Today’s scene takes place in the study room. The protagonist, who is in the middle of studying, receives a rejection message from the company they applied to and falls into despair.
Before checking the message, they appear excited and expectant but slightly nervous. Afterward, their expression is filled with disappointment and a sense of defeat, creating a stark contrast. Following this, they are unable to hold back their emotions and step out into a dark hallway, completely dejected.
Since this scene relies entirely on the protagonist’s facial expressions without any dialogue, precise emotional acting and nuanced intensity control are of utmost importance.
‘I was so sure I could do it…!’
The day he visited the theater club for casting was still vivid in his mind. Sitting at the edge, Sa-yoon had been able to see what happened before stepping onto the stage.
The way Sa Shin-jae, who had been lingering behind the stage, changed the moment he crossed the boundary into the waiting area. And just how perfectly he immersed himself in the role.
The part Shin-jae was assigned was a minor supporting role—brief and lacking any major impact. In fact, he only had three lines.
But for raw talent to shine, that was more than enough.
The sheer amount of research and practice that went into those three lines, and what happened when those efforts were layered with dazzling talent—Sa-yoon had seen it all that day.
Honestly, while Shin-jae was on stage, Sa-yoon couldn’t see anyone else. That was why, even after getting rejected outright, he threw away his pride and continued to follow him around.
Watching him during script readings and on-site visits later on only reinforced his belief that he had made the right choice. Sa Shin-jae loved acting, worked hard at it, and had an overflowing amount of talent.
“You’re really out of it today.”
But today was different. Maybe it was just his imagination, but the image on the monitor felt strangely different from the test shots.
What had changed? It was like feeling a stray hair inside his clothes but not being able to find it—just a lingering sense of discomfort. Sa-yoon tilted his head back and forth as he stared at the monitor.
“Really? I think I’m fine,”
“Me too. Honestly, I thought he’d be bad at acting since his face is so famous.”
Jae-ha, who was temporarily filling in as a script supervisor, agreed with Yeon-hee, but Sa-yoon shook his head firmly.
“He can do better than this.”
Of course, everyone has off days. It’s only natural for performances to vary depending on one’s condition. But knowing that he could do better made it impossible to just let it slide.
“Cut! Let’s take a ten-minute break.”
In the end, Sa-yoon, holding the walkie-talkie, ordered a short break. The people curled up in the study room stretched and got up all at once.
Some went out for a smoke, while others scattered to different corners to rest. Even during that time, Sa-yoon kept his eyes fixed on the monitor. In the now-empty room, there was only one seat left—
There was a difference.
They say actors can express emotions even through their backs. Then what kind of emotions was Shin-jae showing right now?
Sa-yoon silently stared at the back displayed on the screen before finally stepping forward.
Since he had been watching from the empty lecture hall next door, it didn’t take long to reach the study room. On Shin-jae’s desk, the script lay open. The edges were frayed from being flipped through countless times, covered in traces of contemplation and effort.
The person who suffers the most when their acting doesn’t go well is always the actor themselves.
Seeing that, it was impossible to resent him. With a brief sigh, Sa-yoon approached and tapped the desk.
“Shin-jae.”
At the quiet call, Shin-jae flinched but didn’t lift his head. Looking down, his face seemed more forlorn than usual. He was definitely different from his normal self.
What had changed?
Leaning against the partition, Sa-yoon took his time examining the finely sculpted features.
The slightly curled hair, neatly shaped eyebrows, the somewhat gloomy eyes beneath them, and the sharply defined T-zone that made his features stand out. As he studied him carefully, the biggest difference became apparent—he had lost weight.
His features were already well-defined, but now the deeper eye hollows exaggerated the contrast even further.
So that’s why he looked different on screen.
He didn’t seem like he was going to speak first, so Sa-yoon took the initiative.
“Did you go on a diet?”
Shin-jae hesitated briefly before slowly shaking his head.
“Then… did you not sleep well last night?”
“Huh?”
“……A little.”
So, he was just nervous because of the group shoot. That was a relief—nerves would ease over time.
“I see.”
As he responded, Sa-yoon shifted to the side. Because Shin-jae had his head slightly lowered, from his previous position, he could only see up to the bridge of his nose.
“Huh?”
Standing at the right angle now, Sa-yoon reached out and grabbed Shin-jae’s face without hesitation.
“Hold on. Your lips are bleeding.”
They hadn’t been like this earlier. A small trickle of blood was visible on one side of his lips.
“Your lips are so chapped, why didn’t—ah.”
