Into The Thrill-Chapter 12.7

There had been minor incidents where people caught on and reacted with words like creepy, disgusting, or repulsive, but in the end, Woojin was mostly just seen as cold, aloof, or a bit ruthless—well enough to blend in with the general public. Very few people ever saw through him.

There were some who knew by instinct. Like someone had once said in his childhood, calling him a snake, or like his father, who called him a monster.

His father regarded him as the spawn of evil—someone fundamentally rotten in deed. A monster.

Woojin, who divided things into rational and irrational, into good and bad, liked and disliked—felt true aversion only in two situations: when someone labeled him a monster, and when he himself started to doubt his own nature.

What if I really am a monster?

Woojin’s entire life could be summed up as a constant effort to prove he was not a monster. He knew he was a little obsessed with that.

Especially in front of his mother, he was extra cautious. The hatred from his father and brothers was more than enough. His mother was the only one who had ever dealt with him with persistent affection.

As far as Woojin was concerned, there was nothing wrong with him. He was not different from others.

All life is about battling oneself, about overcoming what lies within. It was the same for Woojin. His life had been a string of battles with himself—many of which he had already overcome and proven.

Woojin was not antisocial. He was not some psychopath, as people liked to say.

That’s why he was hypersensitive when someone tried to classify him that way—and recently, he’d been furious because of Lee Taeshin. Thankfully, Taeshin had taken care of things himself, so Woojin hadn’t needed to take action.

"This is good. Really suits my taste."

Woojin said, sitting quietly across from his mother at the dining table.

She had spent decades obsessively observing her son, trying to find even the smallest trace of humanity in the child she’d given birth to.

She also firmly believed that her parenting had shaped Woojin’s nature. After all, she wasn’t just any mother—she was a pediatric psychiatrist and held a doctorate in psychology. If Woojin could deceive someone like her, he could deceive anyone.

"Any interesting cases lately?"

"Because of the misunderstanding with Chairman Kim Jung-geun, I’ve been excluded from major investigative assignments."

"That’s not fair. You weren’t even married to Hayeong. It’s just a personal connection."

The two families had been close since Woojin’s childhood, but ever since Hayeong’s suicide, both his parents had grown uncomfortable and distanced themselves from Chairman Kim and Seo Ok-hwa. The relationship naturally withered.

They probably hadn’t even contacted them since everything had happened.

The very people who used to laugh and cling to each other like they couldn’t live apart suddenly flipped their attitudes, acting two-faced—claiming to be the normal ones.

Whenever Woojin saw such irrational behavior, he had questions. But more often than not, he kept his mouth shut, worried it might seem abnormal to point it out. Over time, he’d learned not to care about things that didn’t matter.

"That’s how institutions work. Full of unfairness."

"And how are you handling it?"

At his mother’s question, Woojin thought for a moment before replying.

"I’m waiting for time to take care of it."

She smiled, satisfied with what seemed to be the perfect answer.

"No one’s pressuring you to resign, right?"

"There’s a rumor going around, and a law firm did reach out. But I don’t plan to quit. I’m just being excluded from big cases for now—there’s no direct pressure yet."

"Good. That job suits you."

Being a prosecutor meant eliminating even the slightest trace of emotion, and legal logic aligned almost perfectly with Woojin’s thought patterns. There was little stress from trying to interpret emotional reactions. In that sense, it was the perfect job for him.

His mother placed one of the side dishes Woojin hadn’t touched onto his bowl. It was disgusting—touched by her saliva-soaked chopsticks—but he didn’t show it. There were too many things in the world that required tolerance.

"You haven’t been staying at the officetel lately, have you? I went yesterday, but the food from last time was still untouched. I thought you weren’t busy?"

"I haven’t really been going in. One second."

The ringtone interrupted, and Woojin reached into his jacket. It was Haewon. He deliberately answered in front of his mother.

"Yeah."

―Where are you? Why haven’t you come? You said you'd be early.

"Sorry, I forgot to say. I’m having dinner at my family home with my mother."

―Oh, with Choi Hyunmi?

"Yeah."

Woojin looked at Choi Hyunmi.

―How’s Choi Hyunmi doing?

"She’s well."

He smiled faintly at Haewon’s casual way of calling his mother by name. His mother, pretending not to listen, perked up her ears in curiosity as Woojin spoke softly, apologetically, and with a smile to someone on the phone.

―So I’ll be eating dinner alone, huh.

