as he rubbed his drowsy eyes against Woojin’s shoulder.
Woojin kissed the crown of Haewon’s head and said he really had to go. Haewon walked him out of the hotel room to the elevator.

"Go on. Don’t go wandering around looking like that."
"Who’s awake at six in the morning? No one’s around."
"Go back in and sleep some more."

"You’re probably the only person who flies to Jeju at night and leaves again at dawn. You’re someone who loves efficiency—why are you acting so inefficient now? You should’ve just come on the weekend."
"When you miss someone, you come. What else can you do?"
It was an uncharacteristic way for him to speak. A few steps back, in the blind spot of the CCTV, he looked down at Haewon and leaned in. Haewon closed his eyes.

From their naked bodies tangled all night, a warm, sweet scent of skin lingered. Just as Woojin’s lips softly covered his—
The elevator arrival chime made Haewon flinch and push against Woojin’s shoulder. Woojin raised his head and turned toward the elevator. As the doors opened, someone stepped out.
It was Park Jong-hoon. Woojin glanced at Haewon with a disapproving look, as if to say “You said no one would be here.” He gripped Haewon’s forearm tightly for a moment, then released him and stepped into the elevator that Park had exited.
As the doors closed, Woojin disappeared completely. Park, possibly having returned from the fitness center, had a towel draped over his sweat-soaked neck.

Haewon gave him a half-hearted nod in greeting. People waking up before 6 a.m. existed everywhere, it seemed.
"You’re up early."
"……That man who just went down—do you know him?"

"Sorry?"
"The guy who just got in the elevator."
"Ah, well…"

It would’ve been simple to lie and say he didn’t know him—but Haewon didn’t want to deny Woojin’s existence, so he mumbled instead. He hoped Park Jong-hoon would just pick up on it and pretend not to notice. But contrary to Haewon’s hope, Park pressed again.
"You know him?"
"And if I do?"

"Do you know Hyun Woojin?"
Haewon had been determined to feign ignorance—but hearing Woojin’s name come so naturally from Park’s mouth made his eyes widen.
"……You know Woojin-hyung?"

"That was Hyun Woojin who just left, wasn’t it?"
"How do you know him, professor?"
"……"

Park Jong-hoon stared at the closed elevator doors, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just seen with his own eyes.
Looking troubled, his gaze shifted back to Haewon. Then, from head to toe, he slowly scanned Haewon’s appearance.
Haewon, wearing only a loosely tied hotel robe with nothing underneath, had kiss marks and hickeys scattered along his neck and chest from a night of rough sex. It was clear to anyone that he had just said goodbye to a lover he’d spent the night with.

As Haewon tugged his robe tighter across his chest, Park, who had been openly staring, quickly looked away, awkwardness creeping into his expression.
"……"
"Well then. Take care."

Avoiding his gaze, Haewon turned and walked away, leaving Park standing there.
At the small theater where Quartet 5 was scheduled to perform, an unexpected crowd had gathered. The buzz didn’t die down even after the performance ended.
"Should we actually form a quartet? I didn’t think the response would be this good."

"I heard it was sold out?"
"After the broadcast yesterday, the organizers got flooded with inquiries. I even heard there were scalpers today."
"Is having a half-decent face really enough to stir up this much hype?"

"Let’s release an album, go on overseas tours, and do fan signings! What do you think?"
The cellist and violist once again suggested to Haewon that they seriously consider forming a quartet. The assistant principal violinist, filling in for Choi-sunbae, stared fixedly at Haewon before sharply turning her head away.
In any case, most quartets didn’t last more than five years before disbanding, so such suggestions were usually nothing more than excitement-driven chatter.

Haewon awkwardly looked beyond the stage at the audience shouting for an encore. They had already run out of the pieces prepared for encores, but the audience kept applauding. Never before had such a large crowd gathered for their quartet, and it was also rare for them to keep demanding encore after encore, so the cellist quickly started flipping through sheet music.
"How about 'B Rossette'? The one we practiced last time?"
The cellist pulled out the sheet. It was a piece they had rehearsed for a youth concert as an encore but hadn’t had /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ the chance to play. They quickly made copies and distributed the sheets, then headed back on stage.

Placing the music on the stands, they stood facing one another. The thunderous applause gradually died down and the room quieted. Once each of them held their instrument and got into position, the concertmaster gave the signal.
In perfect unison, the string quartet drew their bows across the strings. The powerful and dynamic tango resonated strongly off the maplewood sound panels. It was a piece even more famous as a drama OST. As the unexpectedly familiar melody filled the air, gasps of recognition erupted from the audience.
Though it had been a while since they practiced it—and it was a piece that allowed no margin for error—Haewon launched into the main melody with eyes tense from focus. As his part ended, the viola followed with a lower tone. Haewon exchanged signals with the violist through glances and gestures. Immersed in the rhythm of the tango, the violist performed with passion, even leaning his upper body back dramatically for show. Haewon unconsciously furrowed his brows and turned his eyes to the sheet.

