Into The Thrill

They went up to the officetel, and while creating an atmosphere, Hyeon Woojin said that Haewon would make the first move, but in truth, the word "ask" didn’t suit him. He was used to playing with others, so he would create an atmosphere, kiss, and naturally make Haewon undress. Haewon silently swore that he wouldn’t undress first before Hyeon Woojin took off his clothes. It sparked some unnecessary defiance in him.
They walked together until the door. As Haewon was about to press the door lock code, Hyeon Woojin turned him around. With his back against the door, Haewon looked up at him.

"Answer your phone when I call. You’ll have missed calls. Did you save my number?"
"I don’t do that."
"If you save it, you won’t miss any calls because you won’t be unsure who’s calling."

"I’ll pick up if it’s a call I should take."
"I have to go."
Once again, he said he had to go. It was his way of saying he was leaving. He had come all the way up in the elevator just to drop Haewon off at the door. It felt like a pointless gesture.

With suspicion in his eyes, Haewon felt Hyeon Woojin’s warm hand caress his cheek. Haewon, aware of the empty corridor, pulled his face away from his hand.
"There’s CCTV here."
"It’s not recording here. I checked."

"When did you check?"
"I just know from my gut."
Haewon was about to tell him not to say such nonsense when Hyeon Woojin tilted his head and pressed his lips against Haewon’s. When his lips met another’s, Haewon instinctively closed his eyes. It wasn’t because it was Hyeon Woojin.

His lips, neither too fast nor too slow, had just the right pressure and speed. Haewon tilted his face slightly and kissed him, wrapping his arms around Hyeon Woojin’s shoulder. Closing his eyes, he immersed himself in the kiss, feeling the sensitivity of Hyeon Woojin’s lips and tongue stirring his senses.
Hyeon Woojin thought he was the only one who was good at kissing. Haewon had never been told he was bad at it either. Not quietly, but just enough to confuse him, Haewon teased and pulled Hyeon Woojin in.
"Mmm..."

Haewon deliberately let out a faint moan. He lightly bit and sucked on Hyeon Woojin's bottom lip. Hyeon Woojin shifted slightly, lowering his head more. He stroked Haewon’s neck. With his other hand, he ran it down Haewon’s shoulder, trailing his arm and gripping his forearm. As Haewon moved, the violin case hanging over Hyeon Woojin’s shoulder clinked against the wall. Haewon pulled his hand, guiding it to wrap around his waist.
Haewon decided to actively kiss him, thinking, "Go ahead, try to leave now." Hyeon Woojin’s lips seemed to smile as they kissed.
When Hyeon Woojin slowly pulled back, Haewon clearly felt his tongue slide out between their lips. Haewon looked up at him with dazed eyes.

"Are you really going to leave now? This atmosphere is so good, and kissing like this makes me feel so good." The contact between them was something a healthy adult male couldn’t just walk away from without hesitation. Haewon licked his wet lips with his tongue and blinked slowly.
"Don’t look at me like that."
"......"
"Say it, don’t do it with your body."

"......"
"You really don’t want to say it, do you?"
"......"

"Go in. You must be tired."
Hyeon Woojin removed his hand from Haewon’s waist and stood up straight. He adjusted his jacket, which hadn’t been messed up, and turned away.
"Are you just going?"

His head, which had been turning to leave, now faced Haewon, who stood stunned.
"You’re just going without coming in?"
"......"

Hyeon Woojin exhaled deeply, pushing the air from his stomach before slowly releasing it. As he followed the path of his breath, his chest expanded and contracted. After looking at Haewon with a pained expression, he finally turned away.
"Goodnight."
He said.

Haewon began answering his calls. He couldn’t take calls during practice, often putting his phone on vibrate or turning it off to avoid distractions. So, it wasn’t unusual to miss his calls, but when he was in a situation where he wasn’t busy, he would answer.
When he was working for a while, or went outside for a quick cigarette or moved to a different location, Hyeon Woojin would call. The conversations were usually trivial. Haewon hated the act of holding a phone just to talk to someone, but fortunately, Hyeon Woojin’s calls didn’t last more than five minutes because he was busy too.
But the calls that came around 1 or 2 in the morning were different. Receiving the call just before falling asleep, in bed, didn’t feel as annoying because he wasn’t doing anything, and it didn’t bother him much. The sound of Hyeon Woojin’s voice over the phone made it more bearable.

When he was hiding behind me and threatening Lee Jinyeong, his voice was serious as he asked about his day. Haewon would ask, "Who did you torment today?"
He was still working at this late hour. If Haewon asked where he was, the answer was always the office, with faint sounds of papers shuffling, fax machines, or phones ringing echoing in the background.
"When do you leave work? Do you even leave work?"

