Chapter Text
He mutters a curse when a piercing ringtone disrupts his sleep and reaches for his phone on the nightstand. Rubbing away the sleep sand from his eyes, he frowns at the caller ID. Why the hell would her manager call him at seven in the morning?
“Hyung nim, are you able to come to gyeonggi? Nuna isn’t feeling well,” the young manager’s anxious voice rings through the line.
“Have you brought her to the hosp—“ he holds back his words and chastises himself. This is she whom they are talking about. The stubborn woman who listens to no one but herself even though she knows others just want the best for her. She wouldn’t even allow him to put on a bandaid when she had accidentally sliced her finger while peeling apples, why would she want to go to the hospital just because she isn’t feeling well? Most importantly, who is he to care?
He clears his throat and tries to keep his cool, “did she ask for me?” He knows it is unlikely so. She is the kind of person who has no qualms about sharing all the tiny little facets of her day that made her happy, but bottles everything else that is bothering her in her heart. Also, who is she to ask for him?
“No, she didn’t. She couldn’t. She passed out during one of the scenes but regained her consciousness a few minutes later. She said she was fine and refused to go to the hospital. Hyung nim, she looks so pale. I didn’t know what else to do so you’re the only person I could call.”
He would like to believe that he has at least pondered for a moment, but in just a matter of minutes, he is already in the driver’s seat, weaving through the morning traffic of Seoul.
When he arrives at the location, filming has already resumed. They are shooting at an office building, doing a scene where she is giving orders to her subordinates on her first day of work. Everyone on set has their eyes fixed on the actors, except a few who notice him and greet him with a knowing smile.
Right. He thinks to himself. We are an open secret in the industry.
He spots her managers at the corner of the room, one of them is pacing around anxiously while the female assistant has her tumbler and blanket on hand, ready to run to her the moment the camera stops rolling. He casts his gaze back onto her. Her straight, jet-black hair drapes over her narrow shoulders, creating a stark contrast with her white blazer. She looks ethereal as usual. The aura that she radiates does a great job of masquerading her fatigue. It is difficult to see the subtle discomfort that she is hiding. She has always been the type who will complain about all the trivial inconveniences but keeps mum when she really needs help. Nobody can see through her impeccable facade. Nobody except for him.
His presence has been made known to more and more staff members as they are all whispering and gesturing in his direction. Not wanting to be a distraction, he asks her manager for the keys to the company’s car and decides to wait in her Mercedes while she wraps up the scene.
He hasn’t exactly thought of what to say to her when she arrives. He tries to formulate a proper sentence and rehearse it with different gestures to make himself seem less awkward.
“Hi, baewoo nim. It’s been a while,” he says and pairs it with a friendly wave. No. He frowns. That sounds too creepy given I’m the one sitting in her car. He clears his throat and tries again, this time, with a handshake. He can’t help but feel a wave of sadness. Since when has their relationship deteriorated to such perfunctoriness? After much pondering, he resorts back to the wave. Just as he raises his hand, the car door slides open, revealing the very bewildered actress.
He can only imagine her surprise when she sees him in her car, with a blank face and awkward hand in the mid-air.
“Hi, how are you?” He cringes the moment those words slipped off his tongue. He has completely gone off-course from his original script.
“No wonder my managers told me to come to the car myself,” she sighs, “why are you here?”
He motions for her to enter the car before members of the public spot them. When she settles in the seat next to him and the door is safely locked, she asks again, “why are you here?”
“I heard you fainted.”
“Ah… My manager called you,” she simply concludes. There is a pregnant pause, during which she lowers her head slightly to play with her fingers before continuing. “Sorry…”
“What for?” He asks.
“I haven’t got the chance to tell him about… about us,” she forces out a smile. “I’ll tell him later, so he won’t bother you with my issues again.”
“No,” he immediately says.
“No what?”
“Don’t tell him today. You will only make him feel embarrassed for calling me,” he explains. No, you are not a bother. That is what he has meant to say.
Her eyes darken and she lets out a bitter scoff, “I always do that, don’t I?” She turns to face him. “I always do things without thinking fully about the consequences and make people around me uncomfortable.”
“That’s not true.”
