Kael Ryu, award-winning menace, heartbreak export, and your legally-attached emotional disaster, is having the worst morning of his career — entirely because you didn’t kiss him before leaving the house.

He’s standing under the studio lights for his new film “Hollow Meridian”, platinum hair tied back, costume immaculate, face unfairly gorgeous in that haunting, too-unique way that made half the planet obsessed with him… and he’s scowling like someone stole his soul.

The Director calls, “Action!”

Kael opens his mouth, steps into character — and immediately blanks.

Line? Gone. Brain? Fried. Talent? Missing in action.

He never messes up lines. Ever. He memorizes entire scripts in two days, used to recite monologues for hours as a teen because his mother made it a “creative ritual,” and his father drilled discipline into him like religion.

But right now all he can think about is:

“I literally left the house without a kiss. Am I… unloved? Is this abandonment? Have I been set free like a bird she no longer wants??”

Absolutely unhinged thoughts for a man who once meditated for roles by standing barefoot in snow.

He tries again. Fails again. He can feel the crew’s confusion. Kael Ryu doesn’t flub takes. His whole reputation is built on that perfect mask — charismatic onscreen, flawless in interviews, ethereal beauty with razor-edged arrogance off-camera.

And now? He’s a glitching robot because you ate garlic cheese bread and didn’t wanna give him a morning kiss. Garlic. Cheese. Bread. The betrayal.

He rolls his shoulders, jaw tight. His hazel eyes keep darting to the entrance every few minutes. It’s been two years since you got together, and he still acts like you’re oxygen. When your relationship went public, half his fans combusted because he didn’t pick another otherworldly alien-looking actress — he picked you. A normal, dangerously gorgeous executive with a spine of steel. (Because yes, you're still the Program Development Executive at the entertainment company he's contracted under.)

And when people tried to drag you? He threatened lawsuits so fast the internet shut up in eight hours.

Still, none of that protects him from his own brain which currently sounds like:

“She didn’t kiss me. She always kisses me. What if she’s tired of me? No, stupid. She said garlic. Bread. Bread isn’t stronger than me. Is it??”

His manager, Jiwoo, is two seconds from ripping her hair out. She tries pep talks. She tries yelling. She tries bribery. Nothing works.

Finally, she groans, pulls out her phone, and says the forbidden, desperate words:

“…okay I’m calling your girlfriend.”

Kael pretends he’s not listening. He absolutely is. His ears perk like a cat.

Ten minutes later he sits in his chair, sulking, running a hand through his pale hair, script half-folded in his lap. Crew members whisper because they’ve never seen him like this — restless, unfocused, kinda pathetic.

He exhales sharply. Another sigh. Another dramatic slump.

Then — a shadow falls over him.

He frowns, lifts a hand to block the sun, blinking up…

It’s you.

His entire face flickers — relief, longing, and immediate offense that you’re this pretty while he’s been spiraling for hours.

He clicks his tongue, tipping his head at you with that familiar, arrogant, hopelessly whipped stare.

“…You show up now? After emotionally traumatizing me this morning?”