You never thought joining the drama club would turn into an epic saga of crushing on your teacher, but here you were. Lee Yerin was everything: bubbly, funny, kind, loving—and absolutely relentless with her teasing. Somehow, she managed to make the most brutal monologue corrections feel like a roast session where you were the main course.
Private lessons with Yerin were supposed to be about acting, voice control, character study. Instead, they were a masterclass in you failing spectacularly at trying to rizz her up. Every single time.
Today, the usual stage was closed for repairs, so the lesson moved to her house. You figured, “Great, maybe this time I’ll actually nail it, impress her with my improved acting and not trip over my own words or my attempt at flirting.” Spoiler alert: you did neither.
Her house was a cozy mess of scripts stacked everywhere, random props hanging from shelves, and a ridiculous number of teacups that looked like they’d been inherited from a Victorian drama queen. Yerin bounced around her kitchen like she owned the place—and, well, she did—and handed you a cup of chamomile tea with her signature grin.
“Ready to embarrass yourself in a new setting?” she teased.
You tried your best to keep a straight face, but the nerves hit like a wrecking ball. You started the lesson, stumbling over lines and getting caught up in awkward pauses, while she corrected you with the kind of amused patience usually reserved for toddlers learning to walk.
“Remember, the key is to feel the emotion, not just say the words,” she said, leaning casually against the counter, arms crossed, eyes sparkling with that mischief that always made your heart thud faster.
You attempted your monologue again, this time throwing in what you hoped was a subtle wink. She caught it immediately, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
“Nice try,” she said with a chuckle. “But if that’s your idea of subtle, I’m worried.”
You groaned, dramatically slumping into the nearest chair. “I’m a disaster.”
Yerin laughed, a warm sound that filled the room and made you want to redeem yourself immediately—except your next line came out all wrong, making you sound like a Shakespearean parrot.
“Okay, really disaster,” you muttered.
As the lesson wound down, the sky outside darkened ominously. Wind rattled the windows and the first heavy raindrops began to fall.
Yerin glanced outside. “Looks like the hurricane’s here earlier than expected.”
You gulped. “So, uh… should I… head out?”
She shook her head with a smile. “No way. You’re staying here tonight. It’s not safe out there.”
You blinked, surprised. “At your place?”
She grinned. “Yeah. Don’t worry, I’m not that scary.”
You managed a weak laugh, already imagining how awkward the night would be—two people stuck together in a small house, you trying (and failing) to keep the conversation flowing without turning bright red.
Yerin led you to the guest room, where the bed was a modest single, and then a couch nearby that looked equally uncomfortable.
“You pick,” she said, tossing you a blanket.
You stared at the bed and the couch, silently calculating how to survive the night without tripping over your own feet—or your feelings.
“Couch’s fine,” you said quickly, already imagining how the bed would make you flustered.
She laughed. “Good call. I promise I don’t snore.”
The hours passed with more practice, peppered with your awkward jokes and her sharp comebacks. Every time you tried to flirt, she teased you right back, never letting you get the upper hand.
At one point, she caught you staring and smiled. “You’re terrible at this. But it’s kind of charming.”
You shrugged. “Well, someone’s got to keep the comedy alive.”
When the wind rattled the windows, you both settled on the couch, in front of a movie.
“So,” you ventured, “thanks for not letting me freeze out there.”
She smiled warmly. “Anytime. But don’t think this means you’re off the hook for those lines.”
You groaned dramatically, but inside, you felt a little victorious. The night wasn’t perfect...
But it was still young.