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Episode 7
“Hyung, are you really okay? If it’s too much, I can turn the car around right now.”
It was the kind of comment that would’ve made their boss grab Gwang-hyun by the collar if he overheard it, but he wasn’t joking.
On the surface, actor In-hyuk looked as calm and perfect as ever — every hair in place, his usual quiet composure intact. But Gwang-hyun had managed him long enough to notice that something was… off.
Still, In-hyuk answered with his eyes closed, voice steady and flat.
“I’m fine.”
“You should take a break, though! Why jump straight into another project, especially as a replacement for some drunk driver who got kicked out?”
At that, Gwang-hyun’s thoughts drifted back to that night — the night of Director Min’s party.
Min Sang-cheol wasn’t just any director. He was the one who’d discovered In-hyuk as a child actor, the man who’d turned his debut into an award-sweeping phenomenon. For that reason alone, even someone who despised parties as much as In-hyuk couldn’t refuse the invitation.
“Have fun, hyung! You deserve a night off!”
Those were the last words Gwang-hyun had shouted as he dropped him off in front of the Apgujeong building that night — cheerful, unaware of what would follow.
He trusted In-hyuk completely. His star actor had never caused a single scandal.
Until the phone call came.
Before dawn broke.
“Hey… come to the L-room inside that building from last night. I’m not feeling too well.”
Gwang-hyun froze. In-hyuk never called his manager outside of schedule. Ever. And the way he slurred his words was strange — scattered.
Then came the kicker:
“Oh, and… bring an extra pair of pants.”
“P-pants? Why?”
“…They got stolen.”
“…What?”
Still half-asleep, hair sticking up like a bird’s nest, Gwang-hyun tore through Apgujeong traffic.
When he arrived, all he saw was a hand slipping through the narrow crack of a half-opened door. He shoved the pants into it — and the door immediately slammed shut again.
A moment later, In-hyuk emerged, slightly disheveled, limping faintly.
Gwang-hyun helped him to the car, then returned to check the private room. Not a single trace of the missing pants — just chaos, overturned furniture, shattered glass.
“Hyung… did you fight with someone?”
No answer. From the room to the car, In-hyuk stayed silent, face unreadable.
Unease gnawed at Gwang-hyun’s gut. He checked his phone. Thankfully, no scandal articles — just a few promotional posts from the company.
Still…
“Hyung, it wasn’t that stalker again, was it?”
Who else would steal someone’s pants? Even stalkers usually stuck to letters or photos. But pants?
He had too many questions — and no answers.
“Should we go to the hospital?”
But In-hyuk knew better. The problem wasn’t something a doctor could fix. In fact, it felt like… something had finally been fixed.
He refused treatment, and after a tense drive home, Gwang-hyun asked again:
“Hyung… you’re not mixed up in drugs or anything, right?”
“…No.”
Only after that firm reply did he let him go.
In-hyuk stayed home for two days, delaying all schedules with a short text.
Then, on the very first day back, it happened again.
When Gwang-hyun went to fetch the car, he found In-hyuk in the parking lot — being attacked.
“Yeah, I checked the CCTV, but of course it was the blind spot,” Gwang-hyun fumed later, pounding the steering wheel. “Whoever it is, they know what they’re doing. Some obsessed stalker, for sure.”
He continued, scrolling on his tablet.
“You can see someone running out toward the exit, but their face is covered again — hood up. Still, the height, the build… even the shoes match that Apgujeong guy.”
He passed the tablet to the backseat.
“Whether it’s luck or planning, this bastard’s slippery. Knows how to get away clean.”
The images were grainy, dark. The man had something pulled over his head — pants, unmistakably.
The same pants.
And yet, In-hyuk just stared at the screen, calm, thoughtful.
“It’s a complete psycho, hyung!” Gwang-hyun exclaimed. “We should press charges now! No settlement, nothing.”
The manager shuddered just imagining it — some lunatic running off with stolen pants over his head.
“Hyung, seriously. You don’t remember anything?”
The first time, In-hyuk had been drunk, disoriented — impossible to ask. But the second time? He’d been sober.
Finally, In-hyuk said quietly,
“…He was handsome.”
“What?” Gwang-hyun blinked through the rearview mirror.
“Sharp eyes, but… round pupils. Kind of contradictory.”
Was this a witness report or a casting audition?
“Oh, and… he smelled like strawberries.”
Gwang-hyun nearly swerved off the road.
His actor — the same man who once took a month to remember his own manager’s face — was now describing a stalker in detail?
“Wow. You couldn’t remember me for weeks, but this guy you met once — you even remember his scent.”
But In-hyuk wasn’t joking.
He could still feel it — that faint sweetness, the warmth that clung to his skin.
If that man hadn’t suddenly pinned him down, he might’ve actually leaned in — might’ve buried his nose against his neck just to breathe him in.
A ridiculous thought… yet it made his pulse jump.
Gwang-hyun mistook his deep breath for a sigh.
“Don’t worry, hyung. I’ll catch him. End this before it starts.”
“It’s fine. Nothing serious.”
“Not serious?! He stole your pants, attacked you, and you’re describing him like a crush! Hyung, this is serious!”
And he wasn’t wrong.
Because the truth was — In-hyuk could have fought back. The guy had been shorter, lighter. But he hadn’t.
He couldn’t.
Not when his own body had betrayed him — that unexpected, humiliating arousal.
He’d lost control first.
And when the man fled — after stealing his pants — he couldn’t even call after him. Couldn’t explain anything.
If he’s a stalker… I’ll catch him myself.
For a brief moment, his gaze darkened — quiet resolve beneath the calm.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Better to catch him.”
“Exactly! These stalkers act like the law doesn’t exist. Don’t worry, hyung. I’ll stay by your side, and PalFlix sets are tight on security anyway. You’ll be safe there.”
Gwang-hyun’s loyal voice faded into background noise. In-hyuk wasn’t listening. His thoughts were already somewhere else — back in that dim, private club room.
The memory wasn’t clear, but his body remembered everything.
“Just a little more…”
He remembered the man’s breath — quick, uneven. The feel of soft brown fur brushing against his fingers. The way their bodies fit together, heat and scent mixing until thought dissolved into pure instinct.
And when the stranger’s unsteady movements brought him to the edge again, In-hyuk had broken completely.
He’d never cared about physical pleasure before — desire was something that happened to other people. But now… his lower half had a mind of its own. Constantly reacting, restless, as if possessed.
“What the hell is wrong with me…”
He frowned, glancing from the tablet’s blurry frame to his own lap, a chill running down his spine.
Something was not right.
Then, Gwang-hyun’s voice broke through his thoughts.
“We’re here, hyung.”
“Good. I’ll rest for a bit. Go check the waiting room.”
Assuming his actor just needed quiet before filming, Gwang-hyun nodded and got out.
“I’ll be nearby. Take your time.”
The door closed. Silence.
In-hyuk let out the breath he’d been holding and dragged his hands over his face.
“…Haa.”
The vivid memory lingered — that intoxicating, raw pleasure.
It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
And yet, every time he remembered that stranger… his body responded.
“Did I catch some kind of disease…?”
Brows furrowing, In-hyuk stared down at the uneasy proof of his condition — then at the blurred image of the man on the CCTV screen.
Something deep in his chest twisted.
