Into The Thrill

If he wasn’t dead, he was alive. If he could breathe, he was breathing.

He played music simply because it was what he had learned, because it hadn’t become unbearable enough for him to quit. If he was going to do something, he might as well do it well. Working with a famous composer was better than working with a nobody. Being in an ensemble was better than an orchestra, and being a soloist was better than an ensemble.
That was all.
It was neither more valuable nor more meaningful than that.

He did it because it was better than doing nothing.
"So, does that mean I should take it as you just wanted to sleep with me?"
"Think whatever you want."

"You spent the whole summer at a hotel with ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ me, even though you didn’t care about the project. So, which way am I supposed to misunderstand this?"
"Don’t misunderstand it at all. Because it’s neither."
"Then it was just for fun?"

"You’re just realizing that now?"
Haewon set his empty soup bowl on the table. He wished Jaemin would just leave.
The exhaustion from walking in the freezing cold for thirty minutes had dissolved into the warmth of the shower, but it now weighed heavily on him, pressing into his bones. He was too tired to even speak.

"Go. I’m exhausted."
Haewon pulled a folded blanket over himself as he sat on the sofa.
He turned on a live recording of Zubin Mehta’s conducting album on DVD.

The only way to escape the things that exhausted and irritated him was through music.
He turned his gaze toward Jaemin, who still hadn’t moved.
His face asked, Why are you still here?

"Get lost."
"Keep acting like that, and I’ll make sure you never survive in this industry."
Haewon snorted and turned up the volume with the remote.
Then, laughter slipped out.

Not a quiet chuckle, but a full, unrestrained laugh.
He didn’t bother suppressing it, didn’t even try to hide his amusement.
And then, just as suddenly, he stopped.

His voice turned cold.
"I already don’t care about that industry anymore. And I don’t care about you either."
"……."

He didn’t want to hear Jaemin’s excuses or explanations.
The louder the music played, the less he could hear his voice.
The sound of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7, Second Movement filled the apartment.

Haewon lay down on the sofa, resting his head on his arm.
The second movement of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 started quietly, growing like a rolling snowball, until it finally surged like a grand wave, sweeping everything away.
The filth, the mess, all the narrow-minded things of the world were drowned out.

Only the purest, most intact things remained.
Ah—
If there was one thing worth selling his body for, it would be to hear Beethoven conduct his own symphony in person.

If it meant experiencing the Berlin Philharmonic under his direction, Haewon could sell his wretched body a hundred times over.
But Beethoven had been dead for centuries.
And aside from that impossible dream, there was nothing in this world worth selling himself for.

As the symphony transitioned into its third movement, Haewon forgot that Jaemin was still standing there, refusing to leave.
Jaemin stepped in front of him, blocking his view.
The remote was in his hand.

The music cut off.
Haewon lifted his gaze and looked up at him.
"What the hell are you doing? Didn’t you hear me? I told you—I don’t care about that industry anymore. And I don’t care about you. Get out before I call the cops."

"Are you doing this on purpose? What, is this you playing hard to get?"
Haewon told him to leave, told him to disappear, and yet, Jaemin twisted his words to fit whatever he wanted to hear.
That was a talent in itself.

No one had ever rejected him like this before, so he didn’t even realize the true nature of what was happening.
Haewon searched for his phone.
He found it where he had thrown it on the sofa and picked it up.

"Hello? Is this the police? Someone has trespassed into my apartment. I need an officer dispatched immediately. My address is—"
Before he could finish, Jaemin snatched the phone from his hand.
A voice came through the speaker—Hello? Sir? Are you still there?

Jaemin frowned. He had clearly not expected Haewon to actually call.
With an abruptly cheerful tone, he lifted the phone to his ear and spoke.
"Sorry, it was a joke. My friend was just messing around. No, no, everything is fine. Really. I apologize for the trouble."

Then he hung up.
He tossed the phone out of Haewon’s reach.
It wasn’t meant to provoke him.

But Jaemin was already provoked.
His temper flared at the realization that Haewon had truly reported him.
The irritation in his face made it clear—he was furious.

He had expected pushback, but not to this extent.
His patience was spent.
"You seriously—what the hell is wrong with you? We were fine before. Why the sudden attitude? Why the hell did you spend the whole summer with me at that hotel? Are you saying none of that meant anything to you?"

"……."
Haewon gave no reaction.
Jaemin let out a slow, heavy sigh.

"That thing I said earlier about giving you the solo? That was a slip. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry."
"……."
Haewon sat up.

