05: Romance is Dead

“So let me get this straight,” drawls his soon-to-be fake husband, crossing his legs over the armchair while he tucks a blond strand behind his ear. “How long are we supposed to be husbands for?”

“Six months, at most,” Yohan answers simply. Surely that’s enough to be considered ‘legal’. Heaven forbid he remain enmeshed in an unwanted matrimony for any longer. “We’ll say it was a whirlwind romance—we settled too quick. Then we’ll divorce and part ways as unlikely friends.”

It didn’t take much to convince Yohan to say “yes,” and truth be told, it’s not like he was dead-set on refusing Yeohwan. After all, they both know what they need from each other, and Yeohwan seems to be a good enough actor to trust him with this. Yohan’s just petty enough to want to make the guy squirm a little after being so rude the previous night.

“Right. Okay. Sounds legit enough,” Yeohwan states with a thoughtful nod, but then holds up an index finger with a pause. “But! I feel like we need to get some basic rules down before we embark on this partnership.”

“Partnership,” Yohan repeats with a snort. “You make it sound like this is a serious business.”

“It might be illegal, but it is a business, and I am 100% serious.” Yeohwan clasps his fingers over his crossed knees and leans forward with an all-knowing look. “And FYI: for every business agreement, you need to have a mutually agreed-upon set of terms and conditions, Mister… wait, what’s your name again?”

Un-fucking-believable. “So you know my face but you don’t know my name.”

“Tomato, tomato. You could be John or Michael, and I’d still do this. Anyway. As I was saying.”

Yohan rolls his eyes and leans against his armchair.

Overhead, warm acoustic music fills the cafe, much too happy for his own liking, and he can’t help feeling like a guitar string being played by this conman, even though he should be the one calling the shots here. “Min Yohan.”

“Min Yohan. Right. Damn, I’m really doing this with a guy whose name I just learned, huh...” Yeohwan mutters audibly to himself. “Anyway, let me re-introduce myself properly. Park Yeohwan, at your service. And I’m telling you, Yohan-ssi, I won’t let you down here, but to make things fair you’ve got to listen to my requests, too.”

Yohan closes his eyes and sips his coffee to ward off the headache, but waves him on. “Go ahead. Shoot.”

He reminds himself that he’s gonna be the one with the money, and that he’s the one in charge here. He can’t let some slightly-better-looking-than-average guy sweep him off his feet and throw him overboard.

But he should’ve seen the mischievous glint in Yeohwan’s eyes sooner. “Okay, one: We split the money 50-50.”

Liquid spurts out of Yohan’s nose, and Yeohwan instinctively leans away, nose scrunching in disgust. Letting out a throaty squeak, Yohan tries not to shrink away from the weird stares he’s earning from the people sitting around them. “H-half? You’re fucking kidding.”

“I mean, did you think I was gonna do this for free?” Yeohwan says with a serene smile, fixing his flowy white shirt with a collar so wide it’s practically an off-shoulder top. He never breaks eye contact with Yohan, never shows a sign of uncertainty. “You think this is charity? I know how much you’re supposed to inherit, anyway. Taeyeon told me.”

Kim Taeyeon. Yohan likes the guy enough, but sometimes the rascal’s too honest for his own good. “You guys friends?”

“The best. Known each other since high school.”

Yohan sighs. He should’ve known better than to trust A Taeyeon Scheme. Now it’s too late to back out; he’s dipped one foot into the water already. There’s no coming back from this, and it’s not like he can back out when there’s good money on the line.

“Besides”—Yeohwan winks at him, eyes aglow—“isn’t marriage supposed to be about being half of a whole?”

“No.” Yohan protests without missing a beat, trying to sound strong but feeling lightheaded all of a sudden. There goes his rightful inheritance, slipping away before he can even hold it. “That’s… that’s way too much.”

“Hey,” Yeohwan presses on. “Don’t think you’re getting a highly competent actor for fun and games only. Come on, Yohanderella, aren’t we both doing each other a favor here? Win-win!”

“Yohanderella?” Yohan splutters.

Yeohwan gestures to the entirety of Yohan’s person. “You’re legiterally living a typical rags-to-riches fairytale. Let me be your handsome prince charming.”

That logic doesn’t even make sense. More like gold digger.

With a disbelieving laugh, Yohan shakes his head. “Look. Not that I don’t want to share, but let’s be realistic, alright? I say 10 percent.”

“Too low.” Yeohwan rebukes, clicking his tongue and squinting his eyes at Yohan like he’s a bug he can’t wait to squish. “For that price, you’ll never get another like me.”

“Oh, please. How do I even know you won’t fuck up?”

