Even the time he’d shyly smiled when he caught Yoon Do-yeong watching him act on set—hell, even the subtle expression he made in Intersection Murder when checking a message from him in that stealth-shot scene by Director Yoo Ji-ha—had more emotion than what he was doing now.
From Hyeon’s point of view, Kang I-chan in the drama was only pretending to love the female lead. That subtle difference was exactly what Director Ji Seok-woo had been drilling into me. Kang Hyeon’s pupils trembled slightly.
Why is it that Do-yeong can express it so well, but I can’t?
He knew it was unfair to compare himself to Yoon Do-yeong, but they were both playing characters who loved the same woman. The contrast was painfully obvious. As an actor meant to convey that love, he’d lost his grip.
“I don’t know…”
Eventually, the words slipped out. And once they were out, things just felt even more hopeless. He had no idea how to properly act like he was in love.
Hyeon had never liked anyone besides Do-yeong. Even with him, Hyeon was so focused on hiding his feelings that he never figured out how to express them. All he ever did was take care of Do-yeong and do whatever little errands he asked, without a single complaint.
Now stuck in this maze of confusion, he felt completely lost. The early episodes were one thing, but as the story progressed, the character was supposed to fall deeper in love. How was he supposed to act that? Hyeon’s hands trembled slightly as he reviewed the new scripts for episodes 9 and 10.
***
The image of Yoon Do-yeong reflected on the screen wasn’t his usual bright, radiant face. The article used a screenshot from a cold, sharp-toned drama scene—his chilling transformation was the focus of every headline. Even articles meant to promote the drama put Yoon Do-yeong front and center. Rookie actor Kang Hyeon only got a brief mention at the bottom, after discussing the female lead, Kim Min.
Only the reporter arranged through CEO Goo Seong-do used a still cut of me from the project. But even then, the article wrapped up by praising Do-yeong’s chameleon-like performance.
Every fan community was plastered with clips of Yoon Do-yeong. Posts often drew thousands of comments. Most were full of praise for him—but a few raised doubts about the male lead.
Things like: “Should’ve cast someone else.” Or: “Who even is this guy?”
Out of the flood of media and social posts, a few accounts had uploaded scenes featuring me. Most were posted just to explain the plot, but one stood out. It had written posts admiring the actor. It was a fan account that had been uploading photos of me for a while. At some point, the account name had even changed to <Hyunie♥>.
He stared at the feed, filled with cut after flattering cut of himself.
You’re so cool. Seriously.♡
Reply
It was such a simple sentence. He kept staring at the barely-viewed post and started going through the account’s uploads one by one. He’d seen it before—but now he looked closely, even at every reply they’d written.
So cute. I wish my boyfriend looked like him.♡
Reply
He’s an actor named Kang Hyeon.♡
Reply
He’s in the movie Intersection Murder.♡
Reply
He’s also going to be in the webtoon drama Brilliant Choice.♡
Reply
A curious glint flickered in his eyes. Brilliant Choice was currently being promoted as an upcoming OTT release. But how did the account owner know Hyeon was appearing in it, even as a minor character?
As that question popped into his mind, he noticed something else—the clear, deliberate period at the end of each sentence. Those punctuation marks stabbed into his chest one by one. As his confused gaze started to cloud with emotion…
“Corn or mushroom?”
Chief Choi held up two cup soups from the driver’s seat.
“Either one’s fine.”
“Then take both.”
He handed them both to him. Hyeon took one and was passed a sandwich as well. Holding the cup in both hands, he took a slow sip.
“Why haven’t you been eating lately? You know you need to stay in shape, right? You look like you’ve lost weight.”
Hyon gave a bitter smile as he answered his stream of questions.
“I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“Why?”
“Haven’t been sleeping well.”
“For how many days?”
“…”
“Want me to take you to a clinic? If it’s affecting your daily life, a sleep aid might not be a bad idea. Though I wouldn’t recommend taking it long-term.”
He said it casually, like it was nothing.
“It’s just stress. Stop reading articles online. Definitely stay out of the comments. Don’t overthink it.”
“You’re saying that like it’s all just routine.”
“It is, for Do-yeong.”
“…”
“You’re just filming one scene today, right?”
“Yeah.”
Hyeon took another sip of soup. Through the car window, he saw the trees lining the road had turned yellow. Startled by the sudden appearance of fall, he blinked. Come to think of it, mornings and evenings had been more than just chilly lately—they were cold.
