Human pride—how shallow and futile it truly is. Sa-yoon was experiencing that firsthand.
Every time an interviewee read the script he had prepared, his mind would immediately compare them.
Sa Shin-jae’s vocal delivery was better. His voice was crisp, his pronunciation precise—it pierced straight into the ears. Not like this person, who just blurred everything together.
Or, sometimes, it went like this.
Sa Shin-jae’s facial expressions were better. How did he manage to convey so much emotion with just the lift of an eyebrow? That restrained, delicate expression of feeling… Why the hell did someone with that kind of talent waste it on a university club?
Most of his thoughts followed this pattern. He just couldn’t shake that face, that voice, that performance from his head.
“This is ridiculous.”
This was really… kind of like being lovesick, wasn’t it? The moment the thought crossed his mind, goosebumps ran up his arms. He rubbed them down and gripped his phone like a lifeline.
No. If he searched, there had to be someone else like Sa Shin-jae out there. Maybe not common, but if he kept looking, he’d find someone just as good. He had to.
A week passed. At a café that offered a free drink after ten stamps, Sa-yoon had already received three free Americanos.
Unfortunately, all of it had been for nothing.
***
Cha Sa-yoon was fairly shameless. He never really got nervous in front of others, and even if he made a mistake, he would admit it readily and move on with a laugh.
Even so, after everything that had happened, walking into the small auditorium where the theater club was practicing felt… difficult.
He grabbed the door handle, then let go. Repeated it a few times. A wave of self-awareness hit him hard—what the hell was he even doing?
Screw it. He had come this far. Whether it worked out or not, he had to give it a shot.
“Hello!”
“Hey.”
After hesitating several times, he finally entered the clubroom. It was the same as always. Thankfully, he had come early enough—the rehearsal hadn’t started yet. The new members, gathered in a small group, greeted him, and Ha-rim immediately walked up.
“Oh, sunbae! Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah, I’m fine now.”
“Your dark circles, though. Is it because of the season? A lot of people seem to be getting sick lately.”
The real reason for his dark circles was that every time he lay down to sleep, Sa Shin-jae’s words kept echoing in his head. But Sa-yoon just forced a smile and brushed it off.
“Who else is sick?”
“Sa Shin-jae. Something about… a sore throat?”
“Him?”
“Yeah. Apparently, he has a high fever and lost his voice.”
Before Sa-yoon could ask anything else, Ha-rim got caught up in preparing for rehearsal, bustling around busily.
Sa-yoon stood there, lost in thought. He’s sick? Him? He’s not just avoiding me, right?
By now, everyone had memorized their lines flawlessly, so the play ran smoothly. Midway through, it reached the part featuring the character who had been occupying his mind nonstop for days.
Since the actual actor was absent, a temporary stand-in read the lines.
“…Bae.”
“…….”
“Sa-yoon sunbae!”
“Huh?”
“Are you feeling unwell? You’ve been zoning out. Also, the camera battery’s dead.”
“Oh? Oh, right.”
He’d been so out of it that he completely forgot to charge it. Sa-yoon let his arm drop, holding the powerless camera limply. Seeing that, Ha-rim’s expression grew serious.
“Sunbae, is something bothering you lately?”
“Huh?”
“Your eyes look like this.”
Ha-rim lifted both index fingers and pulled down the corners of her eyes, mimicking a downward slant—exactly like a pitiful, droopy expression. Her naturally cute face exaggerated the effect, making it look like she was about to burst into tears.
“It’s nothing. Just had a lot on my mind.”
“Sunbae… I just wanted to check—”
“Hm?”
Sa-yoon knew Ha-rim wasn’t the type to hesitate like this. Whatever she was about to say, it had to be something difficult.
“What is it? A tough favor?”
“It’s not… Did something happen between you and Shin-jae?”
“What?”
That was completely unexpected. Sa-yoon, who had been staring at the dead camera, straightened up. What, are they all reading my mind now?
“What are you talking about?”
For them to even bring it up, there had to be some kind of reason.