Yeohwan’s mouth gives way to a knowing smile—one that has Yohan shuddering with either fear or intimidation, he can’t tell for sure—and says, “Because you believed me.”

“Believed you for... what?” Yohan furrows his brows.

“Last night at that jazz club. You witnessed my very-public staged breakup and thought, ‘Oh no, poor guy’s getting the heartbreak of his life’.” Yeohwan presses the back of his hand to his forehead and feigns fainting, slumping against the armchair’s padded backrest. “You even chased after me to make sure I was okay.”

“Actually, I did it to ask you to marry me,” Yohan corrects. “Since you said you’d marry the first guy you ran into.”

“Yeah, yeah, for this little sham of yours.” Yeohwan dismisses him with a wave and straightens up where he’s sitting. “But the point is, you believed it all, which makes me a damn convincing actor.”

And Yohan can’t even deny it, so he settles for stewing silently with narrowed eyes while Yeohwan says, “In other words: I’m the perfect man for this. So how about forty percent?”

“Bullshit. Fifteen,” Yohan counter-offers, eyes twitching.

“Noooo. Thirty-five.”

“Twenty.”

“Thirty.”

Slamming a fist against the coffee table lightly, Yohan’s jaw strains in an effort to keep his cool, and he physically has to force the words out: “…twenty-five. Last call.”

That seems to mollify Yeohwan, because then he nods with a new shine to his eyes. “Deal.”

Yohan sighs, forlorn. “Deal.”

“Great! With the financial terms settled, this brings me to point two,” Yeohwan chirps, holding up two fingers to punctuate his sentence.

Yohan stares at him, aghast. “There’s more?”

Yeohwan hums, eyes focused on his mug of coffee as his fingers graze its rim lightly. This time when he speaks, he’s more hesitant. “Two: you’ll um, you’ll let me stay in your place.”

Yohan’s brow creases. “I kinda thought that was a given. Married couples live together, don’t they?”

Inwardly, he’s relieved that the guy seems chill with staying under one roof. Not doing so would raise a huge flag. This way, it’s easier to convince the attorney that they are, in fact, in love and all that jazz.

Big yikes.

Relief floods Yeohwan’s eyes, and for the first time since he met him, Yohan thinks this is his first glimpse of seeing raw gratefulness in the guy’s face. “I’m guessing you don’t have your own place.”

Yeohwan shrugs. “Nothing in life is permanent.”

“Sounds like an excuse.”

“I like to see it as more of a hurdle. Glass is half-full and all that.” Yeohwan clears his throat and changes the subject the way the breeze changes directions on a windy day. “What about you?”

“What about me what?”

“Surely you’ve got your own set of rules you want to play by. Tell me now. Let’s put it all out in writing.” Reaching for his back pocket, Yeohwan pulls out his mobile phone and with a few taps, shares a Google documents folder with Yohan. “After we get everything finalized, I’ll print this out and we can like, sign over it.”

“How formal of you.”

“It’s called self-preservation.”

Nonetheless, it’s a good idea to have something to refer back to in case anything between their arrangements goes haywire. Yohan whips out his phone and opens the shared file. “You’re a stickler for rules, aren’t you?”

“Pah!” Yeohwan busts out a laugh, before leaning forward to rest his chin in the cup of his palms. “No. In theatre, there’s this thing they teach you called stage blocking. We get to act however we want as long as we stay within our blockings.”

“So?”

“So. Rules are like markers,” Yeohwan explains. “You know them well enough to bend them, but never break them.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Yohan and Yeohwan come up with a list of “Unbreakable House Rules,” a.k.a their contract terms, which comprise the following:

...Unbreakable Terms Of Contract...

...1.) Secrecy Pact—under no circumstance should both parties reveal the nature of this marriage....

...2.) The inheritance will be split 25-75....

...3.) No sharing of groceries and toiletries....

...4.) Curfew of 1am because Yeohwan needs enough sleep for his skin regimen....

...5.) Bills must be split....

...5a.) If Yeohwan uses the bathtub, he pays for the extra water bills....

...6.) Yeohwan must feed Madeleine while Yohan is at work....

“Who the hell is Madeleine?”

“I’d appreciate it,” Yohan interjects sharply, “if you could keep hell and my baby’s name apart from each other.”

Yeohwan gasps. “You have a daughter?”

Yohan hums in thought. “Well, I guess. She’s my baby.”

“I see.” Yeohwan gives him a long, thoughtful look. “I guess after we marry, that’ll make me your Baby No. 2 then, huh?”

The quick, icy stare that Yohan sends his way says otherwise.

Yeohwan snickers wickedly and returns his attention to his phone. “Yeah, guess not. Just thought I’d ask.”

