Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I remember, the first time I met her was at the Hanguk Drama Award in 2015. She was a nominee for Supporting Actress Role.” IkJun answered the question about him and SongHwa’s first meeting with so much confidence.

“Oh so you two met a long time ago?” The MC directed her question to SongHwa this time

“Hmm, actually we met long before that.” She smiled at IkJun after she answered the question.

IkJun gave her a confusing look, “Really? When was it?”

“It was at Blue Diamond Award night, in 2010”

“Wah, really?”

“Yeah, we exchanged a glance back then, but maybe you didn’t remember”

“Wah, SongHwa-ssi. Jinjja? I really have no idea we met that long before the Hanguk Drama Award!” IkJun was surprised to know that they already met in 2010, they exchanged a glance, but he didn’t remember? How could he didn’t? It’s SongHwa!

But then something struck his mind, a glance?

“Wait, you said we exchanged a glance, right?”

“Yes, we did.”

“There were so many people at the event, yet you still remember that we exchanged a glance? How could you remember that?”

SongHwa startled with IkJun’s question, but she managed to control her face in front of the press meeting for their upcoming drama. She hesitated for a moment, then..

“Maybe because you won Best Male Newcomer at that time. That was your first award right?”

“Ah, yes. Okay!” that was the only thing IkJun let out from his mouth, but back in his mind there was another question left.

“So, she knew the category that I won and also she knew it was my first award?”

FLASHBACK TO BLUE DIAMOND AWARD 2010

2 days before the event..

SongHwa was so nervous, this was the first time she attended a popular acting award. Her movie, titled “Queen of Hearts”, was one of the Best Movie Award nominees, so their PD wanted all of the cast to come.

SongHwa started her acting career in 2009, it was just a cameo role for a drama. But, she really nailed it, until Yang SeokHyeong, Queen of Hearts’ PD, became interested in her acting and asked her to be a part of his upcoming movie, although it was just a simple role.

“MinHa-ya, I don’t know what to wear! I think I should rent a dress, but the event is only in 2 days, ottoke?” Songhwa grunted while looking at her dresses

“I already told you to wear the dress you bought with your first salary! It’s really cute!”

“What? Cute? I don’t want to wear something cute, I need something elegant, MinHa-yaaa. I will meet a lot of people from the industry. I need to dress well for this event.”

SongHwa added, “Ah, matta! You’re friends with Heo SeonBin the fashion designer, right? Can you contact her Minha-ya? Who knows she can rent her dress to me.”

“Yah! You said it before, it’s two days before the event, right? How could it even be possible! You should’ve rented the dress from 1 week ago.”

“Please, MinHa-ya! You said you know her very well, right? Don’t you think your best friend should look pretty in her first appearance in that high class acting award?”

Unbelieveable! MinHa looked at SongHwa. SongHwa showed her puppy face with a grin on her face. MinHa couldn’t resist her anymore.

“You! Jinjja! Don’t ever show me that stinky face again! Aish, jinjja! Arasseo, I’ll call her.” MinHa took her phone and started calling the designer.

5 Minutes later..

“You must be so blessed to have a best friend like me, SongHwa-ya! SeonBin said she will wait for you at 3 PM, you better prepare yourself and don’t be late.”

SongHwa ran to hug MinHa, “Thank you, MinHa-ya! I know I can count on you!”

“Arasseo, arasseo! Geundae, SongHwa-ya..”

“Eung, wae?”

“You know that I’m super proud of you right? With that elegant dress or that cute dress, you don’t have to worry, people will see your talent, SongHwa-ya! And, you have the talent, it’s running in your blood. So, don’t ever feel intimidated, okay!”

SongHwa was bawling. She knew MinHa was right. She felt so intimidated as a newcomer to attend this award. She even didn’t have a manager yet and managed all her schedule by herself, she didn’t have a glam team for her hairdo and make up, and didn't have a stylist to pick what to wear.

MinHa hugged her, “Everything will be great later, SongHwa-ya! Great things take time. And, don’t worry I will do your makeup and hairdo! I will make sure you will be the prettiest newcomer actress ever!”

SongHwa chuckled, “Gomawo, MinHa-ya! I know, I can always count on you!”

“Yah! Don’t always count on me. It will be so bothersome.”

SongHwa laughed. “I’m sorry but you’re stuck with me, MinHa-ya! I will always call you, bother you, and count on you!”

“Yaaa, hajimaaa!”

BLUE DIAMOND AWARD - THE DAY.

SongHwa was so nervous at the red carpet of the event. She came with her friend in the movie, Jang Gyeoul. They were seated together with the other cast of the movie. SongHwa looked around and she found faces she recognized. She was in awe. It felt surreal to attend this award night. One of the popular events in South Korea. But, she remembered what MinHa said, “Just remember you are one of them, Chae SongHwa!”

SongHwa lost her focus then she nearly slipped. Fortunately, Gyeoul caught her arm so she didn’t fall.

“SongHwa-ya, are you okay?”

“Yes, I-”
Suddenly SongHwa looked at someone. He stood just beside Gyeoul. It looked like he was searching for his seat. Then suddenly, some actors called his name,

“Lee IkJun! We’re here!”

Her eyes were following wherever his body moved, she literally didn’t hear what Gyeoul said until Gyeoul hit her arm, “Earth to Chae SongHwa!”

“Aw! What is it, Gyeoul-ah?”

“Whom do you look at until you lose your focus?”

SongHwa blinked twice then when she regained her focus, she answered Gyeoul’s question “Ah, no one. No one, Gyeoul-ah! Let’s go there, the other cast was seated there!” While pointing to the seat in the front.

The event started. SongHwa got so excited. But, she couldn’t forget that man named Lee IkJun. The profile of his face, his smile.

God, he’s really handsome when he smiles.
Is he a newcomer?
Seems like I've never seen him before.
What movie was he in?
Does he have a girlfriend? SongHwa shook her head, I must be crazy

Then suddenly her body couldn't take it anymore. She looked backward to the place where he was seated and suddenly their eyes met. SongHwa was so surprised, then she turned away. She closed her eyes regretting why she must look at the seat where he was seated. From that moment she didn’t dare to look in that direction anymore.

The event went so smoothly. The winner from each category was announced. And, finally the MC was going to announce The Best Male Newcomer award.

“And, the nominees are..”

“Lee SeokMin, Soul.”

“Do JaeHak, Hwarang.”

“Ahn JeongWon, Doctors.”

“Kang JeongHyeok, The Negotiation.”

“Lee IkJun, Wise Life.”

“And the winner is..” The MC opened the envelope, ”Oh I love his performance in that movie!”

“Lee IkJun, Wise Life”

SongHwa was surprised when IkJun walked to the stage. She smiled in silence while watching his speech and paid so much attention to the winner of the Best Male Newcomer award. SongHwa hadn’t watched his movie yet, but she made a promise to herself to watch his movie later.

At the end of the award night, SongHwa and Gyeoul were out of the hall together. But, Gyeoul went to say hello to her sunbaenim then she excused herself from SongHwa.

SongHwa was standing alone in the crowd, then her sight was caught by the man whose name she just knew earlier, Lee IkJun. He was standing while holding his trophy. He was talking to the other cast from his movie and most of them congratulated him for winning the award. His smile never left his face and SongHwa lost in his charm.

How can he be so different when he smiles?

SongHwa really wanted to congratulate him too.

It’s now or never, Chae SongHwa! Just pretend and say you were stunned with his performance in that movie.

No one knows.

It’s okay to try, SongHwa-ya!

She mumbled to herself while walking towards IkJun, then suddenly..

“Oppa!” Someone ran towards IkJun and gave him a hug, “Congratulations! I’m so proud of you”

IkJun hugged her back and kissed her forehead, “Oppa is so proud of you too, Ara-ya!”

SongHwa was stunned. Oh.

She is Go Ara. The winner of The Best Female Newcomer.

So, it was true that IkJun and Ara are dating?
How can they be so open in public?
Wah, they’re so compatible with each other

SongHwa listened to her surroundings. It might be just a simple adoration but she didn’t know it’s coming. She really wanted to congratulate him, pushed her luck, maybe it would work. But, fate might say otherwise.

She turned away.

Maybe it was just not her chance.

And, something struck her mind, they’re far beyond you, SongHwa-ya! Wake up, never expect he will look at you!

All of her confidence disappeared.

Then she was looking for Gyeoul, “Gyeoul-ah! Let’s go home.”

BACK TO PRESS CONFERENCE

SongHwa hadn't moved on from the question earlier. She was still lost in her thoughts.

How can I forget, Lee IkJun?

Chapter Text

The press conference was held 2 days before the airing and they were still doing the production for this drama. 

“This is your first time to be in a drama, Chae SongHwa-ssi , how does it feel? And, could you tell me, what changed your mind? Because we knew before, you only did roles for movies.” The MC pointed the question to SongHwa. 

Yes, this was the first time SongHwa did a drama. She preferred to star in movies rather than drama. SongHwa had 20 movies in her 11 years as an actor. She did 2 to 3 movies in a year. In her 20 movies, 6 of them she starred as a cameo, 11 of them as a supporting actor, and 4 of them as a main lead.

Among her movies, Once raised her name. She won a lot of awards. That was the first time she acted as a main lead in a movie. 

She hesitated to take a role in a drama because in her opinion drama would drain her energy. The production itself might take 8 months to 1 year. While in movies, it only took 5 - 6 months. That was the reason why she preferred to do movies rather than drama.

FLASHBACK TO: 8 MAY 2020 - THE DAY SONGHWA RECEIVED THE SCRIPT

SongHwa’s Apartment

It’s 10.30 AM, SongHwa was reading a book while having her first cup of coffee when MinHa pressed the passlock on SongHwa’s apartment door.

“SongHwa-yaaaa~!”

“MinHa-yaaa~ what makes you come to my house at this hour?” SongHwa said while still reading her book.

“Aigoo, it’s already 10.30 AM SongHwa-yaa~, so it’s literally noon now.”

“It’s still AM, MinHa-yaa~”

“Aish, this woman! I bring you a script, SongHwa-ya.”

SongHwa looked at MinHa, “Really? Yah! I just wrapped the movie promotion a week ago, MinHa-ya! Give me some time to breath!”

MinHa is now SongHwa’s manager under Bistar Entertainment.

“It’s from Shin YoungSeok PD-nim, SongHwa-ya.”

“Jeong-mal? Hmm..”

“Yes, but It’s a drama.”

“Mwo? He offered me a drama?”

“Yes, he said he wants you to consider it first. I already read the synopsis, it’s a rom-com drama and I think it suits you. So, if you are open for a challenge, maybe you can consider it first.”

Right after MinHa explained the drama to SongHwa, SongHwa’s mobile phone was ringing..

Drrrttttt.. Ddddrrrtttt..

SongHwa looked at her phone. It was Shin YoungSeok PD-nim. She took the call.

“Hello, ah yes, PD-nim”

“Songhwa-ya! Have you received the script?”

“Yes, I’ve just received it actually, PD-nim. I haven’t read it yet. But, MinHa said it’s for drama PD-nim? You know, I’m not into drama, right?”

“I know, SongHwa-ya! But, I hope you will consider it first. The production will just be around 6-7 months I promise, it’s just a 12 episode drama, it will be aired once a week.”

“Ah, okay PD-nim, do you have other options to be your main lead besides me?”

“Actually, we consider 2 more names after you. But, please read the script first before you make your decision, SongHwa-ya! The role matches you”

“Arasseo , PD-nim. I will read it first. And, who will be the leading man, PD-nim?”

“Actually, we just sent the script to one actor. I hope he will join the cast too. So, it’s not settled yet, I am still waiting for the news from him.”

“Who is he if I may know?”

“Lee IkJun, SongHwa-ya!”

SongHwa was stunned. She didn’t say anything.

Lee IkJun? Will it be okay?

“SongHwa? SongHwa-ya!” 

“Ah yes, PDnim. I’ll let you know my decision later.”

“Okay, SongHwa-ya! I know you must be thinking twice because of him, but I really want you to know that I will be so glad if you join the cast.”

“Arasseo, PD-nim. Thank you for considering me.”

“You’re welcome SongHwa-ya!”

She ended the call.

“Who will be the leading man?” MinHa asked SongHwa out of curiosity.

“Lee IkJun.”

“HAAA?” MinHa gasped.

“Eo, it's him, MinHa-ya!” 

“Will it be okay, SongHwa-ya? You know his past right? Hmm, I think you should think again before you make your decision.”

“That shouldn’t be a reason, MinHa-ya!”

“What do you mean? It should be the reason.”

“Remember when you told me not to feel intimidated because I have the talent when I attended the Blue Diamond award before? It should be the same with him right now, MinHa-ya! His past has nothing to do with his talent. He’s a great actor afterall.”

MinHa was stunned, “I know SongHwa-ya! I just can’t see you being bullied by his fans or some netizens, I’m just concerned about you. But seriously, you really considered doing this drama, SongHwa-ya? ”

“Actually, I think it’s not that bad. Shin PD said the production will only be in 6-7 months. It’s not that bad right? And, I know you are concerned about me, MinHa-ya. But, to be honest, I really want to work with him.”

SongHwa never told MinHa about what happened in the Blue Diamond Award years before. MinHa knew nothing about it.

Should I break my rules and give this drama the only exception? And, I don’t know if he will accept this offer or not. What if he rejects it? 

BACK TO THE PRESS MEETING

“Hmm, actually I felt excited! I was thinking to myself why not give the drama a chance, who knows it will give my mind a different thought about doing a drama, right?” She laughed. “And, I’ve already worked with Shin YoungSeok PD in one of my movies before, Once . I really enjoy working with him, his set was always fun, so when he asked me to do this drama, I really considered it, and also..” 

She paused, “Actually, I was looking forward to working with IkJun.. Hmm...” She paused again, looking at IkJun and smiled at him, “I’m really his fan. I watched dramas he was in, and I like how he portrays his role. So, I don't want to let this opportunity go. It was an honor to share the screen with him.” 

I’m really his fan . IkJun couldn’t help but smile at SongHwa's answer. He looked back at SongHwa and gave her a fist bump. SongHwa chuckled at his gesture, then gave the same gesture to him too.

“So, how about you Lee IkJun-ssi? I heard you turned down another drama offer then chose to be in this drama, right? Could you tell me the reason, if you don’t mind?” This time the MC asked the question to IkJun.

He smiled.

FLASHBACK TO: 9 MAY 2020 - THE DAY IKJUN RECEIVED THE SCRIPT

JEM ENTERTAINMENT OFFICE - IkJun’s Agency

“What’s going on your mind to call me at 8 AM and ask me to come to your office at 9?” IkJun grunts to Kim Junwan the CEO of his agency.

JunWan just looked at him then threw the bundle in his hand to IkJun.

“Mwo-ya ? Is it a script? Yah! I just wrapped my last shoot yesterday, saekki-ya ! The drama hasn't ended yet and you already gave me a new script? I know I’ve been on hiatus for a year before but this is too much, JunWan-ah!”

JunWan walked to IkJun in a hurry then he grabbed the script from his hand and hit his arm with that script. Bukk!

“Arrgghh! Waeeee?!”

“Yah! This is the script from director Na WonHo, saekki-ya!” He hit his arms again.

“Aw!”

“You said you want to work with him, right? Na PD really wants you to be the villain in this drama, saekki-ya! ” JunWan hit him again.

“Awww! Yah, JunWan-ah!”

“And, you also said you want to play a different character from your previous dramas, right? So, you better accept this offer! You, saekki-ya !” JunWan hit his head with the script this time.

“You, grumpy man!” IkJun couldn't hold it anymore and pulled JunWan’s hair. And JunWan hit IkJun head with that script again.

“You, lazy man!”

“Mwo?! You, crazy man!”

They shouted while pulling hair and hitting each other for 5 minutes and when they lost their breath, they sat next to each other, then IkJun took a couple of mineral water from JunWan refrigerator, he gave the other to JunWan, they were exhausted from their fight.

“Lee IkJun, just read the script first, arasseo ?”

“Arasseo! What character will I portray in this drama?”

“You will be a serial killer who has a childhood trauma.”

“Waahh! Jinjja? It sounds interesting!”

“Yeah, and you will play with Jo JungSu and Jeong RoSa sunbaenim in this drama!”

“Woaaa, daebak! Jinjja?! Yah, give me that script! I will really consider it! Ah Anida, It’s a yes, I will accept this project!”

“Okay, but let's say you considered it first to the media.”

Then JunWan hit his arms again, “That’s why I need to wake you up in the morning then give you this script, saekki-ya!”

“Yah, you can give me this script in the afternoon or evening, or tomorrow! You always have a nonsense reason, JunWan-ah!”

“Aniyo! Because I have to pick up IkSun at the bus terminal 40 mins from now and we will have a one day long date” JunWan said while giving his best smile which made IkJun annoyed.

“IkSun-ie is coming to Seoul and she didn’t even tell her Oppa that she’s coming? I can’t believe it. She must have got the bad influence from you!” IkJun shaked his head while staring at JunWan. “Then, why don’t you tell me tomorrow?” He added.

“You want to know why?”

“Yes, tell me!”

“Nothing. I just want to wake you up earlier, it’s good for your health, IkJun-ah!” JunWan laughed.

“Yah! Did my PA not tell you what time I reached home this morning? It was nearly 5 AM, saekki-ya!”

JunWan was still laughing “Arasseo, arasseo! You can continue your sleep at home! I need to go now! C’mon!”

“Wae?”

“I said I need to go now, IkJun-ah! It means you better go too!”

“Ah, okay! Tell IkSun-ie to come to my house after your date! She’s staying in my house not yours, JunWan-ah! Arasseo?!”