"Don’t eat junk. There’s food in the fridge I made this morning. Heat it up in the microwave."

―How can someone who calls hamburgers trash eat galbitang or kimchi stew?

"Everyone eats that. You need to be normal in normal contexts. But don’t eat junk. Don’t waste food. Eat what’s there."

―I don’t want to eat alone. I won’t eat.

"I’m going to check if you ate or not. And if you threw it out."

―What if I did?

"You’ll be punished."

―How much?

"A lot."

―Okay. I’ll look forward to it.

Haewon, who liked being punished, hung up. Woojin pressed the call end button and placed the phone on the table. As he resumed his meal, his mother, who had been hesitating, finally spoke.

"...Are you seeing someone?"

"You know them too."

"Who? That girl from the last matchmaking?"

"No. A junior from school. Moon Haewon."

"..."

What she ultimately hoped for was for Woojin to meet someone and have a human relationship.

His engagement to Hayeong had been clearly about duty and responsibility, and he had used her background to expand his influence. It was never the kind of emotional connection she wanted for him—it was a transaction.

Woojin looked at his mother. He was doing exactly what she had long hoped and waited for, yet she was staring at him, wide-eyed in disbelief, her hand frozen mid-air with chopsticks.

"Moon Haewon? The violinist?"

She already knew but asked again, unable to accept it.

"I was going to tell you. We’re seeing each other. He stays at my officetel, so I rarely go home anymore."

"The one who was hospitalized at our clinic?"

Still unable to believe it, she repeated the question.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, it’s just... I only knew he was your junior. I didn’t know you two were... like that."

"It’s been a while. We’re thinking of moving."

"Moving?"

"Neither my officetel nor his place is really suited for two people. And staying together for a few days isn’t enough. I want something deeper."

"...Right. And Haewon agreed? That’s the most important thing."

"Haewon will ask for it first."

He’ll be the one who begs to live with me. Woojin was emotionally dominant, and he had no intention of giving Haewon control.

"Then the officetel you’re living in now won’t work... Have you looked at other places?"

"There’s the apartment."

Woojin replied flatly, continuing his meal.

"What apartment?"

"The Seocho-dong apartment."

"You mean that one? The place you were going to move into if you’d married Hayeong?"

His mother’s reaction was not what he expected. It was a moment where Woojin’s understanding of common sense diverged completely from hers. Failing to comprehend the gap, Woojin looked at her with a searching gaze.

"It’s under my name."

It wasn’t something he was taking from someone else. It was his. And yet his mother’s face turned pale. After a pause, she let out a heavy sigh.

"Haewon would feel awful if he found out. There’s not a single spot in that apartment Hayeong didn’t touch. The interior, the furniture, the bedding—it’s all hers. Even the wedding gifts are still there."

"So what?"

Woojin’s expression clearly said: And? What’s the problem?

"Hayeong was the woman you were supposed to marry."

"And?"

She’s dead, what does it matter?—his eyes seemed to say. Choi Hyunmi realized Woojin hadn’t changed at all.

"Put yourself in his shoes. Would you feel good about living with someone in a home they prepared with their ex?"

"Is that something to feel good or bad about?"

Even as his mother explained why it was emotionally troubling, Woojin found the reasoning too weak to justify abandoning a set of optimal conditions.

"Spending extra time and money over something that emotional is inefficient. And if it’s so unpleasant, we can just make sure Haewon doesn’t know. It’s not like he has to. It’s all in the past, and Hayeong’s not even alive anymore."

"..."

"It’s close to the Prosecutors’ Office, the furniture and interior are already in place—perfect conditions for starting cohabitation. Can’t leave it empty forever either. If it bothers you, even if you’re busy, please stop by and clear out Hayeong’s belongings. I wouldn’t be able to tell what’s what."

It was more than just unpleasant—it was chilling.

It wasn’t simply an unused home left over from a broken engagement. It was the place tied to her suicide. To convince Woojin—who thought of the living and the dead only in biological terms—that this was wrong, she’d have to first tell him he was the problem. But that was too broad, too abstract. She gave up on explaining.

"Are you attracted to him physically? Or emotionally? That’s a distinction."

"...Are there people who can’t make that distinction?"

Woojin’s expression chilled. He stared directly at her, a silent but clear warning not to make him into something abnormal. His mother met his gaze. She was silently demanding an answer.

Woojin set his spoon down with a sharp clink. He meant to show his displeasure, but his mother didn’t waver.

