Chapter 121: The Inefficiency of Love
by GideonIt wasn’t that I hadn’t thought about it, but we’d never reached a definitive agreement on this question.
“I’m not ready to go that far yet…”
After the Heat, Zion had unilaterally declared that marriage was a given. He’d even gone so far as to say he’d take on the burden of childcare. But from Jubin’s perspective, that was only if they’d had a child before marriage.
If we have a child, what else can we do? We’ll have to raise it responsibly. That was the extent of his commitment.
“When you get a chance, ask Do Ji how many years he signed for with our company. I think that’s the answer he’s already decided on.”
The answer he decided on.
I think I already know, even without asking.
“Let’s talk about this more often. After all, it’s our future.”
Our paces never seemed to match.
It’s not that I’m unsure, but I can’t quite picture the specifics. It feels like I need to pull him back—he’s already racing ahead. This is a choice that will turn our lives upside down.
“So, how are you going to handle a guy like Do Zion?”
“What…?”
The question was so unexpected that Jubin questioned his own hearing.
“Do Zion is no joke, you know.”
No way. We went from love and dating to… this?
Jubin desperately wanted to believe he’d misheard.
“He’s always been an athlete, and he still keeps up that same level of activity out of habit. I was just wondering how you’d handle his rut.”
How was Jubin supposed to interpret that mischievous glint in the other man’s eyes? Did he think they’d become close just because they’d had one deep conversation?
CEO Park Ji-bun was crossing the line way too fast.
“Alphas’ ruts are still relatively—”
“That’s for ordinary Alphas. Do Zion is a Dominant, isn’t he?”
Just then, a secretary knocked and entered, carrying a sushi delivery box.
“Your meal is here.”
Perfect timing. Jubin had been desperate to escape the personal topic, and this was the ultimate cut-off.
“Your phone’s blowing up,” CEO Park Ji-bun remarked with a dry laugh.
Jubin checked his device. A stack of missed calls from CEO Moon Woo-jin glared back at him.
“Let’s wrap up the chat and call the other two in to eat, shall we?”
“Yes, let’s do that.”
CEO Park Ji-bun set his phone down and asked casually, “By the way, when was the first shoot for Iconic Mood?”
The rain hammered against the window, a relentless drumming. Droplets streaked down the glass, leaving a trail of melancholy.
The rhythmic slap of skin on skin intensified, the decibels climbing with every fierce thrust.
A flash of lightning tore through the sky, illuminating the two men entwined against the backdrop of the floor-to-ceiling window. The man pinned beneath let out a low, ragged moan, his breath escaping through the gap between his body and the sofa.
“F-fuck…”
He hissed the curse, desperately reaching out with one hand. His arm, stretched out weakly as he lay prone on the floor, looked pitifully frail.
The man with his face buried in the sofa gritted his teeth, planting his elbows on the cushions and trying to drag himself forward, desperate to escape.
But his efforts were in vain. A large hand clamped down on his sweat-slicked hip and yanked him back with brutal force.
“Hah… fuck!”
The sudden, powerful tug dragged him back, only for an even stronger force to slam against his hips. He shoved his face back into the sofa, trembling violently.
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights blurred and wavered, smeared by the rain.
The man on top, now firmly in control, thrust harder with every movement.
Thud. Thud. Thwack.
The raw, primal sounds of their bodies colliding echoed through the vast living room.
This was an endless, grueling fuck.
His strength was gone, his body trembling with a sensitivity that sent jolts of pleasure and pain through him. Nothing was going his way.
The man pinned beneath him snarled, unable to take any more.
“…You fucking bastard, stop…!”
But the more he struggled,
“Ugh, fuck!”
The more he pleaded and screamed,
“Stop fucking—!”
The more a chilling smile spread across the other man’s lips.
“Where do you think you’re going, with me this hard?”
His smile was chillingly erotic.
“You have nowhere else to run but into my arms.”
The man pinned beneath him let out a faint, breathless moan, as if he’d reached his peak.
“Cut! Print it!”
Director Andrew’s voice rang out, his native accent sharp and clear. Joo-won, who had been waiting off-camera, rushed over.
“I brought something to cover you with.”
Zion naturally accepted the robe Joo-won handed him.
“Here, put this on.”
Before the studio lights could fully come up, Zion quickly wrapped the robe around Jubin’s body.
As the darkened set brightened, Jubin’s tear-streaked face was revealed.
“Did you cry?” Zion asked, startled.
Jubin couldn’t even open his eyes properly, wincing in pain from the foreign object still inside.
“Some dust got in my eye…”
“Let me see.”
Jubin’s tear-rimmed eye trembled, a sign that the foreign object was still irritating it.
“…It stings.”
“Does anyone have artificial tears?”
“I do!”
The makeup artist hurriedly handed over a single-use vial from her touch-up kit. Zion caught it and quickly twisted the cap off.