“Yah! You’re unbelievable! You think IkSun is 6?”

“Eo!”

JunWan and IkJun were walking out of JunWan's office to the parking lot when JunWan remembered something.

“Ah matta !” Suddenly, JunWan stopped walking 

“What is it?”

“Ah, nothing! I think you won’t accept this offer since you already accepted Na PD’s drama” JunWan said while walking.

“What? There’s another offering?” IkJun asked while trying to catch JunWan’s step.

“Eo!”

“From who?”

“Shin YoungSeok PD-nim.”

“A drama?”

“Yes, it’s a drama.”

“About?”

“About 2 people who were supposed to be each other's first love but then they were separated in their own way and 20 years later they met again and tried to make it work between them.”

“Ahh, romance story? It’s quite interesting though. But I think I will go with Na PD’s offer since it’s a new one for me.”

“I know you would think that way. That’s why I only gave you the script from Na WonHo PD-nim.”

“I see. Is it a rom-com? Do you know who’s in the cast? And the female lead?”

“It’s supposed to be a rom-com. Not sure about the cast, but I heard they have 3 options to be their female lead.”

“And, who are they?”

“Hmm, I’m not really sure, but from what I heard from Shin PD’s assistant, Chae SongHwa is considering this drama. This must be her first drama if she accepts it.”

IkJun stopped.

JunWan was startled, “Wae?”

“Who again?” IkJun was looking at JunWan.

“Who again, who?”

“The female lead and her first drama?”

“Chae SongHwa?”

IkJun still froze, “JunWan-ah..”

“Eo? Wae?”

“Can you give me the script?”

“I already gave you the script, saekki-ya. It’s in your hand right now!”

“Not this, that script from Shin PD.”

“Yah! You will consider it too? Is it because-? Yah! The genre was the same as your previous drama IkJun-ah!”

IkJun didn't answer the question, “Is it still in your office? I will take it myself. Where did you put it?”

“Aish, jinjja ! Fine, let’s take it together? What’s in your mind, IkJun-ah? You’ll drop Na PD-nim’s offer to this one?”

IkJun still didn’t answer his question. They turned around to JunWan's office to take the script together.

“Your sister must be mad at me. I’m late to pick her up.”

“Yah! Don’t be too dramatic, the terminal is only 10 minutes from here. You still have enough time to pick her up.”

After they reached JunWan's office, JunWan took the big bundle wrapped in a brown envelope then he gave it to IkJun.

“Are you sure?”

“I didn’t say anything, JunWan-ah! Let’s see it later. I want to read the script first. And, confirm things first. Don’t say anything to the media yet. It may have caused misleading news.”

“I know, saekki-ya ! Don’t worry. But, I’m curious, do you consider it because of Chae SongHwa?”

IkJun mum. 

“Yah! Is it really because of Chae SongHwa? Yah! IkJun-ah, let me remind you, don’t-”

“It’s not what you think, JunWan-ah! Trust me.”

“Arasseo! Just tell me which drama you will accept. And, actually Shin PD and Na PD said they only have you as their option to play the role. So, choose wisely, Ikjun-ah!”

“Okay, gomawo JunWan-ah!”

“Arasseo , I need to hurry now before your sister sulks!”

Then Junwan left.

IkJun was still in the JunWan office. He sat on the couch wondering.

Is it okay?

Chae SongHwa, will you accept this offer?

He looked at the big brown envelope that JunWan gave to him earlier, he read the writing in the front of the envelope. 

Maybe Happy Ending. 

He smiled when he read the title of the drama, thinking how cute the story might be. He was still at JunWan’s office, he opened the brown envelope and started to read the synopsis, background story of each role, and studied the script. He didn’t realize that it had already been 2 hours since he read the script, he found it interesting. He settled his mind before he made a call.

“Oh, JunWan-ah! Please call Shin PD-nim, tell him I will accept this drama.”

“Yah! Are you sure? You don’t want to consider the script from Na PD?”

“Yes, I’m sure. But, if it’s possible under one circumstance.”

“What is it?”

“Hmm, if it’s possible.. Get Chae SongHwa as the female lead.”

“Yah! You crazy-” Tuutt..Tuttt..Tutt..

JunWan just started to shout at him and he ended the call.

BACK TO THE PRESS MEETING

“Lee IkJun-ssi, so what’s the answer?” The MC asked him once again because he hadn’t answered the question yet.

SongHwa was looking at him.

“Ah yes, the reason why I received this offer, right? Hmm, it was because I’m curious after I read the title of this drama.” He chuckled.

“You were curious after you read the title? What made you curious about it?”

IkJun looked at SongHwa then he answered..

“I was curious if they would get their happy ending or not.”

“Waahh, that’s deep! So Lee IkJun-ssi, by now you already know if they get their happy ending or not, right?”

He laughed, “Hmm, I can’t say too much, since it will spoil the ending of the drama, right?”

They laughed.

“So Shin PD, who was confirmed to join the cast first? Is it Lee IkJun-ssi or Chae SongHwa-ssi first?” The MC gave her question to Shin YoungSeok PDnim.

“Actually, I was startled that time, since they confirmed on the same day around the same time. Kim JunWan, from JEM Ent called me to confirm IkJun’s availability for this drama then 5 minutes after Chu MinHa from Bistar Ent confirmed for SongHwa’s. I was wondering if they already know each other and talk about joining this drama together.” Shin PD laughed.

“Is that what happened?” The MC asked both SongHwa and IkJun.

“Aniya, we weren’t talking about this drama before we agreed to join the casts.” IkJun answered the question.

“So, it was like a destiny?”

IkJun and SongHwa just looked at each other then they smiled and IkJun took the mic, “It might be like that.”

They laughed while JunWan and MinHa looked at each other with desperate looks on their face.

This saekki!

Chapter Text

AFTER THE PRESSCON

Ikjun and Junwan went straight to the agency’s office after the press conference. They needed to sign documents for Ikjun’s endorsement.

Ikjun immediately sensed that something was off. In the car ride, Junwan had barely spoken, answering only when necessary. Worse, he hadn’t even cracked a smile at Ikjun’s best jokes — a sure sign that he was pissed about something.

By the time they reached Junwan’s office, Ikjun couldn't take it anymore.

"Talk to me, Junwan-ah! Did I make you mad? Did I do something wrong?"

Junwan ignored him, grabbing a stack of papers from his desk and slamming them down on the coffee table where Ikjun had flopped dramatically onto the couch.

"This is the Airbays Mask contract. Read the terms carefully before you sign, page three. Especially the contract period; they want two years. If you're fine with it, we’ll proceed."

"Mwo-ya? Why are you talking like you’re my lawyer?"

Junwan returned to his desk without answering.

"Yah! Kim Junwan! If I did something wrong, just say it! I'm sorry, okay?!" Ikjun cried, throwing his hands up dramatically. "Don’t torture me like this, you saekki-ya!"

Finally, Junwan set his pen down and fixed him with a sharp look. "Are you dating Songhwa?"

Ikjun froze like a kid caught stealing cookies. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

"So you can't deny it, huh?" Junwan said bitterly. "Ikjun-ah, it hasn’t been that long since—"

Suddenly, Ikjun burst into laughter. "Is this because of the presscon?"

Junwan was silent. "We did that for fanservice, Junwan-ah! You know how these things work!"

Without a word, Junwan pulled out his phone, opened his Ktalk messages, and shoved it in Ikjun’s face.

On the screen was a blurry, secretly-taken video. At a cozy coffee shop. In the video, Ikjun and Songhwa were sitting side-by-side in a cozy little coffee shop, laughing over something silly.

At the end of the clip, Ikjun was seen offering a spoonful of his strawberry cheesecake to Songhwa, casually, naturally, as if they had been doing it for years.

Junwan’s voice was quiet but sharp. "It’s not just about the presscon, Ikjun-ah. It’s this."

Ikjun sighed heavily, leaning back on the couch. "And where the hell did you get that?"

"DePatch," Junwan said grimly. "Those crazy stalkers. Seriously, can't they just mind their own damn business?" Ikjun muttered, exhausted

“Remember, if they just mind their own business, they won't save you years ago, okay? Get a grip, saekki-ya!”

“I know, but the truth wasn’t like that, Junwan-ah!” Junwan folded his arms.

"You know this kind of thing would happen. You’re not a rookie. You know better, saekki-ya. And, Hongdo, your PA, wasn’t there either. It’s not part of shooting. Are you going on a date with her?"

"It wasn’t a date," Ikjun said, "Last weekend, I contacted her to discuss the script. It was too complicated to do over the phone, so we agreed to meet. That’s it. No scandal. No romance. Happy?"

Junwan arched an eyebrow, unimpressed, "Discussing scripts includes feeding each other desserts now?"

"Aish, jinjja–" Ikjun stood up, running both hands through his hair. "That cheesecake was an act of hospitality, okay?! She just wanted to try the cake and I gave it to her. That’s it." he cried dramatically, making Junwan snort despite himself.

"Hospitality, my ass," Junwan muttered.

Ikjun dropped back onto the couch with a heavy sigh. "Look, I’m telling you the truth. Nothing happened. We’re just..” A silent break from Ikjun, before he continues, “..comfortable with each other. Friendly. That’s all."

Junwan stared at him for a long moment, "Really?"

"Of course!" Ikjun said firmly. Then, more quietly, he added, "At least... for now."

“You know that I know you had a crush on her before, right?”

Ikjun just chuckled, trying to brush it off, "It was only admiration back then, Junwan-ah."

Junwan crossed his arms, refusing to let it go, "Well, it was admiration back then, but, is it escalating into dating her right now? I know you very well, saekki-ya."

Ikjun fell silent. For a moment, the buzzing sound of the office filled the room, but Ikjun’s mind wasn’t there anymore. His memory flew back years ago.

ONCE PREMIERE NIGHT - November 2015

It was supposed to be just another event. Another night of velvet carpets, dazzling dresses, fake smiles. Ikjun had come mostly to support his friend, Ahn Jeongwon, who had special appearance in Once. The atmosphere was buzzing with excitement. Celebrities everywhere, camera flashes like fireworks. Ikjun was exchanging polite greetings with senior actress Jeong Rosa when he saw her.

"Yah, Lee Ikjun-ssi," she said, lightly tapping his arm with her fan, "When are you going to pick a project where you don't have to carry the whole thing yourself, huh? Always big roles, so exhausting for a young man."

He laughed good-naturedly. "I’m trying to build stamina, sunbaenim."

"Aish, excuses. You’re not getting any younger! Pick an easy project once in a while," she teased, folding her fan with a snap.

He bowed playfully, grinning. "If you’re offering me a cameo in your drama, I’m available."

Jeong Rosa chuckled, waving him off. "You wish, brat. Oh,- and I have heard a rumor about you and Go Ara long ago? Are you guys really dating?"

Ikjun nodded, but his smile dimmed a little. "We had a relationship before but we broke up about a year ago, sunbaenim. It wasn’t anything dramatic. Just... too busy. Always traveling, shooting, missing calls, don’t have time for each other. Eventually, we both realized we were better apart."

Rosa nodded, her expression softening. "It’s hard, huh? Dating in this business."

He exhaled quietly, a little smile tugging at his lips. "Sometimes it feels like we're not allowed to have a normal life."

It was true. Relationships in the entertainment industry were like walking on thin ice, risky and could break at any moment. There were too many eyes watching, too many contracts, too many public expectations. If a couple went public, their private lives were no longer private. Every date would be photographed. Every argument would become a scandal.

Most actors chose to be private, not out of shame, but survival.

Sometimes, Ikjun thought bitterly, it was easier not to love at all.

He was still lost in thought when he turned his head... and that's when he saw her.

At first, he didn’t recognize her.

A woman stood at the far end of the red carpet, slightly separated from the noisy crowd. She wore a simple, deep navy gown, nothing too flashy, yet somehow, it made her look even more breathtaking among the over-the-top designer dresses. Her hair was pinned back loosely, a few soft strands framing her face. Her makeup was minimal, letting her natural beauty shine through. Unlike the others, she wasn’t posing dramatically or angling for the best shots. She wasn’t surrounded by managers barking orders or stylists fussing over her dress. She just stood there quietly, her hands clasped in front of her, a serene smile on her lips as she greeted the occasional photographer. She simply smiled, real, quiet, bowing politely when photographers called her name.

Ikjun watched, struck. Not just by her beauty, though that would’ve been enough. There was something deeper. A calmness and sincerity.

Ikjun couldn’t take his eyes off her.

"Who is she?" he found himself asking aloud, not realizing Jeong Rosa was still standing next to him.

The older actress followed his gaze. "Ah. New to the spotlight," Rosa said, following his gaze. "That’s Chae Songhwa. She’s had several roles before, mostly supporting, but Once is her first time as the main lead. How can you not know, when you're attending her premiere?"

Ikjun chuckled softly. "Jeongwon dragged me here. He has a special appearance in this movie."

"Songhwa, she’s a very grounded actress," Rosa added, a rare note of genuine admiration in her voice. "Not flashy. Just real. You'll see." Rosa gave him a knowing look but said nothing more, leaving him to his thoughts.

After politely excusing himself from Jeong Rosa, Ikjun walked away, the name lingering in his mind.

Chae Songhwa...

He had heard the name before — whispered in casting meetings, discussed by directors — but he had never paid much attention.

And then it hit him. He had seen her once before at the Hanguk Awards Night, a year before. It hadn’t been anything memorable then. Just a formal group introduction; she was standing with the cast of her previous movie, smiling politely beside her co-actors.

Back then, she had blended into the sea of faces — another rising name among many, radiant yet distant.

He barely remembered anything specific, just the vague impression of a soft smile, a respectful bow when they shook hands, the kind of forgettable encounter typical of a busy awards night.

But tonight? Tonight was different.

Tonight, she stood alone. She wasn’t part of a group anymore. She wasn’t fading into the background.

Chae Songhwa was breathtaking on her own.

—

When the movie started, he sat a few rows behind her. He barely registered the opening scenes, until she appeared on the screen.

She’s raw and brilliant.

Her acting wasn’t forced, It was natural. Honest. It made you forget you were watching a movie. As the story unfolded, Ikjun forgot everything. He was simply there, feeling every emotion she conveyed.

When the end credits rolled, the audience rose in a standing ovation. Songhwa bowed deeply, tears shining in her eyes.

Ikjun clapped until his hands hurt. From his seat, he caught one last glimpse of her.

And quietly, to himself, he whispered her name once more.

Chae Songhwa.

As the crowd began to thin, Ikjun found himself moving almost unconsciously toward her. He wasn’t sure what he planned to say, maybe just a simple congratulations, maybe something more. His heart beat a little faster with every step.

But then he stopped. Someone had reached her first.

A tall man, effortlessly handsome, wrapped a hand casually around Songhwa’s waist. She smiled up at him, a smile far softer, far more familiar than anything she’d shown to the cameras.

Ikjun stood frozen for a moment, recognizing the man.

Cho Seungwoo, a rising actor, rumored to be dating someone but never confirmed.

Now it was clear. The timing... It sucked.

Ikjun let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He gave himself a small, ironic smile, shaking his head lightly. Of course, of course someone like her would already have someone.

He turned away, blending into the departing crowd, careful not to let his disappointment show. By the time he turned back, he knew two things for certain.

First, Once would make her a star.

And second, no matter how much time passed, he would never forget what she made him feel tonight.

— BACK TO JUNWAN OFFICE

The memory slowly faded and Ikjun blinked, back in Junwan’s office.

He leaned back against the couch, letting out a sigh. Ikjun ran a hand through his hair, a wry smile playing on his lips as he remembered the question Junwan asked before he spazzed out.

Is it escalating into dating her right now?

Junwan was waiting for his answer. He leaned back with a sigh and half a grin.

"Hmm..” He looked down at the contract in his hands, but he wasn’t really seeing it anymore.

"For now, we’re just co-stars chasing a maybe happy ending on screen, nothing more."

He let out a slow, heavier breath, his tone dipping lower.

"I don't even know if I'm allowed to feel this way again... after everything."

He continued, "Seeing her, with her career, her achievements, her future, she deserves someone better, Junwan-ah. Someone without baggage."

He paused, his fingers curling slightly against the paper he held. His voice grew even softer.

"I’m just a divorced man with a child... What could I ever offer to someone like her?"

For a moment, the room fell into silence.

Junwan stared at him, genuinely stunned, not used to seeing this side of Ikjun. The side that wasn't laughing things off, wasn't turning pain into jokes.

"Ikjun-ah... I didn’t-" Junwan’s voice faltered, unsure of what to say next.

Ikjun, catching the seriousness in Junwan’s eyes, chuckled — but it was a soft, almost broken sound.

"It's okay, saekki-ya," he said, flashing a crooked grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“But, you like her?”

He leaned back again, the ceiling becoming suddenly interesting, and answered Junwan’s question with a final, bittersweet smile.

"Hmm, I think... maybe it’s still admiration."

He paused, swallowing down everything else he wanted to say.

"It’s just…” “It’s just deeper now."

Chapter Text

2 YEARS AGO

Lee Ikjun had once lived a life stitched together by dreams and promises. A loving marriage, a child he adored, and a career that was finally soaring. To the outside world, he was golden. Untouchable.

But dreams, he learned, were fragile things.

It started with hearsays, the kind that skittered at the edges of the internet. Then turned into half-lies crafted by people who had never met him. A lot of assumptions.

They said he had an affair. 

At first, he laughed it off. It was absurd because he was too exhausted most nights to even call friends, much less cheat. His world was his family and his work. But the noise grew louder, bleeding into his life.

The rumors grew fangs. Articles painted him as an unfaithful husband. Fans flooded his social media with questions. And all the while, he kept silent — protecting Hyejung, their family, their son, Uju.

