The restaurant, which appeared quite understated from the outside, boasted a surprisingly opulent interior. High ceilings soared above a spacious room, where tables draped in pristine white linen were sparsely arranged. Unnamed pastel-toned flowers, placed artfully throughout, harmonized perfectly with the white tablecloths.
Nam Yiwon’s apricot-hued suit shirt seemed perfectly tailored for the occasion, blending seamlessly with the elegant ambiance.
Seungjun idly ran his fingers along the hem of his jacket, surveying their surroundings. It was lunchtime, yet the place was unusually deserted. In this vast space, only one other couple occupied a table.
‘How do they even cover rent doing business like this? It must be ridiculously expensive, right?’ Seungjun silently fumed, glaring at the back of Nam Yiwon’s head as they walked. The waiter guided them to a sun-drenched window seat.
“Please, have a seat.”
Nam Yiwon gestured politely, pulling out a chair. ‘He’s overdoing it, pulling out chairs for others. He must be planning to pull some annoying stunt soon,’ Seungjun thought, watching him with a distrustful gaze as he sat down. Nam Yiwon casually perused the menu.
“What would you like to eat?”
“Hmm…”
A sigh escaped Seungjun as he opened the menu. Everything was written in French, making it impossible to decipher even after a long stare. Even the tiny descriptions beneath each dish were in French.
‘It seems to be a French restaurant concept, but who runs a business like this in Korea? There are no prices either. What am I supposed to order based on?’ His jaw dropped in exasperation, his face contorting in a frown, just as Nam Yiwon set his menu down.
“Oh, is it okay that the menu is all in French? They usually explain it, but I guess they skipped it since I’m a regular.”
“It’s fine. I eat French cuisine often.”
Perhaps it was Nam Yiwon’s twisted smile that irritated him, but a lie he hadn’t intended to utter simply slipped out. He had only eaten French food once in college, so long ago that he couldn’t even recall the taste, let alone the names of the dishes.
However, the thought of that guy explaining over ten menu items one by one, putting on airs, made him feel like he was breaking out in hives. He didn’t even have allergies, but he’d rather just order anything.
“I’m thinking of having the course meal. What about you, Senior?”
“No, I’ll pass on the course.”
Dining with him was already irritating enough; appetizers and dessert too? Absolutely not. Seungjun chose the longest item on the menu.
“I’ll have this one.”
‘If the name is long, it probably has more ingredients and tastes better,’ he mused. He rested his chin in his hand, staring blankly at the incomprehensible French words: *foie gras torchon*. Just then, Nam Yiwon chuckled softly.
“Ah, was it the dessert that made you skip the course? What about the main?”
‘What?’ Seungjun narrowed his eyes, looking at the menu again. At the top, in letters half the size of his pinky nail, was written *Entrée*.
‘Damn it, now I have to order two dishes.’
Letters so small you’d need reading glasses to see them—were these guys serious about doing business? Yet, he couldn’t possibly say he wouldn’t have an *entrée* now. Seungjun bit his lip, forcing his expression to remain neutral. When he subtly glanced up, he saw Nam Yiwon smiling.
He couldn’t possibly admit to that arrogant face that he hadn’t known it was an appetizer. Clearing his throat, Seungjun nodded.
“Yes. That, and this for the main.”
“Understood.”
As Nam Yiwon called the waiter over and rattled off the order with an exaggerated flourish, Seungjun gulped down water to soothe his churning stomach. ‘Eating an entrée too? It’ll be a tiny portion, but they’ll charge tens of thousands of won. If I’d known, I would’ve just ordered the course from the start.’
“Shall we talk business, Producer Baek Seungjun?”
He was still grumbling internally when Nam Yiwon spoke his name. It was only then that he remembered telling him not to call him ‘Senior’. Hearing his full name pronounced so stiffly from Nam Yiwon’s lips instantly ruined his appetite.
Nam Yiwon pouted, seemingly dissatisfied, then spoke again.
“It still feels too formal, I don’t like it. ‘Senior’ sounds better.”
“Someone who debuted before me isn’t a junior, though,” Seungjun retorted smoothly.
Nam Yiwon smiled at Seungjun’s sly response. He shifted slightly in his seat, his foot brushing against Seungjun’s beneath the table. The impeccably polished shoe nudged the inside of Seungjun’s right ankle.
“Senior debuted quite quickly as well.”
Just as Nam Yiwon’s foot, resting against his ankle, began to bother him, the man leaned in suddenly and spoke. Indeed, for someone without connections, Seungjun’s debut had been rather swift. A triumphant smirk played on Seungjun’s lips.
“Well, I suppose so.”
“Is that what happens when you don’t go to the military?”
‘What a way with words.’
Annoyed by the subtly condescending tone, Seungjun sharply twisted his ankle. His sneaker bumped against Nam Yiwon’s shoe, creating a series of soft thuds beneath the table. Though Nam Yiwon kept calling him ‘Senior,’ he was brazenly encroaching on Seungjun’s space, and Seungjun refused to back down first. Instead of withdrawing his foot, Nam Yiwon drew his knees inward, allowing their calves to touch.
