L*st and Death

As major entertainment agencies began moving into the background-actor subcontracting business, Grim Company was gradually pushed out of the market and driven to the edge. One by one, employees left as financial difficulties mounted, and just as the word “shutdown” began to feel like an inevitability, an unexpected email arrived in CEO Kim Seungchan’s inbox.

It was a submission from a prospective actor, with a brief profile attached. The applicant was a young man with an unrealistically beautiful face — the kind of looks that would make him famous just by standing on stage and smiling. And yet, he had applied to this run-down agency that didn’t even compare to a corner convenience store.

Even more shockingly, the young man could actually act. Before joining the agency, he’d already taken vocal training and acting lessons. He didn’t speak with the typical Korean-American accent, and he didn’t have any noticeable bad habits either. His name was Yoon Siron — and he was undeniably destined to make it big as an actor.

“It’s your first audition. Think of it as a good experience.”

Of course, that didn’t mean he was about to skyrocket to fame overnight — but the chances of success still looked promising.

At CEO Kim’s clumsy words of encouragement, a thin film of moisture gathered in Siron’s clear eyes. He looked like an angel about to cry, and it tugged at something in Kim’s chest.

“Ugh! I thought I was gonna lose it. I’m dying of embarrassment here.”

“Huh? About what?”

“About how I seriously thought I’d pass the audition. God, who the hell do I think I am? I totally drank the kimchi soup before the rice even came!”

He had a knack for shattering the illusion every time he opened his mouth — but CEO Kim still found everything about him amazing.

This kid’s got it. He can do everything from romance to comedy. He’s got the whole range!

Clinking glasses over the leftover kimchi soup Siron had been drinking, Kim poured him another drink.

“Nothing comes easy in this world. You’ve gotta fail and get chipped away a little to grow. But I don’t think you’ll get chipped down too much. I don’t think it’ll take long for you to land a real role.”

“Really?”

As if he’d never been down at all, Siron’s face instantly brightened. In a much better mood, he poured a drink into the CEO’s empty glass and said,

“Then should I start out with background roles while I keep practicing? Kill two birds with one stone — experience on set and a little cash.”

He said it with a somewhat anxious expression, as if testing the waters. Seeing this twenty-year-old kid who lived in a high-end Cheongdam-dong villa, paid for his own acting and vocal lessons, and wore designer clothes now talking about day wages made CEO Kim burst into hearty laughter. He accepted the drink and replied casually.

“Are there even any celebrities in here?”

“Wait, what?”

“There’s a damn Starcraft van parked in the samgyeopsal joint’s lot. You know, the kind every manager dreams about.”

Following CEO Kim’s gaze, Siron looked through the window. The lot, which had been empty just a moment ago, now had a massive black van parked in it — about the size of a small bus. The vague silhouette through the tinted windshield was unmistakably Baekgyeong. Siron’s lips parted and his eyebrows shot upward.

“Oh... that? I, uh—I bought it!”

“What?”

“I figured I’d need one once I start working in the industry, so I went ahead and bought it.”

CEO Kim stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Seriously? That’s your car?”

“Yeah. For real.”

Claiming he wanted to earn money as a background actor, only to turn around and drop the cost of a small apartment on a van — it rubbed CEO Kim the wrong way. He let out a sigh.

What the hell kind of character are you, anyway?

According to what Siron had told him, Yoon Siron was a normal kid from LA. His parents had settled in the U.S. as middle-class citizens, he had two younger brothers, and they had a golden retriever named Bailey. But the more Kim got to know him, the more obvious it became — Siron was far wealthier than he let on. Kim hadn’t said anything, but he’d been shocked more than a few times by how casually Siron threw money around.

After finishing the meal and stepping outside, CEO Kim let out a long sigh as he looked up at the vehicle that towered over him.

“You say you’re doing background gigs, but you pull up in a top star’s Starcraft van? That’s gonna raise eyebrows on set, you little punk.”

He flinched slightly at the sound of a window lowering behind his back and quickly stepped away from the vehicle. The driver’s side window slid down, and on the other side of the glass, a rough-looking young man stared down at him with a sharp, annoyed glare. It was Siron’s cousin — Baek Seokgyeong.

“If being a top star’s all it takes, then I’ll just do that. What’s the big deal?”

“Hey! Baekgy—Baek... Seokgyeong!”

“Yup. Seokgyeong’s here. It’s cold. Yoon Siron, get in. I’m tired.”

Baekgyeong scrunched his face and shut the window again.

“Director! Next time—really, next time, I’ll give you a tour!”

“Huh? Uh... okay?”

CEO Kim had been about to climb in with Siron to check out the inside, but Siron’s panicked refusal left him with no choice but to back off.

Ssshhk. Slam!

The van’s sliding door slammed shut, and the Starcraft carrying Siron pulled away from the curb without hesitation. Kim stood there, staring at the back of the retreating van. Before he could even make sense of what just happened, a hollow feeling settled in his chest like a punch to the gut.

The new-car smell — that chemical sting — was making Siron nauseous. Baekgyeong’s driving was so clumsy and aggressive that it felt like they were moments away from swerving across the center line and getting plowed by oncoming traffic.

“Big, isn’t it?”

Baekgyeong glanced back from the driver’s seat, still buzzing with excitement.

“What do you think of the back? Should I convert it into a camper instead?”