But then, on one of the coldest days, DePatch, shattered everything. They revealed the truth: it wasn’t Ikjun who had cheated. 

It was Hyejung. With a rising athlete, in secret meetings they thought would never be exposed.

The betrayal was sharp and clean. The public’s outrage turned on a dime — sympathy now flooding toward him. But the damage inside Ikjun’s heart had already been done.

The worst part wasn’t the affair. It was the memory of her pushing him to take that big role, she had been the one to encourage him to take the overseas film project, the one that demanded long months away from home. She had been the one to reassure him, telling him that his dream mattered, that their love was strong enough.

And yet, in his absence, she had found someone else.

He had run toward their future, but she had run away from it.

—

Their last conversation was bitter.

Hyejung sat across from him at their dining table—the one they had picked out together, now just another witness to their unraveling. 

"It wasn’t supposed to happen," she said.

"But it did," Ikjun replied, his voice calm. Anger might have burned out the ache. But he had no energy left for it.

"You were never home, Ikjun."

He looked at Hyejung, his gaze sharply, he shook his head slowly. "Don't.." he said quietly. 

He continued, voice shaking, "You told me to go. You said you were proud of me if I took it. You told me you'd be okay. You promised you'd take care of Uju. But Wang Imo finally broke her silence — she told me you hardly even stay at home when I was away. And yet you asked both Uju and Wang Imo to keep it from me? How could you, Yuk Hyejung! Uju is your son, for God's sake!"

She didn’t respond. Because there was nothing left to say.

For a moment, they just sat there, two strangers in a house filled with memories, neither willing to meet the other’s gaze.

"I’ll take care of the divorce papers. You don’t have to worry about anything."

"Ikjun-ah.." Hyejung started, but he cut her off.

"Just sign them, Hyejung-ah." There was no anger left in his voice — just exhaustion. 

She hesitated, then asked, almost pleading, "Can I meet Uju... for the last time?"

"What—?" Ikjun blinked, startled. "Last time?"

Hyejung's voice trembled. "I... I will be accompanying him to Germany. For his athletic career. It’s already arranged."

For a moment, Ikjun simply stared at her, as if trying to understand. But there were no words that could make this make sense.

His lips curled into a hollow laugh — not out of humor, but disbelief.

"I'll ask Uju if he wants to meet you," he said, each word heavier than the last. 

He shook his head, a bitter smile playing on his lips.

"You know..." he almost laughed again, brokenly, "I don't even know who you are anymore, Hyejung-ah."

He looked at her — really looked — and for the first time, there was no anger, no pleading. Only sadness. 

"You're unbelievable."

—

The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the heater. Ikjun sat on the floor, his back resting against the couch. 

Across from him, Uju was sprawled on his stomach, coloring a picture of a spaceship.

Ikjun watched him for a long moment, memorizing the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way he stuck his tongue out a little when he focused. The way he was — still — just a boy. 

"Uju-ya," Ikjun said softly.

Uju looked up, bright-eyed. "Yes, Appa?"

"Come here for a second, please."

Uju dropped his crayon and crawled over, settling into Ikjun’s lap. Ikjun tucked his arms around him, resting his chin lightly on Uju’s head.

He took a breath.

"Uju-ya," he began carefully, "you know how sometimes... when people care about each other, they can still feel really different inside?"

Uju tilted his head back to look up at him. "Like when I wanna eat ice cream but you wanna drink coffee?"

Ikjun let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah. Kinda like that."

He ran a hand down Uju’s small back.

"Appa and Eomma... we both love you very, very much. That will never change, okay?"

Uju nodded solemnly.

"But..." Ikjun swallowed. "Appa and Eomma decided that... it's better for us to live apart. To have our own homes. Our own lives."

Uju’s eyebrows furrowed. "Like... when I go to school and you go to work?"

"Sort of," Ikjun said gently. "But this time... Eomma will live far away. She’s going to a different country. And you’ll stay here, with Appa."

Uju was quiet for a long moment.

"Will I see Eomma again?"

Ikjun’s throat tightened.

"I think... not for a while," he said honestly. "But if you ever miss her, you can tell me. Always."

He paused, feeling Uju’s little hands gripping his sweatshirt tightly.

"Actually, Uju-ya," Ikjun said carefully, "Eomma asked... if you want to see her one more time before she goes."

Uju lifted his head, his face serious.

"Do you want me to, Appa?" he asked, small and unsure.

Ikjun brushed the hair out of Uju’s eyes, heart breaking at his tenderness.

"I want you to choose, Uju-ya. If you want to hug her, or say goodbye, that's okay. And if you don't feel like it... that's okay too."

Uju chewed on his lip, thinking hard like only six-year-olds do.

"Will she still be my Eomma?" he asked in a whisper.

"Always," Ikjun said without hesitation. "No matter where she is."

Uju thought for a few more seconds, then nodded slowly.
"I wanna see her," he said. "I wanna say bye. And give her my spaceship picture."

Ikjun smiled, hugging him tight. "Okay. We'll make sure you can do that."

Uju leaned his head against Ikjun’s chest again. His voice was smaller this time.

"Is it 'cause I was bad?"

Ikjun felt his heart break clean in two.

"No, no, no," he whispered fiercely, hugging Uju closer. "You are the best thing that ever happened to Appa. This is not your fault. Not even a little bit, okay?"

Uju didn’t say anything — just snuggled deeper into his arms.

Ikjun kissed the top of his head, breathing him in. "Sometimes, grown-ups make choices because... they think it’s the best way for everyone to be a little happier. Even if it’s really hard."

Uju's voice was muffled against his shirt. "Will you be lonely, Appa?"

Ikjun blinked hard against the sting in his eyes. "I have you," he said. "So, I will never be alone."

They stayed like that for a while, in the quiet.

After a few minutes, Uju looked up again. "Can we still eat ice cream together sometimes?"

Ikjun laughed, real and broken and whole all at once. "Every single time you want."

"And... you won't go away too, right?"

Ikjun was stunned and cupped Uju’s cheek. "Never. I'm your Appa forever, I will always be by your side."

Uju nodded, satisfied, and yawned, rubbing his eyes.

Ikjun tucked him into bed. After the lights were off and the room had settled into stillness, Ikjun sat beside Uju’s bed, just listening to him breathe.

He thought Uju had fallen asleep — until a small hand reached out, patting his knee.

"Appa," Uju whispered into the dark.

" Eo , Uju-ya?"

Uju pushed himself up, his hair sticking up like a sleepy chick. His face was serious in that way only little kids could manage.

"You don’t have to be sad."

Ikjun smiled sadly. "It’s okay to be a little sad, Uju-ya."

"But," Uju said, "You said you have me, right? And I'm really funny. So if you're sad, I'll tell you jokes."

Ikjun laughed softly. "You’re right. You are very funny."

Uju nodded with grave importance. "And! I can make you drawings. Like... happy spaceships. And dinosaurs. And robots who dance."

Ikjun blinked quickly against the sting in his eyes. "That sounds perfect."

Uju tilted his head. "And when you’re really, really sad... we can build a blanket fort. And you can hide inside with me until you feel better."

Ikjun swallowed hard. "I’d like that very much."

"And, Appa," Uju added, tugging gently at his sleeve, "you can marry someone who makes you smile big. Like this!" He pulled his cheeks wide into a silly grin.

Ikjun burst into a real, tearful laugh.

"Can I?" he teased softly, ruffling Uju’s hair.

"Yup," Uju said. "Only if she laughs at your bad jokes, though. That’s the rule."

Ikjun kissed his forehead, lingering there for a moment.

"Thank you, Uju-ya. You’re my superhero."

Uju snuggled back under his blanket, already drifting.

"'Cause you're mine too, Appa," he mumbled, half-asleep now. "Always."

Ikjun sat there long, heart full and aching and so, so grateful.

After making sure Uju was fast asleep, he drifted into the living room, picking up toys and drawings scattered across the floor. His hand hovered over the spaceship sketch – that Uju wanted to give to his Eomma, and he caught the writing. 

There, in the corner, were crooked little letters, uneven and wobbly, pressed hard into the paper with all the effort of a child learning to write.

He stared for a long moment, not moving, not breathing. Then, slowly, he sank down onto the floor, the paper still clutched in his hand. A hollow ache opened up inside his chest.

"For Eomma, so you can be free to fly and still remember me."

The words blurred. His chest tightened painfully, and before he could stop himself, a broken sound tore from his throat. He pressed the drawing against his chest, as if by holding it close, he could somehow protect Uju from the ache written between the lines.

Tears came hard and fast — not the quiet kind, but the deep, guttural sobs that ripped through him, unstoppable. He curled over, shaking.

The living room felt unbearably silent, broken only by the ragged sound of his breathing. Clutching the drawing tighter, he whispered hoarsely into the empty room:

"I’m so sorry, Uju-ya... I’m really sorry."

For a long time, he just sat there, still wiping at the tears on his face, he pushed himself off the floor. Step by step, dragging his heavy limbs, he made his way back to Uju’s room.

He knelt by the bed, watching the small rise and fall of his son's breathing, the innocence of it cutting him deeper than any word could. Carefully, he slipped under the covers, lying beside Uju without touching him, just needing to be close. The quiet wrapped around them.

And then — Just as he let out a shuddering breath, Uju stirred. Tiny fingers reached out blindly in the dark, brushing against Ikjun’s shirt. In a voice no louder than a breath, half-caught in sleep, Uju murmured:

"Appa..."

Ikjun’s heart splintered all over again. He caught the small hand in both of his hands, the hand he should have protected all along. He pressed his lips gently against Uju’s tiny knuckles, whispering back through a broken voice:

"Appa is here, Uju-ya. I'm right here."

And with Uju's soft breathing grounding him, Ikjun closed his eyes, holding onto his son like a lifeline in the dark.

And because of that moment — because of the small hand curled trustingly in his — he made a decision. A huge decision.

Still holding onto Uju’s hand with one, he fished out his phone with the other, his fingers trembling slightly. He didn’t hesitate. He texted Junwan.

"Junwan-ah, I need to talk. Tomorrow morning. Your office."

—

The agency building was already awake when Ikjun walked in, but he barely registered the usual buzz. He kept his cap low, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

Junwan’s office door was already slightly open. Ikjun knocked once, out of habit before stepping inside.

Junwan was behind his desk, a coffee in hand, a frown already forming when he looked up.

"You look like hell," Junwan said flatly. No hello, no preamble.

Ikjun gave a small, exhausted smile as he sank into the chair across from him.

"Yeah," he said. "Feels about right."

Junwan closed the laptop on his desk, leaning forward, giving Ikjun his full attention.

"You texted late. Said you needed to talk," Junwan prompted carefully.

Ikjun nodded, staring at the floor for a long moment before speaking.

"It’s done," he said finally, voice rough. "Me and Hyejung. It's over. Hyejung will go to Germany with her lover."

"Did she seriously lose her mind? This is unbelievable!" Junwan gaped at him, the shock written all over his face.

“And I already told Uju about me and his mother, he asked me if it was his fault.” He rubbed a hand across his face, exhausted.

Junwan let out a soft curse under his breath, leaning back heavily in his chair.

"I didn’t know what to say," Ikjun admitted, voice cracking a little. "How do you explain to a six-year-old that sometimes love... just runs out?"

He laughed bitterly, wiped at his eyes.

"I told him it wasn’t his fault. That we love him more than anything. That no matter what happens, we’re still his parents. And... Hyejung wants to meet him one last time."

Ikjun’s voice cracked at the edges. "I told Uju, and he said he wanted to see his mom... and give her his spaceship drawing. Do you know what he wrote on it?"

He pulled out his phone, thumb trembling slightly as he opened the photo, and handed it to Junwan.

Junwan took the phone without a word. The moment his eyes landed on the picture, he stiffened.

His mouth opened slightly — as if to say something — but no sound came out.
He pressed his hand against his mouth instead, eyes shining as he fought to hold back the tears building fast.

Ikjun finally looked up, tired eyes meeting Junwan’s.

"And now... I just want to be with him. As much as I can."

He shifted in his seat, exhaling slowly.

"Feels like I need to take a break," he said simply. "For myself... but more for Uju."

The words hung heavy in the room.

Junwan didn’t answer right away. He just nodded slowly, his mouth tight, the weight of the moment sinking into his bones.

"You sure?" he asked eventually, voice low.

Ikjun nodded. "Yeah. I don’t want him thinking the people he loves can just... disappear.” 

He smiled faintly. "I want to be there when he’s scared. When he wants to show me his bad crayon drawings. When he needs someone to help him build a terrible blanket fort."

Junwan let out a breathy, broken laugh.

“It won't take a long time, maybe one year."

"You know this isn’t going to be easy, right?" Junwan said quietly. "You're at your peak. CFs. Dramas. Every damn script wants your face on it."

" Yeah ," Ikjun said, almost smiling. "And, I hope it'll still be there when I come back. If not... then it's okay."

Junwan stared at him for a long beat.

Another moment of quiet passed between them — not awkward, but heavy with everything unsaid.

"Okay, don't worry. I’ll handle the brands first," Junwan said.

"Thank you, Junwan-ah. And if I need to pay any penalties, please let me know," Ikjun replied.

Junwan waved him off. "Just let me handle it, Ikjun-ah. I’m not about to let you go broke, anyway."

Ikjun let out a real laugh this time, the sound a little rough around the edges.

Junwan smirked and added, "And... what about the announcement for your divorce?"

"Just tell them, we’re getting divorced. Personal reasons. No scandals." he said simply.

"You know DePatch already blew Hyejung’s scandal, right? The public’s going to assume things."

"Yeah," Ikjun said with a shrug. "People will assume anyway."

Junwan stared at him for a long moment, something like frustration flickering in his eyes.
"You sure you don't want to confirm what she did? Besides, she will go with her lover."

Ikjun smiled, a tired, almost weightless smile, "I don’t need revenge to move on."

Junwan swore under his breath, low and angry, "You’re too good for this industry, you know that?"

Ikjun let out a breath of laughter, barely a sound.  "Nah," he said, flashing a weak grin. "Just too tired."

Junwan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Okay, so — we craft a statement. Simple, respectful. Mutual decision. No messy details. And for your hiatus... we say it's for family reasons. That covers everything, Mr. Superstar?"

Ikjun let out a soft, humorless laugh, rubbing his palms over his face.

"Yeah," he said hoarsely. "That's everything."

He dropped his hands, looking at Junwan with tired, grateful eyes.

"Thank you, Junwan-ah. Really."

—

By noon, a simple, respectful statement was released to the press:

"Hello, this is JEM Entertainment.

We would like to inform you that actor Lee Ikjun and his former spouse, Ms. Yuk Hyejung, have decided to part ways after careful consideration and mutual respect.

Mr. Lee will be taking a temporary hiatus from the entertainment industry to focus on personal matters and his family.

We kindly ask for your understanding and continued support during this time. Thank you."

The headlines were inevitable — but quieter than they could have been. The agency made sure of it. Junwan made sure of it.

And for the first time in a long time, Ikjun felt like he could breathe.

—

The news traveled fast. At first, there was shock.

[BREAKING] Actor Lee Ikjun Announces Divorce, One-Year Hiatus to Focus on Family

Within minutes, social media exploded.

His fans — loyal, protective, and countless — were buzzing.

“I can’t believe it... Ikjun divorced? He always seemed so happy. I hope he’s okay.”

"Is this because of what DePatch revealed a few weeks ago? Aigoo, how could anyone hurt someone like Lee Ikjun?"

“My heart hurts for him... and for little Uju. Family comes first, always. Take all the time you need, Ikjun-ssi.”

“Respect him even more now. It must be for his child. Choosing his child over fame? That’s real strength.”

This is why we stan Ikjun. Talent aside, he's a good person first. We'll wait. No matter how long it takes.

“ For family and healing himself... that’s what matters most. The fans who love him will still be here.”

Fan cafés and community forums quickly organized a "waiting" campaign — quiet, respectful.

Some changed their profile icons to soft, warm pictures of Ikjun with Uju. 

Some shared old clips of Ikjun laughing, playing, living — reminders of why they had loved him in the first place.

A handwritten banner and flowers were spotted outside his agency the next morning, simple and heartfelt:

"Take your time, Ikjun Appa.
We'll be right here when you're ready."

The comments kept flooding in, gentle and patient:

“ Healing isn’t a race. Take your time, Oppa. We'll be here whenever you're ready to shine again.”

“ Your best role isn’t on screen. It’s being Uju’s superhero. Fighting, Lee Ikjun!”

And maybe that’s what surprised them most the trending tags later that evening.

Not a scandal. Not blame. Just kindness.

#LeeIkjunFighting #WaitingForIkjun #FamilyFirst

In a world that usually devoured its stars the second they showed weakness,

They gave him space instead.

—

The apartment was dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of a small night lamp in Uju’s room.

Uju had finally drifted off after a long day — tucked safely under a mountain of blankets, a worn-out stuffed dinosaur cradled in his arms.

Ikjun sat on the living room floor, back against the couch, just... breathing.

The day felt endless. The meeting with Junwan, the official announcement, the quiet that followed — all of it pressed down on him like a heavy, invisible hand.

His phone buzzed once on the coffee table.

He ignored it at first. He didn’t have the strength for more sympathy texts or worried calls.

But then it buzzed again — and again — a little insistent.

Sighing, Ikjun picked it up.

It wasn’t messages from people he knew.

It was... alerts. Mentions. His name is trending.

He hesitated — thumb hovering over the screen — before finally tapping into it.

What he saw made his throat close up.

Take your time, Ikjun Appa. We'll wait for you.

Sending love and strength to the best Appa and actor. Healing comes first.

