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"Yerin, what is that on your neck?" Hannah asks, with feigned casualness.
They're sat side by side at the vanity mirrors, foundation palettes and brushes scattered across the counter between them, next to half-drunk coffees gone lukewarm. It's not even 7 a.m., and they've got a twelve-hour shoot day ahead.
"Uh… nothing." Yerin's voice comes out an octave too high. She doesn't meet Hannah's eyes in the mirror, instead just staring fixedly at her own reflection.
She lifts her arm in a stretch that fools no one, letting her hand drift to rest against the side of her neck, fingers splayed just so—like she's simply repositioning herself. It's a poor disguise, and the flush already creeping up her throat isn't helping.
Her makeup artist, running on a tight schedule, taps her wrist. "Sorry, sweetie, I need access to that—can you please move your hand?"
Yerin hesitates half a second too long before lowering her arm, jaw tight, eyes flicking anywhere but at Hannah.
There it is. Blooming just under her jaw, mottled purple stamped into pale skin, undeniable under the harsh vanity lights.
A hickey.
Shit, Hannah thinks. Does Yerin have a boyfriend?
If Yerin's seeing someone—really seeing someone, enough for this—then this whole time, Luke's been quietly hoping for something that was never going to happen. Hannah (along with pretty much everyone else attached to the show) has watched him for months: the way he lingers after their scenes together, the way he always comes up with some flimsy excuse to walk Yerin back to her trailer, the soft, hopeful look in his eyes whenever her name comes up in conversation.
But then—okay. Hannah exhales slowly, trying to talk herself down. A hickey doesn't necessarily mean a boyfriend. It doesn't mean anything, really, not in any lasting sense. People have hookups. Yerin is human after all and she has needs like anyone else. Maybe she just found someone convenient to blow off a little steam with. Maybe it's nothing. Probably even likely, knowing how little free time Yerin actually has for anything resembling a relationship.
It doesn't have to mean Luke's out of the running.
"So," Hannah says lightly, watching Yerin's reflection instead of her directly. "Bug bite, huh?"
"Mosquito," Yerin mutters. "They're vicious this time of year."
"Mm." Hannah lets it go (for now).
Just a hookup, she tells herself. Probably. Hopefully.
It's later in the day and they're camped out together in the corner, waiting for the crew to finish resetting the scene, and Yerin has her legs tucked up under her in the canvas chair, fingers absently toying with something at her collarbone.
It catches the light—small, delicate, a thin silver chain with a pendant that shifts and glints every time she shifts her weight. Hannah almost doesn't clock it at first, too busy scrolling through her phone, but something about the fidgeting draws her eye. Yerin keeps touching it, unconsciously, the way people do when they're wearing something that still feels new and a little precious.
"Yerin—I love your necklace." Hannah leans in for a better look. "Is it new?"
"Ah, yes." Yerin nods, and her hand stills against the pendant, fingers curling around it. "It's a gift. From my boyfriend."
She says it easily enough, but her whole face gives her away—a soft, helpless smile tugging at her mouth, a flush rising warm and pink across her cheeks, blooming all the way to the tips of her ears.For a moment she looks entirely somewhere else—caught up in some private, happy memory that has nothing to do with the bustle around them.
Hannah's stomach drops.
Boyfriend.
She keeps her expression neutral, curious, mildly delighted even, the way any friend would be at this kind of reveal. "Since when do you have a boyfriend?"
"It's new," Yerin says quickly, too quickly, and the pendant gets another anxious little turn between her fingers. "Like, really new. We're not telling people yet."
"Okay, but I'm not people," Hannah says, pretending to be offended. "Come on. Who is he? Do I know him?"
Yerin's smile falters, just slightly, the flush deepening. "I'll tell you soon. I promise. Just—not yet."
Hannah studies her, searching for some crack in the answer, some tell she can pick apart. But Yerin just curls further into the canvas chair, knees drawn up to her chest now, thumb tracing slow, absent circles over the pendant.
"Fine," Hannah says lightly, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "Keep your secrets. But I want details soon."
"Eventually," Yerin replies, laughing now, some of the tension easing out of her shoulders.
