The memories he had deliberately avoided were still vivid.
The sharp voices that clashed over the long dining table, big enough to seat at least ten people. The cold atmosphere that followed, freezing the entire household. His parents’ icy expressions. Though all the blame had been directed at his mother, even as a child, he had understood the truth.
All of it had piled up, driving young Shin-jae to run away from acting.
“The world isn’t like that anymore.”
“They were just old-fashioned.”
Sa-yoon let out a low sigh. He looked as if he wanted to say more but was holding back out of respect for another’s family.
“I just wanted to be acknowledged, to live up to their expectations, so I went to the university my father wanted…”
He trailed off. The emotionless face his father had worn when announcing both his divorce and remarriage on his son’s birthday flashed in his mind. Shin-jae bit down hard on his lip, dropping his head.
“I don’t know anything anymore. If I had known things would turn out like this, I should’ve just done what I loved.”
There was a time when he had tried to rebel, hoping to get their attention. He skipped every class, earning an academic warning. His father, a professor at the same university, must have known. Yet he never said a word.
Only when he heard the news that day did he finally understand—his father’s attention and affections had already moved to a new home.
He had turned away from acting and ignored his mother, and in the end, even the bond between them had grown distant.
It was only much later that the injustice of it all hit him. If this was how things were going to be, they should have just let him do what he wanted. The frustration, with nowhere to go, had only continued to build up inside him.
“I made the wrong choice.”
Shin-jae let out a bitter laugh, his eyebrows furrowing. His family elders had opposed it, but in the end, he had chosen this path himself.
If he had truly loved it, shouldn’t he have fought for it instead of just giving up?
“Hey.”
At the short call, Shin-jae lifted his head to see Sa-yoon awkwardly patting his wrist.
“My parents were really against me going into film. They just wanted me to get a stable government job.”
But can you imagine me as a civil servant? Not a chance.
The expression on Sa-yoon’s face looked almost angry. Watching him for a moment, Shin-jae realized—it wasn’t anger. Sa-yoon had simply erased his usual smile.
Because he always smiled when looking at Shin-jae, the sudden coldness in his face felt unfamiliar.
“I… I think every choice is a good choice.”
The person who always carried himself with such ease was now fumbling through a clumsy attempt at comfort.
And somehow… it actually helped.
“Ah, serious conversations aren’t really my thing.”
Sa-yoon raised a hand and tousled his own hair. His neatly arranged bangs became a mess, revealing glimpses of his pale forehead.
“But think about it. If you hadn’t given up acting, you wouldn’t have met the friends you have now or had the experiences you’ve had.”
That was true. If he had started acting as a child, he wouldn’t have ended up at Korea University.
He wouldn’t have spent hours holed up in a PC café to escape the cold war between his parents, scrolling through an image board for a game he didn’t even play, only to stumble upon Chasa’s post.
And he probably wouldn’t have even known that someone like Cha Sa-yoon existed.
“So what I’m saying is, it’s not too late to start now.”
“Do you really think it’s not too late?”
At those words, Sa-yoon frowned as if he had just heard something ridiculous.
“Listen to you, talking like you’re on your deathbed. You’re twenty. Stop being afraid of the things you love and just throw yourself into it.”
Sa-yoon’s face was unusually resolute, like a general about to march onto the battlefield.
“Sometimes, it’s better not to overthink and just go for it.”
As he finished speaking, he shook his beer can toward Shin-jae. The can, already nearly empty from all the sipping, made a hollow clinking sound as it bumped against Shin-jae’s. They both tilted their heads back and drank.
“Alright, let’s make a deal.”
Sa-yoon tapped the empty can against the railing before continuing.
“When you debut and become a top actor, you’ll take a role in a drama I direct.”
“What if I don’t make it big?”
“Why wouldn’t you? If someone like you debuts and doesn’t succeed, the entire industry should just shut down.”
His way of offering comfort was… quite extreme.
“What kind of reassurance is that?”
“I mean it. If you don’t debut, it’s a huge loss for the industry.”
It was meant as a joke, but Sa-yoon’s eyes were unwavering, like someone who genuinely believed in what he was saying.
Even his own parents had never supported him this much. Come to think of it, Sa-yoon had been consistent from the very beginning.
For some reason, a warmth crept up the back of his neck. Shin-jae tipped his can again, but it was already empty.
