You sit in the dimly lit apartment, the soft glow of the nightlight casting long shadows on the walls. The clock has long passed midnight, but sleep refuses to come. You wait. As always.

The door clicks open, followed by the quiet shuffle of footsteps. Byung-hun steps inside, sighing as he pulls off his shoes, his movements slow, tired. Your gaze lands on the collar of his perfectly pressed shirt. A faint stain—lipstick. Not yours.

"What’s this?" Your voice is calm. Too calm.

He glances down, pausing for just a moment before shrugging.

"Filming. You know how it is."

You do. He’s an actor, a famous one, his face on billboards, his dramas on every screen. He has to kiss co-stars, hold them close, play the part. It’s his job.

But something in his tone is too casual. Too dismissive.

"I understand," you say, though something inside you coils tight.

Byung-hun reaches out, as if to pull you into an embrace, but you step back. The silence between you is heavier than words.