Ha-eun already knew what she had to say when she finally faced Da-yeon.
She had even practiced a few times.
But when the moment came, all she could muster was a guilt-ridden sob.
With trembling hands, Da-yeon reached out and grabbed the hem of Ha-eun’s cherry blossom-colored hanbok.
The only thought racing through her mind was that she couldn’t let Ha-eun leave.
“Don’t… don’t hate me. Please….”
Emotions that had festered deep within her heart erupted all at once.
Tears streamed down her bloodshot eyes, large droplets falling one by one.
Her breathing quickened.
Her hunched shoulders shook uncontrollably.
There were so many things she wanted to say.
So many things she needed to say.
“I’ve never hated you.”
Ha-eun’s calm voice broke through.
It shattered Da-yeon’s composure entirely, leaving her in tears.
A moment later, Ha-eun extended her arms and gently embraced her.
The small slice of cake with its delicate, sweet aroma had long since toppled over.
The waiting room’s pristine white door had closed firmly behind them.
But none of that mattered.
Nothing else existed in that moment except the person who was still her friend.
“…I’m sorry for snapping at you about your grades.”
“I’m sorry for forcing you to look at my advertisements.”
“And I’m sorry for secretly applying for the role of Queen Yun behind your back. I—… why do you keep nodding like that?”
Da-yeon’s gaze sharpened slightly.
Ha-eun quickly explained that she was simply nodding to show she was listening.
To Ha-eun, none of the things Da-yeon was apologizing for had actually hurt her.
She hadn’t expected Da-yeon to apologize for everything, from start to finish.
And so, when Da-yeon finally hesitated for a moment before extending her hand to Ha-eun,
Ha-eun couldn’t help but think:
Caught off guard by Da-yeon’s serious expression and outstretched hand,
Ha-eun eventually gave in and shook it, accepting her attempt at reconciliation.
The problem was that Da-yeon didn’t stop at a handshake.
The next moment, Da-yeon pulled Ha-eun into a tight hug.
“How old are you again, Da-yeon?”
“Sh-shut up. A proper hug is part of making up, okay?!”
‘She’d probably faint if she knew I was the one who said that first.’
In the end, Ha-eun let Da-yeon cling to her until she was satisfied.
After all, Ha-eun bore some responsibility for what had happened between them.
Then, as if trying to get something else off her chest, Da-yeon spoke again.
“By the way, back when you came to see me at the set… why did you come?”
“Oh, that… I… I couldn’t figure out what had changed about me.”
What followed was a conversation about the rumors that had been circulating about Ha-eun.
Specifically, a sudden dating rumor.
But before Ha-eun could fully explain, Da-yeon interrupted her.
The question about the supposed boyfriend that didn’t exist caught Ha-eun completely off guard.
“I’m not dating anyone.”
“Oh, so you already broke up?”
“No! I’ve never had a boyfriend to begin with.”
“Ah, you got dumped. Well, forget about him. Pretend he doesn’t exist anymore.”
In the end, all this did was pile more misunderstandings on top of each other.
Da-yeon’s pitying gaze only made things worse.
Ha-eun eventually explained, in no uncertain terms, that she had never been in a relationship.
“Why does everyone think I have a boyfriend? What makes people believe that?”
For once, Ha-eun let her frustration show as she demanded answers.
Da-yeon thought for a moment before listing her reasons:
“First, you’re always smiling at your phone these days, and it looks so obvious.”
Ha-eun wasn’t sure what kind of “happy face” Da-yeon was talking about.
The only people she’d been messaging recently were the Hwanseong members.
“Second, whenever you get a call, you run off to answer it somewhere private, like the bathroom.”
That, too, was mostly calls with Hwanseong members or Ji Hye-min.
As Diah, she couldn’t let anyone overhear those conversations.
“And third, your voice is hoarse in the mornings.”
“Why does that matter?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You stayed up late chatting with your boyfriend.”
Ha-eun had stayed up late talking, sure, but it was with her viewers—the “Sunsets”—during her VTuber streams, not a boyfriend.
If anything, staying up late chatting with someone other than her audience would have been unthinkable for a VTuber like her.
Still, clearing up these misunderstandings would require revealing secrets about her streams.
“It’s not unfair if you can’t explain why.”
With a sigh, Ha-eun rubbed her temples in frustration.
Just then, the sound of footsteps came from beyond the white waiting room door.
She moved to the door, cautiously opened it, and came face-to-face with Yoo Sung-jae, who had been waiting outside.
“Did things go well with Da-yeon?”
“Ah, yes. Thanks to you.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Yoo Sung-jae added that he had been worried when he heard Da-yeon crying, but refrained from asking about the specifics.
He had overheard bits of the conversation through the door but felt it wasn’t his place to intervene.
“Well, I’ll be heading out now. See you Friday.”
“Um, about that. I have a broadcast schedule on Friday.”
“What? I thought we all agreed to watch the first episode together. Didn’t they book a venue for it?”
“I’m sorry. My schedule just happened to overlap.”
The first episode of The Moonlight That Parts the Clouds was set to air on Friday.
Ha-eun had initially promised to join the cast and crew to watch the premiere together.
The problem was that the live finals of SIT ON THE MONEY were also on Friday.
“But my heart will be there with you.”
“Your heart’s invisible, so I’ll just put a giant teddy bear with your photo taped to it in your seat.”
“…You’re joking, right?”
“Nope. I’m even posting it on social media with the hashtag #traitor.”
Before Ha-eun could protest, Yoo Sung-jae made a quick escape, disappearing into the distance.
As she watched him leave, Ha-eun muttered under her breath:
“…What kind of show films so late at night?”
Startled, she spun around to find Da-yeon standing right behind her.
“…When did you get here?!”
Da-yeon’s curiosity about Ha-eun’s secret schedule was palpable.
“If I told you, I’d have to disappear. It’s classified. I signed an NDA.”
Of course, no such non-disclosure agreement existed, but Ha-eun needed an excuse.
Quickly, she changed the subject, suggesting they focus on changing out of their costumes.
As they walked to the dressing room together, it felt like old times again.
But as they changed back into their regular clothes, Da-yeon noticed something odd.
“Wait, why is your hanbok wet?”
“Ah, uh… sorry, I accidentally spilled water on it.”
The truth—that the stains were from Da-yeon’s tears—was something Ha-eun decided to keep to herself.
When Ha-eun finally stepped out of the dressing room, Da-yeon was waiting for her.
This time, Da-yeon grabbed her hand tightly and, as if that wasn’t enough, linked their arms together.
“Hmm, I haven’t eaten anything yet….”
“Then let’s grab dinner together. Jin-soo oppa made a reservation.”
Da-yeon even added that it was still her birthday and that she hadn’t gotten to blow out her candles yet.
In the end, Ha-eun found herself climbing into Jin-soo’s van, heading to a nearby restaurant.
By the time they arrived, it was almost 10 p.m., and the place was completely empty except for them.
But it didn’t matter.
With just her one friend sitting across the table, Da-yeon didn’t feel lonely at all.
“Hey, Ha-eun. Do you remember the squirrel from your house?”
Da-yeon began reminiscing about her first visit to Ha-eun’s home years ago.
“That person started this ‘Raising Broadcasters’ project recently. It’s really fun. You should check it out.”
She was now trying to share her new hobbies with Ha-eun, unaware of the tension she was causing.
As Da-yeon started playing clips of Diah’s streams, Ha-eun froze in place.
‘Why are you doing this to me?’
For the first time in a while, Ha-eun seriously considered running away.
Any hole to crawl into would do.