The world outside my umbrella is drenched in a relentless downpour—the loud "SWAAA" of the rain echoing on the pavement. I look up, my eyes wide in realization. "!"
The man who called me "Manager Eun" stands beside me, but my thoughts drift into a heavy melancholy. The sky above, visible in the brief moments I look up, is thick and unsettlingly "CLOUDY," an echo of my own mood.
I think back to a time of hope, when I imagined a future where I might be loved. I recall the image of a young woman, perhaps my past self or a memory of innocence, holding a heart-shaped lollipop, thinking she "...WOULD BECOME SOMEONE'S SOULMATE..."
Then, the memories darken. I recall a man whose intense, unsettling eyes stare out from the past—"SOMEONE WHO I HAD CONSIDERED TO BE THE WORST..."
This memory bleeds into the pain of loss. I see a couple, laughing together, one resting gently on the other—"...AND SOMEONE WHO HAD ONCE BEEN SO CLOSE TO ME..." And then, a different, colder image of that same couple, now distant, engaged with a third person in what looks like a professional, clinical setting. They are lost to me now, having grown into "...WOULD BECOME SOMEONE SO DISTANT, WORSE THAN A STRANGER."
My job is supposed to be fulfilling. I'm a manager, someone who is known and perhaps even admired. I reflect on the irony:
"EVEN THOUGH I HAVE A JOB THAT LETS ME BE LOVED BY SO MANY PEOPLE..." I look down, masked, and anonymous in my professional clothes. "...I THINK I HAVE IT HARDER THAN ANYONE WHEN IT COMES TO BEING TRULY LOVED."
I see myself walking alone on a busy street, looking small and insignificant among the rushing crowds. "AT THIS POINT, MAYBE THE PROBLEM IS ME."
The rain is relentless, the sky a miserable, cloud-choked expanse. "I FINALLY REALIZED HOW LONELY I AM..." The thought hits me with the weight of absolute truth.
The sense of isolation is total, overwhelming. "IT FEELS LIKE I'M ALONE IN THE WORLD."
And then, I am back in the present, standing perfectly still in the middle of the rain-soaked street. The heavy drops still fall around me in the repeating, deafening "SWAAA," but now, I am standing under the shade of an umbrella, pulled there by the man who knows my name.
I tried to convince myself of the solitude I was sinking into. I looked past the white-haired man, seeing couples under umbrellas, and told myself, "SO WHAT IF I GET RAINED ON A LITTLE? IT'S EASIER TO BE ALONE." The heavy rain continued its insistent "SWAAA SWAAA."
My thoughts spiraled back to the feeling of endless suffering: "...AND HOW THIS ANXIETY WILL CONTINUE TO LAST FOREVER. THE MISERABLE RAIN..." and the coldness in my life, "...AND A FRIGID ROMANCE."
But despite my insistence on being alone, deep down, a hidden wish persisted. "DESPITE UTTERING ALL THESE CURSES, IN MY HEART..." The white-haired man's voice cut through the noise, gentle yet insistent. "...MANAGER EUN?"
I froze again, eyes wide under the baseball cap. He had reached out to me, his umbrella covering my head. The word "STOP" flashed in my mind, a command to my own spiraling thoughts. "!"
I realized the truth of my sudden pause: "...I MUST HAVE BEEN HOPING... ...FOR THE RAIN TO STOP."
I composed myself and looked at him, my expression one of mild irritation masking my surprise. I pouted slightly, feeling the dampness of my clothes. "SIGH... WHY IS IT RAINING SO MUCH ALL OF A SUDDEN?" I thought, realizing how truly miserable I looked, my clothing sodden—"DAMP."
I offered a strained, almost hysterical laugh. "MY CLOTHES ARE SOAKED... I SHOULD JUST CARRY AROUND AN UMBRELLA WITH ME ALL THE TIME. HAHA"
Then, I looked up at the man, the question I couldn't hold back spilling out. The moment was strange, surreal. "HOW FUNNY... HOW DID YOU KNOW I WAS HERE?"
He offered a simple explanation, perhaps a half-truth, as we began to walk side-by-side, sharing the umbrella. "MAYBE BECAUSE WE'RE BY WORK?" He paused, then added a phrase that made my heart give a tiny, involuntary lift. "I'M GLAD I RAN INTO YOU."