“But honestly, Shin-jae, no matter what you do, I’ll support you. Whether you debut or not… It’s your life. Do whatever you want with it.”
“Didn’t you just say it would be a huge loss for the industry?”
“Yeah, well, let them deal with that.”
The feelings he had barely managed to suppress stirred once again.
“To be honest, when I first met you, I thought you were unbelievably rude.”
Cha Sa-yoon was truly a strange person.
“And when you suddenly started chasing after me, it was kind of scary.”
He had thought Sa-yoon was the type of person he would never get involved with.
“Yeah, well, I thought you were a lunatic when you got mad at me.”
But now, he found himself liking this personality of Sa-yoon’s—how he never backed down from an argument.
“Still… when you said I had talent, I was actually kind of happy.”
Because he was the same inside and out. Because he was kind.
“You were the first person to ever say that to me.”
Because he was the first person to support me.
“What? Is everyone else blind?”
And because he was someone who could offer this kind of comfort.
That’s why Shin-jae liked Sa-yoon.
Sa-yoon tilted his head repeatedly, as if he truly didn’t understand. The genuine confusion in his expression was so sincere that Shin-jae couldn’t help but laugh. Sa-yoon, watching him, let out a chuckle as well.
He had always thought revealing his feelings was something to be ashamed of. But now that he had spoken honestly, it felt like a heavy burden had been lifted off his chest.
As his heart grew lighter, the view below seemed different somehow. The music festival was wrapping up, and the winner was performing their encore. It was the same acoustic guitarist Sa-yoon had been singing along to earlier.
This time, instead of singing, Sa-yoon hummed quietly. The soft glow from the festival booths illuminated his face with a warm light. Leaning against the railing, arms draped lazily over it, he looked like a well-fed cat basking in satisfaction.
For some reason, Shin-jae felt the urge to speak the truth he had been hiding. Right now, it felt like he could.
“Hyung, there’s something I want to say…”
But before he could finish, a loud boom! echoed through the sky. The crowd below erupted into cheers.
“Oh, it’s starting.”
Following the direction of Sa-yoon’s pointing hand, Shin-jae saw golden sparks scattering into countless streaks against the dark night sky. The fireworks had begun.
Boom, boom, boom!
One after another, different fireworks exploded, breaking through the darkness and blossoming into vibrant flowers before fading away.
Watching the increasingly elaborate display, Sa-yoon suddenly wore a grave expression.
“Are we seriously not starting school next year?”
With the way our school sets off fireworks, you’d think we were funded by a gunpowder company.
At his words, Shin-jae nodded in agreement. Honestly, he didn’t care how extravagant the fireworks were. Everything else was blurred out of focus, and only Sa-yoon appeared sharp and vivid in his sight. Behind him, bursts of color bloomed and faded, over and over again.
“I’m glad we watched from here.”
Right? Sa-yoon grinned, just as a firework shot up in a perfect line behind him, exploding into brilliance. The colorful sparks filled the night sky, illuminating his face as he turned toward Shin-jae, smiling brightly.
Even though he had just finished an entire can of beer, Shin-jae’s lips felt dry.
For a brief moment, it was as if the entire world had gone silent.
And then, like a rising tide, the realization of his feelings surged forward, overwhelming him.
He wanted that smile to be meant only for him. Even after this semester ended, even if they didn’t share another class, even if they never worked on a film together again.
“Hyung.”
His voice came out strangled, like something was tightening around his throat. His heart pounded wildly, like he had just sprinted at full speed.
“I like you.”
The moment the words left his lips, he realized—it wasn’t his heart causing all the chaos inside him. It was his feelings.
Overflowing emotions had taken shape the moment they escaped his mouth. Before he even knew it, they had seeped in, slowly, steadily, until they completely drenched him—his very first love.
“I like you, hyung.”
“…What?”
Maybe it was the fireworks or the cheers of the crowd, but Sa-yoon hadn’t heard him properly. He leaned in, his face illuminated and darkened in turns by the flickering colors.
“I like you.”
Like an idiot, he repeated himself.
I like Cha Sa-yoon.
Saying it out loud only made it all the more real.
It wasn’t a confession made in hopes of a certain answer. It wasn’t about expecting anything in return. It was just…
Like a glass filled past its limit, spilling over on its own.
That’s what this was. Just feelings overflowing.