“Stop! Stop! Red light ahead! Please just focus on the road!”

“This thing’s built like a tank. A crash like that wouldn’t kill us.”

His cheerful voice hammered against Siron’s racing heartbeat like a machine gun.

Siron wanted to shout that they might survive, but someone else could get hurt — but he didn’t dare provoke Baekgyeong mid-drive. Instead, he squeezed his seatbelt tightly and shut his eyes, unwilling to witness the madness firsthand.

Finally, the van reached its destination. Siron had spent the whole ride swallowing his nerves, and now, not wanting to provoke another outburst, he spoke as gently as he could:

“Gyeong-ah. I told you not to buy this. I said it was way too much for me.”

Baekgyeong brushed off the complaint, fiddling with the head unit buttons. Static hissed from the mismatched radio frequency, grating against the air.

“You’re gonna need it once your career really starts.”

Siron threw up his arms.

“I just went to my first audition! And I didn’t even pass!”

“So what, you think you’ll fail every audition forever now?”

Baekgyeong’s mood, once like a scorching summer sun, darkened with sudden clouds.

“Huh? You planning to die a no-name actor who never stands in front of a camera again, Yoon Siron?”

“...No, but still.”

“If you don’t like the car, throw it away.”

He yanked the key from the ignition and tossed it into Siron’s lap. Then, without another word, he climbed out, stretching like his muscles were sore — completely unfazed by Siron’s protests. Siron stared at the keys in his hands, paralyzed. Eventually, with no other option, he trailed after Baekgyeong toward the house.

Baekgyeong had never once laid a hand on Siron. But if anyone else had said the things Siron just said, they’d already be eating punches. Siron had witnessed it more than once — petty arguments that escalated into beatings, minor annoyances that turned into savage outbursts.

In Siron’s view, the only reason Baekgyeong tolerated him was because of that cursed “brother” talk. As absurd as it was, Baekgyeong saw Siron as blood. A guy with the temper of a balloon in a cactus field somehow managed to hold it in — just for him.

Sometimes Siron felt tempted to test the limits of that patience. But every time, he swallowed the urge. As much as it bruised his pride, Baekgyeong wasn’t afraid of conflict. His fists moved faster than his words — and even if he didn’t mean to, he constantly reminded Siron of where he stood.

After showering and heading back to his room, Siron turned on the TV. A movie by Director Seo Hunhyun was playing on one of the channels. He was Siron’s favorite director — the one who had inspired his dream of acting, who made him want to appear even for a single second in his films. But right now, that dream felt absurd.

There were people who went through hundreds of auditions just to land a role. And here he was, falling apart over failing the very first one. Pathetic.

Eventually, Siron dozed off while watching the movie. Just as he drifted into a light sleep, tossing and turning to find a comfortable position, the door creaked open, and Baekgyeong slipped inside. He lay down beside Siron in the same angle and position, then slid a cold, winter-like hand under Siron’s shirt.

He pulled the soft pajamas up to Siron’s chest. Under the dim nightlight, Siron’s smooth lower stomach rose and fell gently with each breath. At its center sat a small, neat bellybutton.

It was strange, but Baekgyeong had felt drawn to Siron from the moment he saw him — and as time passed, that pull solidified into certainty. Yoon Siron, born on the same day, at the same time, was the same person as the dead brother embedded inside Baekgyeong’s head.

From the moment Siron was born, pieces of his body and soul had been left in Baekgyeong’s mind. If your bladder fills, you empty it. If your flesh is cut, it bleeds. Just like blood ties to a mother — this was an undeniable fact.

You’re me, you bastard. You’re the brother who never got born and ended up stuck inside my head. You planted a piece of your soul in my mind. That makes us part of each other. Like a Möbius strip — endless, beginning and ending nowhere. Without me, you can’t exist. Without you, I can’t either. That’s why we’ll never escape each other.

Baekgyeong pressed his finger gently against Siron’s navel — the small, sunken trace of an umbilical cord, the infinite loop that bound them.

“...Mm?”

“You awake?”

“...What’re you... ah, that hurts.”

Startled fully awake, Siron shoved Baekgyeong away. As Siron’s voice lost all drowsiness, Baekgyeong climbed on top of him, propping himself up on one arm and staring down.

“If it hurts, want me to lick it better?”

“What? Are you insane?!”

Baekgyeong gently massaged Siron’s lower abdomen with lukewarm fingers, then softly circled his bellybutton with the tip of his index finger. The reaction came instantly.

“Ah, stop it. It stings and feels weird.”

“Hey. Sometimes it’s fine, and other times it’s not. Why do you keep changing your mind?”

At his accusing tone, Siron curled up like a pill bug. Last week, Siron had let him touch his bellybutton once. It had felt awkward and strange, but Baekgyeong had looked so serious about it that Siron felt too guilty to say no.

“I just... got swept up in the moment last time.”

“Then get swept up one more time.”

Staring at him speechlessly, Siron finally gritted his teeth and snapped,

“What kind of friend does this shit?! You seriously need to get therapy!”

Disgusted, Siron twisted his body to get away — but before he could escape, Baekgyeong’s hand caught his face. He pinched Siron’s cheeks and pushed them together until his lips puckered like a duck’s.

“Oh please. Friends don’t suck on each other’s lips either. And yet you were kissing mine every night while I slept, weren’t you?”

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