Hannah laughs along with her, easy and warm on the surface, but underneath, the hopeful little theory from this morning has fallen entirely apart.
This is real. Whoever he is, he's real, and he matters, and it isn't Luke.
Across the room, oblivious, Luke is bent over a monitor with the director, nodding along to some note about blocking, laughing easily at whatever has just been said. Every few seconds, though, his gaze drifts and finds Yerin like he can't quite help himself.
Hannah watches him do it, watches the small, helpless pull of his attention back to a girl who's just told her, in no uncertain terms, that her heart already belongs to somebody else.
Her throat tightens with something that feels uncomfortably close to pity.
Poor guy, she thinks. He really has no idea.
It's the next day, lunch, and the whole cast is gathered together in the green room. Hannah's sat off to the side with Masali, a little removed from the main huddle, and she glances over her shoulder once, twice, scanning for anyone who might be close enough to overhear, before finally leaning in.
"Masali. I'm gonna tell you something, but you have to keep it secret, okay?" She can't keep this bottled up any longer—it's been sitting in her chest like a stone since yesterday morning. "Pinky promise."
Masali doesn't even hesitate and she sets down her fork. "Pinky promise," she says solemnly, already hooking her pinky around Hannah's, like they're twelve years old again.
Hannah takes a deep breath. "Yerin is dating someone. She has a boyfriend," she rushes out, all in one go, the words tumbling over each other so fast they're barely understandable.
Masali blinks blankly. It takes a second for the sentence to fully process, but when it does, her eyes go wide, her mouth dropping open. "Holy shit. Does Luke know?"
Hannah shakes her head. "I don't think so."
Masali's gaze drifts, almost involuntarily, across the room to where Luke is sitting, food forgotten on his lap, watching Yerin with an attention he clearly thinks no one's noticing. He's got that look again—the one he always gets around her, eager and soft all at once, like a puppy. He laughs at something she says a little too late, still catching up because he was too busy staring to actually listen.
"Oh no," Masali murmurs, almost to herself. "Who's gonna tell him?"
"Definitely not me." Hannah shakes her head, vehemently. "I'm not gonna be the one who ruins that man's entire week."
Masali winces, glancing back at Luke, who's now offering Yerin the other half of his sandwich for no reason at all. "Yeah," she says quietly. "Somebody's gonna have to, though. Before he does something humiliating. Like confess his undying love in the middle of a scene."
"Well, it isn't going to be me," Hannah says again.
They both sit there for a moment looking over at them. Something in Hannah's chest twists at the sheer, unknowing hopefulness of the way he smiles at her.
"Someone should just tell him gently," Masali offers, though she doesn't sound convinced by her own suggestion.
"Sure," Hannah says. "You go ahead and do that."
Masali makes a face. "I said someone. I didn't say me."
Neither of them notices Yerin approaching until it's too late. "What are you guys talking about?"
They both startle, jolting upright. Hannah suddenly is very interested in her own drink, and Masali is reaching for a tissue she doesn't need.
"Nothing," they say, almost in unison.
Yerin raises an eyebrow but doesn't push, pulling up a seat beside them. Hannah's gaze catches, almost helplessly, on the necklace still resting against her collarbone. Yerin looks lit up from the inside somehow, cheeks faintly flushed, a lightness to her that wasn't there weeks ago—she looks so happy she might as well be glowing, radiant in a way that has nothing to do with the makeup department.
Hannah's gaze drifts across the room to where Luke is looking over at their small group, eyes fixated on Yerin, watching her with a big, easy grin plastered across his face.
God.
Hannah prays she doesn't have to be the one to tell him about Yerin's mystery boyfriend and break his heart.
Hannah's curled up in bed, exhausted after a long day of shooting. She should be asleep by now—call time tomorrow is early, as always—but her mind won't quite switch off.
Who is Yerin dating?
She pulls the duvet up further, staring at the ceiling, running back through everyone Yerin's crossed paths with over the past few months. None of them make sense.
It doesn't help that Yerin's schedule barely leaves room to breathe, let alone room to secretly date someone under everyone's nose. When exactly would she have even found the time?