“In the beginning, you really looked out for Shin-jae, sunbae. I know it was because of your graduation project, but other people… they were saying maybe you were interested in him.”
Sa-yoon blinked at the unexpected claim.
“I was that obvious? But I always act like that. I treated him the same way I do with all of you.”
“Yeah, we know you’re naturally considerate, sunbae! But with Shin-jae, it felt… different? Like you weren’t just helping out a junior, but…”
Ha-rim struggled to find the right words before eventually settling on a vague conclusion.
“Ugh, it’s hard to explain.”
It was just weird. When sunbae looked out for me or the others, it never felt like that.
“Oh! If I had to put it into words, it felt like your entire focus was locked onto Shin-jae.”
Even as Ha-rim added that, Sa-yoon remained frozen. I acted like that? To the point where other people noticed? So maybe Sa Shin-jae wasn’t just being overly sensitive after all.
In Korea, most acts of kindness between people of the same gender were dismissed as simple friendship. It was a country where biases acted as a shield. And yet, if people were still saying things like this…
“As long as you and Shin-jae aren’t having problems, it’s fine. That day, you went out with him and then went straight home, right? And Shin-jae left not long after too. Then neither of you showed up for a whole week. So, of course, we wondered if something happened after a few drinks.”
“Why the hell are you all so obsessed with other people’s business…”
“Huh?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s going on with Shin-jae.”
Sa-yoon shut it down with a single sentence. But his expression was far more complicated than his words.
The next day, Sa Shin-jae returned to class. It didn’t seem like a coincidence—more like he didn’t want to fall too far behind.
Of course, their relationship had changed completely. They sat apart, and even when their eyes met after class, neither acknowledged the other.
That was manageable. The real problem was the club.
While Ha-rim had gone to check on something backstage, Sa-yoon let out a quiet sigh. In the club, neither avoiding nor pretending not to know each other would work for long.
On top of that, rumors were already circulating. People were definitely paying closer attention now.
Sa-yoon wasn’t particularly bothered by what others might say about him. But the idea of being constantly linked to Sa Shin-jae in idle gossip felt… strange.
And what if Shin-jae got wind of the rumors and went around claiming that some gay sunbae had hit on him, so he shot him down? That would be fucking annoying.
Might as well clear things up while he had the chance.
“Should we eat before continuing?”
As the practice paused, Myung-woo was the first to suggest dinner. It was already long past mealtime.
The club usually ordered delivery, but sometimes they went to a nearby diner. Judging by how people were getting up, today seemed like an eating-out kind of day.
Sa-yoon was gathering his things when his eyes happened to meet Shin-jae’s.
For a split second, Shin-jae’s neutral expression flickered—like he had just put something unexpectedly bitter in his mouth.
It felt oddly surreal, and before he realized it, Sa-yoon found himself staring. Then, suddenly, Shin-jae whipped his head away, making it painfully obvious that he wanted nothing to do with him.
That kind of blatant avoidance would definitely spark even more rumors.
As everyone started moving, Sa-yoon quickly caught up to the very back and grabbed Shin-jae by the sleeve.
“I’m eating separately with Shin-jae today.”
“…We are?”
Shin-jae pulled his arm away the moment Sa-yoon touched him, like even that small contact was unpleasant.
“Yeah, I told you before, remember?”
Feigning ignorance, Sa-yoon grabbed his wrist more firmly this time—then smiled sweetly.
Maybe it was the determination in Sa-yoon’s grip, or maybe Shin-jae was just wary of making a scene. Either way, this time, he didn’t shake him off.
Since Ha-rim knew that Sa-yoon’s reason for joining the club in the first place had been Shin-jae, she was quick to go along with it, setting the mood for the others to accept it. Myung-woo simply nodded in agreement.
And just like that, the auditorium emptied, leaving only the two of them behind.
The moment they were alone, Shin-jae yanked his arm free and dusted himself off. Somewhere along the way, his eyes had swapped out their polite warmth for something far more hostile.