Your happiness matters most. We believe in you.

Fan edits were already circulating — old photos of him laughing on set, behind-the-scenes moments, birthday messages fans had once made when he was still just rising in fame.

He scrolled through the messages again, feeling them land deeper this time, past the tiredness, past the guilt.

And slowly, another truth stirred inside him — something he'd forgotten somewhere along the way:

The relationship between an actor and his fans...
It wasn’t just about awards or polished interviews.
It wasn’t just about the box office numbers or the magazine covers either.

It was about trust . A quiet kind of promise.

He gave them stories — laughter, tears, fragments of himself woven into every character he played. 

And in return, they gave him something even bigger: Unspoken loyalty.  Forgiveness when he stumbled.  Cheering when he dared to dream bigger. Millions of invisible hands reaching out to say, "You’re not alone."

Ikjun had spent so long thinking he needed to always be perfect for them — funny, reliable, endlessly grateful. 

Like if he slipped, even once, they would all disappear. But tonight proved something else.

They didn’t love the mask.They loved him .

The messy, tired, slightly broken version too.
The version who sometimes made mistakes.
The version who put his son first, even when the world was still watching.

A lump rose in his throat.

He set his phone down, letting the gratitude hum low and steady in his chest.

For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to believe:
He isn’t just an entertainer to them.
He is also a human being, someone they care about, without asking for anything in return. 

And later, when the time was right, he would find his way back to them again.
Not because he owed it to them. Not because he had to fix anything. But because he wanted to .

Chapter Text

“I have a friend… someone I’ve known for a long time,” Ikjun began, his voice low, hesitating. “And one day, without warning, I realized I had feelings for her.”

Songhwa said nothing — her eyes were steady on his, but her breath caught just slightly.

Ikjun continued, his tone quieter now, vulnerable. “Should I tell her? I’m scared it’ll ruin everything. Things between us will turn awkward. But if I let this moment pass again… I’m scared I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

He looked at her — not the way one looks at a friend, but with something much deeper, unspoken.

“What should I do?”

The silence between them grew, heavy with feeling. Their eyes met and held. It was real — honest and a little overwhelming.

Songhwa’s face shifted for a moment. His words hit a part of her she’d tried to keep tucked away. Her lips parted, her heart beating fast. The tears were close, sitting just behind her eyes, but she held them back with everything she had.

Then — finally — she spoke.

“ Gobaek hajima… ” Don’t confess.

The words came out in a whisper...

“She’ll say it might make things awkward. That she’s comfortable with how they are now.”

Her voice wavered just enough to betray her. Her lips trembled. A flicker of pain crossed Ikjun’s face — so brief, it could’ve been missed if you blinked.

“So… I think you shouldn’t confess to her.” Her voice was quiet, a little shaky, like she was trying to stay steady but couldn’t quite manage it.

Ikjun blinked, caught off guard. His smile faded, just a little.

There was a pause — not heavy, but full. Like something important had just slipped between them, but unfinished.

Ikjun looked at her, really looked at her. The corners of his mouth twitched like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. His voice stayed quiet.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I figured she’d say that.”

Their eyes met again. Not with anger or confusion — just something that sat between hope and hesitation. Neither of them broke the gaze.

A long, silent beat. Their eyes still lingered, speaking all the things they didn’t dare to say. Her breath was heavy. Then—

“Cut!” the director called from behind the monitor.

For a heartbeat, no one on set moved.

The moment still clung to the air when Shin PD finally broke the stunned silence from behind the monitor.

“Holy— that was insane,” he muttered, barely blinking. “How did you two— I mean, that angst , that longing — and it didn’t even feel performed. It was just there .”

A few of the staff around him nodded in awe, one script supervisor whispering, “I had goosebumps. How can a scene that quiet feel that intense?”

Someone from the lighting crew added with a laugh, “I felt like I was intruding on something private.”

Then, almost at the same time, they blinked and stepped back, just slightly, as if returning from someplace far away.

Ikjun met Songhwa’s gaze, his eyes still softened by that scene. His lips arched into an almost proud smile.

“You did so well,” he said, voice low but sincere.

Songhwa gave him a small, almost shy smile in return, the kind that tugged at the corners of her mouth before she looked down for a second — just enough to gather herself.

The cameras were off, but the set still pulsed with the intensity of the scene. Crew members were about to reset equipment and prepare for the next take, though more than a few lingered to murmur about what they’d just witnessed.

As the two walked off-set together, brushing shoulders lightly and chuckling over nothing, a few crew members gathered near the camera monitors with smirks on their faces.

“Are we filming a drama or an actual love confession?” whispered a junior camera assistant, others were laughing.

“No, but seriously,” added the other PD with a half-laugh, scrolling back through playback footage, “they make it look real . Like — not just good acting.”

“I swear, they forget the camera exists,” chimed in the script supervisor, flipping through her binder. “Especially in those quiet scenes. Did you see how she looked at him? That’s not in the script.”

A boom operator joined them, grinning. “I had goosebumps. Even the mic picked up her breath hitching. You can’t fake that.”

The stylist chuckled. “Don’t even get me started. He gave her strawberry cheesecake this morning to boost her mood.”

Someone near the monitor pointed out, “During the scene when they had to have dinner yesterday, he reached over to tuck her hair back. It wasn’t blocked that way. Totally unscripted.”

“Did we keep that take?” asked Shin PD from behind his laptop.

“Of course we did,” laughed the editor. “I’m not stupid.”

The laughter was light, affectionate — but beneath it all was a quiet awe. It wasn’t just chemistry. It was.. connection . 

—

Ikjun stayed beside Songhwa for a moment longer, both of them wordless in those quiet moments. Then, with a final glance and a faint chuckle as if shaking something off, Ikjun gave a slight nod and stepped away.

That day, they were shooting in an outdoor area. The rain had started falling in earnest again—the kind that filled the air with a soft chill and sent everyone scurrying under tents and makeshift canopies. Most of the actors retreated to their trailers or waiting tents, clutching hot drinks and thick blankets. But Ikjun didn’t go to his tent.

Instead, a short while later, he came into Songhwa’s tent without knocking, holding a covered food tray in one hand and a thermos tucked under his arm.

“I brought food,” he said lightly, pushing back the flap.

Songhwa looked up from where she was curled in a camping chair with a script in her lap, hair slightly damp from earlier takes. Her brows lifted in pleasant surprise as the familiar scent hit her even before she opened the tray.

“Sujebi?” she said, trying not to smile but failing.

He set the tray down on the small folding table between them and unscrewed the thermos lid. “Still hot. Had them make it not too salty, the way you like it.”

She blinked at him. “You... remembered?”

Ikjun shrugged casually as he poured the broth into two paper bowls. “You always order it that way after night shoots.”

The steam curled between them, warm and inviting. Outside, the rain tapped steadily against the tarp, a rhythm both calming and intimate.

They ate slowly. Just two people sharing warmth in the between takes, somewhere between characters and themselves.

At one point, Songhwa reached for her script again. Ikjun watched her as she flipped through the pages — not studying, but scanning. Her eyes drooped slightly. The slump in her shoulders was subtle, but it said enough.

“You barely slept, didn’t you?” he asked gently.

She hummed, not denying it. “We wrapped up at 3 AM. The scene took more layers than I thought.”

Suddenly, Hongdo came into her tent, brought 2 cups of coffee and without saying anything more, Ikjun took the coffee, saying thank you to Hongdo, and handed one cup to Songhwa.

Songhwa paused. “Is this—?”

“Your coffee,” he said simply. “Ice Americano no sugar.”

For a moment, she just looked at him, lips parting as if to say something — but nothing came. Instead, she took the thermos, fingers brushing his for half a second, and smiled.

“Lee Ikjun-ssi,” she said, soft. “Why are you so thoughtful today?”

“Huh? Just today?” He leaned back, feigning nonchalance. “Just staying in character, I guess”

She snorted quietly, and he grinned. 

—

That night, the production team dropped a behind-the-scenes clip on the drama’s official social media. That behind the scene was from their shoot a week ago. Just a minute long — short, sweet, and completely harmless. 

The clip showed a little moment between takes: Songhwa tucked inside her tent, bundled up and struggling to hold her chopsticks properly with her gloves still on. Ikjun was standing next to her, watching the whole thing with barely concealed amusement.

“You’re gonna starve trying to eat like that,” he said, half-laughing.

“I have pride,” she shot back, pouting.

“Then let your pride be hungry. Here.” He scooped up a piece of kimbap from his own and brought it to her mouth, like it was no big deal.

Songhwa let out the most dramatic sigh, but leaned in anyway, taking the bite with a small smile. She nodded, clearly impressed by the flavor. Ikjun watched her chew her food, admiration written all over his face. He didn’t even realize he was smiling—but it was there.

It was such a small moment. A blink, really. But somehow, on camera, it looked like a scene straight out of a romance drama. And fans caught on immediately .

By the time the clip hit the internet, it took about six minutes — maybe less — for fans to completely lose it.

The comments were instant.

@kdramalover21
“Lee Ikjun feeding Chae Songhwa kimbap while looking at her like she’s his whole world?? What do you mean this isn’t a real love story??”

@softiecams
“They’re like, ‘we’re just coworkers’ and then serve this level of domesticity like it’s nothing?? Okay.”

@actorchaefan
“I SWEAR the way he looks at her is different. She melts. Literally melts.”

@leekjunkins
“Sir. That is not acting. That is a man in love who just happens to be standing near a camera.”

Before long, fan edits were everywhere — TikTok, Instagram, X. All set to soft acoustic soundtracks or dramatic K-ballads, depending on the editor’s vibe. Some slowed down the moment their hands accidentally touched. Others zoomed in on the way Ikjun looked at her like she’d just made the sun rise.

Captions like:

“Chemistry like this can’t be rehearsed.”
“It’s in their eyes, eyes never lie.”
“They’ve definitely loved each other in another life. ”

One viral fan edit even layered their behind-the-scenes moment with flashbacks from earlier scenes, carefully spliced to look like a love confession in progress. It gained more than 100K viewers in less than 1 hour.

Even the staff started teasing.

“Did you see the comments?” one crew member said during lunch the next day, scrolling through her phone. “Half of Korea’s convinced they’re secretly married.”

Another chimed in, “Honestly? I kinda believe it. The way they look at each other? That’s not fake.”

Even Shin PD, who was usually pretty chill, grinned after replaying the kimbap moment for the third time on his tablet. “They make my job way too easy. I should give them directing cre dits.”

No matter how many times they denied it — no matter how many interviews where they smiled and said “we’re just close friends” — the chemistry was undeniable. On screen, off screen, in between takes. It was like watching two people constantly forget the world around them existed.

And maybe that was why people couldn’t stop watching.

Because deep down, everyone wanted to believe that kind of connection — the kind that was natural, warm, and sweet — wasn’t just something written into scripts. Because, it felt real . And watching them, fans couldn’t help but think:

Two single people. Who found each other like that. With that kind of timing. That kind of chemistry.

How could the universe not want them together? 

It would almost feel cruel if it didn’t happen. Did it?

—

That night, the silence in Songhwa’s apartment greeted her first.

Her apartment was clean — maybe a little too clean. The kind of clean that didn’t feel like anyone actually lived there. She took off her shoes, set her bag down by the door, and stood there for a moment, just listening to… nothing. The silence wrapped around her like a blanket she hadn’t asked for.

No cameras. No crew. No do-overs.

She walked into the kitchen, grabbed the kettle, and filled it with water. The soft hiss as it started to boil was the only sound in the room. She reached for the chamomile tea she always kept on hand — for nights like this, when the day had been full of people, but the night felt a little too empty.

Loneliness didn’t always come with tears or dramatic scenes.

Sometimes it was just this: the quiet hum of the fridge, a warm mug in your hands, and the soft ache of knowing no one was waiting on the other side of the door. No one to ask how your day went. No voice but your own.

She leaned against the counter and took a slow sip.

Not sad, exactly. Just a little too aware of the stillness.

Then, her phone buzzed.

[Lee Ikjun]
[Send a link] Did you see this fan video? Apparently, we’re already married. One clip had me feeding you kimbap with soft music in the background 😅

[Chae Songhwa]
I did 😂 The way they edited it… we look like we’re on our honeymoon.

[Lee Ikjun]
Right?? I even scrolled through the comments. One of them said, “They’ve definitely been in love for years.” 

[Chae Songhwa]
Let them cook 😌
Also, where’s my wedding ring if we’re married now?

[Lee Ikjun]   

Already ordered. White gold, simple, matches your hand perfectly.

[Chae Songhwa ]
Wow, you’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?

[Lee Ikjun]  

Only for you.

[Chae Songhwa ]
Hmm. I should start calling you ‘husband’ then.

There was a pause. Not the awkward kind — but the quiet, full kind.

The word husband , once blurry and distant for the past two years, had suddenly returned. Clear. Warm.  

[Lee Ikjun]

Only if you mean it.

She stared at the message for a moment, the warmth blooming slow and deep in her chest. Like tea in cold hands. Like laughter breaking silence.

Then she smiled — really smiled — and replied:

[Chae Songhwa ]
Go sleep, Husband-nim 😏

[Lee Ikjun]
Sweet dreams, Wifey-nim 😆 Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. 

She set the phone down and curled into the corner of her couch. The quiet was still there… but it didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

Somehow, just knowing he was out there — thinking of her, teasing her, waiting for tomorrow — made the stillness feel less lonely.

Out of habit, she opened Instagram. The clip from earlier had already gone viral. Fan edits, screenshots, comment threads — all flooding in. One video slowed down the kimbap scene, adding soft background music and a caption that made her laugh under her breath:

“You can’t fake chemistry like this. It’s just there.”

She kept scrolling.

“The way they look at each other?? I’m sorry but they’re in love.”

“You can tell they’re close off-camera too. It just flows so naturally.”

“If they’re acting, give them both awards. If they’re not… someone calls DePatch.”

Songhwa smiled — a small, honest smile that stayed longer than she expected. Because they were right.

With Ikjun, it was easy.

The connection wasn’t something she had to chase or perform. It just showed up and stayed. On set, between takes, even when the cameras weren’t rolling — there was always something unspoken that passed between them. A shared glance. A joke with no setup. A comfort that didn’t need explanation.

He made filming feel light. Safe. Fun.

Before this drama, she only wanted to do movies. TV felt too long, too public, too draining.

But then came Ikjun — all warmth and steady energy, quietly watching out for her without ever making a show of it. And suddenly, this drama didn’t feel so hard anymore. It felt like something she could actually enjoy.

Her thumb hovered over the screen for a moment before locking her phone. She looked up at the stillness around her — and this time, it didn’t press in so tightly.

Because somehow, somewhere along the way, loneliness had stopped being the main character in her story.

And tonight, if anyone asked her, she’d tell them this:
Lee Ikjun was her favorite screen partner she'd ever had .

Chapter Text

Somewhere between the camera lights and lines in the scripts, something started to change, not loudly, but quietly.

It didn’t happen during a big scene. It happened in between, while waiting for a camera reset, or sitting side by side reading lines. They were just co-stars at first. But over time, the script didn’t feel like just acting anymore.

Sometimes, the lines they read started to sound like real feelings. A look that was written in the script felt a little too honest. A joke in rehearsal made them laugh longer than it should. At first, it was easy to brush off, it’s just good chemistry, they told themselves. But slowly, things began to feel different.

They stayed behind after wrapping more often. They walked back together without saying much, but it still felt like something. When the cameras stopped, the closeness didn’t.

People on set started to notice. A crew member would whisper, “Are they acting, or is that real?” The director joked that they didn’t even need to act in some scenes, the emotion was already there.

The truth was, the line between their roles and their real selves were starting to blur. The hugs they gave during scenes felt warmer. The way they looked at each other lingered even after “cut”. Even their messages changed, from talking about scenes to checking on each other late at night.

In a world full of cameras and schedules, it was hard to keep something private. But somehow, with each other, they found quiet moments. A glance. A smile. Not dramatic. Not planned.

Just real.

And maybe they didn’t call it anything yet. Maybe they were still figuring it out.

But between what was written in the script and what was written in their hearts, something real had started.

Something that didn’t need lines.

—

1. WHEN HE STAYED AND THE VIRAL CAP

The rain didn’t just fall, it came down hard. It hit the ground in heavy waves, like it was trying to soak through everything. Under the bright, cold lights and the director’s loud voice, Songhwa stood alone in the middle of the set. Her costume was completely wet, and every breath she took showed in the cold night air.

It was a heavy scene. The kind that required her to break, to cry, to scream, to fall apart and then gather the pieces in front of the camera, again and again.

She gave it everything.

By the time the final cut was called, her hands were trembling. She bowed to the staff, forced a smile to the director, and trudged toward the exchange room to change into dry clothes. Her body ached. Her mind was drained. Then she went to her tent.

She didn’t expect anyone to be there.

But as she stepped in, now quiet except for the soft patter of rain outside, she stopped in her tracks.

There he was.

“Good job, Songhwa-ya! My gosh. I knew you'd pull it off!” Ikjun’s grin was practically glowing in the dim light. He stood proudly by her small table, carefully setting down a steaming cup of chamomile tea and a neat slice of strawberry cheesecake in a paper box. “That’s why you deserve this chamomile tea and strawberry cheesecake. No coffee, it’s too late for that and you will need to sleep later.”

Songhwa blinked, her hand still frozen on the zipper of her duffel bag. “You… haven’t left? Your scene wrapped hours ago.”

He stepped closer, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. “ Eo . I saw how tense you were about this scene earlier. So I stayed.”

He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world — like waiting for her after he wrapped his scene was just what anyone would do.