“That’s what you said when we were still together.”
“I did not,” he frowns.
“Well, you implied,” she argues. “You would always stop me when I was about to say or do something that lacked judgement. You always made me feel like I would be a walking hazard if not for your protection. And I hate to admit that you’re right.”
He knows where she’s leading. They’ve had this conversation before. In fact, just a week ago and it didn’t end well. It ended them. Of all the things they’ve been through since two years ago, he has not expected his “overprotection” to be the reason for their parting.
“Hey,” he looks at her with a sigh. “I still worry about you. I care about your well-being, as a friend.”
“I’m really fine, thank you.”
“Fine people don’t faint. Fine people don’t look like they have half a pint of blood drained out from them,” he points to her obvious pallor, and she immediately touches her cheeks on reflex, as if the action can bring some colour to her face.
“Have you been eating well? How many hours did you sleep last night? I told you to take iron supplements every morning, you didn’t, did you?” His words of concern came out as bullets, aiming right at the depths of her heart.
“Right. I can’t even do simple things such as remembering to take supplements without your reminder. I can’t function without you. Is that what you want to hear from me?” Her tone transcends into something more interrogative.
“You know exactly that’s not what I meant. Stop twisting my words,” he snaps.
“You said we should remain professional. But is this what professionalism looks like to you? Coming to visit me at work and waiting in my car? While I appreciate your concern, you are out of line, baewoo nim.”
Something in him snaps when he hears her last words. Baewoo nim? Is this what she is calling him after everything?
“I would like to remind you that the entire industry still thinks we are together, and from the looks of it, even the people around you have no idea. I think it makes perfect sense for me to check on my supposed girlfriend when her manager calls me out of desperation at seven in the morning, telling me that she refuses to go to the hospital. So, no, you are not bothering me with your issues, but at this rate, you are hindering the progress of your drama due to your health issues that could have been prevented should you take better care of yourself. I am doing this out of goodwill, out of genuine concern for a friend. A thank you would be nice.” His words are meant to hurt, he knows it, and he can see its effects from the redness that is forming around her eyes.
She scoffs. And in the coldest tone she is capable of speaking, she says flatly, “You were the one who told our colleagues about us, in the name of protecting me. I bet you’re regretting that right now, aren’t you? Lesson learnt, you should think twice before doing so much for your next girlfriend because who knows, a few months later she will also become your ex.”
With that, she leaves the car, sliding the door shut with a loud slam. She has deeply hurt the person who loved her the most and meant nothing but well for her. At that moment, she hears a barely audible crack. It isn’t until she turns around and sees the shut door that she realises the sound of heartbreak is actually her own.
He stays in her car for the next couple of hours while she’s back filming her last scene of the day. He finds a spare copy of her script book laying haphazardly on her seat, with her call sheet folded between the pages. According to the piece of paper, she should be filming the scene where the male lead transfers his shares of the company and promises her a better future.
Intrigued by the storyline of the drama, he flips through the script book, and the corners of his mouth rise unconsciously as he runs a finger across the numerous highlights and annotations made by her. She has been preparing for this role long before they broke up. He recalls the nights when she struggled to fall asleep, the times when she would forget about her meals because she was so focused on studying her character. It suddenly strikes him that while he has tried to help her in one way or another, she is the one putting in the most effort, she is the one at the receiving end of all the pressure and criticisms.
At that juncture, he immediately regrets his previous words.
The gentle rumble of the engine gradually lulls him into a slumber as he covers himself with the extra blanket that she keeps in the car. Like her, he has also been losing sleep. For the past few nights, he has been telling himself that it’s only been a week, that he’ll eventually get used to not being surrounded by her scent when he sleeps. But, right now, nestled in the fluffy little blanket that smells so much like her, he once again finds himself stranded in the sorrows of losing her.
He is jolted awake by a hasty opening of the car door and is greeted by a tear-stricken woman.
“Why are you still here?” Her voice is still scratchy from the aftermath of the previous scene.
“I-I have something to tell you… What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He is so fuddled by the state she is in that he forgets about her blanket that’s covering him until she casts her gaze down at it. Slightly embarrassed, he quickly tugs it off his body and throws it to the backseat.
