[Minjae’s Office – 6:02 A.M. ]

The room was dim but immaculate. The scent of leather and polished wood clung to the air like something rehearsed.
Behind the heavy desk, Minjae sat with his fingers steepled—composed, controlled. Like he’d been waiting all night.

Haneul stepped inside. The contract was tucked tightly in his bag, his breath still uneven from the rush.
His shirt clung to his skin where the sweat hadn’t dried. His hair was flattened, his skin scrubbed raw, like he could erase last night’s mistake.

Minjae didn’t speak.
He just watched.
Like he always did—like Haneul was a performance he could dissect frame by frame.

Then, finally, Minjae’s voice cut through the stillness.
“You’re on time. For once.”

Haneul swallowed hard. “I… I’m here.”

A faint twitch at the corner of Minjae’s mouth. Not quite a smile. More like satisfaction.
Haneul sat.
Before he could pull out the contract, Minjae slid a different one across the desk.

The folder was sleek. Fresh. Marked with a gold agency seal and a blood-red tab.

“Sign it,” Minjae said flatly.

Haneul blinked. Reached out slowly. His fingers brushed the cover—cool, heavy.
“This… This is a different contract,” he said tightly.

Minjae leaned forward, voice dropping into something far more dangerous than a threat.
“Of course it is.”

Haneul’s heart slammed against his ribs. He glanced at the signature line. Clean. Empty. Waiting.
“You changed it,” he whispered.

Minjae’s gaze bore into him like a command.
“Do it. Or don’t. But know this—either way, I own the role you’re playing.”

Silence thickened.
Haneul’s hand trembled.
The pen hovered.

Every instinct screamed to run.
But his body didn’t move.

Instead, he signed.
One stroke. Then another.
A full name that didn’t even feel like his anymore.

When he finished, he let the pen fall. It hit the desk with a soft click, but the sound echoed like a gunshot.

Minjae stood slowly, walking around the desk until he stood beside Haneul. His shadow fell long across the contract.

“Good,” he said softly. Then, almost too soft to hear—
“Because you’re already broken…
And only I can make you unbreakable.”

He grazed the edge of the contract with his fingers, then closed the folder with a soft snap.
Then he looked at Haneul properly, y—for the first time.

Not like a client.
Not like an actor.
Like a mess, he hadn’t been permitted to exist.

“What the hell were you doing last night?”

Haneul stiffened.
Minjae stepped back, arms folded.

“Your shirt is wrinkled. Your eyes are bloodshot. And you forgot how to cover a hickey.”
His gaze dropped, sharp and unflinching.
“Or five.”

Haneul’s throat closed up. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t lie.” Minjae’s voice was calm. Cutting.
“You were with him.”

Haneul didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
The silence was confession enough.

Minjae circled behind him, slowly. Precise.
“Do you know how humiliating it is—watching you walk into my office looking like someone else’s possession?”

“I didn’t plan it,” Haneul muttered.

“You didn’t stop it either.”
Minjae’s voice dropped.
“Did you think I wouldn’t know?”

He reached out, tugged the collar of Haneul’s shirt down, exposing more bruised skin.

“Sloppy work. Did he choke you, or were you begging for it?”

Haneul flinched. Shame washed over him in waves. He pulled away. “Don’t.”

“You walked in here,” Minjae said, eerily calm, “signed a contract that gives me everything—and now you want to draw lines?”

Haneul stood suddenly, fists clenched. “You don’t get to ask me who I sleep with.”

Minjae raised an eyebrow. “You’re right.”

He turned, walked toward his side of the desk… then paused.

“But you gave me the right to ask why.”

Silence.
Minjae turned slowly, expression unreadable.

“You sleep with ghosts, Haneul. And the more you let them in, the more of yourself they take.”
He stepped closer, until only inches remained between them.

“I won’t lose you to him.”

Haneul’s voice cracked. “You already have.”

But Minjae smiled. Just a little.
“No.”