Songhwa stared at the table. The tea was still hot. The cheesecake was her favorite, the exact kind from that little café near the soundstage, with the crumbly bottom and fresh strawberries on top. Her heart clenched a little.

She lowered herself into the folding chair. “You really didn’t have to.”

Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but Ikjun heard it. 

He glanced at her, a small smile playing at his lips. “I know. But I wanted to.”

She looked at him, really looked, his damp hair stuck to his forehead, his hoodie slightly rumpled from waiting. His eyes were warm. 

She reached for the tea and took a small sip, the warmth immediately calming her. 

They stayed like that for a few minutes, her quietly eating, him just sitting across from her, not saying much. But his presence filled the space like a blanket. Like he knew that what she needed after a scene like that wasn’t chatter or praise, but quiet company and warmth.

Ikjun glanced at her, his hands deep in his coat pockets. “You’re done, right? C’mon. I’ll take you home.”

Songhwa turned to him, didn’t believe what she heard, but then a small smile tugged at her lips, “Are you sure you’re not too tired? My driver is still here.”

“Really? Where?” Ikjun looked around with a shrug, casual.

She glanced around too, but her driver was nowhere to be seen. Her PA was gone too. She checked her phone, and there was a message from her PA saying she already went back to their office.

Her eyes narrowed. “Wait… don’t tell me you asked them to leave?”

Ikjun rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to look innocent. “Maybe… five minutes ago? Just a little suggestion.”

“You left me here on purpose?”

“So I could take you home,” he said, his voice light but honest. “Is that okay with you?”

She stared at him for a moment, like she was trying to figure him out, but not really surprised. Then she smiled, a little wider this time, and nodded.

“Of course,” she said softly. “Let’s go.”

He nodded, collecting their cups and tossing the empty cake box into the bin. They stepped outside together. The rain had slowed to a soft drizzle, just enough to mist the air and make everything shimmer under the lights. Songhwa pulled her hoodie up, but the wind still sent tiny drops sideways.

“Wait here,” Ikjun said gently. “There’s no need for you to get wet. I’ll bring the car around.”

She started to protest, but he was already jogging off toward the parking lot, one hand holding up the cap on his head. Songhwa stood under the canopy, watching as his figure moved through the rain, past rows of quiet vehicles. He moved quickly, not running, like someone used to doing small things for others without making a big deal out of it.

A few minutes later, his car rolled up in front of her. The window rolled down.

“Your ride has arrived,” he grinned.

She laughed softly and stepped toward the passenger side. But just as she moved out from under the cover, Ikjun quickly got out and met her halfway.

“Hold on.” He pulled his cap off and gently placed it over her head, adjusting it to sit snugly over her slightly damp hair. 

She blinked up at him. “What about you?”

He tugged the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. “I’ll survive. I’m fine with this.”

“But I can use my hood too,” Songhwa said, still protesting as she reached up to touch her own.

“You need double protection,” Ikjun replied with a grin, gently patting the top of her head where his cap now sat. “This one’s waterproof and cool. Yours is just for show.”

She laughed under her breath, the sound soft and warm against the rain. She didn’t say anything. Then he opened the door for her and helped her in, closing it gently behind her before jogging around to the driver’s seat again.

Inside, as the car pulled away, Songhwa reached up and lightly touched the brim of his cap. It smelled a little like his shampoo, a little like rain, and something else she couldn’t explain.

—

Something that they don’t know, most of the crew were still wrapping cables and folding light stands when they caught the sight of them.

From behind a stack of equipment crates, the lighting tech nudged his assistant. “He gave her his cap?”

The assistant squinted. “Yeah, I heard he barely borrowed his cap for anyone.”

One of the production assistants leaned in. “He waited here this whole time for her.”

“Ordered her tea and cheesecake too,” added another staff member, eyebrows raised. “That guy’s either deeply polite... or deeply in it.”

Someone from the wardrobe team chuckled. “Oh, he’s in it. You should’ve seen the way he looked at her on the monitor while she was filming.”

A beat of quiet passed between them, the kind that only happens when you witnessed something real, quiet, grounded, unspoken.

Then, with a small grin, the assistant lighting tech whispered, “They better be the endgame.”

The others hummed in agreement, returning to their work, but smiling a little more than before.

—

Inside the car, Songhwa sat quietly, her hands were tucked inside the sleeves of her hoodie. Ikjun was in the driver’s seat, adjusting the heater slightly.

She glanced at him. His hoodie was damp, his hair clinging to his forehead. And that cap, the one he always wore when he didn’t feel like doing his hair, now rested on the center console between them. The one he wore to Jeongwon’s movie premiere, the one fans somehow always recognized. It was simple, black, with a tiny blue stitch on the side.

Without really thinking, Songhwa reached over and picked it up. She turned it in her hands, smoothing the brim.

“You like it?” Ikjun asked, glancing at her with a soft smile.

“It’s comfy-looking,” she said. “And warm. Kind of smells like you.”

He raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Do I smell good?”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.

He reached over and gently turned the cap in her hands, then tapped it with a small nod. “Then it’s yours.”

She looked up, surprised. “What? No. You wear this all the time.”

“I’ll survive,” he said easily. “You can have it. Really. I want you to have it.”

She held it close for a moment. The fabric was still slightly damp from the rain, but it felt oddly comforting.

“Thanks,” she murmured, pulling it over her head. It slid down low, almost covering her eyebrows. “It’s huge.”

He laughed. “Your head’s just small.”

She gave him a light nudge. But she didn’t take it off.

—

The next morning, Songhwa brought the cap with her.

It was still a little damp, but she didn’t mind. In fact, she liked how it fit, a bit loose, soft, familiar. When she stepped into the coffee shop near the studio, she was wearing a plain hoodie, her mask, and the cap low over her eyes. Just another sleepy actress trying to survive another early shoot.

She ordered her usual — one iced americano, no sugar. But just before she paid, she added a second drink. “One vanilla latte too, please,” she said. She didn’t say who it was for.

When she waited at the pickup counter, a young woman hesitated beside her, clutching her phone. “Excuse me,” the woman said shyly, “Are you… Chae Songhwa?”

Songhwa smiled behind her mask. “ Ah , ne, I am.”

“Can I get a quick photo?” the fan promised. “I just, I really love your work.”

“Of course,” Songhwa said gently, adjusting the cap.

The fan took a quick selfie with her. Then she posted it to her social media. Her post got viral, with a lot of fan accounts reposting her post. And, of course they didn’t miss the details.

That cap. The same black cap Ikjun wore when he attended Ahn Jeong Won’s movie premiere last month, fans remembered because it had a tiny stitched blue mark on the side — actually Ikjun wore that cap for many events. And the mask? Airbays. Ikjun was the brand ambassador. And Songhwa had two cups of coffee in her hands. 

That was all fans needed.

The post blew up on social media within hours.

OP: Met Songhwa this morning at a cafe near the studio!! She was super sweet 😭😭 and she was wearing Ikjun’s cap??? Also two coffees?? One americano, and guess what the other? Yep, it’s vanilla latte, Ikjun’s fav! 👀☕️☕️

COMMENTS :
not the movie premiere cap 😭😭😭😭 this man really gave her his lucky cap????

iksong nation rise again!!! she’s using his BA mask and bringing his favorite vanilla latte. I’m screaming!!

do you guys remember when Ikjun once said “I don’t mind sharing my coffee, but not my cap”? BUT NOW 👏 HE 👏 GAVE 👏 HER 👏 HIS 👏CAP👏

By late afternoon, Ikjun was scrolling through his phone, snacking on rice crackers in the waiting tent when he saw a video of Songhwa with his cap and he scrolled through the comments.

He laughed. “Yah,” he called out as Songhwa stepped in, “We’re famous again.”

“Did we trend?” she asked casually.

“We trended,” he said, turning his phone toward her. “All because you decided to dress like me and buy coffee.”

She looked at the screen and laughed. “That’s your fault. You gave me your cap.”

“You wore it,” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

She took a long sip of her americano and smiled behind the cup. “I like it.”

Ikjun leaned back, tapping the brim of the cap still on her head. “It suits you. Just don’t give it back.”

Songhwa looked at him — a little longer this time. “I wasn’t planning to.”

They both smiled at each other and looked away, pretending to focus on their drinks, but something had shifted between them. A quiet understanding. A shared secret under the cap’s shadow.

—

2. WHEN THE PUBLIC GOES WILD WITH THEIR POST IN INSTAGRAM

The set had gone unusually quiet for a brief hour, a rare lull between scenes while lighting was reset and a crane camera was being adjusted. Most of the cast had retreated to their trailers or clustered in corners with phones and iced drinks, but Ikjun found Songhwa near the craft table, stirring honey into a cup of hot water.

“You got a minute?” he asked casually, thumb tapping his car keys against his palm.

She looked up, curious. “For what?”

“There’s this coffee shop I used to go to all the time. Still do, when I need to disappear. It’s nearby. No one really knows it. Want to come?”

He didn’t say it like it was an invitation, more like a gentle offering. A pause. A breath.

Songhwa considered it for less than a beat. “Okay.”

The drive was short. Quiet music, windows slightly cracked. No stylists, no staff, just the two of them slipping between roles and real life like they often did now. The coffee shop was tucked behind an art gallery, with ivy creeping along the back wall and a small garden lined with wooden benches. Inside, it smelled like orange peels and espresso.

No one looked twice when they entered. It wasn’t that kind of place. Ikjun ordered two drinks, hers warm, his iced and they sat for a while in a shaded corner of the garden where light filtered through climbing roses. They didn’t talk much. They didn’t have to.

At one point, she stood to stretch, still holding her cup, and turned toward the sunlight with her eyes closed. Without asking, he took a photo, just a quiet moment: her smiling, coffee in hand, unaware or unbothered.

Later that evening, Ikjun posted an Instagram Story, nothing flashy, just a quiet shot of two drinks on a worn wooden table, sunlight streaking diagonally across the frame. No filters. No tags. Just coffee and calm, the kind of moment that didn’t beg to be noticed but somehow still made people stop scrolling.

A few hours later, Songhwa uploaded a photo to her feed.

No caption. No tags.

Just her, seated in a garden blooming with early spring, holding a coffee with both hands like it was something warm and worth keeping. The sun fell perfectly into her hair, catching on the edges of her smile, that rare kind, the one that didn’t pose. She wasn’t looking directly at the camera. It was the kind of photo only someone who knew her well would’ve taken, patient, quiet, unforced.

People noticed.

And then the internet did what it always does. The fans knew. The comment section was overflowing : 

“THAT’S. IKJUN’S. FAVORITE. COFFEE. SHOP. I KNEW IT!!! 😭😭”

“Look at the lighting. The smile. The vibe. He took that photo with his heart, I swear.”

“He posted the drinks. She posted the garden. They’re feeding us like this is a drama special.”

“I feel like I’ve been let in on a secret I wasn’t supposed to see.”

“The fact that there’s no tag makes it scream even louder.”

“Do y’all realize what’s happening?? The coffee in Ikjun’s story + this photo = THE MOST SUBTLE HARD LAUNCH IN K-DRAMA HISTORY.”

“They really said ‘if you know, you know.’ AND WE DO.”

“Please, my brain can’t handle this level of softness.”

“Where are you DePatch? Are you guys still working? Gosh!”

“I’M SURE IKJUN TOOK THIS PICTURE. OHMYGOODD> I CANT BREATH!”

By the end of the night, the photo had been screenshotted thousands of times. Fan edits bloomed across Instagram and X, some with pastel filters and soft music, others splicing it into clips from the drama.

And still, neither of them said a word. No comments. No clarifications. No tags.

Just a hidden coffee shop, a quiet afternoon between takes, and a smile that told its own story.

—

3.WHEN THEY HAD THE TALKS

The shoot had wrapped for the day, and the sky outside was already slipping into soft dusk. Most of the crew had begun packing up, their voices low and tired. In the quiet corner of the set, Ikjun and Songhwa sat side by side on the couch they’d used for the scene, still in costume, but more themselves now.

The script was nowhere in sight, their drinks half-empty on the floor beside them. The light above cast a warm glow over their relaxed silhouettes.

They were in her tent, just the two of them. Ikjun stretched his legs and glanced at her with a small, almost teasing smile. “You know, during the press conference... You said our first meeting was at the Blue Dragon Awards in 2010.”

Songhwa turned her head, slightly amused. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t even realize,” he said, “You said it so casually. ‘Oh, we met at the Blue Dragon in 2010.’ Like I should remember.”

She chuckled softly, propping her chin in her hand. “You were with Go Ara.”

Ikjun blinked. “Ah. That year.”

“I wasn’t close enough to say hi. Just…watching from afar,” she said, voice lighter than usual. “You two looked nice together.”

He let out a breath, nodding slowly. 

Songhwa tilted her head, brushing her hair back. “But I didn’t know you came to my movie premiere in 2015.”

“I did,” Ikjun said, leaning forward a little. “I was going to come say hi, you know. But then I saw you with Cho Seungwoo.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“I thought… ah, okay. Maybe not the best time. So I just left quietly.”

There was a pause. A beat. Then Songhwa murmured, “I didn’t know we were supposed to meet so many times before.”

“Timing sucks,” Ikjun said, a little too quickly, a little too honestly.

She turned toward him, her gaze gentle. “Maybe not.”

He looked at her, waiting.

“Maybe now is exactly the right time.”

His smile tugged at the corner of his lips, this time slower, more thoughtful. “Yeahh..” he smiled, “You might be right. Even people online think we’re married already.”

She laughed again, the sound real and unguarded. “They really do. I saw one comment that said, ‘They give off the energy of a couple arguing about what to eat for dinner.’”

“That’s weirdly specific.”

“It’s oddly accurate.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “How do you feel about all that? The attention.”

“Hmm…” A long pause, she leaned back slightly. “Honestly? At first, it was… overwhelming. Not bad. Just strange. Seeing edits, comments, those videos going viral. People reading into every glance, every coffee cup.”

He nodded slowly. “Same.”

“I mean, I don’t hate it,” she added, a little sheepish. “But I didn’t expect it either. This was my first time being shipped, by the way. ”

He looked down for a second, turning his cup in his hands. “What about now?”

She paused before answering. “Now? I think I get it. Why do people feel something when they watch us.”

He met her eyes again. “Yeah. Me too.”

There was a quiet moment between them, soft and unspoken. The kind where even the distant hum of the set felt muffled.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, voice lower now.

“Hmm?” Songhwa’s reply was soft, almost instinctive, as she reached down to steady her cup, though it wasn’t about to fall.

Ikjun didn’t speak right away. He let his fingers linger on the edge of his knee, thumb tracing the seam of his pants. When he finally looked at her, his expression wasn’t teasing or playful like usual. It was quieter. Raw.

“How do you feel about… us?” he asked, eyes searching hers. “I mean, not as characters. Just… us.”

The question sat there, unhurried, between them.

Songhwa didn’t answer immediately. Her breath caught for a second, barely audible, before she turned her face slightly toward him. Not fully. Just enough to meet him honestly.

“I think…” she began, then paused. Her gaze dropped to the floor, lips pressing into a faint line before she tried again. “I think we’re in a good place.”

He nodded, once, as if bracing himself.

“I like that we’re taking our time,” she said. “That nothing feels… forced. I like the way we just talk. The way we sit like this.”

He exhaled gently. The kind of breath someone takes when they don’t realize they’ve been holding it.

She looked at him again, her voice lower now. “And I’m open to wherever this goes. I don’t know what the future looks like, but…I don’t feel like I need to know just yet.”

His chest rose with a soft breath. “Me too.”

Then, almost to himself, he murmured, “But you know, you deserve someone better though.” he chuckled, “someone who doesn’t come with… baggage.”

That word hung in the air like something heavier than it should be.

She turned to him sharply then, not in anger, but with a quiet kind of disbelief. “Don’t say that.”

His jaw tensed. “I mean it,” he said, eyes meeting hers with open vulnerability. “I’m a divorcee. I have a kid. My life isn’t… uncomplicated. And people, they—sometimes they don’t hold back with their opinions. Especially about people like me.”

He paused, then exhaled hard through his nose. “I just…” A hand dragged through his hair. “I don’t ever want you to feel like being near me means inheriting all that noise. That judgment. People can be so..” he faltered “so cruel, sometimes.”

There was a long moment before he added, softer, “At first, I didn’t even let myself think about getting close to you. I mean look at you. You’re everything. Beautiful, kind, strong. Every single man I know would probably line up just to take you out for one coffee.”

He looked down then, blinking slowly, like trying to steady himself.

But Songhwa didn’t speak. Not yet.

And when she did, it wasn’t with words at first.

It was with the kind of smile people give when they’re watching someone tear themselves apart just to protect you — a sad, soft smile, almost too gentle for how much it held.

Then her voice came quiet, like something newly unwrapped after being guarded for too long.

“What matters is who I want to be with, right?”

Ikjun looked up again, slowly, and she didn’t look away.

She continued, her words deliberate now. “Ikjun-ah, of course we don’t know what the future holds, but if…”

She hesitated, her breath catching just slightly before she pressed on.

“…if we don’t end up together…”

Her eyes dropped then, to her lap. Her hands were clasped tightly, fingers laced and white at the knuckles, like she was trying to hold something in, or maybe, hold herself together.

Then she looked up. Not with drama. Just with clarity.

“…THAT, won’t be the reason.”

It landed softly — like the kind of truth you don’t need to defend.

He blinked slowly, eyes flickering over her face.

“I’m not afraid of your past, and of people’s judgment” she added, voice stronger now. “I’ve never been. Life’s messy. People are messy. That doesn’t scare me. I just want to be happy too, you know. And, you.. You deserve to be happy too.”