“Get out, I need the car,” her voice almost cracks, and she immediately turns her head to the side and struggles to swallow the rising lump in her throat. It has taken her a while to get herself together after the emotional scene, but seeing him in her car threatens to unleash a new wave of sobs that she tries so hard to contain.
He notices the subtle tremble of her chin and the way her chest heaves at the weight of her emotions. He sighs loudly and pats the vacant seat next to him.
She has no choice but to listen to him. Between going onto the headlines for crying in public and letting him witness her breakdown, the latter sure sounds like a less-detrimental choice.
“Do you want to tell me yourself or do you want me to ask you?” He finally breaks the silence ten minutes after she gets onto the car. She is resting her forehead on the window, refusing to look at him as she wanders into the depths of her own thoughts. As much as she refuses to acknowledge it, he is well-versed in her language. He has seen her cry because of a touching movie, a heart-wrenching book, or at the simplest acts of affection, but very rarely does she allow herself to crumble from the weight of her emotions. At least not in front of others.
He sighs again. “What happened?”
“Get out. Go home. Leave me alone,” she says, lethargically.
“Not before you answer my question.”
“It’s just because of the scene. I’ll get over it.”
Then, silence.
“Is it because of me?” He asks again.
As if caught red-handed, she turns to look at him. She has wanted to snap at him, to tell him that her mind is not clouded by him, that the words in the script didn’t remind her of him. But that would be a lie.
“It’s not just you,” she admits. “It’s us.”
His shoulders slacken and his lips curve into a sad smile. If there’s one thing that’s more bitter than talking about their past relationship, it would be having to talk about it with her.
“When he handed me his everything, when he promised me of a future, it reminded me of all you’ve done for me only for your efforts to be wasted. For a moment, I wondered which is more painful, knowing from the very beginning that we won’t have a future together, or having that beautiful future shattered halfway through. Either way, it hurts,” her voice cracks on her last words as a tear slips out of her dewy eyes.
He reaches out to wipe that tear away with his thumb, while her cheek trembles ever so slightly at the contact. He lowers himself to her eye level to make her feel more at ease, before asking tenderly, “were we the latter?”
The sting in her throat becomes more unbearable as she responds with a heavy nod, bringing about more tears that quickly transcend into sobs. Embarrassed by her own breakdown, she lowers her head and buries her face in her palms, weeping as he places a tentative hand on her back.
“Do you want a hug?”
He pulls her to his chest without giving her the chance to answer. Even in his embrace, she tries to push him away, all the while burrowing her face deeper and deeper into him until her flailing arms decide to wrap themselves around his back instead. Her entire body is shaking as she cries into the crook of his neck.
“Did you like the idea of us having a future together?” He asks, carefully, while still gently patting the back of her head.
She fails to conjure up a verbal reply, but he feels her tiny nods that somehow draw moisture to the base of his eyes.
“Me too,” he whispers against her temple, lips grazing her soft skin.
“If we could turn back time, would you still agree to date me knowing that the beautiful future we imagined would be shattered along the way?” He’s not sure what kind of response he wants to hear from her, and from her silence, he can tell his question is putting her on the spot. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer if y—“
“I don’t know,” she sobs, making her reply sound more like a whine than anything.
She allows the question to sink in a little more, before tightening her hold on him and says again, with her face never leaving his chest, “yes, I would.”
As if on cue, his tear trickles down his face and lands on her shoulder, staining her white blazer with its mark.
“Thank you, thank you,” his deep voice echoes within their confinement, soothing and calm. “I was so scared you didn’t like the time we spent together.” It is now his turn to cry and grip onto her, like his emotional suffering is hurting him physically too.
She swears she hears her heart shatter once again. Lifting herself from his chest, she cups his face with her hands and looks deeply into his eyes. She realises with a startling clarity that he wasn’t being over-protective. That was his way of loving her. His love is to sacrifice.
“No,” she whispers. “Those were the happiest two years of my life, and I would love for time to come to a standstill so I could stay in that dream and never wake up.”
Her words bring a wet smile to his face.