We walked on, two figures in dark clothing beneath the soft light of the silver umbrella, finally shielded from the torrential rain.
The man's pale face looked slightly flushed, the rain making his dark clothes appear even starker. He was so close that I could feel the residual COLD from the rain that had been hitting his side of the umbrella.
As we walked, my earlier thoughts about my frustrating solitude—"THE MISERABLE RAIN... AND A FRIGID ROMANCE." and the world "...LAUGHING AT ME AS IF TO SAY, 'YOU'RE ALONE.' THIS IS SO ANNOYING..."—began to dissipate, replaced by a sudden, unexpected awkwardness.
"BUT THANKS TO YOU, I—" I began, trying to express gratitude, but he cut me off, his tone serious.
"WHY DIDN'T YOU CALL ME?"
"...HUH?" I was completely thrown off. My eyes widened in surprise.
He looked straight ahead, his explanation calm and slightly formal. "THAT'S BECAUSE..."
I saw the concern in his face as he explained his logic. "...IT WAS YOUR DAY OFF, THE FIRST ONE IN A WHILE... I DIDN'T WANT TO CALL YOU ON YOUR DAY OFF FOR A PERSONAL REASON..." He paused, then his voice softened with genuine worry. "WHAT IF YOU CATCH A COLD WALKING AROUND IN THE RAIN?"
The care in his voice was overwhelming, making me stammer. "OH! THE SHOOT..." I recalled my professional obligations. "YOUR SHOOT'S NOT OVER YET."
"...I SEE..." I replied, feeling a flush creep up my neck. I managed a small, sheepish smile, acknowledging my own blunder. "NEXT TIME..."
I quickly tried to apologize, feeling guilty for not calling him or assuming he was busy. I looked up at him, the brim of my cap just tipping up. "I WILL... ...I'M SORRY..."
He immediately responded, his voice warm and firm. "THERE'S NO NEED TO APOLOGIZE." He let the silence hang for a moment, then added, looking me in the eye, "...PLEASE CALL ME ANYTIME."
The relief and the unexpected kindness made me soften completely. "...OKAY..."
For the first time all day, standing next to him under the shared umbrella, the miserable feeling of the "SWAAA" and the cold on my skin finally faded. The miserable rain had momentarily stopped being my problem.
The torrential rain pounded down, the sound a continuous, loud "SWAAA" that overwhelmed the city. I was walking alone, looking up at the sky, letting the water hit my exposed hand. "WHAT'S UP WITH THE WEATHER LATELY?" I thought, annoyed. "THE WEATHER REPORT WAS WRONG AGAIN."
The feeling of loneliness was immediate and sharp. "THE RAIN STICKS TO MY SKIN..." I saw couples and friends nearby, and the thought twisted in my mind: "...LAUGHING AT ME AS IF TO SAY, 'YOU'RE ALONE.' THIS IS SO ANNOYING..." The miserable rain outside matched the coldness inside: "THE MISERABLE RAIN... ...AND A FRIGID ROMANCE." I pulled my cap lower, trying to hide.
Then, I stopped suddenly. The rain blurred around me. "STOP." I felt a sudden, electric shock of realization. "!" I looked up again, my eyes wide under the cap.
I saw the white-haired man standing there, holding an umbrella, his expression intense.
I tried to turn away, wanting to flee this unexpected encounter. "...I SHOULD HEAD BACK TOO."
But he called my name and brought the umbrella over me.
Now, we were walking side-by-side, the rhythm of our steps—"STEP, STEP"—almost synchronized, but the sound of the rain was still fierce: "SWAAA." The heavy drops beat on the canopy above us, the sound punctuated by the soft "DRIP, DRIP, DRIP" of water running off the edges. "...WHILE THE RAINDROPS HIT THE UMBRELLA FURIOUSLY."
I was still reeling from his abrupt question about why I hadn't called him. The quiet that fell between us was heavy. "IT'S SILENT NOW..." I was supposed to be relieved, but instead, an unfamiliar ache spread through me.
I looked down, seeing our feet in their different sneakers, side-by-side. He was the one who stopped our walk. "STOP."
He looked at me, a tension in his posture.
I gathered my courage and asked the question that had formed in my throat: "...ARE YOU ANGRY WITH ME?"