Hannah sighs, rolling onto her side, and reaches for her phone one last time, thumb hovering before she gives in. She'd already scrolled through Yerin's Instagram following earlier that night, searching for anything only to end up with nothing.
Maybe that's the problem, Hannah thinks, tugging a pillow closer, eyelids finally growing heavy. Whoever this mystery boyfriend is, he's clearly better at hiding than anyone Hannah's ever known.
Fine, she decides, giving up for the night, sleep finally starting to pull her under. Guess I'll find out eventually.
She has no idea, drifting off, just how long 'eventually' is actually going to take.
It's been months since Yerin first told Hannah she has a boyfriend. Months since she and Masali have kept it a secret, and months of putting off telling Luke, of watching him pining for her, of swallowing the guilt each and every time.
Season five has finally wrapped, and the whole cast is gathered at a long table in the back of some upscale restaurant, wine flowing freely, free from months of gruelling shoot days finally behind them.
"Yerin, I love those earrings—where did you get them from?" Hannah hears Claudia ask beside her, leaning across the table.
Yerin glances down at it, and that same soft, helpless smile from months ago flickers back across her face, unguarded, easy. "Oh! Thank you! Sorry, I'm not sure exactly—my boyfriend got it for me."
Silence.
It drops over the table all at once, cutlery pausing mid-air, conversations dying mid-sentence. Hannah's stomach drops on instinct, bracing herself, already looking over at Luke for the crushed, hollow expression she's spent months dreading having to witness.
Instead, his smile only widens. Bright and easy—if anything, delighted.
"Boyfriend?" The table erupts all at once, questions tumbling over each other, someone gasping, someone else already demanding details. But Hannah can't tear her eyes away from Luke, from the sheer, inexplicable brightness of his grin, completely at odds with everything she's spent months preparing herself to see.
"Why does he look so happy?" Masali whispers into her ear, leaning in close, brow furrowed in open confusion.
Hannah can only shrug in response, mind racing a thousand miles a minute.
"Okay, but who?" Claudia presses, leaning further across the table, practically vibrating with the need to know. "You cannot drop that and not tell us who."
Yerin opens her mouth, some careful, rehearsed non-answer clearly on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn't get the chance to use it.
From across the table, Hannah hears Luke mutter, low and rough, barely audible over the noise: "Fuck it."
And then he's out of his seat, closing the distance in three quick strides, and before anyone can react, before Yerin can even fully turn toward him, he's got her face cradled gently in both hands and he's kissing her like a man starved.
Later, he won't be able to explain it properly. Only that it feels like something in him finally gives way—like he's spent months holding his breath without realising it, and this is the first real lungful of air he's had in ages. His heart is slamming against his ribs so hard it's almost painful, every nerve lit up at once, and his pulse roars in his ears, drowning out the clatter of the restaurant, the gasps around them, everything except her.
She's warm under his hands, real in a way that makes his chest ache, and kissing her feels almost dangerous, like standing too close to a fire and choosing to be consumed.
The table goes utterly silent once more.
Yerin makes a small, startled sound against his mouth before melting into it entirely, one hand curling into the front of his shirt, fisting the fabric like she needs something to hold onto. She has to rise up slightly on her toes to meet him, chair forgotten behind her, the earrings Claudia was just admiring catching the candlelight as she tilts her head into the kiss.
When they finally break apart their foreheads still rest together, and his hands are still cupping her face like he isn't quite ready to let go. Yerin's laughing now, breathless and a little dazed, cheeks flushed a deep, helpless pink, and Luke's grinning down at her like the entire restaurant has simply ceased to exist.
"You couldn't have waited five more minutes?" she says, half-scolding, half-delighted, cheeks flaming.
"No," Luke says simply, still grinning like an idiot, still not letting go of her face. "I really couldn't."
Masali's hand clamps down hard on Hannah's arm, nails digging in without her seeming to notice. "I'm sorry," she manages, voice strangled, eyes wide, "I need everyone to explain what is currently happening."
Hannah just sits there, stunned, watching Luke look at Yerin like the wait was somehow worth every excruciating minute of it.
"It's him," she says faintly, mostly to herself, the pieces finally, finally clicking into place. "It's been him the entire time. God, I need to sit down."