She looked down, lips tugging faintly, almost wry. “You talked like you’re hard to love. But trust me, you're not.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty, it was full. Full of years they’d missed, things they hadn’t said, and everything they didn’t have to explain anymore.

And Ikjun, who had lived years with self-doubt stitched into the corners of his smile, let those words sit in the space between them, fragile and grounding all at once.

He didn’t say anything right away.

Instead, he reached for her hand.

Not to make a point. Not to win an argument.

Just to hold it.

And when she didn’t pull away, when her fingers curled quietly around his, he lifted his gaze again, eyes meeting hers with something quieter than hope, but just as steady.

“Then,” he said, voice low, “a permission to keep getting to know you?”

The way he said it, warm and a little shaky, made her laugh softly. That kind of laugh that happens when something inside you feels just a little lighter.

She nodded. “Permission granted.”

—

There’s something paradoxical about the way the entertainment industry demands both authenticity and perfection. Fans say they want you to be real, to be yourself, but only the parts of you they can love without discomfort. The charming, the vulnerable, the curated kind of honesty. They celebrate individuality, but only within the boundaries they’ve drawn.

Be open, but not too messy. Be grateful, but never tired. Be in love, but only with who they want you to love.

It was exhausting, even on the best days.

Actors, idols, public figures, they all learned early how to live in pieces, offering up slices of themselves while guarding the rest behind practiced smiles and well-lit photos. Gratitude was a given. Of course it was. The fans were the reason they were here at all. But gratitude didn’t cancel out fatigue. It didn’t silence the constant awareness of being watched, interpreted, shipped, dissected.

There were days when the weight of other people’s projections felt heavier than the script in their hands.

Ikjun had felt it sharply in his earlier years, when his divorce was still fresh and every comment section turned his personal life into public property. He learned to laugh a little louder, to make light of things before anyone else could. He learned which version of himself was most palatable. But even curated charm wears thin eventually. It chips away in quiet places.

Songhwa, too, had built herself out of quiet armor. It wasn’t obvious. Not to the public, anyway. They called her graceful, private, and classy. They didn’t see how much of that was defense, the careful interviews, the elegant silence, the boundaries she never let anyone cross. It kept her steady, but it kept her distant too.

And yet, through overlapping call times, shared scripts, coffee in trailers, stolen evenings, and soft silences between scenes, the two of them had started finding something neither of them realized they’d been missing.

Something that didn’t feel like performance.

It wasn’t the rehearsed affection that played well on screen, or the photo ops that made fans swoon. It was smaller. More real. In the way Songhwa relaxed her shoulders around him. In the way Ikjun looked at her like he wasn’t thinking about the cameras for once. A quiet companionship that didn’t need to be put on display. Something that didn’t ask to be loved by millions, only understood by one.

They weren’t hiding anything. Not really. They were just protecting something still unfolding.

But maybe that was the trickiest part, not the silence, but the lines. The ones that had started out so clear and necessary, drawn between character and person, between screen and reality. Between what they shared and what they kept.

And yet, somewhere along the way, those lines had started to blur.

It wasn’t a sharp turn or a defining moment. Just slow erosion. In the remembered coffee orders and inside jokes that didn’t come from any script. In the touch that lingered after “cut”. In the way they knew when the other needed space or presence without having to ask.

The public saw it, of course. Fans were sharp. They slowed down clips, circled hand placements, counted seconds of eye contact. And while a lot of it was projection, some of it… wasn’t.

Something real had taken root between them, not quite labeled, not quite secret. Not the polished chemistry people expected, but something gentler. Tentative. Honest in a way that didn’t need applause.

But when everything is performance, the parts you don’t share start to feel like resistance.

So they kept that part to themselves.

Not to tease. Not to hide. Just to breathe.

They were grateful. Always. 

For the love, for the support, even for the attention.

But beneath the noise, they were still human. And humans don’t unfold on anyone else’s timeline.

So they let the lines blurred.

And if people wondered? Let them.

Some truths didn’t need confirmation. Some stories didn’t need narration.

And in a world that demanded to know everything, still there was something that didn’t need to be explained.

Chapter Text

People usually only see the final scene, the emotions, the chemistry, the smooth lines. But what they don’t see is the quiet work that comes before it. Actors read the script many times, not just to memorize, but to understand what the character is really feeling. They talk with the director and other cast members, asking small questions that help shape each moment. Even after filming, they keep thinking about the next scene, practicing late at night, whispering lines alone, chasing the right feeling.

It’s not just about saying the words right. It’s about finding the truth in them. Some scenes are harder than others, not because of the acting, but because of what they bring up inside. 

Every actor has a scene that feels the hardest and it’s not always the same for everyone. For some, it’s the confrontation scenes. The ones where voices rise, where pain and anger have to be shown without losing control. Others say it’s the quiet, emotional scenes, the ones where a single tear, or a long pause, carries more weight than any line.

What makes a scene hard isn’t just the words. It’s what it asks you to feel. Sometimes, those feelings come too close to real life. Maybe the story touches an old memory. Maybe it mirrors something you're going through. And when that happens, it’s no longer just acting. It’s something personal. That’s what makes certain scenes feel heavier, not because they’re loud, but because they ask you to be honest in ways that cost something inside .

—

The hazard lights blinked slowly, click, click, click, soft and steady in the rainy night. Raindrops moved down the windshield, catching the city lights in little golden lines. Their coffee wasn’t hot anymore, but they didn’t seem to mind.

Songhwa sat with her legs tucked slightly to the side, both hands wrapped around her cup. Her fingers had stopped moving. She wasn’t sipping anymore. Ikjun leaned back in the driver’s seat, one arm near the wheel, the other resting near his coffee. He wasn’t sipping either. He was waiting, not just for a cue, but for something he couldn’t quite name.

Then, slowly, Songhwa placed her cup into the cup holder between their seats. The quiet sound of it settling into place broke the stillness.

She took in a breath, small and shaky. “Look, I want to tell you something,” she paused a little, “..but I’m a little embarrassed,” she said, voice soft but clear. “So, I’m going to say it once, quickly.”

Ikjun turned toward her, eyebrows lifted slightly, focused and ready.

“Listen carefully, okay?”

But she didn't dare to glance at him, shaking her head, “Don’t look at me,” she added, almost a whisper now. “Keep your eyes ahead.”

He blinked, a little confused, but he obeyed, facing forward again, eyes on the foggy windshield, as if it could tell him what was coming.

She hesitated, biting her lip slightly, fingers curling and uncurling in her lap.

“Do you know what came to my mind when I heard you were attacked?”

He shook his head, a small, slow movement. He didn’t trust his voice yet.

She gave a quiet, almost bitter smile to herself. Her voice lowered.

“I thought... I should tell him I like him. I really should’ve told him…” 

“..That was the first thought that popped into my head.”

Ikjun’s grip on his cup shifted just slightly, like his fingers had tensed without him knowing. He turned to her again, his heart beating a little louder now, but—

“Eyes ahead,” she said quickly, catching him. She didn’t even need to look to know.

He smiled, a little this time, a real one, though soft and looked forward again, but his chest was rising faster now. He was listening to every part of himself.

Songhwa leaned back against the seat. Her eyes dropped to her hands. “So with that said…” she began, then paused, her throat working. “If your feelings for me haven’t changed…”

Her voice trailed off. The quiet filled in the space again. Raindrops slid slowly down the windshield.

“Should we…” she tried again, but her voice gave out for a second. She swallowed, shaking her head to gather courage.

“…start seeing each other?” she finished. Her voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes closed.

She still couldn’t look at him. Her face was turned slightly away, her shoulder curved inward like she was protecting herself from the moment.

Ikjun didn’t answer right away.

He reached forward instead, gently placing his cup into the cup holder beside his.

Then, slowly, he turned to her.

Slowly, she felt his gaze before she saw it. Her head turned too, hesitant.

Their eyes met.

“I’ll give you my answer,” he said, voice steady.

She nodded, just slightly, her eyes still not meeting him. Her fingers gripped the edge of her seat. She waited, expecting words. A line. Anything.

His hand reached across the space between them. She noticed it first in her side vision, the way his fingers lifted, paused, then gently touched her cheek. His palm was warm. His touch is careful. And, instead of words, he leaned in.

His hand reached up, brushing her cheek, his fingers were warm against her skin. She didn’t move away.

And then, quietly, he closed the space between them.

Her eyes closed right before it happened, as if bracing herself for something she didn’t know how to name.

His lips touched hers, lightly at first. 

It was like they were both afraid to push too far. Afraid the spell might break if they moved too fast.

But slowly, she leaned in too.

The kiss deepened, naturally. Like their hearts had found the same pace without needing to speak. His hand slid to the back of her neck, cradling her gently. 

Their kiss lingered.

As if neither of them could let go.

As if they didn’t want to.

Then, somewhere in the fog of it, a voice broke through.

“CUT!”

They didn’t move right away.

Still close. Still breathing each other in. Their eyes opened slowly, lips just inches apart. And when they looked at each other, there was something in their gaze that wasn’t part of the script. A quiet, stunned softness. 

They stared at each other’s lips, still close enough to feel the warmth between them.

Shin PD was still monitoring them through the monitor, he caught this sight

“That was awesome!” the director’s voice came again, this time louder. “Perfect! One take! That was beautiful!”

Everybody clapped. Another called out praise. The crew buzzed around them.

But inside the car, it was still quiet.

Ikjun finally leaned back a little, blinking as if waking up from a dream. His ears were a little red. 

They sat back in their seats, not fully facing each other, not fully looking away. Their bodies had loosened, but the air between them stayed heavy.

And then, finally, they dared to look at each other — and shared a small, quiet smile. The kind of smile that said, 'we did it,' even if neither of them spoke.

A staff member walked toward them, saying something about playback.

But Ikjun and Songhwa were still sitting there, hearts full, faces flushed, hands resting near two untouched coffees in the dark.

—

They wrapped the scene at 19:30 sharp. The director was still buzzing from how smoothly it went, but the crew was already packing things down. Rain still drizzled lightly outside the set tent, soft and steady. The warmth of what just happened between them hadn’t faded, not entirely.

But real life came rushing back, quick and loud. Songhwa had to get ready for a photoshoot scheduled at 20:30. Ikjun had a production meeting for his new TVC shoot at almost the same time. Yes, they are that busy.

Songhwa left the tent first after changing out of costume. Her steps were quick but quiet. The night air felt cooler now, the kind that makes you tug your jacket tighter. Just as she stepped out, she saw him, Ikjun, standing a few feet from her tent, hands in his pockets, waiting.

He looked up at her and smiled slightly. “You ready to leave?”

She nodded, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “Yeah. What time is your meeting?”

“Around the same as your shoot. It’s just fifteen minutes from here.”

They walked side by side toward her van. Their conversation was light, as usual. But there was something thick underneath, still lingering. The memory of shared breath and the warmth of the kiss that neither of them dared to bring up now.

As they reached her van, her PA was already inside, waiting. Ikjun walked ahead and opened the door for her. She turned to him, and their eyes met in that quiet space between words.

They didn’t say anything. Just looked.

Then she gave him a small smile, the kind that says everything without saying it. And he smiled back, like he’d been waiting for it.

“I guess I gotta go,” she said softly.

“Yeah…” he replied, then looked down briefly. He lingered. She lifted her gaze again just as he continued, “Tell me when you’re done, is that okay?”

Her smile returned, warmer this time. She nodded. “Of course.”

She climbed in, gave him one last look, then disappeared inside. The van pulled away slowly, and he stood there until it was completely out of sight.

Behind him, a few crew members had stopped pretending not to watch. Shin PD, arms crossed, let out a long whistle.

“Did anyone else see that?” one of the assistant directors whispered.

A camera operator chuckled. “That wasn’t acting at the end, right?”

“No way,” a stylist said, eyes wide. “Did you see the way he looked at her? Yaahh, there must be something now. It feels like it’s escalating.”

The camera assistant beside her let out a quiet laugh. “They didn’t even say anything. Just stood there. But I swear, the air felt different.”

Another crew member, still holding a light reflector, chimed in, “He waited outside her tent like some drama lead. Then walked her to the van like a bodyguard-slash-boyfriend.”

Shin PD just smiled to himself, shaking his head. “If we teased them, they’re gonna deny everything again, huh?” 

—

IKJUN - AFTER THE MEETING

The sliding door shut with a soft thud as Ikjun dropped into the backseat of his van. Junwan was already inside, legs crossed, a bottle of water in one hand and his phone in the other. He glanced up as Ikjun settled in, brow raised.

“You touched your lips like, twenty times during the meeting,” Junwan said flatly. “It was distracting. Were you checking if they were still attached or what?”

Ikjun gave him a look. “They were just.. dry.”

“Uh huh. Dry. Right. Nothing to do with the kissing scene you just shot with Chae Songhwa-nim, Lee Ikjun- ssi ?”

Ikjun was just silent.

Junwan smirked. “Yeah, well, of course but you looked like a man whose brain was left in the car.” He leaned back against the headrest, studying him. “ Yah ! You’ve been off ever since, saekki-ya ! Want to talk about it?”

Ikjun looked out the window for a beat, the city lights casting soft reflections on the glass. Then, quietly, he said, “You know… me and Songhwa… we talked. About us. ”

Junwan turned, his posture shifting slightly. “What do you mean? Like… seriously?”

Ikjun nodded. “Yeah. Couple days ago. We were just sitting there. And I asked her what she thought… about whatever this is between us. And she said—” he exhaled, lips twitching at the memory, “—we’re in a good place. No rush. But she’s open. Open to where it could go.”

Junwan’s eyebrows climbed slowly. “Whoa.”

“I know,” Ikjun said with a small laugh. “But you know, there’s still something that burdens me, right? So I told her.”

Junwan tilted his head. “Your past?”

Ikjun didn’t speak right away. He just nodded. Once. Deeply.

Junwan waited. “So… what did she say?”

Ikjun’s voice was quiet but steady. “She said something that honestly stunned me. She said… she’s not afraid of it. Not afraid of what people say. Because at the end of the day, what matters is her happiness.”

He blinked once, twice, trying to steady himself. “That… that floored me, Junwan-ah. You know how much I’ve wrestled with this crap. With guilt. Regret. And she just—” He looked down at his hands. “She looked at me like none of it scared her.”

Junwan stared at him, quiet now, no teasing in his eyes. “I didn’t know Songhwa had that kind of… weight in her heart. That kind of strength.”

Ikjun nodded. “That one sentence, it did something to my terrible heart. Gave me a kind of confidence I haven’t felt in the last 2 years. Not because she promised anything, but because… she wasn’t scared. And she said…” he smiled, blinking quickly again, “if one day we’re not meant to be, — of course, we don’t know what the future holds, but the baggage I carried.. wouldn’t be the reason.”

He wasn’t crying, not really. But his eyes glistened. Not from pain, but from a quiet, humbling sort of relief.

A silence followed. Heavy, thoughtful. Junwan stared at him, quiet awe written all over his face. He hadn't known Songhwa could be that bluntly gentle, that full of quiet courage. Not just in facing cameras, but in facing Ikjun.

Ikjun smiled faintly, almost to himself. “That kind of acceptance.. I didn’t even realize how much I needed it until I heard her say it. That one sentence made me feel like I could breathe deeper again. Like… someone finally looked at my story and didn’t flinch.”

He continued, “I couldn’t say anything for a second. I just… I was stunned. You know her. She says things with that calm, like it’s the most obvious truth. And I—I believed her. I felt it.””

Junwan looked out the window, nodding slowly. “That’s powerful.”

“Yeah,” Ikjun murmured. “It is.”

They sat in silence for a beat. Then Junwan leaned slightly toward him, more curious than teasing now.

“So…” he began. “How do you feel about her?”

Ikjun didn’t answer immediately.

He let the silence stretch out, long and full of meaning, before exhaling softly.

“Let’s just say…” Ikjun paused, glancing out the window as if the right words might be waiting somewhere in the blur of streetlights. “She’s the person I want to see every day. And I love being with her.”

Junwan gave a slow nod, “Is that why you still didn't forget about the kissing scene earlier?”

Ikjun huffed a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to ease off something lingering there. “I just know that scene was… hard. Not technically. But emotionally.”

His voice lowered a bit, eyes drifting to the floor of the van. “When you’re that involved… when it’s her—” He let out a breath, one that had been sitting in his chest since the moment Shin PD yelled cut . “It hits differently.”

Junwan didn’t interrupt. He knew that tone in Ikjun’s voice, quiet, unsure, but full of something real.

“You know I’ve done plenty of kissing scenes,” Ikjun went on, his words slower now, more careful. “I’ve always managed to keep things clean. Professional. But this one…” He trailed off, then looked up at Junwan, as if finally giving himself permission to admit it out loud.

“It stayed with me.”

He smiled faintly, almost sheepishly. “Like it took everything in me to let go when Shin PD shouted ‘cut’.”

Junwan turned slightly to watch him. He didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence settle like a shared breath between old friends. Then, with a knowing smile tugging at his mouth, he said, “Oh, you’re really in love.”

Ikjun didn’t respond with words. He just chuckled—quiet and a little breathless. A sound that spoke volumes without confirming a thing. But it didn’t deny it either.

Junwan leaned back in his seat, shaking his head lightly as if resigned to some inevitable fate. His tone was teasing, but his eyes held something more grounded, more sincere. “You deserve it, Ikjun-ah. All of it.”

Ikjun turned his head, met Junwan’s gaze, and smiled, not with giddy excitement, but something softer, steadier. A smile built from relief, quiet hope, and the comfort of finally being understood. He gave a small nod, the warmth in his eyes undeniable.

“Thank you, Junwan-ah.”

Junwan gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment. “Just don’t start singing love songs when you’re with me, saekkiya .”

