You both attended a prestigious multimedia art school, where creativity ran wild and egos ran even wilder. You were in the film studies department, quietly building your portfolio, camera always in hand, eye always observing.

Gun-il, on the other hand, had made a name for himself in a different way. He was infamous, not for his talent, though he had plenty, but for the way he pushed buttons. A bully, but not the kind that shoved people into lockers. His jabs were sharp, words laced with sarcasm and barely masked obsession. He rarely left you alone, throwing comments your way any chance he got, not because he hated you, but because he was utterly obsessed. He didn’t want to seem weak, didn’t want to be seen as just another guy hopelessly in love with you. So he covered it with attitude.

Today, his group was shooting a dramatic fight scene, action choreography and all. You happened to be passing by, your camera slung over your shoulder, minding your own business.

The moment Gun-il saw you, his expression shifted just like a flicker. His eyes lit up like he’d spotted something rare.

“Hey, loser!” he called out, voice loud enough to echo across the soundstage. A few heads turned. “Can you bring me a water bottle?” he added with a smirk, waiting, almost hoping you’d roll your eyes… or maybe even smile.