Jaemin had crossed the Pacific overnight just to see him.
He must have imagined Haewon reacting with surprise, maybe even warmth.
Maybe he had expected Haewon to rush into his arms, overwhelmed by emotion.

If he had shown up anywhere else but in front of Haewon’s home, Haewon might have welcomed him.
Maybe not with enthusiasm, but with genuine curiosity.
He might have widened his eyes and asked what he was doing here.

But not now.
Not tonight.
Right now, Haewon didn’t want to see anyone.

Taeshin had called him the night he died.
More than ten times.
He had called and called.

And when Haewon didn’t answer, he had climbed over the rooftop fence and let the wind from the high-rise push him forward.
And then, he had fallen.
Onto the thick, soft snow, from thirty stories above.

He had died.
It was a suicide.
Lee Taeshin had killed himself.

Haewon hadn’t thought he would be so shaken.
Hadn’t thought it would feel so painful.
A part of him even felt relieved—relieved that he wouldn’t have to be bothered by those incessant calls anymore.

Even Kim Junghwan’s disgusting act at the funeral, pretending to mourn while scouting for business opportunities, had been mildly irritating at best.
He should have answered the phone.
Taeshin had called him ten times—ten whole times—while standing on that rooftop, teetering in the freezing wind.

And Haewon had ignored every single one.
He hadn’t even known he was calling.
This suffocating weight pressing down on his limbs—this wasn’t grief.

It was guilt.
If he had answered, would Taeshin still be alive?
If he had let him vent, let him complain, even given him a halfhearted piece of advice—

Would he still be here?
The overwhelming guilt and helplessness filled his entire body, crushing him from his crown to his toes.
At this moment, not even if his dead mother were to appear before him would he feel any relief.

"Please, just go."
Haewon closed his eyes.
Please, just disappear.

Right now, he wanted to be alone.
Utterly alone.
"Did something happen?"

"A friend died. He killed himself."
Haewon clutched his hair, his fingers digging into his scalp.
Taeshin’s death was unbearable.

It was crushing him.
He gritted his teeth, his face twisting in pain.
"…Shit."

"So please, for the love of God, just get the fuck out."
"…I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Haewon."
Instead of leaving, Jaemin stepped closer.

Haewon stood frozen as Jaemin pulled him into an embrace, holding his limp body.
He patted his back gently, offering quiet comfort.
The rage that had burned in him earlier was completely gone.

His hand smoothed over Haewon’s stiff shoulders.
And Haewon, unable to stand anymore, let himself collapse into Jaemin’s arms.
 

"I didn't want to cry. I just felt unbearably disgusting. Why the hell did he call me in that moment? Why call someone who barely even picks up their phone? I wanted to grab his already prepared, lifeless body and demand an answer.
What the hell were you thinking?
Instead of mourning his death, Haewon tangled his body with Kim Jaemin’s. Two naked bodies entwined on the sofa. Haewon wrapped his arms around the man's neck and pressed their lips together. It was more ravenous than ever, more depraved than ever. He let Jaemin shove his unprotected penis inside him and shamelessly twitched his hips. He swallowed every last drop of Jaemin’s release, forcing himself to be sullied. Trapped under his weight, Haewon pleaded.

Ruin me, be rough, make me forget everything.
Jaemin seemed momentarily startled but did his best to comply. He became rough, even as he appeared unfamiliar with his own animalistic breathing. Haewon spread his legs beneath him. His desperate pleas for Jaemin to leave, to get lost, became meaningless as his legs parted so easily.
The snow that had fallen the night Taeshin jumped from the rooftop was still swirling outside, gently descending to the ground.

∞ ∞ ∞
He had lost track of how many days had passed. The days and nights had blurred together. Just like they had in the hotel, Haewon and Jaemin spent their time rolling around in his officetel. It was a fresh realization—there was nothing as effective as sex when it came to forgetting.
The funeral had ended days ago, perhaps even longer. In the bathroom of Haewon's officetel, Jaemin’s toothbrush and razor now sat among his things. It was the first time someone else's belongings had ever been left in his space.

Haewon had neglected his violin practice. Whenever he was awake, he had sex with Jaemin. Jaemin called his name, sometimes desperately, as he came.
It was another morning after days of eating, sleeping, and fucking. Jaemin was in deep sleep, his arm sprawled across Haewon's bare chest, pressing down with noticeable weight. Haewon had been awake for a while, eyes open, lying still in quiet languor.
A sharp sliver of sunlight cut through the gap in the blackout curtains. His stomach ached with hunger. As he pushed Jaemin’s arm off and began to sit up, his phone rang.