They continue typing away on their shared Google document:

...7.) No unwarranted ‘cheating’....

...8.) No sex with anyone....

“Yohan-ssi. I have a frank question,” Yeohwan pipes up, yanking Yohan out of his concentration.

“What.”

“Do you think this is realistic?”

“Are you one of those people who needs sex every two days?” Yohan asks, glancing up from his phone.

“No, what do you take me for?” Yeohwan scoffs. “I’m just saying. No sex as in, with other people? Or with you?”

“No!” Heat spreads to Yohan’s ears, and he shakes his head vehemently. Yeohwan might be handsome, but he’s not into fornicating with people he’s not romantically invested in. Yohan doesn’t roll like that. “I mean. Both, of course. What would people think if you went sleeping around while you’re married?” He points a finger at Point #6 on their contract terms. “That breaks the non-cheating rule.”

“Wow. I just… wow. I can’t believe I’m not gonna get any for the next half a year,” he hears Yeohwan grumble sulkily, hardly fazed by Yohan’s outward rejection. “Oh, but wait. But won’t people suspect anything?”

Forehead creasing, Yohan sets down his cup. “What do you mean?”

“Like. Don’t married couples like to get it on all the time?”

“Yes...” Nodding slowly, Yohan struggles to connect the dots. “So..?”

“We need to show some kind of proof that we’re actually”—Yeohwan’s eyes rove over Yohan’s body in a way that has his blood thrumming—”fucking each other.”

A warbled noise exits Yohan’s throat, and his stomach feels like it’s just been gutted. “You can’t be suggesting—“

“So, what about hickeys?” Yeohwan straight-up offers. “I give you some and you give me some every now and then. That should be enough, no?”

Yohan shakes his head, eyes nearly bulging out of his head. “Nope. Hey. Don’t get carried away. Let me set another rule: No PDA.”

“No PDA?” Yeohwan gawps at him, mouth hanging open as if Yohan just told him that Donald Trump is Mother Teresa’s successor. “Are you even hearing yourself?”

Yohan raises an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“People are gonna think we’re either sexually retired vampires or a pair of 15-year-old virgins in a TV drama who treat hand-holding as peak romance!”

“That’s the thing,” Yohan bites back, folding his arms with a frown. What’s not clicking? The way he sees it, things should be going a lot simpler than this. No means no. “There’s nothing romantic about this! Romance is a no-no.”

“You say romance like it’s a dirty word,” Yeohwan notes.

“Because it is!” Yohan huffs, throwing both hands in the air. “Romance is dead. It died with Shakespeare.”

“For someone who just insulted the arts, I’m surprised you know how to pronounce ‘Shakespeare’.”

Yohan balks at his words. Granted, that’s the only name he could think of, but hey, he never claimed to be well-versed in the literary arts. “My point is, PDA is a no-go for me. You ever watch this flick called ‘Friends With Benefits’?”

Yeohwan frowns in suspicion. “What about it?”

Yohan may not be an expert on relationships, but he does know one thing, and that is: “Every fuck buddy story out there ends with them falling in love. It’s like a rom-com formula, yeah? So I’d love it if your hands stayed off my body, and that we set some clear boundaries here.”

But it seems like Yeohwan’s not having it. “Oh please, get over yourself.”

He ignores the remark. “Whatever. Look. You and I can’t fall in love with each other, okay? So if you ever find yourself catching feelings for me, here’s a pro-tip: Don’t.”

Yeohwan actually laughs loud enough to startle the waiter walking past their table. “Bold of you to think I’d actually fall for the likes of you. I have no time for that. I’m heading for Broadway the moment our divorce papers are signed, and I’m never looking back.”

“Good. Keep it that way then.” Yohan smoothes the fabric of his pants even though there aren’t any creases there. “It’s for the best.”

“What’s so wrong with it, though?” Yeohwan asks. “Love is love. You’re such an anti. Too bitter for someone your age.”

Yohan grits his teeth, unsure of what to say. There’s nothing wrong with love per se, but he doesn’t think he’s right for it, either. Not anymore.

Love is a ghost. You think it’s dead and you’ll never come across it again, but then it creeps back to you... and you’re never the same after. He has no space in his life for that kind of negativity. “Feelings just over-complicate things, and that breaks my mojo. The way I see it, life is a wave, and I’m just in it for the ride. Keep it chill, you know? I go with the flow. No need for any tide of unnecessary”—he blanches at his own words—”lovey dovey feelings.”

Yeohwan lets out a low whistle. “I don’t know if maybe you’re just a repressed writer or a frustrated artist, because that was actually poetic.”

Yohan shrugs his comment off. “All I’m trying to say is, it’s inconvenient. Don’t expect me to actually be a husband to you. I won’t bother you, either. Let’s not get personal.”

