As Winter pushed the door shut a little harder, a man carrying a huge potted plant strode inside.
He went straight toward the open terrace, set the pot down for a moment, then turned to Winter with an outstretched hand.
“Take them off.”
Startled, Winter crossed her arms in an X across her chest.
“What? Take what off?”
“The gloves you’re wearing.”
“……”
“What did you think I meant?”
Grumbling under his breath, the man watched Winter roll her eyes before she peeled off her gloves and tossed them at him.
With a smug grin, he caught them, then grabbed a broom from nearby and swept away the shattered remains of the pot.
He knows how to make a mess, but apparently, he can clean too.
For just a moment, Winter felt herself soften toward this unfamiliar side of him—though it didn’t last long.
“In case things ever get urgent and I don’t have time to ring the bell, let’s keep the flowerpot here.”
Maybe so I won’t break another one, he added slyly.
Winter let out a short laugh at his shamelessness.
Dusting off his hands, the man wandered into the kitchen as if he belonged there. He picked up a bag of beans from the counter and pulled out the hand grinder.
“Want some coffee?”
“No.”
“Alright.”
Winter had assumed he’d leave at her refusal, but he calmly ground the beans and began brewing coffee. She watched him, exasperated, and asked seriously:
“Just so I’m clear, you’re visiting my home, right? This isn’t your place?”
“Probably.”
“……”
“Drink.”
“I said I don’t—”
Her sharp reply trailed off as the steam carried a rich aroma through the air.
He handed her the first cup, then poured the rest into his own.
Winter found herself watching him closely. Standing there, sipping coffee, his profile caught the light in such a way that he seemed every bit the actor he was. It felt like frames from a film slowly sliding past, each one too precious to turn too quickly.
As much as she wanted to deny it, his looks were undeniable. But that’s all it was, wasn’t it? Good looks. His personality was another story: barging into people’s homes, stripping off layers like it was nothing, throwing around strange lines with zero shame.
“Now that you’re done, could you go home? I’m an introvert. Having someone around drains me fast.”
“Oh? I’m an extrovert. Being alone drains me.”
“Ha… so this is what they call landlord abuse.”
He chuckled at her sigh and asked suddenly, “Why don’t you explain?”
“Explain what…?”
“The stolen package. That boy downstairs.”
Winter froze, then quickly changed her tone.
“He’s young. It was just a mistake, really. Kids that age want things, do things without thinking…”
“He seemed like he was being bullied.”
“…You heard everything?”
“I was just curious. Why you’d cover for him even if people thought you were the thief.”
Winter hesitated, biting her nail before finally speaking quietly.
“Because I know what that feels like. I was bullied too. From middle school until I dropped out.”
“You dropped out?”
“For three years straight I was tormented. I thought it would end after graduation, but then I learned my bully was going to the same high school. I couldn’t handle it anymore. So I left.”
Her voice was calm, but her gaze met his firmly.
“That’s why I understand him so well. More than I’d like to.”
She lifted her chin, eyes steady.
“So what if people dislike you? Thinking everyone will love you—that’s just a fantasy.”
“……”
“Some people will. Some people won’t. That’s natural.”
“……”
“So don’t waste your energy. Focus on the people who do care, who love you. The others fade away.”
Their eyes met in a rare silence. Then he asked softly:
“So… you never got to eat tteokbokki with friends after school?”
“…Are you mocking me?”
“And dating?”
“Do you really think I had the chance?”
“That’s the first thing I like about you.”
Winter frowned, unsure what he meant. But his easy smile made her annoyance melt before she realized it.
From the very first day—accusing her of theft, eavesdropping, trespassing—he had seemed like trouble. Yet now, seeing how he pieced things together, how he asked rather than accused, she wondered if they might share more than she thought.
“I have a confession too,” she blurted.
“Out of nowhere?”
“I knew you were a famous actor.”
“That’s all?”
He clicked his tongue, disappointed.
“I didn’t know at first. But the day you climbed over the terrace… your manager came by. I heard your name and looked you up.”
Of course. He had half-expected it ever since he shouted his name at the door.
“So you helped me knowing who I was?”
“I helped because I knew.”
“Pity, huh?”
“Yeah. A lot of it.”
“Lucky me. If I hadn’t earned that pity, I’d have been kicked out.”
“Why did you do it, anyway? Run from the set?”
Winter tilted her head innocently. He laughed.
“You really think I’d tell you?”
“If you do, maybe I can help you even more.”
He leaned forward, suddenly serious.
“I was seven, I think. Middle of winter. We had galbitang on the table—rare for us. I ate my fill, fell asleep… and woke up in an orphanage.”
“…What?”
He told her of a father who lashed out daily, a mother who drank and said she wished he didn’t exist. Of shutting down so completely that he barely spoke for a year. Of battling eating disorders, panic attacks, social anxiety.
“And after twenty years, she showed up on set.”
Winter’s face grew grave, but he only leaned closer, arms folded on the table, lips curling faintly.
“So? Entertaining story?”
“…What?”
Her eyes widened. “You mean you made that all up?”
Ignoring her glare, he carried on smoothly.
“She said I was a terrible actor. That these days, guys who look like me are a dime a dozen. So why not just grab another one off the street?”
“……”
“And I told my company I wasn’t ready for romance roles…”
“You really enjoy messing with people, don’t you? No wonder you won Best Actor—you can lie without a flicker.”
“So you really did search my name, huh? Even read about the award?”
“And how did you learn my name?”
“…Can’t remember.”
She shoved him toward the door, refusing to let him dodge with silence. But he still didn’t tell her that he’d overheard her own introduction that very first day.
__________⋆ 𖤓 ⊹₊˚࿔ ❄︎ᝰ.________
After that, he started ringing her doorbell at every chance.
“Coffee?”
“Too much chicken, help me out.”
“Did you know ice cream tastes worse alone? No? I’ll show you.”
Yesterday, he barged in complaining he had no kimchi for stew.
Spring gave way to early summer, and he never seemed to stop coming.
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Working. Which means don’t come.”
“Oh, so you actually work?”
“Of course I do. Did you think I was a jobless bum like you?”
“What? A bum?”
“Well, you ran from your set. Sounds like your career’s over.”
“Over?!”
Winter laughed at the memory of his indignant face.
They had grown strangely comfortable, yet sometimes the air between them shifted—silences that felt charged, glances that lingered too long.
It left her restless, like she might sneeze if she didn’t do something.
That morning, she tried to focus on her work but failed. With a sigh, she wandered into the living room for water. She had just set her glass down when—
Ding dong.
The doorbell.
Her heart lurched again, that maddening mix of dread and anticipation. She checked the intercom.
“Unbelievable. Again.”
Still, her feet moved quickly to the door. She swung it open.
“Did you rent my place or something?”
Then—poke. His long finger tapped her nose.
“What was—”
Her words faltered as his steady gaze locked onto hers.
“Winter.”
“…Yes?”
“Wanna go eat tteokbokki?”