His eyebrows furrowed slightly in surprise, his pale eyes widening. "!" He looked genuinely taken aback, the flush on his cheeks visible even in the dim light under the umbrella.
"OR IS THIS YOU BEING CONCERNED FOR ME?" I asked, feeling foolish for confusing his concern with anger.
"...I JUST THOUGHT... ...THAT YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT YOU HAVE TO ACT DIFFERENTLY THAN BEFORE..." he stated, his voice now lower, almost a warning. He was talking about boundaries, perhaps, or maybe the beginning of a different kind of closeness.
A new wave of emotion hit me, and I looked away, feeling the tension in my damp hair. "MAYBE IT'S BECAUSE I WAS RAINED ON..." I thought, trying to rationalize the feeling with the environment.
The truth was more complicated, linked to the warmth he offered versus the loneliness I embraced. "WHY DO I FEEL HURT?" I wondered, the "SWAAA SWAA" of the rain mocking my confusion. I could feel the side of his jacket near me, a shield against the miserable weather. "...BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT MORE WARMTH I WAS EXPECTING."
I could feel the intensity of the man's gaze as he talked about acting differently. The rain still lashed around us, an endless "SWAAA," but now, under his umbrella, my thoughts were focused only on him.
I looked up at him, my expression bare and vulnerable now that I had removed my cap. Water ran down my face, mingling with what might have been unshed tears. I met his eyes, my own filled with a desperate, hopeful challenge.
"CAN'T YOU BE THE ONE PERSON ACTUALLY LOOKING OUT FOR ME...?" The question hung in the air, revealing the depth of my loneliness and the sudden, irrational hope that he could fill that void.
The white-haired man looked surprised, but there was a faint, gentle smile forming on his lips. His response was immediate, unwavering, and completely sincere.
"OF COURSE."
He shifted the umbrella slightly to protect me better, his gaze locked onto mine. "I'LL ALWAYS BE HERE FOR ONLY YOU."
My heart, which had been so hardened by years of disappointment and solitude, felt a sudden, surprising crack. "...BUT MY HEART, WHICH WOULD NORMALLY BE HARDENED, IS WAVERING." His words, his simple promise, had shattered my carefully constructed emotional shield.
I tried to process the moment, feeling foolish for my earlier outburst. "EVEN DURING THIS CHILDISH TEMPER TANTRUM..." I thought, realizing how childish my "I'd rather be alone" attitude must have seemed. Yet, he was here, offering comfort. "...MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE."
He took a small step closer, his presence a solid, warm anchor in the miserable weather.
Finally, we reached the shelter of a modern building, rain cascading off the balcony overhead. We stepped inside the lobby, away from the tempest.
I looked at him, feeling the dampness of my clothes and the warmth of a new emotion. "MAYBE IT'S BECAUSE OF GETTING RAINED ON..." I began, still looking for an excuse for my sincerity, but the truth was, it was him.
My gaze dropped to the ground, feeling a wave of guilt. "...I'M SORRY." I apologized, looking up again. "YOU GOT RAINED ON WHEN YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO, BECAUSE OF ME."
He simply offered a slight, knowing smile. He knew, better than I did, what this small act of sheltering me meant. He saw the truth behind my misery: that even though I had resigned myself to a "FRIGID ROMANCE," and told myself, "SO WHAT IF I GET RAINED ON A LITTLE? IT'S EASIER TO BE ALONE," what I truly wanted was someone to stay.
I finally understood the full significance of his appearance and his unwavering support. If he asked, if he simply commanded, then...
"...MANAGER EUN WILL GLADLY WALK INTO THE RAIN."
We were now standing in the dry, tiled lobby of the building, the storm reduced to a noisy background element. I could hear the DRIP DRIP of water from my own soaked clothes and the umbrella as the white-haired man folded it carefully.
I watched him, my heart still feeling oddly tender from his earlier promise to look out for me. I looked down at my feet, guilt resurfacing. "...I'M REALLY SORRY. I'M GOING TO MAKE SURE YOU DON'T CATCH A COLD."
He shook his head, a soft smile still gracing his lips. "YOU'RE RIGHT. I'M SO COLD." He playfully exaggerated, though the chill in the air was palpable against his black turtleneck. "I GUESS I'LL HAVE TO HAVE MY MANAGER EUN TAKE CARE OF ME, HUH?"
