The universe hates me. I know this because the elevator mirror is aggressively reflective this morning, showing me every inconvenient detail:
My hair?
Naturally wavy today… fluffy in a cute-but-not-on-purpose way.
Blouse?
Aqua-adjacent (I didn't mean to pick it… probably).
Eyes?
Doing that weird sparkly thing I didn't authorize.
Professional composure… intact.
I underline the word in my mind three times.
Except my throat still remembers the rooftop.
Except my cheeks warm anytime I blink too slowly.
Except my heart seems to have filed an HR complaint against itself.
I step into the hallway. Immediately see him.
Of course.
Liu Jingyi is leaning against the wall next to the makeup room, flipping through a script, looking like someone paid a lighting team to follow him around.
He looks up. Smile soft. "Morning, Sian-Sian."
… I should have stayed home.
"Morning," I manage, trying to sound neutral and instead sounding like a dying flute.
"You avoided me," he says casually, like mentioning the weather.
"I did not." Lie. I tried to avoid him so hard I almost hid behind a potted plant.
"You walked past me three times."
"I was… thinking."
He waits. His eyes are warm. Too warm.
"About… umbrellas."
Perfect. Genius. Flawless human.
His mouth curves. "Of course you were."
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I'm clutching my binder like it's a lifeline, papers slightly curling at the corner. He notices immediately, not the flirting kind of noticing, but the "I see details you pretend don't matter" noticing.
Without a word, he reaches out, gently straightens the fold, and smooths the page under my thumb.
His fingers brush mine.
A spark. A tiny, traitorous spark.
I inhale sharply. He withdraws his hand politely… too politely… like he's trying not to cause an explosion.
Crew members across the hall freeze mid-step.
"Are they… like…?"
"Shh, don't jinx it."
"Writer-nim and Jingyi? No way… right?"
I hear them. I pretend I don't. I focus on breathing.
"Umm," I say, voice squeaking like an unplugged violin, "thanks."
"You're welcome," he says softly.
Too softly.
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So-ah glides down the hall like she owns gravity. Perfect hair. Perfect lips. Perfect everything. She gives me a smile that is ninety percent friendly and ten percent… citrusy.
"Writer-nim," she says brightly. "Your hair is so cute today. I tried to style mine naturally too, but humidity makes me puff up. Yours suits the… natural look."
Natural look.
Interesting.
"Oh," I blink, "thank you…?"
She turns to Jingyi. "Oppa, shall we run lines? I think Scene Fifteen needs more… closeness."
Closeness.
Sure.
She lightly touches his forearm.
He immediately steps sideways — subtle, but clear — pretending to check something on a monitor.
So-ah's smile flickers.
Me missing it entirely.
I think, Ah yes, the flirt master repositioning himself for better angles. The natural habitat.
Incorrect, Su-Bin. Incorrect.
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During rehearsal, he calls me over to clarify a line.
"Writer-nim," he says, tone dipped in honey, "are we leaning more hopeful here… or conflicted?"
I give him the explanation.
He listens like I'm reading prophecy.
"Thank you," he says quietly, eyes only on me.
So-ah watches from a distance. Her smile is still perfect… but her eyes calculate half a millimeter.
I definitely notice that… right?
Nope.
I write in my notebook: Flirt divinity master at work. Nothing to see here.
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I step aside to adjust a camera angle with the assistants. Jingyi follows, unconsciously, like an orbit to my radiance.
A harsh overhead light hits me.
He lifts a hand to shade my face from it.
Not on purpose.
Reflex.
Too intimate.
Boom Mic Guy nearly drops his pole.
"He never does that for So-ah," someone whispers.
"He only does that for Writer-nim."
"Is this… plot development?"
I continue taking notes, completely oblivious as usual.
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We're reviewing dialogue. Jingyi stands a comfortable step closer to me than strictly necessary.
So-ah approaches with another smile… thinner this time.
"Oppa," she says sweetly, "let's rehearse the confession scene together? Alone? The director said we need to capture… authenticity."
She glances at me.
Not long.
Just long enough for meaning.
Jingyi hesitates…
Hesitates a pause more.
Then nods politely. "Sure."
He leaves.
I only see the nod. Not the hesitation.
Su-Bin brain: There he goes. Back to his natural flirt ecosystem. Professional composure… still intact.
Underline. Underline. Underline.
My chest feels… weird.
Probably hunger.
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It's the end of rehearsal.
Most of the crew leaves for lunch.
I try escaping down the hallway unnoticed.
"Su-Bin," Jingyi calls gently.
I turn. Too fast.
He steps closer, carefully, not crowding, like he's choosing his next breath.
"Did I… do something wrong today?"
"What? No." My voice cracks. I clear my throat. "Nothing."
"You were different."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
"…Umbrellas," I repeat because apparently that's my go-to excuse now.
He laughs, soft and knowing. "Right. Umbrellas."
We stand there in that charged silence last night created… still humming… still dangerous.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he says finally.
"Yeah," I whisper. "See you."
We walk away in opposite directions.
Both of us turn back.
At the exact same moment.
We both pretend we didn't.
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At home, I open my notebook and try rewriting a scene.
Instead…I accidentally write: "The moment that almost happened is the moment I can't forget."
I stare at the words for three whole seconds. Then twist my pen once… click.
Deny everything.
Panic privately.