“Here is our actor, Sa Shin-jae. And this is our senior from the department, Seon Seung-joo.”
The man’s gaze, which had been fixed on Sa-yoon, slowly shifted toward Shin-jae. A brief exchange of glances passed between them.
He had deep-set eyes that gave the impression of a double eyelid. His jawline was sharply defined, and his Adam’s apple stood out prominently. His hair, slightly covering the nape of his neck, could have easily looked unkempt, but when combined with his otherwise polished appearance, it somehow worked.
Standing side by side, the two of them had a similar artistic aesthetic, yet distinct differences. If Sa-yoon had the cold and refined look of a clean-cut heartthrob, the other man had the appearance of someone who worked in the arts.
‘He looks like a weasel.’
As Shin-jae indulged in his personal judgment, the man in front of him suddenly broke into a smile.
“Wow, Cha Sa-yoon. This time, you’re focusing more on your face than your acting? Well, I suppose with a face like that, it makes sense.”
“What the hell are you saying?”
Shin-jae’s expression stiffened at those words.
“Hello. I’m Seon Seung-joo, class of XX. Sa-yoon has been bragging about you non-stop, and I can see why—you really are handsome. Nice to meet you. I had no idea someone like you was at our school.”
Unaware of the tension, Seung-joo casually extended a handshake, offering an innocent remark. His hand, much like his height, was large and straight. A faint scent drifted from his fingertips.
Shin-jae caught a whiff of it and made a peculiar expression.
To describe it—it was like the scent of dry winter wood burning, mixed with the essence of crushed dried tangerine peels. He had encountered this fragrance before and had thought it was remarkably unique.
Having a keen sense of smell, Shin-jae instantly recalled where he had smelled it before.
It was the only fragrance present in Sa-yoon’s room when he had visited his place after rescuing Sesame.
Shin-jae lifted his gaze. Seung-joo still hadn’t removed his hand from Sa-yoon’s back.
Do close friends usually wear the same perfume…?
“Ah, nice to meet you.”
“Oh, I brought coffee for everyone. Shin-jae, you should have a cup too.”
“I don’t drink coffee.”
His nerves were on edge, and before he knew it, his response came out curt. Fortunately, Sa-yoon was preoccupied, engrossed in conversation with another staff member.
“Ah…”
Seung-joo, still holding his handshake, let out a slightly awkward chuckle.
“I figured as much, so I brought other drinks too. There are tea options, so feel free to pick one over there.”
Then, with a casual shrug, he spoke in a relaxed manner. Even though he was ten years younger, it was as if he had effortlessly defused the situation. His composure carried a sense of mature confidence.
As soon as the handshake ended, an awkward silence settled in. No one said a word.
“Did you two introduce yourselves?”
Sa-yoon returned quickly and stood next to Seung-joo again. Shin-jae knew this was his cue to step away. But for some reason, he didn’t want to leave the two of them alone together.
“Oh, right. Sa-yoon, the thing you asked for.”
Seung-joo, who had briefly glanced at Shin-jae hesitating, turned fully toward Sa-yoon. From the pocket of his trench coat, he pulled out a wrapped lip balm.
“You make your seniors run errands for you now?”
The words were a reprimand, but his tone was soft. So soft, in fact, it could have been used as a towel after washing one’s hands.
“Come on, it’s just us.”
“You never used to put on stuff like this.”
It wasn’t that Shin-jae was particularly sharp about these things—rather, it was impossible to miss the attention dripping from every word and action. And Sa-yoon, in response, was openly receptive. There was an unmistakably warm atmosphere between them.
Watching it made something twist unpleasantly inside him, as if someone had reached into his stomach and clenched his organs before letting go. Shin-jae told himself it was just discomfort at seeing one man openly express interest in another.
“I’ll be going now.”
“Ah—!”
At that exact moment, Sa-yoon, who had been unwrapping the lip balm, fumbled, and it shot out of his hands, hitting Shin-jae square in the chest before dropping to the floor.
The unexpected contact only worsened his already sour mood. As Sa-yoon bent down to pick it up, Shin-jae turned on his heel without hesitation.
“Wait.”
A hand caught his arm, pulling him back. Before he could react, another hand grabbed his face. Shin-jae blinked in surprise at the unexpected touch, and Sa-yoon spoke with a determined tone.
“Open your mouth.”
There it was again—that gentle, almost coaxing tone, as if he were dealing with a child. Completely different from how he had spoken with Seung-joo just moments ago. Without thinking, Shin-jae obediently parted his lips slightly.
A foreign sensation pressed against his lips.
“You idiot. How can you keep biting your lips like this right before filming? They’re bleeding again.”
The entire sequence of actions was so natural that Shin-jae didn’t even think to resist. Rough yet careful fingers swept across his lips multiple times, spreading the lip balm thickly. It was definitely more than necessary.
In the process, the fingers holding the lip balm grazed the tip of his nose. At that close distance, a new scent reached him—not the woody fragrance that had felt so unpleasant, but a soft, powdery baby scent.
He had smelled this before, back at Sa-yoon’s place.
There had been no scents in his dreams.
But the sensation now was overwhelming—far too vivid compared to any dream. Dizzy with the feeling, he unknowingly clenched his fists tightly.
A low cough broke the moment. Ah, right. This guy was still here.