"Girl, you are sat."
"Okay? I still need to sit down."
Around them, the rest of the table has descended into total chaos, but Yerin and Luke barely seem to notice any of it, still wrapped up in each other, still grinning like a pair of idiots who've just gotten away with something enormous.
Hannah exhales slowly, dragging a hand down her face, torn somewhere between disbelief and the sudden, overwhelming urge to laugh. Turns out there was never a heart to break in the first place.
"You guys," she says, loud enough to cut through the noise, "have some serious explaining to do. When did this even happen?"
"Just a bit before we started filming Season Five, but it was a long time coming," Luke replies, scratching at the nape of his neck with one hand, the other still intertwined with Yerin's.
The table erupts immediately.
"That's over a year ago!"
"A year?"
"Well…" Yerin says, cheeks pink, glancing sideways at Luke like she's hoping he'll help her out. "We didn't mean to keep it a secret, exactly. It just—"
"It just sort of happened," Luke finishes for her. "Besides, it was a pretty fun secret to keep."
"So the necklace was you too?" Hannah asks, pointing an accusing finger across the table, remembering the way Yerin's whole face had lit up over it months ago.
"Yerin deserves to be spoiled." Luke shrugs, entirely unrepentant, and Hannah watches as Yerin swats at his arm, though the fond exasperation on her face gives away exactly how little she minds.
"A year," Masali repeats, still stuck on it, staring at the two of them. "You two have been sneaking around for a year and nobody noticed?"
"We got very good at hiding it," Yerin admits, laughing now, some of her earlier composure finally cracking under the weight of relief. "Turns out doing romantic scenes together for work is excellent cover."
Luke grins at that, tugging her hand up to press a quick kiss to her knuckles, entirely unbothered by the dozen eyes still fixed on them. "Best job perk there is."
"Okay, well," Masali says, raising her wine glass. "Congratulations, or condolences, depending on how you feel about all of us interrogating you for the rest of the night."
"Interrogating us about what?" Luke asks, all mock-innocence, arm slung comfortably around Yerin's shoulders now that she's settled back into her seat beside him, thumb absently tracing small circles against her arm like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Across the table, glasses are raised, someone calls for a toast, and Hannah watches the two of them lean into each other, and thinks, a little smugly, that she'd called this the very first time they'd met.
Later, Hannah found herself alone with Yerin and Luke, in a dark corner at the pub everyone made their way to after the restaurant for celebratory drinks. It feels like the right moment—private enough that she won't embarrass Yerin in front of everyone, but she's not about to let this go without saying it out loud at least once.
"Wait." Hannah rounds on Yerin, eyes narrowing as the pieces click fully into place. "The hickey. At the start of Season Five shooting. That was you." She points an accusing finger at Luke, then swings it back toward Yerin. "That was both of you."
Yerin goes red instantly, the flush crawling up from her collar to the tips of her ears. "It was a bug bite."
"It was not a bug bite, Yerin." Hannah crosses her arms, fighting a smile (though she's losing the battle).
Luke, utterly unhelpful, is grinning crookedly into his glass, clearly enjoying every second of this far too much.
"Don't," Yerin warns him, without even looking over.
"I didn't say anything," he says, all false innocence, though his shoulders are shaking slightly with the effort of not laughing.
"You didn't have to. Your face is saying plenty." Yerin turns back to Hannah, sighing, though there's no real annoyance in it. "Okay. Fine. Yes. It was him. We got a little carried away the night before that shoot."
"A little," Luke echoes, laughing outright now, dodging when Yerin swats at his chest, but then immediately taking his spot again, right beside her. "You act as though we don't get carried away every night."
"Oh my god," Yerin mutters, burying her face briefly in her hands, though the smile underneath is impossible to hide.
"I knew there was a someone," Hannah says, throwing her hands up. "I didn't know it was—" she gestures vaguely between the two of them, still faintly reeling, "—this. I spent months convinced you had some secret boyfriend who wasn't Luke. I felt so bad for him." She jabs a finger at Luke. "I felt bad for you. I didn't know how I was going to break the news gently."
Luke laughs, head tipping back.
