Chapter 13: Parallel Lives

The insistent chirping of my phone dragged me out of a dream starring me, a Tony Award, and a certain security guard who definitely wasn’t wearing a uniform. Blinking against the morning light filtering through the blinds, I fumbled for my phone. Shawn. Of course.

"Morning 😊" his message read.

"Morning," I typed back, adding a sleep-deprived panda emoji for good measure. My schedule for the day loomed in the back of my mind—audition at 10:00 AM, followed by a script reading for a new web drama. The life of an aspiring actor was nothing if not glamorous.

Shawn, ever the early bird (or maybe just used to those ungodly security guard shifts), was already up and about. I pictured him in his tiny apartment kitchen, wrestling with the coffee machine, his brow furrowed in concentration. A pang of longing, sharp and sweet, shot through me. Soon, I promised myself. Soon, we’d be sharing those mornings, those quiet, domestic moments that felt more like home than my own house ever had.

After a quick breakfast of toast and a silent plea to the drama gods for a good audition, I was out the door. Dad, already buried in legal briefs at the kitchen table, barely acknowledged my existence. Our relationship had always been…distant. Respectful, even affectionate on occasion, but with a chasm of unspoken words and unshared dreams separating us. He meant well, I knew that. It was just…hard to connect with someone who lived their life in legal precedents and case files, when all you dreamt of were stage lights and standing ovations.

As I navigated the bustling streets of Seoul, my phone buzzed with another message from Shawn. "Break a leg today, Ryungie. You’ve got this 💪" His unwavering belief in me, even when I doubted myself, was both humbling and exhilarating. I tucked my phone away, a smile playing on my lips. He was right. I could do this. For me. For him. For our future.

The audition was…an experience. Let’s just say that playing a lovesick teenager pining after a girl who was clearly out of his league wasn’t exactly a stretch for me. Okay, maybe the girl part required a bit of imagination. Still, I poured my heart into it, channeling every ounce of longing, every whispered promise, every stolen glance shared with a certain security guard into my performance.

Later, as I sat in a crowded café, nursing a lukewarm latte and trying to decipher the cryptic notes scribbled on my script for the web drama, my phone buzzed again. "Dinner at our place?" the text read. Our place. My heart did a happy little dance.

"Wouldn’t miss it," I replied, a warmth spreading through my chest.

Even with our separate lives, our parallel paths, those shared moments, those stolen hours in his tiny apartment, were what kept me going.

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Friday afternoons always carried a certain electric hum, a current of anticipation that pulsed beneath the surface of Seoul's bustling energy. My phone would buzz, a welcome distraction from the monotony of another silent dinner across from Dad, his legal documents forming a paper fortress between us.

"Ready when you are," Shawn’s text would flash across my screen, a lifeline to a world where stolen kisses and instant ramen dinners reigned supreme.

"Be there soon," I’d type back, a slow smile spreading across my face as I gathered my things. My overnight bag, a permanent fixture by my bedroom door, held the essentials: a change of clothes and a growing collection of face masks that Shawn and I had turned into a bizarrely competitive ritual.

Dad, nose deep in a case file, would glance up, his expression a familiar mix of resignation and weary affection. "Don’t be out too late," he’d say, the closest he ever came to acknowledging my less-than-conventional living arrangements.

"You know me, Dad," I’d reply with a wink, the unspoken "not really" hanging between us.

The moment I stepped into Shawn’s apartment, the world outside would melt away. It wasn’t much, just a tiny studio above a noisy noodle shop, but it was ours. The air would be thick with the comforting scent of instant ramen (a staple in our diet) and something uniquely Shawn—a hint of cedarwood and something warm and comforting, like sunshine on skin.

"Hey," he’d greet me, his face breaking into that familiar crooked grin that still sent a pleasant flutter through my stomach. No matter how crappy his day had been—dealing with grumpy bank customers —seeing me seemed to chase away the shadows in his eyes.