― I leave. Remember the last time you slept in my officetel? I had already left.
That was something from a while ago.
"When do you change clothes? Do you sleep?"

― Why, are you going to put me to sleep?
"When do you sleep?"
― Worried?

It was a murderous workload. The piles of documents on his desk, so many that it was doubtful he ever read them. Hyeon Woojin’s time was so much more valuable than Haewon’s. He understood now why Hyeon Woojin would bring up time and pressure him like that.
"It’s amazing, though. I find it amazing how someone can live like that."
― You get used to it after a while.

The sound of papers rustling as he flipped through them could be heard. Haewon’s officetel was soundproofed, but the quietness of Hyeon Woojin’s surroundings was equally peaceful.
He imagined him sitting in front of his desk late at night with the desk lamp on, working. Haewon found himself thinking like Taeshin now. He imagined Hyeon Woojin’s figure and, when they weren’t talking, found himself wondering what he was doing. It was an unhealthy symptom.
"I stopped doing it."

― What?
"I stopped doing it."
― Stopped doing what? Oh, right. Did you want to ask?

Haewon wriggled on the bed, burrowing deeper into the sheets.
"Do you know how much my bed costs?"
― Is that some new tactic? I’d like it if you were more direct. Remember the important condition, only in front of me.

Even now, Hyeon Woojin’s voice sounded like he was teaching someone, succinct and clear, pointing out Haewon’s vague attitude.
Did he treat his deceased fiancée like this?
How about with Taeshin, who was dead?

Was he like this only with Haewon, or did he treat others the same way?
His kindness felt so cruel. It was as if his kindness easily swallowed the soul of a 29-year-old. Haewon didn’t fear the raw carnivorous nature hiding under his facade. Now, it wasn’t fear but a desire to pull it out and see it for himself.
Haewon exhaled heavily, feeling like his throat was being constricted. No matter how much he exhaled and inhaled, the heaviness in his chest didn’t go away.

― You’re really pushing it. What are you doing?
Misunderstanding Haewon’s breath, Hyeon Woojin set something down with a thud. He also heard the sound of a chair creaking as he leaned back. Haewon, confused, tilted his head and asked.
"Is there some other reason?"

— Some other reason.
"You’re just using me as an excuse not to do it."
— There's no other reason. I just don’t want you to do that again in front of another guy. If you don’t listen, I’ll deal with that bastard. If you do, no one gets hurt.

"Are you… impotent? What, some kind of eunuch?"
— …
Not even the sound of breathing came through the receiver. What? Haewon could almost imagine Hyun Woojin staring at him with those three words plastered across his forehead.

— Do you even realize how much I’m holding back just to teach you a lesson, and yet you’re saying shit like that… Ha. I’m hanging up.
His voice sank, a sharp drop in tone making it clear he was pissed. It was like some kind of deep personal offense had struck him.
"If not, then it’s weird."

— Didn’t you say you hated hearing about things over the phone that Taeshin wouldn’t want to hear? Should I not tell you how much he liked sleeping with me, then? Are personal matters off-limits in conversations with you?
Taeshin had said he couldn’t put it into words. That it was too good, too overwhelming, that he thought he might die, that he might pass out. That it was the first time he had ever felt like that. That he wouldn’t regret dying afterward. It was a crude, exaggerated, and false sentiment. There was no way it had been that good. Haewon didn’t want to think about that night between them.
— He cried.

"……."
The image of Taeshin, sobbing beneath him in pleasure, flashed through Haewon’s mind.
— I’m good at making people cry in bed. If you want to, just let me know.

"I don’t want to hear you rating your own sex life."
— You asked if I was impotent.
"If you’re not, then what is it?"

— Ha…
"Then prove it."
Holding the phone to his ear, heated from the long call, Haewon poked at him with words, doing the very thing he usually found tedious and useless.

— If you’re playing some kind of push-and-pull game, don’t. You shouldn’t mess with adults.
"You do know you’re an old man, huh?"
— Be clear about it. If you've made up your mind to undress only in front of me, then say so. But be prepared. Crying won’t be enough.

"I won’t, in this lifetime."
— There is no next lifetime. Even if there were, the chances of our reincarnations aligning are slim.
"… I’m sleepy."

His eyelids drooped with fatigue, yet he didn’t take the ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ phone away from his ear, and neither did Hyun Woojin hang up. A glance at the clock showed they had been talking for over forty minutes. This was the first time they had ever spoken on the phone for this long. When Haewon wasn’t busy, Hyun Woojin was, and whenever Hyun Woojin called, Haewon rarely answered.
If even something as simple as a phone call never aligned, how much more misaligned would their reincarnations be—if such a thing even existed? It was probably right to assume there wouldn’t be a next life, as he said.
Haewon suddenly felt an unexpected sense of regret.