Without moving his head, Shin-jae rolled his eyes to the side. Seung-joo stood there, arms crossed, watching the two of them with an intrigued expression.
“They said you cast a baby, but I didn’t expect to see you playing the nanny.”
“Of course I have to take care of him.”
There was room for interpretation in those words. Maybe this was his way of throwing Shin-jae’s own jab back at him. His expression hardened immediately.
“Does it hurt? Or do you not like the scent?”
Sa-yoon reacted the moment he noticed Shin-jae’s change in expression. He even mumbled to himself, wondering if he should have applied medicine instead. Shin-jae quickly responded before he could take it the wrong way.
“Ah-neu. Gae-an-a-yeo.”
Since he couldn’t move his lips properly, his pronunciation came out slurred.
“Even if it’s uncomfortable, bear with it for a bit.”
It was strange. His voice, barely above a whisper, still managed to sink deep into Shin-jae’s ears, lodging itself there.
“Senior! I think you need to come over here for a moment!”
“Ah, just a second.”
It was a staff member’s call that finally broke the stretch of time that had felt endless. The lip balm lifted from his lips, and only then did Shin-jae realize he had been holding his breath the entire time.
“Don’t bite your lips again.”
Even as he left, Sa-yoon made sure to remind him. He didn’t spare Seung-joo, who was still standing there, even a glance. Strangely enough, that lifted Shin-jae’s mood from rock bottom.
As he brushed his lips with his fingertips, they felt strangely foreign—like something had been placed there that didn’t quite belong.
“Sa-yoon is really sweet, isn’t he?”
Seung-joo was the one to break the silence again. His eyes gleamed with amusement, almost unsettlingly so, as if he had discovered something endlessly entertaining. His tone, his relaxed smirk—it all grated on Shin-jae’s nerves.
“Yeah, he treats me really well. But you must be close too, huh? Even coming to a weekend shoot after graduating.”
“Yeah.”
The response came effortlessly, as if he had rehearsed it. Fueled by an odd sense of competitiveness, Shin-jae deliberately emphasized the words hyung and graduated. Seung-joo let out a small, unreadable hum.
“We were very close. Close enough for me to show up at a shoot like this.”
Shin-jae’s lips twisted slightly. That was something he hadn’t needed to know.
Peers from other departments, juniors, classmates—and now even a senior who had already graduated. People were always buzzing around Sa-yoon. Even his guildmates seemed to like him.
And for some reason, that really pissed him off.
Cha Sa-yoon was the only hyung Shin-jae had.
“He’s so affectionate that people tend to misunderstand. They think he treats only them specially. I’ve seen a few people end up crying over that.”
“So, that happened to you too, then?”
The implication was clear: You thought you were special too, huh?
He had no idea how the conversation had taken this turn, but there was nothing about it that fit the usual light chatter between seniors and juniors.
“Hmm… well, anyway, I hope the shoot goes well. He’s a junior I care about a lot. I bought plenty of drinks, so you should go grab one before they’re all gone.”
Not a chance. Even if his throat was parched, Shin-jae had no intention of touching anything Seung-joo had brought.
Seung-joo, clearly amused by Shin-jae’s expression, gave his arm a light tap before saying he needed to check something upstairs. Then, he left.
“How’s your lip? It doesn’t hurt, does it?”
Just leave already if you’re going to go, Shin-jae had been mumbling under his breath when Sa-yoon returned, barely gone for a moment. And the first thing he did was check Shin-jae’s lips.
Seung-joo might have been insufferable, but there was one thing he had been right about—Sa-yoon was kind to everyone.
Shin-jae clenched his fists for no reason, then released them. His emotions had been on a rollercoaster all day, swinging up and down without control.
***
The silence was broken by the crackle of a walkie-talkie.
“Mm… I’d like the emotional shifts to be more dramatic.”
A few sighs escaped from the crew. Quiet murmurs followed—”I thought it was fine,” “Man, our senior is so strict.”
Amidst the whispers, Shin-jae stood frozen, his face hard. No matter how much turmoil he felt inside, he was sure he had delivered the performance properly. Yet, the director kept calling for retakes.
Natural, exaggerated, deeper, lighter—he had done it all, over and over again. Every time, he had given it his all.
He had done exactly what was asked, but they kept saying it wasn’t right. What the hell else am I supposed to do?
Feeling lost, he almost ran a hand down his face but stopped himself just in time. His makeup was still on—he couldn’t risk smudging it.
“Should we take a short break?”
The shoot had started in the early evening and dragged on past midnight. The moment the suggestion was made, the exhausted crew responded in unison.
Sa-yoon appeared on set just then, and right behind him—naturally, as if he belonged there—was Seung-joo.
Doesn’t he have anything better to do on the weekend?
That petty thought surfaced before Shin-jae could stop it. He figured it was best not to see any of this at all.
“I’m going to get some air.”
Without grabbing his coat, he walked straight out of the building. The autumn night air had a sharp chill.
Deliberately, he wandered toward the back of the building, where no one else would be. He took a deep breath, but the overwhelming sense of frustration still loomed over him.
“What the hell is the problem…?”
After circling the adjoining buildings once, he finally turned back toward the entrance. But just as he rounded the corner—
In the dimly lit space, two figures stood close, faces nearly touching.
Cha Sa-yoon and Seung-joo.
