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365 days Under His Skin
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Yohan POV
The convenience store's lights hummed overhead, above the script that was glaring at me on the white document inside the screen. For the third night this week, I found myself staring at Taekyung's words without reading them. The coffee beside me had gone cold, mirroring the condensation on the window where my reflection blurred with the neon signs outside.
What kind of man wrote like this? Sentences that coiled around your ribs and squeezed. Dialogue that sounded like bones breaking. I have known writers who bled on the page, but Taekyung's scripts read like open wounds left to fester in the sun.
The man himself was just as contradictory. He moved through his life like a shadow, smiling rarely, speaking even less. Except for Junho and Siwoo. Well, more accurately, they talked with him. Especially Siwoo, God, I swear, this actor really gets on Taekyung more than he should, just to get the attention of Junho.
Though there is no problem since Taekyung never felt uncomfortable until now. Ever since he woke up from that overdose, he'd been…different. Flinching at Siwoo's casual touches. Offering nervous smiles that didn't quite reach his eyes. He avoided my gaze whenever I tried to read him, and God, did I try. "That's maybe due to the effect of medication," I told myself. It had to be.
The bell above jingled, as if pulling me out of my thoughts. And there he stood, Lee Taekyung, wrapped in that absurdly expensive wool coat yet somehow still looking like a drawing of a cat. His cheeks burned cherry red from the cold, his bare hands clutching a takeout bag with white-knuckled intensity. Through the fogged glass of the ramyeon display, our gazes locked.
Speak of the devil.
I scowled at his exposed fingers, already tinged blue at the tips. Can't this man just take care of himself? The same hands that wrote scripts that could break keyboards now looked seconds away from frostbite.
But as usual, he just closed the glass door behind him without any word. But everything else was wrong. The way his steps dragged slightly toward the alcohol aisle. There is that unknown hesitation as he scanned the shelves.
The real shock came when he grabbed two cans of beer. He hated cheap beer or soju. In every meeting outdoors or in any small restaurant, he would never drink or touch them. Yet here he was, piling them into his arms as if they were something precious.
This isn't the Taekyung that I know.
He walked to the counter like a slow zombie, head hung low, his dark bangs curtaining his face but not enough to hide the way his fingers trembled around the cans.
When the cashier chirped, "The usual, Mr. Lee?" He stared blankly at the gum display before mumbling something incoherent. I'd seen Taekyung, familiar with three languages, drunk off his ass with more clarity.
The plastic bag crinkled as he accepted his change, his slow fingers fumbling where Taekyung would have snatched it without being rude. Then he turned. Our eyes met again across the lights of the aisle. For a moment the convenience store's sounds of the low hum of the refrigerator and the K-pop song that played faded to white noise.
He moved toward me slowly as if he had no strength left in his body. When he reached my table, he stood waiting like a schoolboy called to the principal's office. I wonder what has gotten into him today.
His lips parted and then closed like a fish gasping for air, but a moment later he said, "Can I…" but paused as his voice cracked, as if holding so much underneath were weighing him down. He swallowed hard, throat bobbing. The canned beers trembled in their bag.
What is he doing? He was never like this, right? So hesitant? But then I realized he should be meeting his mother right now. That takeout bag didn't contain convenience store food. What might have happened? Though he is calm and composed, not the type to talk about his struggles, there have been times when I have found him, but—
"If you are done staring at me, Director Jung," Taekyung's voice pulled me in. Now he is looking back at me; the darkness under his eyes has lessened since the overdose, but the hollowness has remained.
"Would you like to drink some beer?" He offered to raise the can with a smirk that was never seen on his face before and more frequently.
As I kept staring at him, he took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a good moment before opening them again. His dark locks fell across his temples as he tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Those round, dark, night-like eyes that always held coldness and calculation. Are they filled with just exhaustion or something much closer to…hope?
The convenience store's flickering lights caught the moisture gathering along his lower lash line. The silence stretched between us, strong enough to choke on. His fingers drummed on the beer can as if waiting for my response.
I should've said no. I walked away. However, just like every time, something tugged me back. Something in my heart told me to stay the same because, on late nights after the shoot, he stayed at the company working on the scripts and adjusting the dialogues while the lights outside went out.