Every word and every subtle action from Nam Yiwon seemed to carry an implicit challenge, an air of ‘you can’t catch me.’ If Seungjun reacted, he knew Nam Yiwon would cackle with glee, finding it utterly amusing. While he couldn’t help getting exasperated by work-related issues, he saw no need to rise to such childish provocations.
Nam Yiwon’s surprisingly firm leg rested languidly against his calf. A natural warmth settled where they touched. Seungjun prided himself on his lower body strength and refused to yield, determined to see who would give in first.
“I always have wine here, but I suppose we’re on duty. Let’s have a drink sometime, just the two of us.”
Nam Yiwon gazed at his water glass with an almost wistful expression. Seungjun, having just sworn never to dine with him outside the broadcasting station again, let out a wry chuckle and shook his head.
“I have a terrible drinking habit.”
“Well, I’ve seen all sorts of things in life, so I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Despite the blunt refusal, which bordered on rude, Nam Yiwon simply smiled brightly. Faced with that consistently cheerful grin, Seungjun suddenly found himself wanting to see Nam Yiwon flustered. Unable to resist the impulsive urge, he shot back,
“You wouldn’t have seen *my* kind of terrible.”
“Do you crawl? Or perform stripteases?”
‘Or maybe just cry uncontrollably?’ Nam Yiwon raised an eyebrow, whispering suggestively. Simultaneously, he pushed his foot outward, gently spreading Seungjun’s legs.
‘Oh, how audacious.’
Last time, he had gleefully called himself a ‘filthy bastard’; now, it seemed he was trying to provoke nausea with overtly sexual innuendos. ‘Not a chance,’ Seungjun thought. Fortunately, he had a strong stomach for such things. He curved his lips into a subtle smile, lowering his voice in turn, while neatly bringing his feet together to press against Nam Yiwon’s leg.
“I don’t remember, but whenever I woke up, all the people I’d dated would be complaining.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie; one ex-boyfriend had indeed complained that Seungjun was so heavy when he carried him home, he thought he’d die. Yet, Nam Yiwon couldn’t possibly miss the sexual nuance embedded in the remark.
Because of Nam Yiwon’s long legs, his ankles were exposed beneath the hem of his suit trousers. Consequently, his body heat felt even warmer, unintentionally. Seungjun looked up, hoping Nam Yiwon felt as disgusted as he was trying to make him, but the other man simply met his gaze with an unreadable expression. Whatever it was, he didn’t seem particularly displeased.
‘Was that an inappropriate joke for someone already mired in rumors? Making a dirty joke to a dirty person only makes you dirty too,’ Seungjun sighed, changing the subject.
“Don’t you have any drinking habits?”
“Me? Well, I don’t think I’ve ever been drunk enough for my habits to show.”
“So you have a high tolerance, then?”
“No. My head starts to hurt after about three shots of soju.”
‘He just puffs on cigarettes without inhaling, and gets tipsy after three shots of alcohol. It’s a good thing he comes from a good family, otherwise, how would he survive in this industry?’ Seungjun couldn’t help but laugh.
“Three shots? How do you work in this industry with a tolerance like that?”
“Is tolerance that important? It’s not like I can’t drink at all.”
“There are so many drinking parties; you need to be able to hold your liquor to some extent.”
“No one says anything to me even if I don’t drink a single drop,” Nam Yiwon said, tilting his head and smiling.
He revealed, without reservation, that he was in a position where no one could challenge him, yet he remained perfectly composed. Perhaps because he had lived his entire life that way, he didn’t seem to be showing off when he said it.
‘I’m going to beat you.’
The words he had impulsively flung at Nam Yiwon resurfaced. This memory, which constantly returned to sour his mood, played on a ceaseless loop. He sometimes wondered what thoughts lay behind the man’s perpetual, inscrutable smile.
The warmth of their still-touching ankles lingered. A sudden wave of discomfort prompted Seungjun to lift his heel to pull his foot away, but Nam Yiwon’s long leg instantly slid forward, pressing harder. Seungjun frowned. Now their calves were intertwined, the increased contact area amplifying his discomfort.
Nam Yiwon smiled slightly when their eyes met. ‘He’s clearly set on getting under my skin.’ If Seungjun pulled his foot away now, admitting his irritation, he would lose to this guy. Nam Yiwon wasn’t someone who stopped after one provocation; if Seungjun let this slide, the next annoyance would follow immediately.
They remained, legs entwined, until the waiter appeared with the entrée.
The appetizer, despite its long name, was indeed minuscule. As the waiter placed the plate before them, he softly explained the dish in a low voice.
“This is Foie Gras Torchon with cherry compote and toasted nuts spread on brioche toast.”
‘Ah. So that’s how you pronounce foie gras. I almost butchered that,’ Seungjun thought, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Nam Yiwon’s eyes crinkled in amusement. He leisurely began his meal, then turned the conversation to business.