"I was protecting you from getting your heart broken," Hannah says, though she's laughing now too, the last of the tension finally draining out of her shoulders. "I was so stressed all this time, and it turns out I didn't even need to be."
"In my defence," Yerin says, "we really weren't trying to make anyone suffer. It just felt like ours, you know? Once people know, it stops being just the two of you."
"Yeah." Hannah breathes out, something in her chest finally, fully settling after a year of quiet worry. "Still, you know, I always suspected something was going on between you two. Since the very first time I saw you guys together."
Yerin blinks, glancing sideways at Luke. "Wait, really?"
"There was just something," Hannah says, shrugging, though there's a knowing edge to her smile. "I couldn't have told you what. Just a feeling."
Luke huffs out a laugh. "Well, if you'd mentioned that a year ago, you could've saved me a whole lot of suffering. Would've been nice to know my feelings were reciprocated before I spent months convincing myself I was imagining it."
"Oh, don't even start," Yerin says, elbowing him lightly, though she's laughing now too. "You were not subtle. Everyone could see it except apparently you."
"I had no idea what I was doing," Luke admits, entirely unbothered, slipping an arm back around her shoulders like it's second nature by now. "I was just hoping really, really hard."
Hannah watches Yerin go quiet for a second, watches her gaze slide slowly from Luke's eyes down to his mouth, lingering there. Whatever unspoken thing passes between them, it's enough—Yerin leans in and kisses him, hard.
It doesn't stay soft for long. Luke's hand slides up into her hair, fingers tugging at the strands, and Yerin shifts closer, one hand wrapped tightly around his arm, the other cradling his jaw, and there's a low sound from one of them—Hannah genuinely couldn't say which—that makes the entire hallway suddenly feel much too small for the three of them.
She's barely three steps away when she hears Yerin murmur something low against his mouth, breathless, and Luke laugh—rough, quiet, delighted—in response. Hannah picks up her pace considerably, shaking her head, though she can't quite fight down the smile tugging at her mouth.
Sickening. Absolutely sickening. Kicked out of her own hallway by two people who clearly need a room.
But God, she's happy for them.
Finally, she thinks. Took them long enough. Though she definitely, absolutely, does not need to know what happens next.
Yerin and Luke did, in fact, manage to stop themselves in public. They made a quick, only slightly undignified exit from the pub, and now they're tangled together in his (their, she's still getting used to saying that) bed.
Yerin is thoroughly worn out, hair a mess against the pillow, cheeks still faintly flushed, breathing finally slowing back to something normal. Luke thinks she's never looked more beautiful. Then again, he thinks that pretty much every single day.
He's tracing lazy, absent patterns along her bare shoulder, and she's curled into his side where she belongs.
"So…" Yerin begins, tilting her head up to look at him.
"So," Luke repeats, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"The big reveal happened."
"It did."
"Everyone knows now."
"Everyone knows now," he agrees, and there's something almost giddy in his voice, like he still can't quite believe it. "No more sneaking around. No more pretending we're just really, really good friends who just happen to be unable to take our hands off each other."
Yerin laughs, the sound muffled against his chest. "You were terrible at that part, by the way. The pretending."
"I was great at the pretending."
"The fans all knew."
He groans. "The fans knew nothing."
She settles back against him easily enough, tucking her head beneath his chin like it's the most natural place in the world for it to be, one hand splayed idly over his heart, feeling the steady thump of it beneath her palm.
"I liked it," she admits quietly, after a moment. "Having it be just ours, I mean. Before tonight."
"Yeah." Luke's voice softens, quieter now, his hand stilling against her shoulder. "Me too. But I like this too. Not having to let go of your hand the second someone walks into the room."
Yerin goes still for a second, then tilts her head up to look at him properly. "You know I love you, right?"
Luke's smile is soft, a little disbelieving. "Yeah," he says. "I know. I love you more, though."
Yerin groans, flopping back down against his chest. "You cannot make everything a competition."
"I can, actually." He grins down at her, entirely smug, tightening his arm around her. "And I will. Every single day, for the rest of our lives."
"That's a very long time to be insufferable."
"You love it."
"Unfortunately," Yerin sighs, though the smile giving her away is impossible to miss, "I really, really do."