His joking remark, referencing my job, somehow made the moment feel less intense and more real. I knew the drill: he was cold, and I, as his manager, would typically rush to get him a hot drink or a towel. But today felt different.
I looked at him, feeling my cheeks warm. "WHY... WHY DO I FEEL SO SHY?" I thought, realizing how close we were, how much this simple rescue meant.
I quickly looked away, my eyes landing on a small detail that made my professional instincts kick in. "BUT STILL... YOU HAVE YOUR SHOOT..." The reality of his schedule was the only thing preventing this moment from spiraling further into romantic territory. "YOU NEED TO GET BACK. IF YOU CATCH A COLD, IT'LL BE A BIG DEAL."
He just watched me, that gentle, knowing smile still in place. He wasn't rushing. He seemed perfectly content to stand here, letting the rain outside do its worst.
He reached out a hand, hesitating just an inch from my head. "I'M WORRIED YOU'LL CATCH A COLD." He didn't touch me, but the warmth of his intention was clearer than any physical contact. "I'LL TAKE YOU HOME."
My mind was racing. He was suggesting a complete deviation from his schedule, crossing a professional boundary. I, however, found myself utterly unable to protest. The loneliness of the last few hours was still a stark memory.
I looked at him again. I knew he was cold, just like he said, and I was deeply worried about him—my star, my client, my... friend. "I WISH I COULD GIVE YOU A HUG RIGHT NOW." The thought was reckless, a sudden burst of warmth I couldn't control.
But I settled for the safe, professional answer, though my heart was anything but calm. "...OKAY."
The white-haired man, whom I only knew as "Manager Eun" knew my location and was now insisting on taking me home. My heart was a mess of professionalism and genuine, flustered emotion.
"...OKAY." I finally agreed, the word barely a whisper.
He gave a slight nod, then reached into his jacket pocket. I watched him pull out his phone and place a call, keeping his voice low. "I APOLOGIZE. IT'S A LITTLE HARD FOR ME TO GET THERE RIGHT NOW..." He was clearly making excuses to his team. "I HAVE TO... STOP BY SOMEWHERE ELSE."
I looked at him, feeling a wave of guilt. He was ditching his important work obligations for me. "AREN'T YOU BEING A LITTLE TOO CASUAL?" I thought, knowing the serious repercussions if his real reason for leaving were known.
He hung up, returning his attention completely to me, his pale eyes holding a gentle, teasing warmth. "YOU DON'T HAVE TO FEEL GUILTY."
"BUT..." I started, trying to protest the disruption I was causing.
He cut me off, a confident smile spreading across his face. "I'M ALMOST DONE WITH MY SHOOT ANYWAY. I JUST CANCELED ONE SCENE."
My manager instincts took over again. "ONE SCENE?! YOU CANCELED IT? ARE YOU CRAZY?!" I mentally screamed, but outwardly, I kept my composure, focusing on the sheer recklessness of his actions.
He walked over to a sofa in the lobby, sat down casually, and patted the spot next to him. "COME SIT HERE AND WARM UP FOR A BIT."
I hesitated. Sitting down next to him felt too intimate, too relaxed for our professional dynamic, especially after the dramatic rain rescue and emotional moment. I stood stiffly, still feeling soaked and awkward.
"HAVE A SEAT." His tone was gentle but firm, a clear instruction I couldn't ignore.
I slowly sat down beside him on the sofa, keeping a respectable distance. The material of my coat was still damp.
He glanced at me, then pulled out his phone again, but this time, he was looking for a way to dry me off. "WE SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN YOU A TOWEL..."
I quickly shook my head. "IT'S FINE. IT'S JUST MY HAIR."
He put the phone away and turned his body fully toward me, looking at my face with genuine concern. "I'M WORRIED ABOUT YOU CATCHING A COLD, THOUGH. YOU SHOULD TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF, MANAGER EUN."
His words were simple, but they struck a chord deep inside me. He was telling me that my well-being mattered.
Suddenly, he reached out, and his fingers brushed the hair at my temple, gently pushing a wet strand back from my face. The touch was light, but the effect was like a jolt.
"...I'M ONLY WORRIED ABOUT YOU CATCHING A COLD, SO DON'T WORRY."
My heart slammed against my ribs. I stared at him, unable to speak, wondering if this was still just client-manager relationship or if, under the cover of the miserable rain, we had finally stepped out of the "frigid romance" I had imagined for myself.
