Sa-yoon slowly lifted his upper body. His gaze followed, as if questioning why, and Sa-yoon suddenly smiled. The moment he did, a shimmering glow spread around him.
It wasn’t an illusion—there was an actual sparkling effect in the air. Almost like… a skill effect…
Realization struck, and Shin-jae’s eyes snapped open.
“Haaah—!”
His breath came rushing out, as if he had just resurfaced from deep underwater. A soft sensation pressed against the back of his head.
Shin-jae abruptly sat up, letting out a bewildered sound.
What the hell kind of dream was that?
That night, Sa-yoon had comforted him while he cried and helped dry his hair. That was all. There was no kiss. They hadn’t pressed their bare skin together, caressing one another, nor had they licked or sucked on each other’s necks and flesh.
Shin-jae raised both hands to cover his face, then cursed and yanked them away. His palms were damp with sweat.
It was already bad enough that his subconscious had twisted reality into something indecent, but what was even worse was the sensation he felt below.
“…Fuck.”
***
“Lighting team, setup complete!”
“Reading room props are set!”
The school hallway at midnight was unusually bustling with people. It was all because of Sa-yoon’s graduation project filming.
“Alright, let’s get the reading room scene in place!”
Following someone’s instruction, the junior students filed into the reading room. What had started as a simple, small-scale shoot had escalated into something much more elaborate, thanks to the help he was receiving. With the department’s rented equipment in place and the juniors participating as extras, the production had turned into a full-fledged project.
Lighting, check. Sound, check. Monitor, ready…
As Sa-yoon looked straight ahead, a junior student in the distance, who had been checking the audio, formed a circle with his fingers—a signal that everything was good to go. His face was youthful.
Beside him, another junior holding a long boom mic was busy adjusting his position. They both looked young but not entirely unfamiliar—probably second-years.
Even though this was just a one-day shoot, everyone was putting in their best effort. Sa-yoon felt grateful. He’d have to make sure to get them a proper late-night meal later.
As he mentally noted this, he returned the gesture, forming a circle with his own hands in response.
There was still so much to take care of.
As he busily went over his checklist, another junior approached him.
“Sa-yoon sunbae! Has the actor arrived yet?”
“Oh, he said he was on his way earlier, but I guess he’s running a little late. Let me call him—wait, what are you doing?”
Just as Sa-yoon pulled his phone from his back pocket, a mini cam suddenly popped into his field of vision. It was unmistakably aimed right at him, capturing everything. The owner of the camera, which was mounted on a tripod, was Yeon-hee, who was acting as assistant director for the day.
“I’m filming a behind-the-scenes video for you, sunbae~”
“…Oh.”
There were times when juniors would record bits of the production while helping out. Well, this would probably make for good memories later. Sa-yoon gave a slight nod.
“Is that bright lemon-colored ball cap your personal item? The pastel tone suits you amazingly well!”
“Yeah, it’s mine.”
The moment he granted permission, an impromptu interview kicked off. What was with that tone? Tilting his head at Yeon-hee’s oddly exaggerated reporter-like voice, Sa-yoon calmly responded. She had helped a lot in making this shoot happen, after all.
“But, Director Cha, did you not get any sleep? You look like you’ve lost weight here.”
The self-proclaimed one-day reporter pressed her thumb and index finger against her own cheek and moved them up and down.
“Your whole expression right now is totally… um…”
“That bad?”
“I wouldn’t say bad necessarily…”
Sa-yoon stroked his chin at her words. His fingertips brushed against rough skin. Now that he thought about it, the tension that had been holding him together after the battle had finally worn off, or maybe he had just overworked himself too much—either way, he’d ended up with a fever and spent an entire day sick in bed. And then, before he knew it, it was shoot day.
“Or do I just look fierce?”
“If I had to describe it… sharp?”
At that, he unconsciously rubbed the corner of his eye. No wonder the juniors had been avoiding making direct eye contact with him all day.
“Even someone like you must be under insane stress over your grad film. You actually seem human right now.”
“And what do you mean by ‘someone like me’?”
“Hmm… Someone who doesn’t seem like they’d ever get stressed over something like this? You may not look it, but you’re actually super thick-skinned, sunbae.”
“The hell? I’m a sensitive guy.”
Sa-yoon did get stressed. He was just quick to shake it off and didn’t bother showing it.
Besides, he’d been in school for seven years now. Not continuously, of course, but long enough to have acted in plenty of other people’s projects and completed his fair share of assignments. He was way past the age of losing sleep over a graduation film—maybe if he were some fresh-faced kid, but not anymore.
