What are you doing right now?
At that moment, Shin-jae took a hesitant step back. The two people who had been standing close together moved apart, and a small, round, red flame flickered into existence in the air.
“Thanks.”
“It’s nothing.”
“You always disappear somewhere, and then you just pop up out of nowhere. But when I actually need you, you’re never around.”
“Still losing things all the time, huh?”
Looking closely, both of them had cigarettes in their hands. From the context, it seemed like Sa-yoon had borrowed a light from Seon Seung-joo, since he didn’t have a lighter. Their conversation, exchanged while keeping a comfortable distance, was casual and unembellished.
Realizing his mistake, Shin-jae furrowed his brows. He was being overly sensitive, even by his own standards. It was just because the shoot wasn’t going the way he wanted—it was frustrating him. He repeated that to himself, convincing himself that was the reason. He needed to believe it.
A few more lines of small talk followed. Shin-jae had no interest in eavesdropping on other people’s conversations, so he turned away without hesitation.
“So, are you seeing anyone these days?”
The tone was different from before. It was subtle but probing. He’d been through this too many times to mistake it. Just as he was about to leave, Shin-jae hesitated.
“Ah, come on, like I have time for that.”
“Yeah, makes sense. Filming during the semester must be exhausting. You look rough.”
Sa-yoon joked in his usual way, but Seon Seung-joo’s demeanor was different. It wasn’t the kind of tone you’d use for just a close junior. The suspicion that had died down suddenly rekindled.
When Shin-jae turned back, he saw Seon Seung-joo reaching out, his hand brushing toward Sa-yoon’s cheek.
What the hell is that bastard doing?
It was such an obvious move that Shin-jae felt incredulous just watching it.
“Ugh… No, seriously, I’m going crazy because of Professor Shin’s assignments. He acts like his class is the only one that exists. It’s ridiculous.”
Before Seung-joo’s hand could make contact, Sa-yoon subtly stepped back. As a result, the hand missed his cheek and swept through empty air.
For a brief moment, Seung-joo hesitated, surprise flickering across his face.
He was someone who was naturally touchy, so the fact that Sa-yoon avoided his touch was unexpected. The conversation between them abruptly broke off, leaving behind a strange atmosphere.
In short, the mood felt… weird.
“Sa-yoon.”
“Yeah?”
“Even when I was studying abroad, I thought about you a lot.”
And the moment Seon Seung-joo murmured those words in a low voice, a memory flashed through Shin-jae’s mind.
“Come to think of it, I’ve never once heard you talk about your love life, senior. What’s your ideal type?”
“Oh, I like older people. The kind that smells like winter and has a mature vibe.”
That answer had come out without a moment’s hesitation. Why had he only ever assumed that meant a woman?
Shin-jae’s gaze swept over the man standing in front of Sa-yoon. A clean, well-put-together appearance that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread, a mature tone laced in his words, and, most strikingly, that winter-like scent that lingered when you got close.
Now that he was looking at it… Seon Seung-joo was practically the embodiment of Sa-yoon’s ideal type.
No way.
No way, those two—
Shin-jae clamped a hand over his mouth and took a few steps back.
“Uh… what?”
Sa-yoon, who had been dusting himself off, responded a beat late.
“Back then, I thought it would be selfish to ask you to wait for me when I didn’t even know when I’d be coming back from studying abroad. I was a fool.”
“Oh, I see… I had no idea.”
“To be honest, we were good together before we broke up.”
A declaration that all but confirmed Shin-jae’s growing suspicion.
“I want to try again with you.”
“Ah…”
At that solemn confession, a small sigh escaped through Sa-yoon’s slightly parted lips.
“Wait a second, senior. This is just… a lot to take in right now.”
A part of Shin-jae wanted to hear Sa-yoon’s answer, but another part of him absolutely did not. He hesitated, stepping backward before finally turning around and leaving the scene—far enough that he could no longer hear their conversation.
***
“Haah…”
Sa-yoon ran a hand through his hair, messing it up. He hadn’t expected this when Seung-joo reached out after all this time.
“Then I’ll wait until you have the time.”
There hadn’t been a single sign of this coming. Where the hell had these feelings suddenly sprung from? The confession had been heartfelt, almost painfully so, but… it was also overwhelming.
“I did the right thing, right?”
So, he turned him down. Like the considerate person he had been while they were dating, Seung-joo didn’t cling or make things messy—he simply accepted it and stepped back. Just like when they broke up.
“I’m going abroad. I think breaking up is the right thing to do.”