“And that’s perfectly fine with me. Really.” Yeohwan holds up both hands in a show of surrender, eyebrows raised. “But let me just point out that while I appreciate everything you said... do you think life’s a movie?” He folds his arms and gives Yohan a pensive look. “Because I wish it were, but it isn’t, so cut that out.”

“Cut what out?”

“That narrow perspective when it comes to displaying affection. You said so yourself: be realistic. So if you want this to work, to actually be convincing, you need to compromise.”

Yohan tongues at the insides of his cheeks, feeling reprimanded for some reason. “So what’s your solution?”

“Minimal PDA,” announces Yeohwan, crossing his legs again and sitting back like he’s already bored of the conversation. “Just basics. Hand-holding, at least. A hug every now and then. You gotta give me something to work with here, man. I can’t be expected to play lovestruck newlyweds with a piece of cardboard.”

Yohan swallows back the swear word rising up his throat. What an asshole. A rude, self-centered primadonna.

Still, he has to keep his cool, and in hindsight, what Yeohwan is suggesting doesn’t sound half as bad. Min Yohan is not an inflexible man; he can compromise. “Fine, fine. But only when you really have to. I’m not really…” He looks away, eyes lazily landing on the barista layering whipped cream on a pink ice-blended drink that looks like diabetes in a cup. “I’m not really very comfortable with being touchy-feely in public.”

“Fine with me. I can adjust to that.”

...9.) Minimal PDA...

“You know, I’m surprised you’re devoted to this already.”

Yeohwan smiles wanly. “Haven’t you heard? To be an actor, you don’t play the part. You be the part.”

It occurs to Yohan then, the gravity of the scheme they’re about to commit. Sham marriage. If they’re caught, they could go to prison for this. Yohan can’t let himself imagine the various dire consequences they could face. He can’t let them happen—not with his freedom and 10 billion won at stake. He shakes his thoughts away, heart pounding. “Just remember: nothing personal. Don’t you go falling in love with me.”

Yeohwan rolls his eyes. “Please. No offense, but you’re not even my type. I’d rather jump into the Han River naked in December. Like I said—this is strictly a business deal. You didn’t even have to say that because you have my word: I, Park Yeohwan, am never falling in love with you.”

“Perfect.” Yohan nods. “Me neither.”

They decide to lay down the full list of Unbreakable House Rules, reading them off again one by one to double-confirm everything, before ending it with—

...10.) NO FALLING IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER....

“Okay, this sounds good,” Yohan starts. “Now let’s shake hands on this.”

“Nuh-uh.” Yeohwan gives a single shake of his head and holds up a hand instead. “Pinky swear on it.”

Yohan furrows his brows and gives Yeohwan a funny look, but Yeohwan’s expression remains stubborn, so he groans and rubs a hand over his face. “For fuck’s sake.”

He reaches a hand across the cafe table, pinky finger raised, and meets Yeohwan’s shorter one to loop them together in a pinky promise and a thumb bump. “I don’t know what’s the point of all this.”

“Pinky promises are very serious affairs,” Yeohwan says, face solemn, and Yohan just shakes his head with a bemused scoff. “Break one and you break the pact.”

“Right. Anyway, I’ve got to go, because I have a funeral to attend this afternoon.” Yohan pulls away from Yeohwan’s hand and stands.

“Oh?” Yeohwan blinks up at him, watching him gather his things before he asks, “Whose?”

“In case you weren’t paying attention,” Yohan says, grabbing his messenger bag. “I have a long-lost grandfather who just passed away, so I’m visiting this afternoon to pay my respects.”

“Can I go with you?”

Yohan pauses and looks back over his shoulder. “Whatever for?”

There’s a thoughtful look that passes over Yeohwan’s face before he meets Yohan’s eyes with steely determination. “As someone who’s marrying you soon, that makes me your fiancé now, right? So I should go pay respects, too.”

“You don’t really have to—”

“You can take it as a test, too.” Yeohwan stands up and walks by him. “Like an audition. See if I’m really fit for this role you want to put me in. If not, then at least it’s not too late to back out.”

Yohan regards him for several long heartbeats, not sure if he should be bringing in a fake fiancé at an event as serious as this.

“I’m being sincere,” Yeohwan adds, chewing on his lower lip and actually seeming hesitant for once. “Really, I do— I want to support your mourning somehow. It would feel rude not to.”

There’s no harm in trying, and anyway, it’s tradition for close peers and even strangers to drop by at a huge funeral. And based on what Yohan gathered, his grandfather’s funeral is by no means a small one. He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “Fine. But go home and get changed first. I’ll pick you up in a few hours.”

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