Ikjun glanced at him, a mischievous glint already forming. “Too late,” he said, before dramatically reaching out and groping for Junwan’s hand with both of his.

Junwan narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you dare, saekkiya —”

But Ikjun was already leaning in close, cupping a hand over Junwan’s ear like a lovesick fool serenading him, he launched into the chorus:

“Niga joa, neomu joa~
Nae modeungeol jugo sipeo~
Neoegemaneun nae maeum~
Nan kkumigo sipji anha~~” 

Junwan yelped and tried to shove him off. “YAH! GO AWAY! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, AISH, JINJJAAA !!?”

Ikjun holding onto his shoulder like a koala clinging to a branch. “Don’t fight it, saekkiya ! Let love in!”

Junwan was so irritated by his antics. “You did it again, I’m calling Songhwa!”

At the sound of her name — his not-so-secret soft spot — Ikjun instantly retreated to his side of the van like a child caught sneaking snacks.

“That’s so low, saekki-ya !” he said between gasps of laughter. “You used her name as a weapon now?”

Junwan smirked as he straightened his jacket. “Yah, if her name is the only thing that tames your circus act, then yeah. I’m borrowing her forever.”

Ikjun shook his head, still grinning. 

Junwan continues, “Seriously… I can just borrow Songhwa’s name and you get your grip back. It’s really something.”

Junwan muttered under his breath, but there was no real heat in it. He glanced at Ikjun, saw the way his eyes still held that quiet light, and felt a flicker of something else—relief, maybe. Or pride.

Ikjun wasn’t just in love. He was becoming himself again.

—

SONGHWA - AFTER THE PHOTOSHOOT

The studio lights were soft and bright, making everything glow with a calm warmth. The set was clean and simple with pale backdrops, a few pretty props, and soft pastel colors that matched the fresh image of the brand.

Songhwa stood under the lights, dressed in light tones, her makeup barely there, just enough to make her skin shine naturally. Her hair was gently curled, framing her face. The whole look was meant to feel clean, comfortable, beautiful and as always, she carried it well.

She moved without needing much direction. Just a small smile here, a tilt of her head there. She wasn’t pretending, she was simply good at being present.

The photographer smiled. “Perfect, one more like that, Songhwa- ssi . Beautiful, as always.”

She smiled in return. It was polite, quiet, and professional.

No one noticed anything unusual.

Except Minha. Minha was already on the set before Songhwa’s arrival to prepare things.

Minha had seen Songhwa through years of shoots — long hours, tired days, tricky directors. And something today felt... off. Not wrong. Just different .

There was a moment when the cameras paused and Songhwa sat in the makeup chair. She wasn’t checking her phone like usual. Instead, she just sat there, staring at her own reflection with a thoughtful look, her fingers lightly tapping the bottle of water on the table.

And once, during a break, Minha caught her looking toward the studio entrance. Not at anything. Just looking — like she expected someone to show up. Or like she hoped they wouldn't.

After the shoot ended and the crew clapped politely, thanking her for her work, Minha followed her quietly into the van.

It was a routine they knew well, slip away before the crowds, let the manager handle the cleanup, sit quietly in the van with the AC on, driving back to the apartment or the next schedule.

But today, as soon as the driver rolled up the privacy screen, Minha turned to her.

“You okay?”

Songhwa leaned back in her seat, eyes closed for a second. “Mm? Yeah. Just tired.”

Minha gave her a long look. “You don’t usually space out during touch-ups. Or forget to check your phone.”

Songhwa smiled a little, but didn’t deny it. “I guess I’m a little out of it.”

“You were thinking about him, weren’t you?”

Silence.

Minha didn’t say his name. She didn’t have to.

Songhwa glanced at her, lips parting like she was about to answer, then looked out the window instead.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Minha said gently. “But… something changed, didn’t it?”

Songhwa pressed her lips together for a moment, then nodded. “A little.”

Minha’s voice softened. “Is it about the kiss scene?”

Another pause. Then a quiet, “Maybe.”

Minha leaned back. “You two looked... different after. Not awkward. Just...quieter. Like something unspoken got louder.”

Songhwa let out a small laugh. “That’s a good way to put it.”

“So?” Minha asked, nudging lightly. “What are you feeling?”

Songhwa thought for a long second. Then, with a half-shrug, said, “I don’t know yet. I haven’t had the time to really figure it out. I just… I can’t stop thinking about it. Not the scene. Him.”

Minha didn’t tease. She just nodded, thoughtful. “Okay.”

They sat in silence again. The road rolled on beneath them. City buildings passed in slow motion outside.

Then Minha added quietly, “Just promise me you’ll take your time. Don’t rush into feeling something just because it’s been a long time since someone made you feel anything.”

Songhwa looked at her best friend and smiled — tired, a little unsure, but grateful. “I will.”

Minha smiled back, reaching over to squeeze her hand once. “Good.”

And that was it. No big conclusions, no dramatic words. Just two women sitting in a van, sharing a quiet moment in between all the noise of their busy lives.

But for Songhwa, it felt like a pause she didn’t know she needed.

–

The apartment was quiet when Ikjun pushed open the door. The lights were dimmed, and the air smelled faintly of laundry and leftover soup. He toed off his shoes at the entrance and walked in slowly, shoulders slumped with the kind of tiredness that came from emotional weight, not work.

“Imo-nim ,” he called softly.

Wang Imo poked her head out from the hallway, tying her hair into a low bun. “You’re back, uri appa-nim . Uju fell asleep not long ago. He said he was really sleepy and couldn't play with you.”

Ikjun chuckled, walking into the kitchen. “That traitor. He promised he’d stay up.”

“He tried. But halfway through his drawing, he nodded off,” she said, motioning toward the living room where a notebook was sprawled open on the floor. “You hungry? I made miyeokguk .”

Ikjun shook his head gently. “I’m okay, I already ate on the way. Thank you, Imo-nim .”

Wang Imo raised an eyebrow but didn’t push it. “I’ll stay over, then. Safer than going home this late.”

“Great,” he said with a grateful smile. “Good night, Imo-nim .”

She disappeared into the guest room as Ikjun made his way to the bathroom. The hot water steamed up the mirror as he showered, washing off the layers of the day. But as the water poured over his back, his mind wasn’t on work or meetings. It was still on her . On the way she’d looked at him before stepping into her van. On the things they didn’t say.

He dried off and pulled on an old T-shirt, padding quietly into his room. The clock on his bedside table read 11:32 PM. He picked up his phone, checking it almost instinctively.

Nothing.

He stared at the screen for a moment, thumb hovering, debating if he should message first.

Then — a buzz. It’s from Songhwa.

[Chae Songhwa]
I'm home. 

His heart moved before his head. He didn’t type back, he hit the call button instead.

The line rang once.

Twice.

Then, her voice, soft and warm in his ear. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he breathed, already smiling. “You just got in?”

“Mm-hm,” she replied, sounding tired but calm. “The shoot went a little longer than planned.”

“How was it?” he asked, settling deeper into the bed, his voice low, warm.

“It was okay, but tiring..” she said. “They made me laugh when nothing was funny and posed in a hundred different ways. But it turned out fine, I think.”

“I’m sure you look good in those photos,” he said casually.

There was a small pause.

“Minha said the same thing,” she replied, a bit shyly.

“Of course, you’re getting more beautiful every day .”

She laughed softly, looking down even though he couldn’t see her. A faint blush rose to her cheeks, but she didn’t reply — not because she didn’t have words, but because the warmth in his voice said enough.

There was a short pause after that. Not awkward, not heavy. Just quiet — the kind of silence that felt familiar.

Then her voice came through again, soft but curious. “What about your meeting?”

Ikjun gave a little snort. “Honestly? I don’t even remember half of it. Junwan said I looked like I was floating the whole time.”

She laughed quietly, and he could hear her rustling, probably changing into her pajamas or getting settled into bed. “Were you?”

“Yeah..” He paused a little, “My head was somewhere else.”

“Hmm ,” she said, her tone teasing but quiet. “Want to tell me where?”

There was another pause, longer this time. Neither of them rushed to speak.

“I was thinking about the scene,” Ikjun finally said.

She didn’t ask which one. She knew. 

She didn’t reply immediately. He could hear the faint shuffle of her blanket, then the sound of her exhale. “It stayed with me too,” she admitted.

Her voice was quieter now. Honest.

“I’ve done scenes like that before,” she continued. “But this one… it didn’t feel like acting.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “It didn’t for me either.”

Another silence. But it didn’t weigh heavy — it lingered like something shared, understood.

“It was warm,” Songhwa said finally. “Not just the scene. The whole moment. I was… a little nervous after.”

“Why?”

“Because I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it. If it’d make things weird.”

Ikjun smiled faintly. “It didn’t make things weird. If anything… It made things clearer.”

He could feel her quiet on the other end. He imagined her sitting in her bed, one hand over her chest like she always did when she was nervous.

“I know,” she said, just above a whisper. “Me too.”

He smiled, “I thought I could keep it professional. Like always. But it took everything in me to let it go.”

“I think we both tried,” she said. “Tried to protect something by holding back. But even with all the effort… it still showed.”

“Do you think it’s bad?” he asked, a bit uncertain now.

“No,” she replied, quick and sure. “I think it’s honest. And I think the camera caught something real. That’s not bad.”

His chest warmed at her words. He didn’t know how long he’d needed to hear that, not just from a co-star, but from her.

They stayed like that for a while, not saying anything, the line soft with comfort. They just stayed connected, the line still open, the air between them full of something gentle and new.

“I think we should sleep,” she said eventually, but her voice held reluctance. “We still have two more days until we wrap.”

“Right,” he said. “It’s gonna feel weird when it’s all over.”

“It will.”

But neither of them hung up.

He could hear her breathing. She could hear his.

And in the silence, they stayed, two people learning to fall, slowly, not in a rush, not for show. Just honestly.

After a few more seconds, Songhwa’s voice came through, quiet and almost shy. “Let’s sleep, hmm ? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He smiled to himself. “Okay. Sleep well, Songhwa-ya.”

“You too, Ikjun-ah.”

She didn’t say goodbye. Neither did he.

But the call finally ended, not with a click, but with the kind of stillness that meant something had changed.

—

Actors are often praised for what they show on screen, the tears that fall on cue, the laughter that sounds real, the kisses that look effortless. But what the world doesn’t see is everything that happens before the camera rolls. The stillness. The doubt. The quiet moments of bracing oneself before stepping into a scene that asks for more than just memorized lines.

Some might think a kissing scene with someone you have feelings for should be easy — especially for actors — that the emotions would come naturally, that the scene would write itself. But the truth is, scenes like that can be the hardest .

Because when feelings are real, pretending gets complicated.

It’s not just about hitting marks or following directions. It’s about letting go, even just for a moment, and trusting that the other person understands what it takes.

So they prepared. Took deep breaths. Silenced every what-if and every maybe. And when the cameras rolled, they didn’t just kiss for the scene. They kissed with every quiet restraint, every heartbeat held back, everything they hadn’t said — yet.

Ikjun and Songhwa gave that scene everything, not because it would look romantic, but because it mattered.

Not for headlines. Not for speculation. But for the story. For the characters. For the fans who’ve waited to feel something, too.

Because that’s what good actors do — they give the audience a piece of something real, they carry the weight of a moment so the audience can simply feel it — without knowing just how much it took to make it look that easy .

Chapter Text

The last cut echoed across the set, just a quiet cue from the director, but it carried the weight of something deeper ending. People smiled, hugged, wiped their eyes. Months of hard work had come to this: the last take, the final scene, the quiet relief of a job done well.

Outside the frame, the drama had become a success. High ratings, strong reviews, a story that found its way into people’s hearts. The staff celebrated with pride, the actors smiled for cameras, and everyone spoke of gratitude.

But sometimes in real life, something more delicate lingered in the silence. Not regret, not doubt, just the need to breathe. To take a step back, not to walk away, but to understand if what grew between lines and behind takes was truly real.

Some moments, even after the cameras stop, ask for their own kind of space.

And some stories aren’t finished—just paused after the last cut.

—
SONGHWA’S APARTMENT – CONTINUATION AFTER THE PHONE CALL

After the call ended, Songhwa’s apartment felt too quiet. The soft hum from the fridge, the distant sound of cars outside, and the slow ticking of the wall clock—everything felt louder than usual, like the world was asking her to pause and feel.

She placed her phone on the table and leaned back on the couch.

She was still feeling warm after the call with Ikjun, replaying his words in her mind.
“It doesn’t make things weird, but it’s clearer now.”

Just thinking about it made her cheeks turn pink again. Because yes, it was clearer now. That kiss made her want to stay close to him, and made her want to kiss him again. She liked him. She really did.

But even in that warmth, something Minha said earlier wouldn’t leave her.

“Just promise me you’ll take your time. Don’t rush into feeling something just because it’s been a long time since someone made you feel anything.”

Songhwa closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She understood what Minha meant. A part of her agreed. There was a difference between falling into something that feels good and choosing it with a clear heart.

These past few months had gone by in a blur: script readings, late-night shoots, long days on set. Somewhere along the way, something shifted in her. It wasn’t just about the lines she memorized or the scenes she performed. It was about the person she shared them with.

The man who brought her coffee just the way she liked it.
Who waited for her even when his scenes were done.
Who didn’t need to say much because his presence already said everything.

It felt natural, easy, almost like falling without knowing when it started. But now, in the quiet of her apartment, she began to wonder if it had been too easy.

What if it was just the leftover warmth of all the closeness they’d shared as their characters—of all the holding, the laughing, the crying written into someone else’s love story?

What if this was just residual emotion from the character they portrayed?

She didn’t want to move forward with a heart still tangled in fiction.
She didn’t want to build something real on something that might not be.

What she wanted was time. Not to step away—but to step back just far enough to see clearly.
To ask herself honestly, if it’s really real .

She looked out the window, the city lights blinking softly in the dark. She still felt warm from their call—his voice, his words.  “It doesn’t make things weird,” he had said. “But it’s clearer now.”

It was. And she was glad they kissed. Because it made her realize she did like him.
But she needed to know if that feeling stayed even when everything else—the set, the cameras, the scripts—was gone.

She wanted to choose this… when nothing was written for them. When it was just her and him. And the truth between them. And she will come back to him, when she is ready, when her heart is sure. 

—

THEIR LAST SHOOTING DAY 

Songhwa stepped out of the van and pulled her coat tighter as the cool morning air greeted her. The final day of shooting. The realization made her heart feel heavier than she expected. The end was supposed to bring relief, but instead, it came with a quiet ache she hadn’t prepared for.

She walked toward her tent, nodding and smiling at the familiar faces already buzzing around the set. When she pulled back the flap of her tent and stepped inside, she stopped mid-step.

Her desk wasn’t empty like usual.

There, neatly arranged, was a small bouquet of pale pink tulips, her favorite coffee still warm in its sleeve, and a slice of strawberry cheesecake —just the way she liked it. A small handwritten note rested beside the coffee.

She picked it up, the corners of her lips already lifting. The envelope was familiar—his handwriting was impossible to miss, even with just her name scrawled across the front. She slid the card out, and before she could even take a full breath, the first line had her laughing.

“I bet you’re smiling already as you open this card. Caught you!”

"Aish, this guy, jinjja!" she muttered through a grin, shaking her head.

Her fingers gently traced the edge of the card as she continued reading:

“How is it our last shooting day already? Feels like just yesterday we were awkwardly reading the script for the first time. Songhwa-ya, thank you for saying yes to this project—and for all the coffees, snacks, and quiet laughs in between. You made those 5AM call times and 3AM wrap-ups weirdly... fun. So, let’s enjoy our final shoot day, okay? And here’s a little something to sweeten it up. See you on set!”

From : your fav co-star 

She paused, already feeling her heart tug a little—smiling, still, but softer now. There was just one line left.

She turned her eyes back to the bottom of the card.

“P.S. Since I’m not quite ready to let the day end just yet.. How about we go somewhere after? No script, no lighting, no camera. Just us. 💙”

She blinked slowly, the smile lingering on her lips even as something stirred deeper in her chest. The kind of warmth that stayed long after a good scene ended. She clutched the card to her chest for a moment, then whispered under her breath, “Just us, huh?”

Her heart was thudding a little too fast, the kind of rhythm that didn’t come from nerves—but from anticipation. Before she could gather herself, a voice cut in behind her.

“You like it?”

She turned, half-startled, only to find Lee Ikjun leaning casually against the tent entrance. Hands in his coat pockets. That signature spark in his eyes, impossible to miss.

“You…” she said, somewhere between a laugh and a scolding sigh. “Jinjja, you’ve ruined my expectations. My co-star standard is way too high now.”

He grinned, stepping closer. “Good. That was the plan. Set the bar so high no one else dares to try.”

Songhwa let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “Mission accomplished.”

Ikjun turned to leave but paused at the entrance, then glanced back. “Ah, did you read the hidden message?”

She bit her lower lip, cheeks already warming. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I read it.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay.” Another pause. Then, with a softer tone, “So… how?”

Songhwa looked up at him, and a smile tugged at her lips, “Yes.”

His brows lifted. “Yes?”

She laughed at the way his whole face lit up. “Yes. Just us. After this, okay?”

That grin of his—boyish, delighted—spread like sunshine. “Alright,” he said, with a soft breath. “See you on set, Songhwa-ya.”

He turned again to go, but her voice stopped him.

“Ikjun-ah.”

He turned, brows raised, eyes warm. “Hmm?”

“Thank you…” she said, her voice gentle, “for preparing all this.” A beat. “I– I really like it.”

He stepped back toward her, closing the space in a few easy strides. His hand reached out to ruffle her hair, then slid down to cup her cheek briefly. He gave it a soft jiggle, teasing.