Lately, other things had been much more stressful. Like working his ass off for an entire month only to end up second place by a hair’s breadth and missing out on the reward he wanted.
Speaking of which, Killer had sent something, hadn’t he? He’d been too out of it to even check, let alone reply.
Just then, he caught sight of the junior from earlier—the one who had asked about Shin-jae—hovering nearby. He could reply to Killer later. Right now, he had to take care of real life first.
Sa-yoon raised a hand, signaling the junior to wait.
“Let me call Shin-jae real quick. Go film the others over there. The sound team’s over there, right? If this is a making-of film, you can’t just record me.”
Sa-yoon pointed toward the direction where he had exchanged hand signals earlier, but Yeon-hee shook her head vigorously.
“Ugh, I don’t want to film over there. It’s just a bunch of thugs.”
Seeing that she had no intention of leaving, Sa-yoon waved his phone. His silent request to make a quick call finally made her give in. With an exaggerated, “Yessir, yessir~” in a foreign accent, she disappeared.
He tapped the screen a few times, and the dial tone rang.
–The person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable…
Why wasn’t he picking up? Did something happen on the way? A hint of unease crept in as he redialed and brought the phone back to his ear.
Just then, a tall figure emerged at the far end of the hallway.
“Oh.”
So he had already arrived and just hadn’t answered. The relief of finally seeing him came first, and Sa-yoon instinctively raised his arm, waving enthusiastically.
From a distance, Shin-jae turned his head in his direction.
But without any response, he simply disappeared around the corner—toward the locker room.
“What the hell?”
Hadn’t they made eye contact just now? The hallway was crowded, but he was pretty sure of it.
Thinking he must have been mistaken, Sa-yoon strode toward the locker room. He needed to give some directing notes anyway, and it wasn’t like Shin-jae would blatantly ignore him.
Yet even after changing into costume, the odd atmosphere lingered.
“So for this hallway scene, I think it’d be good to try the approach we talked about last time—”
“Let’s just stick to the script for now…”
“…Are you even listening?”
“…Yeah.”
Something about the subdued tone made Sa-yoon look up.
“Shin-jae?”
“Yeah.”
Even when called, Shin-jae’s gaze remained fixed on the script in his hands, unmoving.
At first, Sa-yoon thought he was imagining it, but no—Shin-jae had been acting strangely since earlier. His responses were short, and he wouldn’t meet his eyes.
He wasn’t a moody cat going through puberty, so what the hell was this? Sa-yoon scratched under his eye.
“Is it my face? Am I making some kind of nasty expression?”
“What?”
“Like, so bad you don’t even wanna look at me?”
Only then did Shin-jae’s head lift slightly. Sa-yoon’s reflection was caught in those large, gentle eyes—but just for a fleeting moment. The next second, his gaze darted downward again, hidden beneath thick lashes. It was ridiculously swift.
“It’s not that.”
“Yeah? Someone told me my expression’s been sharp lately, so I thought maybe that was it.”
“Who said that? You look the same as always.”
Despite fidgeting with his fingers over the script, he answered smoothly.
“The same as always.”
He repeated it, emphasizing the words.
If he was speaking like that, then he probably wasn’t upset about anything…
“Yeah? Then is it just the crowd making you uncomfortable?”
There were always a few people like this—those who became more sensitive once filming started. Shin-jae had been fine when it was just the two of them, but now that there were more people around, he seemed uncomfortable.
“Sorry for switching things up after saying it’d be a one-on-one shoot. Let’s just get through this cut like this, and the rest will be just you and me.”
“I’m really fine, …sunbae.”
“Hmm.”
“It’s not like this is my first time doing something like this.”
So was it that he had been fully immersed in his role, only to suddenly snap out of it? If that was the case, pressing too hard would only disrupt his focus even more. It still felt off, but with the shoot about to start, Sa-yoon couldn’t push the issue any further.
“Alright. Let’s do our best.”
He’d be fine—he had always done well before.
***
“Cut!”
This wasn’t something that should have just been brushed off.
“…This is my fault. It’s all my fault…”
Sa-yoon groaned, rubbing his forehead as he closed his eyes.
“Why? Is something wrong?”
Yeon-hee, who had been filming nonstop, finally lowered her camera to ask.
“No. Let’s go again.”
With that, Sa-yoon weakly set down his walkie-talkie.
The slate clapped shut once again, marking yet another take. The scene reset, and the monitor cleared.