The silence stretched between us on the sofa, broken only by the continuous downpour outside. I was still grappling with the lingering sensation of his fingers near my head, the gentle, non-threatening intimacy of his gesture.
He had settled back slightly, observing me, the corner of his lips turning up in a knowing smile.
I averted my gaze, fighting the urge to fidget, and tried to focus on something professional, anything to ground myself.
"...I'M REALLY SORRY. I'M GOING TO MAKE SURE YOU DON'T CATCH A COLD." I repeated, trying to re-establish the manager-client dynamic.
He simply leaned forward, resting his arm on the back of the sofa, bringing his face closer to mine. "YOU'RE RIGHT. I'M SO COLD. I GUESS I'LL HAVE TO HAVE MY MANAGER EUN TAKE CARE OF ME, HUH?"
His playfulness did little to ease my racing heart. I felt a rush of heat to my cheeks. "WHY... WHY DO I FEEL SO SHY?" I thought, resisting the urge to pull away.
His expression turned sincere again, the teasing gone, replaced by deep concern. "I'M WORRIED YOU'LL CATCH A COLD, THOUGH. YOU SHOULD TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF, MANAGER EUN."
His words were an echo of my own concern for him, but directed at me, and it touched me more deeply than I expected. I felt a reckless, yearning impulse. "I WISH I COULD GIVE YOU A HUG RIGHT NOW."
He seemed to sense my inner turmoil, or perhaps he was just being practical. He spoke again, his voice thoughtful. "MANAGER EUN," he began, using my title to establish a comfortable distance, yet his eyes held undeniable warmth. "I THINK WE SHOULD GET YOU HOME. THE RAIN IS GETTING WORSE."
He rose from the sofa, the movement smooth and elegant despite the formality of his dark suit. He extended his hand to me. "COME ON."
I looked at his outstretched hand. It was an invitation, a clear choice between staying protected and confronting the messy reality of the outside world, together. I took a deep breath, telling myself it was only professional courtesy, and placed my hand in his.
My hand felt small and cold in his warm grip. As he pulled me gently to my feet, I looked into his eyes and felt my resolve crumble entirely. My professional facade felt like a brittle shell.
He smiled again, a genuine, relieved expression this time, as if my compliance was the only thing he'd needed. "LET'S GO."
I sit rigid, clutching the cuff of my white blouse. The air in the room is thick and quiet, broken only by my own ragged breathing.
"...WHAT?" The word catches in my throat.
I stare across the small space at him. His white hair is almost luminous against the dark turtleneck, and the small scar beneath his eye seems to glint in the low, electric-blue light. He looks so calm, so knowing, but his eyes—those beautiful, disturbing magenta eyes—tell me nothing.
"DID YOU KNOW ABOUT OUR RELATIONSHIP?"
The question isn't a plea; it's a cold, hard stone thrown into the fragile glasshouse I've been living in. I feel the blood drain from my face.
A beat passes, slow and agonizing. He offers a small, wry smile that does nothing to soothe the panic building in my chest.
"HOW COULD I NOT?"
My mind flashes back to that night, a blur of desperation and blue light. My hands were tangled in the rough stubble at the back of his neck, the older man—the one who was supposed to be everything—as I leaned over him, whispering words I barely meant. I remember his rough, calloused hands on my waist... a moment of reckless, desperate passion.
"IF YOU WANT..."
I remember the whispered promise, the implication of escape, the hope for something real even if it was dirty and complicated.
But now, this boy, this startling, unnerving man, is here. He closes the distance between us, his face inches from mine. His presence is a storm closing in. My wide eyes search his, seeing a reflection of my own fear and perhaps a dangerous kind of resolve.
"I know what you need," he murmurs, his breath brushing my lips. His voice is low, a smooth counterpoint to the thunder in my heart.
"I CAN FILL THAT VACANT SEAT."
The seat. The space left by the one who hurt me, the one who left me alone. He isn't talking about a chair. He's talking about the hole in my life, the desperate emptiness I tried to fill with a secret.
My head tilts back slightly as he leans in, closing the final gap. His lips are soft, overwhelming. I shut my eyes, a single tear escaping, not of sadness, but of surrender. It is a terrifying, final moment.
This is the start of something new. Something dangerous. Something I can't escape.