Creak.
A rusted sound echoed, as if proving how old the door was, drawing my attention toward it. Sa-yoon entered, holding a can of beer in each hand.
With practiced ease, he nudged the metal door shut with his foot, moving naturally.
“This place is nice, huh?”
He was right. The rooftop Sa-yoon had brought me to was free from the suffocating noise and crowds. Instead, a cool autumn breeze and a wide-open view stretched before us. It was the perfect spot to watch the fireworks.
As I silently nodded, Sa-yoon casually held out a beer.
“Here.”
The aluminum can, somehow obtained, was slick with condensation. Just as I rubbed a thumb over its damp surface, he suddenly pulled it back.
I stared at him in disbelief at the teasing gesture, only for him to pop the tab open and place the can back in my hand.
The thoughtful act was touching, yet at the same time, an odd thought crossed my mind.
“Do you come up here often?”
For instance, had he been this kind to someone else before?
“Nah. This place isn’t usually open. It’s dangerous, and kids tend to trash it. I got the key a while back when I was helping some upperclassmen with filming, but as for how long it’s been since I last came here, hmm…”
Sa-yoon paused mid-motion while opening his own beer, tilting his head slightly. His furrowed brows suggested he was genuinely trying to recall.
Just then, a timely breeze swept past, ruffling his bangs.
“Not sure. Anyway, you’re the only one I’ve brought here specially. Feel honored?”
With that, Sa-yoon tipped his can back. The veins on the back of his hand stood out as he drank.
His fingers, wrapped around the can, were long and straight—but there was no mistaking them for a woman’s. Having held that hand multiple times, I knew it wasn’t just soft.
Suddenly, my lips felt dry. I raised the can to my mouth, letting the cool liquid slide down my throat. Even as I drank, I couldn’t stop glancing sideways.
Sa-yoon was sipping his beer while looking down over the edge. I had always thought of his face as slender, but now I noticed the sharp definition of his jaw. His lips, wrapped around the can, were full, and the bridge of his nose stood straight.
As my gaze drifted up, lingering on the small mole beneath his eye, Sa-yoon turned his head—and our eyes met.
“Done staring at my face, Sa Shin-jae?”
“N-no, I was just… uh, looking at your beer. It’s different from mine.”
What a load of bullshit. There was no reason to be curious about a domestic beer I’d seen countless times at drinking parties since turning legal.
The problem was, Sa-yoon knew it too.
“Ohh, I see. You just wanted to stare because your hyung is so handsome, huh?”
The playful tease made Shin-jae question his own ears.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re extremely self-absorbed?”
“Not to my face.”
Sa-yoon shrugged as he responded, showing not even a hint of embarrassment or awkwardness. How could he say something like that with a completely straight face? He always had reactions that went beyond my expectations. That was why I found him so fascinating.
“Hyung, I bet you entered every talent show back in school.”
In a way, I envied his confidence—his complete indifference to how others saw him. Maybe that’s why? The more I got to know him, the more curious I became.
“Oh? How’d you guess? I joined every year.”
“What did you perform?”
“What do you think?”
If he was good at dancing, then probably dance. If he was good at singing, then singing. And if he was bad at both, he would’ve gone up on stage just to do comedy. Looking at his amused expression, I chose my words carefully.
“…A strength act?”
“Wow. Harsh.”
“Or maybe a comedy skit?”
“Just what kind of image do you have of me in your head?”
Sa-yoon raised an eyebrow, looking incredulous, but he didn’t seem particularly offended as he took another sip of his beer.
“Oh, looks like the festival’s music competition is starting.”
The subject changed instantly. Following the direction of his pointing finger, I spotted someone on a small stage holding an acoustic guitar.
Since it was a university event, the scale wasn’t huge, but a decent crowd had gathered in front of the stage. After a brief self-introduction, the participant started singing. I didn’t recognize the song, but the melody was pretty emotional.
A few seconds in, Sa-yoon began nodding his head in rhythm, casually singing along.
As soon as he finished a verse, I suddenly understood exactly which kind of stage he had performed on every year.
“Why didn’t you enter this year?”
“Hmm? Oh, the competition?”
He instantly understood what I was referring to, flashing a grin before answering.