With a final unison stroke of the bows, they ended the performance together, hitting the last note precisely. The audience erupted in roaring applause.
Famous pieces really did receive the strongest reactions. The string quartet bowed respectfully to the standing ovation and exited the stage.
"We should’ve done something else."

"Good thing we had that piece already prepared."
"I’ve never done four encore pieces in one quartet performance before. What do you think—should we actually form a quartet? You could be center, Haewon…"
The excited cellist trailed off mid-sentence, glancing at the assistant principal for a reaction. Haewon, too, didn’t find the experience unpleasant. The impassioned cheers of the audience synchronizing with their performance gave him a euphoric sense of unity that made his entire body shiver. He couldn’t understand why he had kept his distance from experiences like this.

"Getting carried away over one lucky success…"
The assistant principal sneered at the cellist.
Maybe it was just his bias, but cellists and violists, who typically played the lower parts, tended to be even-tempered and easygoing. In contrast, violinists like Haewon—constantly assaulted by high-pitched tones and expected to deliver flawless intonation in narrow pitch ranges—often had more irritable, sensitive personalities. Even if a quartet formed, it was common for it to dissolve within five years due to the violinist’s authoritarian tendencies. Most quartet breakups, and even failures to form in the first place, were usually caused by violinists.

The assistant principal violinist glared at Haewon once more, then packed up her instrument and exited the waiting room ahead of them. Once she left, the cellist let out a deep sigh.
"I mean, what’s so wrong about doing well? Why is she so touchy?"
"Still, since we’d practiced together ahead of time, I think our timing was really good."

The violist said with a laugh. This covert quartet, who’d been doing gigs behind the orchestra’s back, had performed Schubert’s String Quartet No.14 in D minor, Death and the Maiden and Vivaldi’s La Follia.
Their synergy had been strong from the beginning. The La Follia piece, accompanied by harpsichord and baroque guitar, lived up to its name as a "mad dance," drawing reactions as wild as those of a rock concert.
They played so fiercely that Haewon seriously worried the strings might snap. But since the other performers showed no signs of holding back, he had no choice but to give it everything he had.

The assistant principal had even asked, sharply, if the three of them had been practicing separately. The remaining three already had experience with each other, making the alignment much easier.
"That gig really was sweet, wasn’t it?"
Haewon added.

Strictly speaking, it hadn’t been their first meeting, but it had been the day he first encountered the man named Hyun Woojin. A tall figure with a head above the crowd, standing alone in the banquet hall—his looks were striking enough that Haewon had wanted to get into his car without hesitation.
Haewon recalled the black forest they passed through together that night.
A place where bare branches clashed eerily, summoning an ominous wind. Woojin had known nothing about him then, while Haewon had come to learn nearly everything about Woojin during that encounter.

A man whose fiancée had committed suicide, yet whose ambition was so vast he carried himself like Kim Jung-geun’s son-in-law. A man born into a family of doctors who refused to follow their path and chose another.
The man Taeshin had loved unrequitedly. The man Taeshin had called twenty times before he died. The very same man who had flown down last night, spent the night tangled with Haewon, and returned to Seoul at dawn for work.
With time, their relationship had changed a lot. Despite his mother’s dying words—that in the end, everyone dies, and passion is just the residue of youthful impulse—Haewon had come to love someone sincerely.

Last night, Woojin had not been his usual self. His fingers trembled as he twisted the screw and loosened his bow hair.
That night had been so obscene it left even Haewon’s face, despite his experience, flushed red. He had thought Woojin to be rather stoic about sex, but never imagined such base lust burned inside him. Haewon pressed firmly over his pounding heart, loud enough for someone else to hear.
∞ ∞ ∞

The Jeju International Wind Festival was over. With such a packed schedule, he had expected time to fly, but the week felt long.
Haewon declined the members’ offer for a get-together and boarded a flight back ahead of them. After landing at Gimpo Airport, he headed to the parking lot. The lot was full. Before he could even recall the parking spot he had memoed, his eyes caught the rookie driver sticker Woojin had insisted he put on, easily visible from a distance.
Haewon placed his violin in the back seat and buckled his seatbelt. As he was about to get into the driver’s seat, he locked eyes with someone.

"……"
The man, upon seeing Haewon, turned his head indifferently and walked in the opposite direction. Haewon wasn’t one to pay attention to others, but the man didn’t seem unfamiliar. He had seen him several times at the hotel, and even once with Seo Ok-hwa.
Was he a staff member who had flown up on the same flight?

Watching the man’s retreating figure in confusion, Haewon got into the car and started the engine.
He preferred highway driving to city driving. It was easier—just keep going straight, maintain speed, and stay in your lane.
When he arrived at his officetel, it took about five tries to properly park the car in the lines. He grabbed his suitcase and violin and went upstairs. Unlocking the door, Haewon stepped inside—and finally muttered, "Ah."

The officetel was completely empty. Nothing remained.
Looking around the space, which appeared even more spacious with all the furniture gone, Haewon sighed and pulled out his phone.