HMN C47

Chapter 47

“Daeyoung! Wonjung! Over here!”

“Oh—hey, Minhye.”

The movie theater inside the massive shopping mall was packed wall to wall on Friday evening. It was always crowded, but with a film premiere event tonight, it was easily twice as bad. Through the noise and the sea of people, Wonjung finally spotted Minhye waving. Daeyoung, standing beside him, raised his hand awkwardly.

“You made it? Wonjung, here—your tickets. I already gave the others theirs. We’re supposed to just meet inside when it starts. I didn’t think you’d come, Daeyoung.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, I had the day off from work.”

“Really? That’s great. Here’s yours.”

That was the end of it. Minhye handed out the remaining tickets, answered an incoming call, and walked off. Left behind, Daeyoung rubbed his nose with a sheepish look, while Wonjung let out a quiet laugh.

“Seriously, it’s fine. Stop acting so awkward and just relax.”

“I can’t help it. It’s… weird.”

He’d skipped club meetings before using work as an excuse, and now here he was—showing up when free food or free entertainment was involved. Even though Minhye didn’t seem to care, he couldn’t help feeling a little self-conscious.

“Never been to a premiere before.”

“Same. Let’s just sit over there until it starts.”

They took a seat on the wide staircase that looked down toward the photo zone below. It was his first time at an event like this—and apparently, there were going to be celebrities too. Curious, he craned his neck, scanning the crowd, but the actors must’ve already gone inside.

Daeyoung’s eyes drifted over the bustling entranceway. He hadn’t seen Go Chiwoo since that night he’d been driven home. For someone who’d once insisted he couldn’t stand not seeing him, the guy had vanished completely after sending one text: “Something came up. I won’t be working this week.”

And just like that, he stopped showing up at the café.

Daeyoung had half a mind to complain to the boss—“Just because he’s your nephew doesn’t mean he can ditch whenever he wants!”—but he bit his tongue. Part-timers without connections didn’t get to talk back. Besides, business had calmed down since the café’s “mascot” disappeared. There was no reason to whine.

At least now, without Chiwoo dragging him around or popping up out of nowhere, he could focus properly on his assignments. After closing each night, the boss even let him stay a little longer to finish his coursework. Still, sometimes, as he left for home, he’d catch himself glancing toward the parked cars outside—just in case.

Nothing.

Chiwoo lived in the building above the café, so his car should’ve been around. But it wasn’t. If he was too busy to even go home, he definitely wasn’t coming to the club meeting.

“What the hell? He goes on and on about hypnosis and disappears for days.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Let’s go—it’s starting.”

He’d muttered a bit too loudly. Shaking his head quickly, he brushed off his jeans and stood. People were already filing into the theater, so he joined the line at the end.

The faint scent of carpet cleaner and popcorn filled the dim, enclosed space. It had been a while since he’d been in such a dark, quiet place.

“Where are our seats? Oh—wait, we’re not next to each other?”

Wonjung frowned at his ticket, stepping aside.

“Looks like Minhye messed up. I’ll call her.”

“Hey.”

Daeyoung caught his arm before he could take out his phone.

“It’s fine. We’ll survive ninety minutes apart. I’ll sit in the back.”

Giving him a light pat on the back, Daeyoung climbed up the carpeted steps toward his seat. The soft flooring muffled his steps pleasantly. Settling into his chair, he noticed everyone else was cradling popcorn buckets in their laps.

“Should’ve bought popcorn.”

“I told you we should’ve bought popcorn. Want me to go get some now?”

“Stop making a scene.”

Daeyoung scratched his ear and waved off his friend before sinking deeper into his seat. He lifted his knees a few times as people shuffled by, then tapped Wonjung lightly on the head when he wouldn’t stop turning around.

Then, suddenly—cheers erupted.

The celebrities and director had entered the theater.

“Whoa…”

The applause went on for a while. Daeyoung wasn’t particularly interested in celebrities, and from where he sat, he couldn’t even see clearly. Still, up close, they were undeniably striking—actors and actresses alike. It made sense; their faces were their careers, after all.