“But,” she continues. “Time moves, things happen. We’re jolted awake from this dream and now there are lives to be led. As much as I loved every moment spent with you, I’m now trying to learn how to navigate the world without you. I suggest you do the same too.”
He wants to say something, but he is interrupted by a knock on the door. Winding down the window, her manager relays through the tiny gap that she has to return her outfit to the costume team, so she needs to change back into her own clothes in the car. In order to not raise suspicion, he has no choice but to stay in the car while she changes. The old him from a week ago would have helped to unbutton her blouse, or even throw in some suggestive touches of inappropriate jokes, but as she said, now that they’re awake from the dream, he can only turn away and wait awkwardly as she changes into her hoodie and lounge pants.
“I’m done,” she announces as he turns back almost immediately.
He notices the obvious tear stains on her cheeks and her slightly smudged eyeliner, so he makes sure to clean them up for her before her managers enter the car.
The journey back to her apartment is filled with silence. She is dozing off while leaning against the window, but her forehead keeps hitting the glass whenever the car bumps.
“You can lie on my shoulder,” he suggests.
Back to her stubborn self, she refuses. From the rear mirror, he notices her manager raising his brows suspiciously, so he cups the back of her head and rests her on his shoulder. Unlike her mouth, her body is rather honest as she instantly melts against him the moment she feels his warmth.
When he enters her apartment, everything still looks the same as how it was a week ago, when he was still staying there. He tries to look busy at the cat tower while she changes into a more comfortable set of clothes. A furry white head pops out from behind the curtains when he jingles the bells hanging on the scratchboard.
“Mangtae ah,” he sits down on the floor, opening his arms for their cat which he hasn’t seen in a week. While they have agreed on co-parenting, it is still difficult for him to see their son as he is staying in her house. Mangtae, in true diva fashion, sashays to him for a few head rubs, before turning back to his hiding spot with an annoyed hiss, stepping over his toes in the process.
“You can make him stay longer with some kibbles, I have plenty of those,” she hands him a ziplock bag of the said product.
He turns at the sound of her voice and finds her clad in her short white linen pyjamas set, her figure looming over him as he remains on the floor. She only lowers herself when Mangtae reappears by her feet, brushing his tail against her ankles impatiently while she scoops the kibbles with her hand.
“He’s acting more and more like you,” he muses as Mangtae licks up the last few crumbs.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He acts like he doesn’t miss you, he pretends to be apathetic but once you show him a tiny bit of love, he caves,” he sneaks in a few strokes on his furry ears before he retreats to the curtains again.
“Is that why you got me a cat? To let me have a taste of what it’s like putting up with someone as temperamental as I am?”
Just as he is about to explain himself, she cuts him off.
“I know that wasn’t your intention. Sorry, that was uncalled for. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she apologises, the seriousness in her voice making the situation even more tense.
“You know, we don’t have to be so awkward around each other. I can leave now if my presence bothers you,” he pushes himself off the floor, ready to take his leave.
“It’s okay,” she grabs onto his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “It doesn’t hurt to have a drink.”
He volunteers to prepare the wine and glasses while she washes the fruits. When they’ve settled comfortably on the couch, she realises he’s constantly eyeing the gap between where they are seated.
“Why aren’t you drinking,” she asks, trying to distract him from the unbridgeable distance between them.
“I drove.”
“But you left your car at the filming location. You came here with the company’s car, remember?” She is slightly amused by his late realisation.
“Right,” he replies, stumped. “Damn it. I have an event tomorrow.”
She chuckles, for the first time since he met her today, and goes back into her bedroom. When she appears again, she has in her hands a set of his clothes that he has not taken back. It amazes him as much as it does her, how he only took a day to move into her place but it’s taking him forever to remove all his traces.
“You can spend the night in the guest room, until you’re ready to tell me what you wanted to say back in the car.”
His mind races back to a few hours ago, when she came into the car crying and asking why he was still around. Right. He said he wanted to tell her something.
“I just felt like I shouldn’t leave without making sure that we’re okay,” he explains. “We made a promise that we shouldn’t say goodbye when we’re still in a fight. Of all the promises we failed to keep, I reckoned we can still abide by this even as friends.”
“I didn’t know we were fighting.”