He brushed a thumb across Haneul’s jaw. Almost gentle.
“Because even when you let him touch you—”
“You still came back to me.”

Haneul’s hands shot out.
He grabbed Minjae by the collar, fists trembling.

“I’m sick of you. And him.”
His voice cracked—rage and heartbreak tangled in every word.

“You’re supposed to be my fucking manager, but you treat me like I’m some—some toy.”

His grip tightened. His voice rose—unsteady, but vicious.

“You think you’re better than him? With all your ‘I know you better than anyone’ bullshit?”

He let go. Shoved Minjae back a step.

“You’re not better. You’re worse.”

Minjae’s eyes narrowed. Slightly.
But Haneul wasn’t done.

He laughed—broken, bitter, sharp around the edges.

“You’re just a creep who watched my cam boy videos and got obsessed.”

Minjae’s mask cracked. Just a hairline fracture.
His fingers twitched—but he didn’t move.

Haneul’s chest heaved. Eyes wet.
“You want me because you saw me at my lowest. You saw the damage and decided it made me beautiful.”
A beat.
“You don’t love me. You love the pain.”

Silence dropped like shattering glass.

And for the first time—
Minjae looked… human.
Still dangerous. Still composed.
But something underneath burned.

[ Parking Garage – Minutes Later ]
Haneul threw himself into his car. His hands shook so hard, he dropped the keys twice before stabbing them into the ignition.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—!”

He slammed the steering wheel.

“Sick freak—fucking liar—fucking everything—!”

Tears blurred his vision. His throat burned raw.
He cursed through clenched teeth.
His whole body shook.
He couldn’t breathe.

[ FLASHBACK – 5 Years Ago – A Dirty Room with a Camera Light ]
Back when the walls were thin. When rent was overdue.
When the only light was red and buzzing, and he had to look into the lens and pretend he wasn’t breaking.

“Just smile, baby,” Jiho said from behind the camera. “That’s what they’re paying for.”

Haneul had smiled.

He remembered the cold floor under his knees. The cheap sheets. The way his mouth hurt afterward.
And how the tips weren’t even good that night.

“You’re getting sloppy,” Jiho muttered, zipping up. “Start trying harder. Or you’re useless.”

[ Minjae’s Office → Parking Garage ]
Minjae stood in front of the office window for a long time.
Expression unreadable.

Then he moved.
Quiet steps.
Down the elevator.
Through the lobby.
To the parking garage, where the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like judgment.

Haneul’s car was parked crooked. The driver’s door was open.
Engine running. Headlights on.

Inside—
Haneul was curled over the steering wheel, gripping it like a lifeline, face buried in his arms.
Shaking.
Breaking.

Minjae stopped a few feet away.
Watched.

Then—
He laughed.
Low. Quiet. Like someone watching their favorite part of a movie.

“You always crash so beautifully,” he said softly.

He stepped closer, leaned against the car, and lit a cigarette like it was just another Tuesday.

“You think leaving means you’ve won,” he said through smoke. “But all it proves is that you’ll always come back broken.”

He exhaled.
Smoke curled around him like a crown.

“And I’ll always be here to pick up the pieces.”

Haneul lifted his head.
Eyes red. Wild.
Something in him snapped.

He flung the door open. Stumbled out.

“You think this is funny?” he barked.

Minjae didn’t move. Just stared—half-lidded. Waiting.

“You stand there like you know everything—like you own me because you know my secrets?”

He shoved Minjae in the chest. Hard.
Minjae didn’t flinch.

“You’re not better than him.” Haneul’s voice cracked. “You’re worse. At least Jiho never lied about what he was.”

Minjae’s jaw tightened. Slightly.
But Haneul didn’t stop.

“You think I don’t see it? The way you look at me. Like I’m your property. Like I’m some fucking project you can mold into the perfect little puppet.”

Minjae opened his mouth—
But Haneul cut him off. Voice hoarse:
“You were supposed to be my manager. Not my goddamn prison guard.”