I quietly reached for the beer can he offered from his grip and took it. "Since when do you drink cheap beers?" I asked, popping the tab. The hiss cut through the quiet.
For a moment, he looked at me as though he were pondering whether I had actually accepted his offer or whether he had made the decision to get this can. Then, he gave a little crackle—an unexpected one, still quite broken.
"Since today," he replied, softly popping the tab of his can and taking a sip. But his nose scrunched up in disgust as soon as he tasted the beer, as if it were his first time. His throat convulsed as he forced it down.
A smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. This wasn't the Taekyung I knew, the Taekyung who always kept his expression blank no matter what was going on, but whatever it was, I really liked this side of him.
"OH!" he exclaimed, straightening suddenly, eyes widening like he caught me stealing. "So, our director does know how to smile." His voice lifted, which is close to surprise, clasping his hand over his mouth.
I scoffed with a side nod. "Look who says that," I said with the sarcasm dripping like honey, but my heartbeat betrayed me against my ribs.
And wasn't that a joke? I, who smirked through budget meetings and sneered at network executives, was suddenly reduced to hiding smiles like a schoolboy. Meanwhile, he, the human equal to a stone statue, now wore expressions like they were out of style. Those nervous twitches of lips from past days.
The beer can hissed as I took another swig, the bitter taste doing nothing to wash away the hope of seeing the real smiles of his, without nervousness. And wasn't that ironic? I, Jung Yohan, who smirked more than I spoke, now craved a glimpse of genuine joy from the man who built walls where his expression should be.
"Are you always this observant, Yohan-ssi?" He asked, and I chuckled, knowing that my keen eye for detail was both a blessing and a curse. But when it came to him, I couldn't help but pay attention to every little change in his personality. It was like solving a mystery that I never wanted to end.
My thumb traced the rim of the can. "Only when something's worth watching." The words left my lips before I could cage them, too honest by half, and now his gaze held mine with an intensity that made my heart stutter.
"Why couldn't he recognize that?" Taekyung asked, his words slurred slightly at the edges. My brow furrowed.
"He?"
A dry laugh escaped from him, as brittle as autumn leaves. "Yes, he." His index finger jabbed drunkenly at his own chest. "Lee Taekyung. Oh, me." The way he dramatically corrected himself didn't match the hollow look in his eyes. "Why couldn't he see…all the people waiting for him?"
The silence that followed was suffocating. The store's lights painted his caramel skin in hues of white and blue, making it look empty and cold.
"There is everything he wanted," he continued, his voice breaking at the edges. "The career he wanted. The apartment he could barely afford back then The respect. But he—I—kept everyone at arm's length. His friends. His mom."
A shaky exhale escaped from his trembling pale lips while his fingers curled around the beer can, denting the aluminum. "And now…" He didn't finish. He didn't have to. The unspoken words hung between us, heavier than blocks of weight.
And then my breath hitched when the tears pricked down his cheeks, one. Then another. And then another.
In all our years, I'd never seen Taekyung cry. Not when producers ripped his scripts in front of him. Not when in middle school did he hear the news of his father's death. He'd stood stone-faced through it all, a monument to control.
Yet here he was now—breaking apart in a plastic chair under cheap lighting, saltwater dripping onto the takeaway package, which I guess his mother sent packed with food.
The can hit the table with a dull thud. His hands rose to cover his face, but not fast enough. I'd seen that particular shade of devastation before on actors who'd lost roles. On writers who'd been cut from their own projects. And even while filming, when actors got too deep into their character, like Siwoo.
The grief of someone who's already gone.
My hands reached out on their own but stopped halfway. My fingers are frozen between instinct and propriety. Though he is next to me, the small gap itself made the distance between us feel infinite.
His shoulders shook silently. A single tear slipped through his fingers, splashing onto his wrist right over the hospital band he still hadn't removed and had covered under his long sleeves all this time.
I should've left. Should've pretended I didn't see him when he came here in the first place. But I did, and now the part of me that was preventing me from cutting perfect scenes from flawed footage understands that some fractures cannot be edited out.
How long have you been carrying all this, Taekyung-ah?
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