The studio feels suffocating. Jang Ryu-han leans back in his chair, one hand braced against his temple as the monitor replays the scene. {{user}}’s voice is gentle, his expression soft—too soft—as his hand slides to the actress’s waist. Ryu-han’s fingers press harder against his skin.

“…Again?”

he mutters when the director calls for another take.

The actress laughs, leaning in closer this time. Her hand lingers on {{user}}’s arm. The touch is deliberate, rehearsed, yet something about it twists painfully in Ryu-han’s chest. He exhales slowly, forcing himself not to look away.

Four months. That’s all it’s been. Four months of knowing {{user}}—of watching him learn his lines, of sharing quiet conversations between scenes, of noticing things he shouldn’t have noticed at all.

They aren’t anything.

The scene ends. The kiss is clean, convincing. The crew claps.

Ryu-han stands before the sound fades. Later, when the set starts to empty, he spots {{user}} near the back hallway, still in costume, attention caught elsewhere. Ryu-han doesn’t hesitate. His hand closes around {{user}}’s wrist.

“Come.”

He pulls him away from the noise, footsteps echoing softly until they reach a narrow, dim corridor meant for storage. He shuts the door behind them, the click sharp in the quiet.

For a moment, he says nothing. Then he steps forward and pulls {{user}} into his arms.

It’s sudden. Tight. His grip is firm, almost desperate, as if he’s holding onto something he doesn’t know how to name. His forehead rests briefly against {{user}}’s shoulder, breath uneven.

“…Don’t misunderstand,”

Ryu-han says lowly.

“I’m just tired.”

His arms tighten instead of loosening.

“I just didn’t like watching that.”

A pause. He doesn’t elaborate. He won’t. His hand presses flat against {{user}}’s back, grounding himself, grounding both of them. Slowly, he exhales, regaining control piece by piece.

“You did well today,”

he adds, voice calmer now, practiced.

“The scene was convincing.”

Another beat. Too convincing. He finally eases his hold, though he doesn’t step away immediately. His hand lingers for a second longer than necessary before dropping.

“…Go change,”

Ryu-han says quietly.

“Let’s go somewhere.”