He had never been the type to care about phone calls, but ever since Taeshin’s death, he had developed a subconscious sensitivity to the sound.
He reached for the phone on the bedside table. A regular landline number from Seoul. Jaemin, still half-asleep, grumbled irritably at the noise, shifting under the covers. Haewon frowned slightly and picked up the call.
"Hello."

—"Hello? Is this Moon Haewon’s phone?"
"Yes, it is."
—"Is this Moon Haewon speaking?"

"That’s right. Who is this?"
—"Ah, this is Inspector Hwang Eunchan from Gangnam Police Station. You know Lee Taeshin, correct?"
"……Yes. What is this about?"

—"You’re aware that he passed away recently? You even attended the funeral."
"I know. What is this regarding?"
—"We need you to come down to the station. We have some questions regarding Lee Taeshin’s death. When would you be available?"

"Wasn’t Taeshin’s death ruled a suicide?"
—"Just come in. We can discuss the details at the station. Are you free tomorrow?"
"I’m free. I’ll see you then."

Haewon confirmed the appointment and ended the call.
If it was already confirmed as a suicide, why did they need to question people around him? The thought lingered in his mind. Suspicious, he redialed the number. Inspector Hwang Eunchan’s voice answered once again.
"Hello, this is Moon Haewon. We just spoke."

—"Yes, go ahead."
"Would it be alright if I came in today instead of tomorrow?"
—"Today? Let me check… There are other interviews scheduled, but… Yes, if you have time, come in today. Just ask for Major Crimes Unit 2 when you arrive."

"Understood."
Even after ending the call, Haewon remained lying in bed for a long while. His expression was unreadable. Jaemin was still lost in sleep. Careful not to wake him, Haewon slipped out of bed, took a shower, and dressed quietly.
He grabbed his violin case and a small bag with only the essentials before heading for the door. Before closing it behind him, he turned back. Jaemin’s bare back lay exposed on the bed, his body still deep in sleep. Haewon stared at him for a long moment before silently shutting the door.

The taxi ride to the police station took far longer than expected, stuck in traffic even though the distance was short. At the entrance, he gave the officer Inspector Hwang Eunchan’s name, and someone guided him to Major Crimes Unit 2.
Inspector Hwang looked to be around the same age as Haewon. He had a strong build and a warm, approachable face.
"You got here fast. I thought you’d be coming in the afternoon."

"I live nearby. What is this about?"
"Take a seat first."
Hwang gestured to an empty chair in front of his desk. He glanced at the violin case slung over Haewon’s shoulder. Haewon set it down and sat.

"Would you like something to drink?"
"I’m fine."
"Alright, give me a moment to wrap this up."

"Take your time."
Hwang seemed slightly flustered, as if he hadn’t expected Haewon to arrive so early.
After tidying up his desk, Hwang sat across from Haewon and flipped through a file, likely related to Taeshin. He absentmindedly scratched his cheek as he scanned the papers.

"Your name is Moon Haewon, correct? Born in [YEAR], right? What’s your occupation?"
"I’m a violinist."
"Ah, a performer. And you were high school classmates with Lee Taeshin?"

"Yes. But what is this about? I thought Taeshin’s death was ruled a suicide."
"There are a few questionable details."
"Questionable? Are you saying it wasn’t suicide but murder?"

Haewon’s eyes widened. His heart began to beat faster. Hwang shook his head.
"No, it was suicide. But there are still things we need to investigate. Before he died, Lee Taeshin called you about ten times."
"I had my phone off during practice. I didn’t answer."

"Did you two speak often?"
Hwang didn’t seem accusatory, just inquisitive. It still appeared to be a suicide. There would be no chance to ease his guilt. Haewon’s expression darkened slightly.
"Not frequently… but occasionally."

"And before his death? Did you talk to him recently?"
"I often keep my phone off during practice. The last time we spoke was… last summer? Or maybe fall? I don’t remember exactly."
Thinking back, he hadn’t spoken to Taeshin since the night he had triumphantly declared he had finally slept with the man he loved. He had been ecstatic. His voice had been overflowing with love.

Taeshin had said, 'I love him so much.'
If he had finally achieved what he wanted, why would he take his own life? It didn’t make sense. But they hadn’t spoken much. There was no way to know what was happening in Taeshin’s heart.
"There’s quite a gap since your last conversation. So you wouldn’t know how he had been doing recently?"

"No."