“Hyung, open your eye.”
Though it was a minor thing, Jubin flinched, his body tense with unnecessary nerves.
“Stay still.”
Zion subtly released his pheromones to soothe him. At the scent, Jubin’s tightly hunched shoulders finally relaxed.
As a couple of drops of the artificial tears fell into his eye with a soft plop, Jubin blinked rapidly.
He had endured the discomfort throughout the entire shoot, afraid his distress might throw Zion off, and now it was taking its toll.
“Ah, it must have fallen out. I’m okay now.”
Thanks to that, his vision had cleared up significantly. Zion, still holding Jubin’s cheeks in his hands, looked worried.
“Your eyes are still red, though.”
“This will go away with time. You should put your clothes back on.”
Zion was still shirtless, too busy tending to Jubin to notice. And all this in front of so many staff members.
“Jubin! Zion!”
At Director Andrew’s call, the two naturally pulled apart.
Iconic Mood was a film set in both the United States and Korea, so its schedule was a mix of domestic shoots and overseas location filming. Considering how difficult it was to get filming permits in the U.S., they had quickly wrapped up the Korean scenes first.
Jubin, who had to play a complete asshole, had to secretly practice hurling foul-mouthed insults dozens of times a day.
Zion, watching the playback, burst out laughing at a particularly vicious curse.
“Hyung, you weren’t acting, were you? You were actually cursing me out.”
“It’s acting, it’s acting.”
This was a side of Jubin that would never have shown in his usual, polite demeanor.
Director Andrew wanted to use this shoot to shatter the stereotyped images Zion and Jubin had built.
For Zion, who was filming a romance, his fans wanted just one thing: a mix of sweetness and sexiness.
On the other hand, Jubin’s fans craved a completely different vibe—something rebellious and rough, a far cry from his usual clean-cut image.
The Iconic Mood shoot, born from the fans’ passionate requests, was already nearing its end.
The entire process had been more enjoyable than they’d ever expected.
This was a new challenge for Zion and Jubin. The emotions they shared during the shoot often bled into their real lives, leading to occasional arguments.
But fighting wasn’t always a bad thing. Their spats never lasted long, and regardless of who was at fault, Zion always apologized first, making their reconciliations swift.
Dating Zion had brought a noticeable emotional stability to Jubin’s life.
“Teacher!”
Lee Seo-rim arrived on set, immediately running over to Jubin.
“Oh, you’re here.”
Jubin had recommended Seo-rim for a supporting role in Iconic Mood.
According to Andrew, the production company had initially rejected Seo-rim. They’d assumed his chronic tardiness was incurable and suggested someone else, but Andrew had pushed the casting through anyway.
Once Andrew set his mind on a casting, his single-minded determination was so fierce that no one could talk him out of it.
He had gone to see Lee Seo-rim in person after his discharge from the hospital and spent hours talking to him. As a result, Seo-rim had secured a minor supporting role.
“Are you done filming?”
“Yeah, just finished.”
Suddenly, Andrew held out a cute keychain plushie.
“A keychain? What’s this for?”
“Since you’ll be filming overseas, I won’t be able to celebrate your birthday with you. This is an early present.”
“Oh…”
Seo-rim’s surprise escaped before he could even process the gesture. He’d been so focused on filming that he’d completely forgotten his birthday was this month.
In the past, he would have simply enjoyed the joy of being celebrated. Now, that feeling had transformed into a deep sense of gratitude for someone who remembered.
“Thanks. For the early birthday wishes.”
“Today’s the first episode of Snowy Leaf, right? I’ll definitely tune in.”
“I know you’re busy filming, so thanks for thinking of me.”
“Good luck with your overseas shoot. Stay safe.”
“You too. Work hard on the rest of your scenes.”
Jubin gave Seo-rim a light pat on the shoulder before heading back to the dressing room with Joo-won to change.
The stylist brought over the outfits she’d prepared on a rack, her voice bright and cheerful. “Jubin, I’ve put together two options for your Snowy Leaf first-broadcast live. Which one do you want to wear?”
Iconic Mood was the first project where Jubin was officially assigned a stylist. Since his character was from a chaebol family, his usual wardrobe was too limited to truly bring the role to life.
After I explained the situation to CEO Moon Woo-jin, he assigned Kim Ji-eun—a diligent and passionate stylist—to work with us.
“Hmm, I’ll take this one,” Jubin said.
“I knew you’d pick that one,” Ji-eun replied. “I’ll go get the outfit approved.”
She grabbed the clothes for the shoot and stepped out into the hallway.
“Jubin, did you bring your passport?” Joo-won asked.
“Yeah, it’s in my bag.”
“Give it to me now.”
Joo-won seemed busy preparing for tomorrow’s departure.
“Oh, right. I need to call the local coordinator. The distance between the hotel and the shoot location is too far, so I think we need to change it.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
We leave for the United States tomorrow at dawn.
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