— Go to sleep. I’m hanging up.
"……."
He didn’t answer. He just listened to Hyun Woojin’s breathing for a little longer before finally pulling the phone away after the call ended.

This was the first time he hadn’t hung up first in a conversation.
Something was going wrong.
He knew he was fastening the wrong buttons, but he kept buttoning them anyway.

And he didn’t mind that it was wrong.
Taeshin had been doing this kind of filthy, uncomfortable thing every time.
This kind of—

This kind of feeling.
Feeling strange, but also scared. Hating it, but not completely. Wanting to lash out, to pick a fight, and then feeling his chest ache even though he wasn’t sick.
Every time.

But his face wasn’t flushed, nor was it heating up.
Expressionless, Haewon stared at his phone.
He repeated Hyun Woojin’s words in his head.

There is no next life. Even if there were, the chances of our reincarnations aligning are slim.
Haewon tossed the phone onto the bedside table and closed his eyes.
∞ ∞ ∞

A few days before the regular concert, Henry Chang arrived in Korea.
The former chief conductor of HanKyung Symphony had been arrested for embezzling foundation funds, and the concertmaster of the first violin section was under investigation for bribery related to university admissions.
For a while, the orchestra had been in chaos, struggling to regain balance, but now, they had seemingly erased their existence from memory. A more skilled German conductor had been invited as a guest conductor to replace the former one.

The vacant concertmaster position was taken by the former associate concertmaster, and the empty associate position was filled by the former second chair. Thanks to the previous concertmaster’s arrest, the perpetual associate, the perpetual second chair, and even Haewon, the unemployed, all found happiness.
At only twenty-two years old, Henry Chang was a violin prodigy who had won first place at the Wieniawski International Competition at an incredibly young age.
His arrival in Korea for a collaboration had created a buzz in the symphony.

HanKyung Symphony was the first orchestra he would perform with in Korea. Just before this, Henry Chang had collaborated with the London Philharmonic at the Royal Festival Hall. His schedule for the next five years was fully booked.
Exchanging fluent German greetings with the guest conductor, Henry Chang then greeted the orchestra with the same lively energy.
As someone snapped a picture of him on their phone, the other members quickly followed suit, shoving their phones in his direction. Henry Chang, looking slightly embarrassed, smiled and spoke in awkward Korean as he took selfies with the members, displaying a polite and amiable demeanor.

Haewon, uninterested, simply sat there.
Henry Chang didn’t seem fluent in Korean and mainly communicated in English. His face still had traces of baby fat.
Now, that was a real college student.

Haewon, almost thirty, had lied to Lee Jinyoung that he was just a runaway college student.
Recalling how absurd Hyun Woojin had found that, Haewon suddenly felt his face grow warm as he looked at the real twenty-two-year-old in front of him.
The first half of the program was the symphony’s regular concert, and the second half featured Henry Chang’s collaboration, performing Beethoven’s Kreutzer Violin Sonata and Brahms’ Violin Concerto in D Major, Op. 77.

After today’s rehearsal, there was a scheduled run-through at a major concert hall the next morning.
It seemed Henry Chang had already rehearsed the Beethoven sonata with the pianist in advance. They immediately moved on to Brahms’ violin concerto.
Haewon had read a news article before—an anonymous European billionaire had been so moved by Henry Chang’s performance that he had gifted him a Guarneri violin worth around four million dollars.

When Henry Chang took out the four-million-dollar Guarneri and rested it on his shoulder, the orchestra members’ envious gazes fixated on him.
It wasn’t just any Guarneri—it was a 1717 Guarneri del Gesù, once used by Fritz Kreisler.
The previous concertmaster, a Hong Kong native, had owned a Stradivarius. Since such instruments were incredibly expensive, and for musicians, their instruments were as precious as lovers they couldn’t bear to be apart from, no one had dared to ask to borrow or even touch it. Moreover, that Hong Konger had been notoriously sensitive and had never lent his Strad to anyone.

Still, just being able to hear the sound of a Stradivarius up close had been a fortune for Haewon.
Of course, when that Hong Konger left HanKyung Symphony and returned home, Haewon lost the last reason to stay in the orchestra. Barely enduring it before, he had quit without hesitation.
Haewon had never played a Stradivarius or a Guarneri.

His own violin, a Gagliano, was still a masterpiece. Compared to what the concertmaster had, it didn’t fall behind in sound.
Each had their strengths—there was no definitive superior.
A Guarneri’s tone was rougher and more solid compared to the delicate and brilliant Stradivarius or Gagliano.

Its unrefined sincerity carried an honest, profound depth.
Between the flashy, delicate Strad and Gagliano, Haewon’s preference leaned toward the Guarneri.