“Because I was gonna hang out with you.”
Leaning against the railing, Sa-yoon smiled lazily. His words sounded both sincere and playful at the same time.
I gave up trying to figure out whether he was joking and simply moved on to my next question.
“Why didn’t you go that route?”
“Huh?”
“Singing. Why didn’t you become a singer?”
Sa-yoon was really good. Not just good—he was on a completely different level from the person on stage right now.
On top of that, his voice carried the lyrics with such a subtle charm. If I were a talent scout, I would’ve handed him a business card on the spot.
“You’re seriously amazing.”
At that, he let out an understanding “Ahh” and ran a hand down the back of his neck.
“This is kinda embarrassing.”
A moment ago, when he actually should’ve been embarrassed, he was completely unfazed. But now, he was suddenly shy.
I really couldn’t figure this guy out.
“Honestly, when I was younger, people kept telling me I was good, so I did dream about it for a bit. I even got cast and joined an agency for a short while, but being locked up somewhere, practicing every single day—it just wasn’t for me.”
“Still… It feels like a waste of talent that you never debuted.”
Unlike my usual detached tone, my words came out more assertively, making Sa-yoon’s eyes widen slightly. Then, as if amused, he let out a soft laugh.
“Thanks.”
His smile, light and melting like sorbet on a summer day, sent heat rushing to my face.
What the hell was wrong with me? Every little movement, every glance of his felt like he was flirting with me. Flustered, I fanned myself a few times, pretending to be hot.
“I just like working with film more.”
“You picked your career because you liked it?”
“Yeah.”
That was unfamiliar to me. Even in high school, I had never met anyone who spoke like that.
I had attended one of the most academically driven schools in Gangnam, where no one ever talked about dreams. There were only goals—getting into a top medical school, a prestigious law program, or an Ivy League university.
Some people claimed they wanted to be doctors, but that was just the result of their parents’ relentless drilling. I had studied alongside them, no different from the rest. Getting into Korea University’s business program had been entirely my father’s decision. I hadn’t even cared about business in the slightest.
“I’ve been like this since I was a kid,” Sa-yoon continued. “Whenever I saw something interesting, I’d think, ‘Wow, how did they come up with that?’ or ‘How did they direct that scene?’ I wanted to make things like that, and I kept wondering, ‘What major would I need to study to do that?’ And that’s how I ended up here.”
His face, alight with enthusiasm, practically glowed as he spoke about chasing his dream.
“What about you? When did you start liking acting?”
The unexpected question made me raise an eyebrow.
“Why?”
“I thought you’d expect me to ask about your major.”
“It’s obvious you like acting.”
“…I don’t know. My dad chose business for me. And I never really thought about acting as something I love.”
I had contacted the theater club after seeing a recruitment poster, almost on a whim. I had always assumed it was just a fleeting impulse.
But Sa-yoon shook his head without hesitation.
“If it was just that, you wouldn’t have worked so hard. If you didn’t like it at least a little, there’s no way you would’ve come to practice every day in the scorching heat for a three-minute scene.”
Had I? Not once had I thought of practice as a hassle. Just being on stage, exchanging lines, was fun for me.
“And you’ve been diligently attending script readings for the graduation production. Plus, you got frustrated when your performance wasn’t going well last time.”
Who wouldn’t analyze their character before acting? That was just the basics. Late-night rehearsals, the exhaustion from staying up… As my thoughts reached that point, I instinctively covered my mouth.
“You care about it,” Sa-yoon pointed out. “That’s why it upsets you when you struggle, why you want to do better, why you feel so ambitious about it.”
He was right. I wanted to get better. Because, deep down, I really did love acting.
Now that he had pointed it out, I finally realized it.
“…You’re right. I guess I do like acting.”
How had I not known this? No—how had I outright ignored it?
“My father hated acting. It caused a huge rift between him and my mom… Ah, well, my family has always looked down on entertainers, calling them ddanddara—a bunch of nobodies.
And then, when their precious eldest grandson said he liked acting, the elders lost their minds. They blamed my mom, saying she ruined the family by bringing in the wrong kind of woman.”
It was something I had never told anyone before. But in front of Sa-yoon, the words just spilled out effortlessly.
