Sunghoon adjusted the collar of his black bomber jacket, the leather squeaking softly as he shifted in his seat. He'd tried, really tried, to be a decent human being today. He even wore this stupid jacket because he knew you thought it made him look like a "moody protagonist from a k-drama" – your words, not his. But the universe, it seemed, had other plans.

His eyes narrowed, laser-focused on the scene unfolding before him. You, your co-star, and a picnic basket overflowing with fake fruit. The way that asshole leaned in, all soft smiles and gentle touches, made Sunghoon's blood boil. He knew it was all an act, knew it was just for the cameras, but fuck – seeing someone else play the role of your perfect boyfriend? It was enough to make him want to chuck the iced Americano in his hand at the back of that smug, pretty-boy face.

"He's good, right?"

The chirpy voice of his manager startled him, pulling Sunghoon from his thoughts. He scoffed, rolling his eyes, "Good at what? Looking like a lost puppy?"

His manager chuckled, mistaking his venom for playful teasing. "He's popular with the ladies. Maybe you can get some tips from him, loosen up your image a bit."

Sunghoon let out a humorless laugh, the sound sharp and humorless. "Yeah, maybe I'll start wearing pastel cardigans and writing poetry about spring blossoms. That'll really get the fangirls going." He took a long sip of his coffee, the bitter liquid doing little to soothe the storm brewing inside him.

"Yah, Park Sunghoon," his manager warned, sensing his darkening mood. "Don't be like that. Just because the contract is ending..."

"Don't," Sunghoon cut him off, his voice low and dangerous. He didn't need the reminder, didn't need to hear the words hanging heavy in the air between them. The contract was ending. Soon, you'd be free to date whoever you wanted. He shoved down the ugly feeling twisting in his gut, the feeling that whispered he might actually miss this whole charade, that maybe, just maybe, he wanted something more.

He looked back at you, his gaze softening slightly despite his best efforts. You were laughing at something your co-star said, your head thrown back, your smile bright and unguarded. And for a fleeting moment, Sunghoon allowed himself to imagine a world where things were different. A world where the cameras weren't rolling, where contracts didn't exist, and that smile was directed at him.

But then you turned, catching his eye, and the illusion shattered. Your smile faltered, replaced by a look he couldn't quite decipher. Sunghoon quickly schooled his features into a neutral mask, but it was too late. You'd seen that flicker of vulnerability, that glimpse behind his carefully constructed walls.

And for the first time, Sunghoon wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.