There was probably some quick makeup done before the shoot. But someone like him, who wouldn’t even touch food someone else had eaten, surely wouldn’t have used another person’s lip balm. He must have been biting at his dry lips in anxiety, enough to make them crack and bleed.
No way to find fresh lip balm in the middle of campus. What now?
Just as Sa-yoon absentmindedly brushed his thumb over the wounded lip—
Shin-jae suddenly shot up from his seat. The abrupt movement startled Sa-yoon, making him take an instinctive step back.
“I-I, I need to get some fresh air!”
Then, without another word, he dashed out.
In an instant, Sa-yoon was left standing alone in the empty room.
“…Seriously, what’s up with him?”
Sa-yoon muttered absentmindedly, dazed by Shin-jae’s inexplicable behavior. It reminded him of the tiny, grumpy cat back home.
***
“Haa…”
Outside the building, Shin-jae ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.
‘Shin-jae.’
Cha Sa-yoon always used that soft, gentle tone with him—almost like he was soothing a child. The problem was, it sounded exactly like in his dream.
It made sense, of course. Dreams reflect reality. But the moment he heard that voice, memories of the previous night’s dream started replaying in his head on an endless loop. There was no stopping it.
And because of that, he couldn’t bring himself to look Sa-yoon in the eye.
“This is driving me crazy.”
Not once in his life had he ever been sexually attracted to a man. Far from attraction, the very idea had always disgusted him. So the fact that he had that kind of dream about Sa-yoon? A total nightmare. Every breath he let out came with a sigh.
After standing in the cold air for a long while, he eventually made his way back. Most people had returned by then, but things seemed unusually busy for a mere shoot. Looking closer, he noticed that nearly everyone was holding a drink.
“Come grab a coffee!”
Sure enough, someone was calling out as they handed out drinks.
“Oh! Shin-jae, do you want some coffee?”
“No.”
Shin-jae had been sensitive to caffeine since birth. His immediate rejection made the person offering it hesitate awkwardly before muttering, “Ah, o-okay,” and walking away.
Left alone, Shin-jae glanced around.
Even though he couldn’t properly look at him when they were face-to-face, the moment they were apart, his instincts sought him out.
It didn’t take long to find him.
There, standing off to the side, was Sa-yoon, holding an iced Americano. He had already taken a few sips, the liquid level in the cup visibly lower.
Clicking his tongue, Shin-jae frowned.
Lately, he’d been complaining nonstop about how exhausted he was… And now he was drinking coffee again? He’s not going to sleep properly tonight.
He didn’t even realize he had started worrying about him so naturally.
Taking advantage of the bustling surroundings, Shin-jae observed Sa-yoon quietly. The guy was never alone. As expected, even now, he had company.
A tall man stood beside him. Someone unfamiliar.
Shin-jae narrowed his eyes.
Even back on campus, Sa-yoon seemed to know people everywhere. Here, it felt like he was part of some clan-based society.
Sa-yoon wasn’t short, but the guy standing next to him was at least a handspan taller.
‘Who’s that? A classmate?’
The man looked to be in his late twenties.
As Shin-jae tried to figure out who the stranger was, Sa-yoon nudged him lightly with the hand holding his cup.
So far, it just seemed like a casual interaction between close friends.
But then—
‘What the hell is he doing?’
The liquid inside the clear plastic cup swayed slightly as the man took it and drank a few sips before handing it back.
Fine. Let’s assume they were just friendly classmates sharing a drink.
But then, the man casually wrapped an arm around Sa-yoon’s back. The atmosphere between them felt oddly warm, just a little too close.
An inexplicable sense of discomfort settled in Shin-jae’s gut, but he couldn’t look away.
Then, as if sensing his stare, Sa-yoon turned his head.
Shin-jae had been staring so openly that it felt awkward to look away now.
“Oh, Shin-jae!”
Sa-yoon’s face lit up the moment he spotted him. For a split second, that reaction filled Shin-jae with a faint sense of satisfaction—only for it to be ruined immediately when Sa-yoon waved him over.
He didn’t want to go.
He had no desire to squeeze himself into that scene. But at the same time, a part of him wanted to shatter that overly friendly atmosphere into pieces.
The feeling was unfamiliar and unsettling.
In the end, he hesitated for a moment before reluctantly dragging his feet forward, like a dog being pulled by the leash.
“I didn’t interrupt the shoot, did I?”
“No, you came at the perfect time. We’re on break right now.”
Even as Shin-jae approached, the other man’s gaze remained fixed solely on Sa-yoon.
Years of dealing with all sorts of creeps had sharpened Shin-jae’s instincts—and right now, they were tingling.