“You’re most welcome, Songhwa-ya.”

With a final playful wink, Ikjun turned and slipped out of her tent, leaving her standing in the quiet, face flushed, heart full.

She looked down at the card again, fingers brushing its edge, and whispered to herself, barely audible— 

“Just us." It sounded so simple. So right. Like the two words had already figured everything out.

But as the tent fell quiet again, she sighed softly, holding the card a little tighter to her chest.

Because as much as her heart leaned toward him, as easy as it felt to say yes, there was still something tucked deep in her chest—something she couldn’t quite name.

It’s not a doubt. Nor a fear. Just... a knot of emotion she hadn’t unraveled yet.

She didn’t want to mistake affection for something bigger. Didn’t want to walk into something beautiful only to lose it when the camera stopped rolling.

—

The stage lights dimmed slightly, casting a warm glow over the small living room set. A modest table, a soft couch, framed photos in the background — the final scene’s setting was simple but full of memories.

It was their last day of filming. The atmosphere felt different. Everyone moved a little slower, like they were trying to stretch time just a bit longer.

Lee Ikjun stood beside Chae Songhwa, both in position for their final scene. Around them, the crew whispered, adjusting microphones, checking cameras one last time. But inside this moment, all Ikjun could notice was how calm she looked — until he saw her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

Shin PD’s voice rang out gently “Ready… and… action!”

Their characters stood face to face in their fictional home, the ending of years of love, missed chances, and timing that finally aligned.

“Maybe, we get our happy ending after all,” Songhwa’s character said softly, her voice tinged with hesitation, hope.

Ikjun’s character gave a small smile, eyes steady on hers. “Maybe? but I’m glad it’s not a ‘maybe” for us.”

He stepped forward, leaned in, and kissed her temple—slowly, tenderly. Then his arms circled around her, pulling her into a gentle hug. She sank into him naturally, like it was the only place she wanted to be.

The camera lingered on them for a breath longer.

Then—

“CUT!” Shin PD called. “Okayyy!! That’s a wrap!”

Cheers exploded from behind the monitors. “It’s a wraaaaap!” echoed through the studio.

Clapping. Whooping. Hugs. Crew members tossed their scripts in the air, others clung to each other, laughing through their tears.

But Ikjun and Songhwa didn’t move.

Still in each other’s arms, they held tight. Neither spoke, neither shifted. The fake set around them had faded, the characters had already said goodbye. But Lee Ikjun and Chae Songhwa… they weren’t quite ready.

Minha, standing near the monitor, paused mid-hug with Junwan, eyes drifting to the pair still clinging in the center of the set. Junwan, unusually quiet, followed her gaze. Around them, the rest of the staff seemed to understand too — everyone kept a respectful distance, pretending to be busy but all stealing glances.

Shin PD smiled watching them, hands on his hips, letting the moment stretch. He knew better than to interrupt.

Ikjun felt her hug tighten. There was something in the way she held him — not just affection, but it’s something he can’t define too. Like letting go might mean losing something important. Then, faintly, he felt her chest tremble. A soft, almost silent sob reached his ear.

He shifted back slightly, enough to see her face.

“Songhwa-ya… are you okay?”

She gave a quick, embarrassed nod, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand.
“Yeah,” she whispered, laughing a little. “Just… It hits me. This is it. It’s really over.”

Without saying a word, he pulled her close again. Tighter this time.

They stood like that for a long beat. Around them, the cheers had settled into softer celebrations, voices floating like background music to their silence.

Finally, she drew back, her eyes still shining but her expression calm.

“I’m okay now,” she said, and her smile—small but real—reached her eyes.

Ikjun smiled too. They slowly stepped apart, but their fingers stayed intertwined. Neither seemed in a rush to fully let go.

“SugoHaesseo,” he said softly.

“SugoHaesseo,” she replied, nodding, her voice just as quiet.

Then, they walked off the set and into the sea of their crew. There were more hugs, soft thank-you’s, and claps on the back. Songhwa hugged Shin PD tightly, whispering her thanks against his shoulder. Ikjun gave a deep bow to the lighting team, the camera crew, one by one.

Behind all the noise, their hearts were still in that quiet moment on set — the one the cameras captured, but only they truly felt.

Because wrapping a drama wasn’t just about finishing scenes. It was saying goodbye to something you built slowly, together. And sometimes, the hardest part wasn’t letting go of a character…

It was realizing how real it all started to feel when the last scene ended.

—

The small wrap party wasn’t held in a fancy hall, just a cozy lounge set up on the studio’s second floor, filled with warm light and laughter echoing off the walls. Balloons bobbed near the ceiling, food platters lined the side tables, and a looping slideshow of behind-the-scenes photos played on a screen in the background—some funny, some touching, some blurry from too much movement or laughter.

Shin PD stood near the center, lifting a paper cup of cider as the final toast began. “To a drama well made, to teamwork, to memories,” he said with his usual calm smile. “And to the cast who made the story real. Thank you, truly.”

Everyone raised their cups and cheered. “Cheers!”

When it was Ikjun’s turn to speak, he glanced once at Songhwa before stepping forward. “I’m not good at speeches,” he started, laughing when a few crew members teased him with “You always talk!” and “That’s a lie!” He grinned, scratching his neck. “Okay, I talk a lot, but this is different. It’s not a script, and it’s not a joke… well, mostly.”

That earned a soft ripple of laughter.

“Just—thank you, everyone. Especially PDnim! Thank you for the warm set, thank you for everything. You made every long night worth it. And…” His eyes met Songhwa’s. “To my scene partner—for the coffees, the snack stashes, and the steady energy on set—I looked forward to every shot, because of you.”

A pause lingered between them, and she smiled back, just briefly, but it was the kind of smile that stayed in his chest.

When Songhwa gave her short speech, she kept it simple. “I feel lucky to have worked with such a warm team. Shin PDnim, thank you. To all the cast and crew, it was nice working with you, guys! Thank you so much! And… to have shared this project with someone who made the hardest days light. Thank you, Ikjun.” She didn’t look at him directly, but the words carried more weight than she let on.

Later, when the party softened into small groups chatting, hugging, and snapping final photos, Ikjun found her standing near the window, away from the main crowd, in deep thought.

“You okay?” he asked gently, offering her a drink.

She took it, then nodded. “Of course.”

He looked at her a little longer, then leaned in slightly, his voice low. “Still up for ‘just us’, later?”

She looked at him then—just for a second—and gave a quiet, certain, “Of course.”

He smiled faintly, nodded once.

—

As the night wore thin, Junwan and Minha helped them slip away from the gathering separately—it was because their rumor was so frenzy nowadays. Songhwa left first, waving to the crew as she  stepped into her van. Ikjun followed fifteen minutes later in his own car, waving at Shin PD and the remaining staff with a quick grin.

Hongdo and Junwan took Ikjun’s van back to the agency. Everything was timed, clean, quiet.

Twenty minutes later, on a quieter street near a residential block, Songhwa stepped down from her van. She wore a hoodie covered with a dark coat, the hood of her hoodie pulled up, and a plain black mask on her face. She quickly slid into the passenger seat of Ikjun’s car, where he was already waiting.

The drive to the Han River was silent at first.

City lights flashed across her face as she stared out the window, fingers fidgeting slightly in her lap. Ikjun noticed there must be something going on with her, but said nothing—for now.

When they arrived, they dressed down further. He pulled a beanie low on his forehead, zipped his thick jacket all the way to his chin, and slipped on a plain mask. Songhwa kept her hood up, her hair tucked in tight, and masked up again too. If anyone saw them now, they’d look like two strangers on a cold night walk.

They walked side by side along the river path, the cold breeze sharp but not biting.

Then, out of nowhere, Ikjun broke the silence.

“You know the Han River is full of roaches?” he said, voice low and serious.

Songhwa stopped mid-step, eyes wide. “What? Where? Yah—are you serious?” she hissed, half-jumping away from the path’s edge.

Ikjun struggled to keep a straight face, but a snort slipped out.

“Not the bug kind,” he said, cracking a grin. “I mean dating roaches.”

She blinked. “Dating... what?”

“Dating Roaches! Means secret couples,” he explained, clearly proud of himself. “They come here late at night, hide on benches, whisper sweet nothings. Too scared to date in the open. So they sneak out like—”

“Roaches?” she finished, deadpan.

He nodded. “Exactly.”

She glared. “Lee Ikjun..”

“I’m serious!” he insisted through laughter, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “You know, they were from rookie idols to A-list actors. They don’t go to cafes or hotels—too risky, too many eyes. And for a rookie? Too expensive.”

He gestured around them with mock grandeur, didn’t realize he did the same thing, “So, they come here. The Han River. No one bothers you if you blend in. Just a bench, some street food, and privacy under the stars.”

Songhwa blinked, her smile tugging wider, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Really?”

“Eo!” he nodded solemnly. “Look at that couple on the bench over there?” He leaned in, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. “The guy might be a rookie idol dating in there right now.”

She let out a soft laugh, half-scolding. “Yah ! Don’t say that,” she hesitated, ”but what if it's true?”

“Then we just caught another roach couple in the wild,” he grinned.

He took a mock step forward. “Let’s catch them.”

“Yah!” she grabbed his sleeve. “They might catch us too!”

He laughed again, shaking his head. “Ah, you’re right.”

She chuckled softly, finally relaxing.

They kept walking, shoulders brushing occasionally, the silence now easier between them.

“Do you want anything? Coffee? Snack?” he asked.

“Coffee and… corndog?”

“Corndog it is.”

She found a bench nearby, while Ikjun disappeared toward a convenience store not far off. Minutes later, he returned with two decaf coffees and two corndogs , handing one of each to her with a small smile.

“Thanks,” she mouthed behind her mask, eyes warm.

They ate in silence for a while, careful with each bite, adjusting their masks just enough to stay unnoticed. It wasn’t the most comfortable way to eat, but necessary—no one could recognize them tonight.

Then he broke it gently. “You okay?”

She paused mid-bite.

“You’ve been… I don’t know. Off. Since the party.”

She lowered her corndog, eyes fixed on the river. Then slowly, she reached out and let him hold her hand. He took it carefully, his thumb brushing across her knuckles.

“Is there something bothering you?” he asked, voice low.

Her eyes met his. And in that moment, he knew—whatever it was, it wasn’t small.

She didn’t speak right away. But she didn’t let go of his hand either.

And somehow, even in silence, he understood: she was thinking about after . About what came next. About them, without scripts or scenes to lean on.

Their coffee cups sat on the bench between them. The corndogs were half-eaten, forgotten.

Ikjun looked at her again. Songhwa hadn’t said much. She laughed earlier at his silly “dating roaches” story, but now she was quiet again, her gaze stuck on the water.

He let out a slow breath and spoke gently.

“Songhwa-ya,” he said, “you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to…but if something’s on your mind, I’m here.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her hands were curled around the warm cup, fingers still. She watched the reflections ripple across the river like she was trying to read something in them.

Then she spoke—softly.

“I told Minha about us a few days ago. There was something she said that’s been sitting with me. Actually… it’s something I’ve thought about too,” she began, her gaze low. “She told me not to confuse comfort with real feelings. Not to rush into something just because it’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything real. And honestly… she’s not wrong.”

Ikjun nodded but he didn’t say anything—he just kept his eyes on her, listening.

“There was already this quiet voice inside me,” she continued. “Even before Minha said anything. I kept wondering… what if what we feel is just the afterglow of the drama? We spent so long acting like we were in love. What if we’re just used to it now, and it feels real only because it’s familiar?”

Her voice faltered, softer now.

“I knew,” she began softly, her voice just above a whisper, “the moment I kissed you in that scene…”

She paused, searching his face—not for reassurance, but for honesty.

“…it was clear to me that I like you.”

Ikjun didn’t move, didn’t speak—he just listened.

“But,” she continued, taking a quiet breath, “I still need to make sure. I need to know that what I’m feeling now isn’t just residual emotion from the script. From the characters.”

She lowered her gaze briefly, then looked back up.

“I care about you, Ikjun-ah. A lot. And that’s exactly why I want to be careful. If we start something, I want it to be sure, to be real. I want it to last. Not something we rushed into because we didn’t want to let go of the story we just finished.” 

Ikjun nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving her.

“I get it,” he said. “I get it, Songhwa-ya! You want to make sure it’s not just the roles talking. That it’s you and me—not the characters.”

She gave a small nod, her lips pressed together.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. His voice was quiet, steady.

“I like you, Chae Songhwa. And it’s not because of a script. Not because of the lines we memorized or how the scenes made us look.”

He paused, letting the silence breathe between them before continuing, his words slow and careful.

“It’s the way you look after people without even thinking. The way you listen even when you’re worn out. The way you speak honestly, even when it’s uncomfortable. It’s all of that. That’s what I see. That’s what I like.”

He looked at her, eyes gentle. “And honestly? I just like being with you.”

Songhwa looked at him then, her eyes soft, but sad.

“I know this feeling didn’t start on set,” he said. “But I also know we’ve been living in a world that wasn’t quite real.” he paused, his gaze lingering to her eyes, “So if you need time—we both need a little space to figure this out properly..” He paused, still looking at her, a thin smile tugged in his lips, ”I’m really okay with that.”

He continued, “Not because I’m stepping back, Songhwa-ya… but because I want to walk at your pace."

A small breath escaped her, shaky.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Her tears came slowly—not loud, not heavy. Just quiet. Like a soft release of something she had been holding in for too long.

Ikjun didn’t move right away. He just let her be. Let her feel everything.

Then slowly, gently, he reached for her hand—warm, steady. With his other hand, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then let it rest atop hers, both of his hands now curled around hers.

“You don’t have to say anything else, Songhwa-ya,” he said quietly. “It’s.. it’s really okay with me. Let’s just.. ”

He paused, eyes softening as they met hers.

“Just.. tell me, when you’re ready…” His voice was steady, full of quiet resolve. 

“That’s enough for me.” He smiled — the smile that didn’t rush her, the kind that told her he truly meant it.

She nodded through her tears, her fingers tightening around his.

And for a while, they sat in silence. The kind that doesn’t need to be filled. The kind that understands. Because sometimes, love doesn’t shout.

After a while, Ikjun turned to her gently. “Do you want to go back to your apartment now?”

Songhwa nodded. He helped her up without a word. His hand was warm around hers as they walked slowly back to his car, letting the quiet night fold around them.

The drive was hushed. The city lights rolled past in soft streaks. For a while, nothing needed to be said.

Then, halfway through the city, Ikjun cleared his throat, dramatic as ever.

“If this silence goes on any longer,” he said, side-eyeing her with mock seriousness, “I’m going to start singing.”

Songhwa tried to hold it in—but failed. A small laugh burst out before she could stop it.

“I already picked the song,” he said with too much seriousness. “It’s a classic. Deeply emotional. Very meaningful.”

She is still laughing. “What song?”

He straightened his posture, one hand still steady on the wheel while the other pressed dramatically against his chest.

“Aloha ,” he declared. “ Eoduun bulbich arae chotbul hana, wain jan-e damgin yaksok hana... ”
He sang in a deep, over-serious tone like he was performing opera.

“Yah !” she burst out laughing, covering her face. “Don’t ruin the song!”

“But I’m good at this, Songhwa-ya!” he grinned. “You’re supposed to stare out the window and look emotional while I serenade you.”

She rolled her eyes, still laughing. “You’re the only person who can make ‘Aloha’ sound like a national anthem.”

Their laughter lingered between them, warm and easy. For a moment, it felt like everything had gone back to the way it always was—their rhythm, familiar and comforting, like a favorite song that never got old.

When they reached her apartment building, Ikjun put the car in park but didn’t unbuckle right away.

“Can I walk you to the elevator?”

Songhwa smiled. “Of course.”

They entered through the quiet lobby, passing the soft lighting and polished floor tiles until they reached the private elevator that led directly to her apartment. It opened with a soft chime, but before she stepped in, Songhwa turned to face him.

Ikjun gave her a gentle smile. “Take your time, Songhwa-ya,” he said softly. “Just…”

He paused, his gaze steady, anchoring hers.

“When you're sure about your feelings—whatever your heart decides—just let me know. I’ll be fine, no matter what it is . You..” he paused “You don’t have to worry about me.”

The smile never left his lips, but his eyes… his eyes said everything he didn’t say out loud.
The quiet hope. The patience. The care.

Songhwa didn’t speak. She just closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face gently into his shoulder.

Ikjun welcomed her instantly, holding her with a quiet strength. He leaned his head down and murmured in her ear, “I’ll be right here. Okay?”

She nodded, tightened the hug.

They stayed that way for a while, breathing in the silence, the closeness, the understanding that didn’t need words.

Eventually, she pulled back slowly, eyes shining.

“Good night, Ikjun-ah.”

He leaned down, kissed her temple with the gentlest warmth. “Good night, Songhwa-ya.”

And then, she stepped into the elevator. The doors began to slide closed between them, their eyes still locked, holding on just a little longer. Neither moved. Neither spoke.

Their gaze lingered until the elevator doors met in the middle and closed gently on the silence they left behind.

—

After the last cut, there was something they both couldn’t name, not yet. The boundary between their roles and their real feelings wasn’t so easy to draw. On screen, they’d fallen in love in front of the world. Off screen, something quieter bloomed, just as deep, just as unsure.

What made it beautiful was that Ikjun never rushed her. He gave her the space she needed. Maybe gave himself space too.

To breathe. To feel. To wait—not for a cue, but for something genuine.

Because what they felt wasn’t just leftover warmth from a drama. It was something too precious to be confused with fiction.

So they held it gently. Carefully. Giving it time to prove itself.

No one knew when the next step would come.

But one thing was for sure, It would be theirs. And it would be real.