“Alright, then let’s break up.”
A clean ending.
But the thing about emotions was… when someone stepped away so neatly without clinging, it left you wondering—did I really do the right thing?
Honestly, considering Sa-yoon’s personality—he never stopped people from coming, nor did he hold onto those who were leaving—if this had been before, he might have considered giving it another shot.
Especially since, ever since injuring his knee, he’d buried himself in gaming and put his love life on indefinite hiatus. In other words, his dating cooldown had long since reset.
But for some reason, as he was listening to Seung-joo’s confession today, it struck him that Seung-joo wasn’t really his type.
That thought triggered a chain reaction, bringing to mind his ex, and the ex before that, and even the relationships before that. Sa-yoon frowned. Most of them had a similar image to Seung-joo. But looking back now, none of them appealed to him at all.
Had his taste suddenly changed?
Sa-yoon tilted his head in confusion just as a junior—built like a mountain bandit—came barreling toward him.
“Senior! Everything’s ready now!”
“Oh, I’m coming!”
Yeah. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about this. He slapped his cheeks with both hands to focus and headed to the monitor room.
“Alright, let’s go for one more take. Ready—”
“Action.”
At Sa-yoon’s cue, the room fell silent. The screen filled with gentle, expressive eyes.
He really was ridiculously good-looking.
And just like that, Sa-yoon suddenly understood why Seung-joo hadn’t appealed to him anymore.
If the face he had just been talking to was winter, then Shin-jae was spring. His features, softened by a hint of sharpness from weight loss, still had a freshness to them. He’d been looking at that bright, vivid face far too often—it had probably reset his entire aesthetic preference.
A soft rustling filled the air. The faint sound of pages turning punctuated the quiet of the study hall. On a desk, a phone screen lit up, followed by a notification.
A neatly groomed thumb tapped the screen. Immediately, a rejection message popped up.
Shin-jae blinked a few times at the text. His eyes, unsteady and unsure of what to do, were captured perfectly on camera. Confusion and disbelief flickered across his face.
“…Hm?”
His eyes and expression were completely different from before. Even the performance deviated from the original direction.
But instead of cutting the scene, Sa-yoon held his breath and continued watching.
Shin-jae reread the message again and again, his face tightening in disbelief, before he suddenly stood up and walked into the hallway. His steps were unsteady, as if he were under a spell.
Then, without warning, he crumpled to the ground and retched. His broad back shuddered violently. It was a performance purely driven by his body—raw, visceral. Every ounce of confusion, despair, and helplessness poured out into his movements.
“…Wow.”
A hushed gasp escaped from someone inside the monitor room.
A long moment passed. The cue to cut should have been given by now, but no one moved.
Only then did Sa-yoon, fumbling slightly, grab the walkie-talkie and bring it to his lips.
“Uh… okay!”
Even after that, Shin-jae’s performance remained subtly different from what had been rehearsed during the script reading. It was like he was possessed—so vividly real that they kept rolling take after take without interruption.
Thanks to him, the previously sluggish shoot picked up incredible momentum.
“Okay! Cut! Great work, everyone!”
“Great work, everyone.”
“Thanks for all your hard work!”
The shoot, which had started at dusk, finally wrapped up deep into the night. The hallway was bustling with crew members packing up equipment. Amid the crowd, Sa-yoon spotted Shin-jae, standing a head taller than most.
Weaving through the people, Sa-yoon found him leaning against the wall like an isolated island.
“Hey, actor-nim, you were on fire today.”
Sa-yoon playfully nudged him with a grin. Finishing the night shoot, which had felt like an endless assignment, lifted a weight off his shoulders. He felt light, almost refreshed.
On top of that, the results were even better than expected. Naturally, Shin-jae, who had delivered such a flawless performance, looked especially endearing to him. He had half a mind to cup his face and shower him with praise, cooing, “Ah, you’re so damn cute.”
“People are losing their minds over how unfair it is. Good-looking and insanely talented? Thanks to you, my pride is through the roof right now.”
He made sure to lavish him with praise instead. But for some reason, there was no response from Shin-jae.
“You did great. From now on, let’s just shoot all cozy and sweet together, yeah?”
When he lifted his head to check his face, the first thing he noticed was the deep flush at the tips of Shin-jae’s ears.
Now that he thought about it, the windows had been left open for ventilation, and the cold night air was steadily flowing in.
“Are you cold?”
It wouldn’t do for him to catch a cold after all that stellar acting.
Before he even realized it, Sa-yoon’s hand moved on its own. A purely instinctive reaction.