He was shaking again.
Not from fear—
From rage.

“All I ever wanted was love.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.
“From anyone. Someone. My parents. My brother. Jiho. You.”

He laughed bitterly.
“But everyone just wants to control me, fuck me, own me. And the saddest part?”
He looked up, tears clinging to his lashes.
“I let them. I let you.”

He yanked the cigarette from Minjae’s hand and took a shaky drag.
The smoke burned.
He welcomed it.

“You wanna know what I feel when you touch me?” he whispered.

Minjae said nothing.

“Nothing.”
He exhaled smoke into Minjae’s face.
“And it’s better than the pain.”

A beat.
He turned back to the car.
Started the engine.
Revved it once.
Twice.

Minjae stepped forward—
“Don’t.”

But Haneul didn’t look at him.
He gripped the wheel like he meant it.

“Sometimes I dream of running you over.”
“And I wake up wishing I hadn’t stopped.”

Minjae froze.

The garage echoed with silence and engine growl.

Then—
The engine cut.
Haneul shut it off.
Got out slowly.

Walked past Minjae.
Threw the half-finished cigarette at his feet.
Didn’t look back.

[ Interior – Nightclub – 2:12 A.M. ]
The bass throbbed like a heartbeat on the verge of flatlining.
Lights stuttered across sweating bodies. Everything blurred—alcohol, smoke, skin.

Haneul didn’t care.

He was somewhere between blackout and euphoric.
His shirt was half-unbuttoned. Hair is a mess. Pupils blown wide from whatever he’d snorted in the bathroom twenty minutes ago.
His fingers trembled around a glass of something unrecognizable. Vodka? Tequila? Who cared?

A man kissed him.
Haneul kissed him back. Then pushed him off.

Another slid into his lap.
He kissed that one too.

There was glitter on his collarbone. Someone else’s lipstick on his neck. Maybe even blood.
He didn’t check.
He didn’t want to remember.

Not the garage.
Not the fight.
Not Minjae’s voice, echoing in his head like a curse he couldn’t shake.

“I own the role you’re playing.”
“You’re already broken.”

He laughed.
Then choked on it.

[Exterior – Motel Parking Lot – 3:46 A.M.]
He couldn’t remember their names.
There were three of them. All men. All beautiful. All wrong.

They laughed and stumbled into a cheap motel room rented under a fake name.
One of them had a tattoo on his hip.
Another whispered, “You’re famous, aren’t you?”

Haneul didn’t answer.
He just smiled.
Let them ruin him.

Because at least when he was being touched like that—
He didn’t feel like Minjae owned him.

[Montage – Next 3 Days]

Minjae’s Office – 8:00 A.M.
Phone ringing.
No answer.
Voicemail full.

Studio Lot – 11:00 A.M.
Camera crew waiting.
Director pacing.
PA whispering: “He didn’t show again…”

Makeup Room – 1:00 P.M.
Empty chair.
Three missed shots.
Two cancelled brand deals.

Minjae’s Phone – 4:22 P.M.
Call failed.
Again.
And again.

Minjae didn’t flinch.
Didn’t speak.
He just stared at the screen like it was trying to piss him off on purpose.

Finally, he opened the message thread. Typed:

“You’re embarrassing yourself.”

He didn’t send it.
Deleted it.

Typed again:

“Is this what you want people to see?”

Deleted that too.

Minjae locked his phone.
Sat back in his chair.

No one knew where Haneul was.
But Minjae?
He had a very good guess.

[Interior – Minjae’s Office – 11:47 P.M.]
Stacks of reports. A glowing monitor.
Silence—except for the click-click of Minjae’s mouse and the quiet hum of rage beneath his skin.

He’d tracked Haneul’s card transactions:

Bar tab in Gangnam.

Club entry in Itaewon.

Motel receipt.

One room. Three charges.
Three people.

Minjae stared at the screen.
Expression unreadable.
Cold.

“You’re spiraling.”

He stood.
Slid on his coat.
Picked up his phone.