But still…

He squinted. Even with all their polished looks, Go Chiwoo’s better-looking.

The thought made him smack his forehead immediately. Why am I even thinking about him? But honestly, it wasn’t wrong. Even if Chiwoo were standing right beside those actors, he wouldn’t look out of place.

Still. Why the hell am I thinking about him right now?

Scolding himself silently, he looked back toward the audience. Minhye and her friends sat a few rows down. He spotted other familiar faces too—clubmates, people he’d seen at past gatherings. Sungrae was near the front, chatting animatedly with someone.

“Thank you!”

The stage greeting ended, followed by another round of applause. Daeyoung clapped along, then leaned back comfortably.

As fans filed out, the lights dimmed completely. Without the camera flashes from earlier, empty seats appeared throughout the room—including the one right beside him.

Perfect. More space.

He shifted a few times, adjusting until he found the most comfortable position, then yawned widely. The darkness, the plush seat—it was a perfect storm for sleepiness.

Rustle.

He glanced sideways. Someone was slipping into the row, coming in late.

Who shows up late to a premiere? he thought absently, turning back toward the screen. The newcomer sat down—right beside him.

“……”

He tried to keep his eyes straight ahead, ignoring the faint pressure of a gaze on him. But the familiar scent hit him immediately. The clean, warm trace of it—it was impossible to mistake.

Even without looking, he could sense the sharp line of a nose, the defined jaw.

Go Chiwoo.

Daeyoung sighed inwardly. Why the hell is this idiot here? What kind of dramatic entrance is this supposed to be?

His eyes flicked sideways.

“Here.”

No greeting. Just a quiet offer—a bottle of soda and a box of popcorn, extended casually into his lap.

Assuming it was temporary, Daeyoung held them for a moment. But instead of taking them back, Chiwoo pulled out his own drink from the armrest holder and took a sip.

“…What is this? Are you trying to annoy me to death?”

Daeyoung usually hated people who talked in theaters—but this, this was impossible to let slide. What, was he some celebrity trying to make a late, dramatic entrance?

Chiwoo only shrugged, like the question was absurd.

“I told you I was coming.”

The memory hit immediately—something from that car ride.

‘You’re not going?’

‘If you go, I’m going too. Didn’t I say I miss you when I don’t see you?’

And then he’d vanished completely the next day. No café, no messages. Naturally, Daeyoung assumed he wouldn’t show up tonight either.

“…Yeah, well, didn’t actually think you’d follow through.”

It was random—so him. Not only showing up out of nowhere but bringing exactly what Daeyoung had wanted, too. He wanted to point out, You didn’t even show up to work, but this wasn’t the place for a conversation.

Fine. Eat first, argue later.

He popped open the soda, took a sip through the straw, and let the fizzy sweetness burst across his tongue.

Crunch. Crunch.

It’d been a while since he’d had popcorn. The salty-butter flavor hit just right. Chiwoo, who’d only taken a few kernels, seemed content just watching. Before he knew it, Daeyoung had eaten half the tub by himself.

He set it down by his feet, wiped his hands with a napkin, and leaned back again. Time to actually focus on the movie.

“……”

Blink. Blink.

His vision started to blur.

He tried to focus, but the film washed over him like static. The story looked decent, but he hadn’t slept properly after staying up all night finishing a group project.

He stifled a yawn and pressed his fingertips against his eyelids. Eventually, his head drooped forward.

The actor on-screen was saying something intense—something romantic, maybe heroic—but to Daeyoung’s tired ears, it all blurred into low murmurs.

Yeah, yeah. He’s handsome…

Thud.

His head tilted sideways, resting neatly on the shoulder beside him. The angle was perfect—the solid line of Chiwoo’s arm supporting his temple effortlessly.

“……”

Chiwoo stayed still.

With every slow, even breath Daeyoung took, his shoulders rose and fell gently. The theater went quiet for a moment, the soundtrack fading into stillness, and in that hush, the only thing Chiwoo could hear was Daeyoung’s soft, rhythmic breathing—warm and steady against him.