“I don’t know. Were we?” He challenges and leans towards her, staring resolutely into her eyes.
Her shoulders tense up, her gaze walks from his burning irises down to his lips and immediately looks away when she finds herself distracted. She sighs. “I’m not angry at you,” she admits.
“I know.”
“I was angry at myself,” she looks back at him, finding his eyes mimicking the redness of hers. “I hate myself for wasting all your efforts,” her eyes drift to his lips again. Unbeknownst to her, he is doing the same.
“I can’t help but to wonder if you’ve invested your love in the wrong person,” her voice is soft, and her lips quivering.
That’s enough for him. In an instant, he closes the gap between them and plants a gentle kiss on her lips. Her eyes flutter shut as she tries to savour the familiar sensation. When he tries to deepen the kiss, she opens her eyes in shock, accidentally biting onto his lower lip. He yelps in pain after being pushed away.
“S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to— Are you okay?”
“It’s bleeding,” he almost whines, pouting slightly to show her the bite mark.
Guilt-stricken, she takes a piece of tissue and dabs gently on the wound, little by little. They are both aware of their proximity as they can almost feel each other’s breaths on their skin.
“When will I get used to not having you in my life? Will it get better with time?” He asks, words coming out as a whisper.
“Believe me, I ask myself that every day,” she smiles bitterly and puts the used tissue onto the coffee table.
Now that they have nothing else to keep themselves occupied, they can only stare at each other, hoping for someone to break the silence.
“It’s sad that we didn’t work out,” he finally says. “But, never once have I regretted doing all those for you.”
She feels herself tear up, and he doesn’t fail to notice. He opens his arms, and she so naturally nuzzles into his embrace.
“You said in the car that you’ve enjoyed the two years we spent together, so that’s enough for me. That’s enough to prove that I’ve not invested my love in the wrong person,” he whispers and plants a kiss on her temple.
She detaches herself from his embrace, looks up at him with teary eyes and freezes at the way he is looking at her. For an unknown reason, they both feel the need to be closer, just for this night. With eyes still fixed on his, she begins to unbutton his shirt.
“What are you doing?”
She doesn't respond.
“Hey,” he replies, his hands on her upper arms, holding them tightly. He throws her a glare that is a mix of scolding and holding onto his every bit of willpower to not give in. “We can’t—I can’t do this to you.”
“For me, just this one time, and we’ll pretend it didn’t happen” she says. There is an intense pause before she continues, eyes never breaking contact from his, “Please, I want us to end well.”
He leans in to kiss the corner of her mouth. “Are you really sure about this?” He croaks. They’ve done this plenty of times, but now it feels so wrong given their relationship.
“I am,” she pauses to ponder for a second. “But I don’t want to force you if you don’t want to. You know I’m not that kind of person.”
“I… I want, but I don’t want to change what this means to you.”
She understands what he is referring to, and she dares to blush. To her, this is the most profound and primal way to proclaim her love. Doing it with someone whom she’s no longer dating is surely against her principles. But, this time, she is willing to make an exception. “We’ve done this so many times. I think it’s okay, if it’s with you.”
And there’s nothing else he could say.
“I missed you so much,” he groans, showering her with more kisses. Never in his imagination has he expected to have another chance to make love to her.
Her eyes water and she can’t blink away the blurriness. For a moment, she concentrates on his body against hers, the weight over her chest, her heart. If there’s nothing they can do to ease their pain from the past, the least they can do is to distract themselves with a moment of pleasure. They both have no idea how they are going to pretend tonight has not happened, because the memory of this is sure going to take some effort to get rid of.
At the end of their rapture, instead of moving to the guest room, he opts to stay in her bed, with her tired body nestled in his embrace. If there’s one other thing he didn’t expect to do after their breakup, it would be to cuddle with her.
“Are you feeling better?” He asks, brushing the strands of hair away from her face.
“Sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to be ungrateful. I know that was just your way of loving me. I’m sorry for calling you overbearing.”
“It’s okay,” he ruffles her hair.
Just as sleep is about to take over her, she asks, “can I tell my managers about us tomorrow?”
And for the first time in his life, he hopes tomorrow doesn’t come.
-fin-