No new messages.
No apologies.
No fear.

That pissed him off the most.

[Interior – Motel Hallway – 12:18 A.M.]
The hallway reeked of sweat, cheap perfume, and regret.

Minjae walked like a man on a mission—coat buttoned, shoes echoing against the tile.

Room 112.
He didn’t knock.
He kicked the door open.

The latch snapped.

Inside, it looked like a crime scene:
—Clothes everywhere.
—Two half-dressed strangers scrambling off the bed.
—Haneul, shirtless and dazed, sprawled near the headboard.

Eyes rimmed red. Mouth parted. Bruises are still fresh.

He looked up—slowly.
“…Minjae?”

The others backed away.
Minjae didn’t even glance at them.

His voice was ice:
“Get. Out.”

They didn’t argue.
They just ran.

Minjae stood in the center of the ruined room, looking at Haneul like he was something broken and ungrateful—
And still his.

“You’re a mess,” he muttered.

Haneul tried to sit up, but the room spun.
“Didn’t ask you to save me.”

“You didn’t have to. I own you, remember?”

That set Haneul off.
He grabbed a pillow and hurled it.
“FUCK OFF!”

Minjae didn’t flinch.

“You think this is rebellion?” he said, voice low.
“You think being passed around in a dirty motel proves you’re free?”

Haneul’s eyes shimmered. With shame. With fury. With pain.
“I didn’t do this for you.”

Minjae stepped closer.
“You did it because of me.”

Silence.
Breathless.
Ugly.

Then—
Minjae crouched beside the bed. Pulled Haneul’s face toward his.

“You want to burn it all down?” he whispered.
“Fine. But don’t you dare act like I’m the one holding the match.”

Haneul’s lip trembled.

Minjae grabbed his wrist and pulled him upright.
Haneul swayed.

“I’m not leaving,” he mumbled.

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I hate you.”

“Then hate me on your feet.”

Minjae dragged him to the door.
Haneul didn’t fight—not really.
Just cursed under his breath.
Just stumbled a little.

[Interior – Car – 12:54 A.M.]
The silence inside the car was suffocating.

Minjae didn’t say a word as he drove.
Haneul slumped in the passenger seat, head against the window.
City lights streaked past like broken memories.

His phone buzzed in his lap.
Another missed shot.
Another scandal brewing.
Another reason to drown.

But for the first time—
Haneul didn’t move to check it.

He just whispered, low and bitter:
“You should’ve let me destroy myself.”

Minjae didn’t look at him.

“Who says I didn’t?”

[Interior – Car – 12:56 A.M.]
The words hung in the air like smoke.

Haneul turned his head slowly.
Eyes glassy.
Voice cracked.

“You mean that?”

Minjae didn’t answer.

“Of course you do.”
Haneul let out a breathless laugh. Bitter.
“You don’t care what happens to me. Not really.”

Minjae’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
“You’re not being rational.”

“No,” Haneul said. “I’m being honest.”
He looked down at his lap.
At his shaking hands.
The bruises are fading too slowly.

“I let strangers use me because it’s the only time I feel like I’m choosing something.”

Minjae’s jaw clenched.
He didn’t interrupt.

“I didn’t drink because I wanted to forget,” Haneul whispered. “I drank because I wanted to remember what it felt like before you.”

That landed.
Sharp.
Real.

Minjae pulled the car over suddenly, tires groaning as they hit gravel.

The car stopped.
The silence didn’t.

He turned off the engine.

Then turned to Haneul, gazing hard.
“I gave you everything.”

Haneul stared at him. “You gave me a cage.”

Minjae leaned in, low and close.
“I made you relevant .”

“I was already dying,” Haneul said. “You just made it profitable.”

Minjae didn’t blink.
Didn’t speak.
His hand hovered, like he wanted to touch Haneul’s face. Or shake him. Or both.

Instead—
He exhaled. Sat back.

“You’re not going back to that motel,” he said calmly.

Haneul laughed. “Says who?”