Liking someone didn’t come with a clear-cut answer. It was, by nature, emotional. And emotions were what Woojin struggled with most.

These kinds of vague questions felt like a test, and he didn’t want to answer. But he also didn’t want to appear abnormal in front of her.

If he could deceive his mother, he could deceive anyone.

After some thought, Woojin finally spoke.

"Haewon’s disrupted a lot of my plans... but I don’t want to let go."

"..."

"It’s not how I usually operate. But what’s clear is—Haewon interferes with my work. And I don’t hate it."

"...Alright. I’ll go to the apartment and sort through everything."

"It’s under renovation anyway. Please go check."

There was nothing beneficial about Haewon besides satisfying sexual desire. Yet Woojin couldn’t bring himself to push him away—and didn’t want to.

Perhaps this was that irrational realm people always claimed existed—one he had never truly accepted.

"What do you like about Haewon? He seemed talented with the violin. His performance was quite moving."

His mother asked curiously about her son’s partner. Woojin tried to think of an answer that would satisfy her.

Vague, ambiguous—because that’s what they liked.

"It’s hard to explain in words."

"..."

She nodded and drew in a breath, overcome with emotion.

Regardless of whether it was a man or woman, Woojin liked someone.

For a woman who had clung so desperately to the idea of her son being normal, this was a comforting, even hopeful change—so much so her hands trembled.

Confirming her response, Woojin resumed his meal.

After leaving his family home, he got into his car while his mother saw him off. He turned the car around and rolled down the window to look up at her.

"Drive safe."

"Go back inside."

"Tell Haewon I said hello."

"Will do."

He gave her one flat, inorganic glance. Then the window slid up. Woojin drove out of the garage without hesitation.

He unlocked the digital door lock and opened the door.

Blasting music hit his ears.

Haewon was watching a ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ live DVD performance. Oblivious to Woojin’s return, he sat lazily on the sofa, staring blankly at classical music that all sounded the same.

On screen, an elderly conductor waved his arms passionately, leading the orchestra—somewhere. Perhaps into a world Woojin would never understand.

He was curious about what could so completely transfix Haewon. Maybe it was because he might never know that he wanted to know even more.

Like being submerged in water, Haewon was lost in the music. Woojin watched him quietly, making no sound.

Haewon looked up only when he noticed a shadow cast over him. Woojin reached out, cupped his cheek, leaned down, and kissed him. Then he gripped the nape of Haewon’s neck.

Their bodies fell onto the sofa.

Haewon’s breath smelled like fresh fruit—he must have brushed his teeth.

That feeling—the one he hadn’t been able to explain to his mother—washed over him.

When he pressed his lips to Haewon’s, when he sucked that wet tongue all the way in, when Haewon slid his hand under Woojin’s pants and gripped him—when their lips twisted with the force of it—it was impossible to put into words.

If possible, he wanted to keep doing it until his stamina ran out.

There was no logical reason to spend so much time and energy on something so base, but just from a kiss, his head felt foggy. He wanted to increase the contact, expand the skin-to-skin, the warmth, the scent—more, and more.

It felt good.

In the past, he’d sought physical contact merely to satisfy urges. But now he was obsessed with the act itself—because he enjoyed it.

He pulled Haewon’s shirt over his head. Brown hair tousled messily.

Broad shoulders, a deep collarbone, flat chest, pale nipples—his rising arousal made his boxer briefs feel tight.

Haewon grabbed Woojin’s tie and began unbuttoning his shirt, locking eyes with him.

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Doll-like eyes, long lashes, wet red lips, delicate features on a small face—Woojin ran a large hand over them.

Haewon finished unbuttoning his shirt and slipped it off Woojin’s shoulders. The sleeves caught on his arms. Woojin lifted one arm, letting it slip off, then the other.

He grabbed Haewon’s pants and underwear together and yanked them down. Exposing Haewon from the waist down, Woojin hastily stripped off his own pants and underwear as well.

With both of them half-naked, Woojin lay over Haewon and rubbed his erection against him, as if to penetrate.

Haewon’s eyes fluttered shut. Like when he listened to live recordings, Woojin could sense him slipping into that unreachable place again.

Woojin rubbed his fully erect penis against Haewon’s skin. As he moved his hips, the leather sofa creaked beneath them.

When he tried to pull Haewon’s clothes all the way off, Haewon stopped him—then wrapped his arms around Woojin’s back.