The drama had already aired four episodes as of yesterday. They were now checking the outdoor road scene for episodes 8 and 9. Through the front windshield, he spotted Yoon Do-yeong. His noticeably thinner frame made Hyeon ask Chief Choi:
“Is Do-yeong sick?”
“He’s not sleeping well.”
“How badly?”
“He never slept great to begin with. But lately, it’s gotten worse. It’s just what happens when he takes on a role.”
“…He’s not seeing a doctor?”
“He used to take sleeping pills. But I heard he stopped recently.”
“If it’s gotten worse, why’d he stop?”
For once, Chief Choi didn’t answer right away. He hesitated, then finally said,
“I think… he’s trying to find a way to fall asleep without them.”
“Is he eating properly?”
“If you can’t sleep, you lose your appetite too.”
Brushing it off, he mumbled as if to himself, “I should head home early today. Go see my folks.”
It sounded like a subtle reminder to check in on his own loved ones. So Hyeon called Grandpa. Last time he called, Grandpa barely said hello before handing the phone to Grandma Eun-young, and he ended up chatting with her for a while. When he told them he was the lead in a drama, their voices lit up so brightly that he couldn’t bring himself to talk about how heavy his heart felt.
Today again, he called to say hello and sent them a few selfies to show he was doing fine. Then, as the crew called us to set, he hurried out of the van.
Today’s scene involved Yoon Do-yeong trying to forcibly take the female lead into a car, and his character stepping in to stop him.
Her solo scenes were being shot first, so Do-yeong and Hyeon were waiting off to the side, surrounded by staff. It had been a while since he’d seen Do-yeong —and he’d definitely lost even more weight.
Hyeon’s drifted toward him, catching Do-yeong sneaking glances at him. He quickly dropped his gaze with an awkward, professional smile.
“Do-yeong, you need to take off the ring,” a staff member pointed out.
He pulled the friendship ring off his index finger and slipped it into his pocket. Hyeon watched quietly and asked,
“Why are you still wearing that?”
“…Because I like it.”
His slow answer came with a voice that sounded even more deflated.
“Does it bother you?”
“…I just don’t get it.”
“Yoon Do-yeong, you’re up!”
As the staff called his name, Do-yeong started walking, then turned back to look at Hyeon. His lips trembled slightly, like he was forcing himself to say something he’d been holding in. His whisper grazed Hyeon’s ear like a fading breeze.
“When I’ve sorted out how I feel… then I’ll be the colleague you want. So for now… can we just stay friends?”
“…”
“I’m sorry… But it was a birthday gift. Please understand.”
He finished in a rush and turned away. His outfit, once perfectly fitted, now hung a little loose on his frame. It made something ache deep in my chest. Hyeon’s eyes kept trailing after him, full of quiet worry.
Behind Director Ji Seok-woo, who held the megaphone, stood Director Yoo Ji-ha, casually observing the monitor. His indifferent gaze shifted toward Hyeon. Then, without a word, he stepped back and approached a staff member holding a secondary camera. He picked it up and began filming. Yoo Ji-ha quietly captured a few close-up shots of Hyeon, sneaking in bust shots here and there.
Finally, the three-person scene began. It opened with Hyeon looking at the female lead with a worried expression. Naturally, Hyeon’s eyes found their way to Yoon Do-yeong. He couldn’t look at him directly, so he stared just past her head—at the line of his jaw.
Director Ji Seok-woo made them reshoot the same angle a few more times, impressed by the anxious look in Hyeon’s eyes. Once the wide shot wrapped, he approached Hyeon.
“Let’s do one more—where you light up when you see her.”
Hyeon nodded and forced a delighted smile. His gaze aimed just past the crew… toward where Yoon Do-yeong stood. Of course, he didn’t look at him straight on. Just off to the side.
Even after that, his eyes drifted toward Do-yeong again and again. Sometimes their gazes met, but he’d immediately shift his toward the lead actress or the sky. A faint smile would follow, unbidden. In the scene where Hyeon was supposed to pat her head, he gently threaded his fingers through her hair—just like he would’ve done if it were Yoon Do-yeong standing there, freshly styled hair and all.
There was even a moment when he brushed his fingers across her hand as he took the documents she handed him—just barely grazing her skin.
“You found your rhythm a little late.”
Director Ji Seok-woo’s words crushed something quietly inside him.