Weekends were our time. We’d order takeout, sprawl on the floor with bowls of jjajangmyeon, and dissect the latest K-dramas with a seriousness that bordered on absurd. Sometimes, we’d just…be. Curled up on his worn-out sofa. The silence between us wasn’t awkward, but companionable, a comfortable silence woven from shared jokes, whispered secrets, and the unspoken understanding that came from knowing someone inside and out.

He'd tell me about his week. I'd recount my own triumphs and tribulations—the disastrous audition where I’d forgotten my lines, the sheer exhilaration of bringing a character to life, even if it was just for a few fleeting moments on a dimly lit stage.

Saturday mornings usually involved a trip to the outdoor market near the Han River, a sensory overload of sights, sounds, and smells that never failed to invigorate me. We’d haggle over fresh produce, sample steaming street food, and inevitably end up carrying home more bags of groceries than we could realistically consume.

"This is all your fault, you know," Shawn would tease, his arms laden with bags of kimchi and those ridiculously spicy rice cakes I was addicted to. "We’re going to turn into a couple of kimchi dumplings if we’re not careful."

I’d just laugh, nudging him playfully with my shoulder. "You love it," I’d retort, my heart overflowing with a contentment that ran deeper than any acting role, any standing ovation. This—these stolen moments, these ordinary, extraordinary days—this was my real life, my real happiness.

Sunday evenings were always bittersweet. We’d linger over dinner, trying to stretch out the last few hours of our weekend, the knowledge that Monday morning and our separate lives loomed large a shadow over our contentment.

"Don’t forget your audition for that theater company tomorrow," Shawn would remind me, his voice a grounding force amidst my swirling anxieties. "You’ve got this, Ryungie. I believe in you."

And in his eyes, those endlessly patient, endlessly supportive gray eyes, I’d find the strength to face another week, another audition, another step closer to my dreams. Because even though our lives ran on parallel tracks—him, the steady, reliable security guard, and me, the aspiring actor chasing a spotlight—we were in it together.

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"Close your eyes," Shawn chirped, his voice a little too loud for the peaceful quiet of Sunday morning. He'd just sprung some surprise on me, his eyes sparkling with mischief. This usually meant trouble, the good kind of trouble that involved adventurous late-night ramen runs or discovering hidden bookstores tucked away in Seoul's winding back alleys.

"What is it this time, Shawn?" I grumbled, but a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. He knew how to crack my morning grumpiness like no one else could. "Did you find a two-for-one deal on those pickled plums you love?"

"Something even better," he announced dramatically, ushering me towards the window.

I squinted against the sunlight that flooded his tiny apartment, taking in the familiar scene: the bustling street below, the old lady with her fluffy white dog already stationed by the food stall across the street, and…wait. Was that—?

"No way," I breathed, my jaw dropping as I took in the sight before me. Parked just outside the noodle shop on the ground floor, gleaming under the morning sun, was a brand new scooter. It wasn’t flashy or expensive-looking, just a sleek, practical machine that screamed freedom and adventure.

"You like?" Shawn's voice was a hopeful murmur beside me. He was looking at me with an eagerness that was almost childlike, making my heart do a ridiculous somersault in my chest.

"Like? I love it!" I couldn't help the excitement that bubbled out of me, my words tumbling over each other. "But…how? When?"

He chuckled, that low, throaty laugh that always thrilled me. "Well, let's just say I've been saving up. And they have this amazing payment plan. Plus, think of all the gas money we'll save."

He was already pulling on his helmet, his eyes sparkling with a challenge. "So, what are you waiting for, Ryungie? Hop on, let's go for a spin!"

Suddenly, those acting auditions, those script readings, even the promise of landing a starring role in a hit drama, seemed to fade into the background. All that mattered was the wind in my hair, the sun on my face, and the feel of Shawn's presence beside me, solid and reassuring, as we rode off into the endless possibilities of a Seoul Sunday morning.