It wasn’t your first time with them — not even your fifth. But this trip, this shoot, felt different. You weren’t just some film student tagging along to help with lighting or behind-the-scenes footage. You were part of the rhythm now. The familiarity, the shared language of glances and gestures and silently passed energy bars between takes. You had been pulled in, not officially, but in all the ways that mattered.

Jaehee, your closest friend from uni and now an assistant manager for the band, had asked you to help months ago. “Just one shoot,” she’d said. “We need someone who gets aesthetics, angles… and won’t get weird around idols.”

You had agreed without thinking too much. But one job turned into three, into six, into late-night edits, brainstorms, in the rain, in cafés, rooftops and dance studios. It all blurred now. Except him.

Nishimura Riki.

The first time he spoke to you was over a dropped lens cap. You’d cursed under your breath, thinking no one noticed, and he handed it back without a word—just raised eyebrows and the tiniest ghost of a smirk. That was all. But after that, there were small things.

He’d glance at your camera screen when you filmed. Ask about how many films you’d made, what kind of endings you liked writing. Start lingering a bit longer when the rest of the group wandered off. Even caught you once, sitting on the curb after a long shoot, sketching storyboards into your notebook. He hadn’t said anything then either. Just sat down next to you, close enough to share the silence.

Now, you were both tucked into the last row of the company van, driving back to Seoul. It was past midnight, headlights casting fleeting glows on the wet asphalt. Managers sat in the front, other members dozing off with their hoods up or phones in hand, screens dim.

You were exhausted. Not just from the day, but from a week of barely sleeping, running on coffee and energy drinks and the high of being on set. Your head lolled against the window, breath fogging the cold glass. You didn’t realize you’d started to drift until a voice murmured beside you.

“Hey.”

You blinked, turned your head slightly. Riki was watching you — serious expression, but not unfriendly. Never with you.

“You keep doing that thing,” he said, soft enough not to wake the others. “Like… falling asleep just enough to make your neck hate you later.”

You smiled faintly. “I’m fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing you.

You sighed. “Okay, not fine. Just too tired to care.”

He hesitated, then shifted, pulling down the edge of his hoodie sleeve and offering his shoulder. “Come here.”

You stared at him for a beat. “You serious?”

“Don’t make me say it twice,” he said, voice teasing, but his gaze held yours steadily.

You let yourself lean in, the warmth of him seeping into your skin through layers of denim and cotton. His shoulder was firm, familiar now. Not the first time you’d accidentally ended up close, but the first time it felt intentional.

He didn’t move. Just let you rest against him, even angled his body a little so you could settle more comfortably. His scent was a mix of cologne and shampoo and something you couldn’t name but had memorized anyway.

After a few minutes, when your breathing had evened out a little, he spoke again.

“You’re… good at this, you know.”

You hummed, not fully awake but not fully gone.

“This directing thing. Jaehee always says you only started helping because you owed her. But I think you stayed because it’s yours, too.”

You opened your eyes slowly. “I stayed because I like it,” you said. Then, quieter, “And because of the people.”

He looked down at you, unreadable for a second. Then: “So I’m one of the reasons?”

You didn’t answer right away.

And maybe that was answer enough.

His voice was barely above a whisper when he added, “Thought so.”

You smiled, sleep tugging at you again.

Then he leaned in, close enough that your hair moved with his breath, and murmured—

“Tell me when you wake up if this means something to you. Cause it does to me.”