TBM Vol 3 Part 8

Upon arriving at the set, Lee Il-seo, who had already gotten there ahead of time, walked over to greet Sa Seung-yeon.

“You’ve arrived, senior.”

“Yes.”

It had only been a few hours since Seung-yeon had called Il-seo over after yesterday’s shoot, had sex with him, and sent him home. But maybe because the setting had changed, the mood between them felt different now. As Seung-yeon greeted him with a small smile, it vanished the instant he noticed Lee Il-seo’s nose.

“Did you get a nosebleed again?”

“Ah… Yes. Just now.”

“Lee Il-seo says he’s tired.”

Shin San-geun cut in between Sa Seung-yeon and Lee Il-seo’s conversation. Shin San-geun shook her head, saying that Lee Il-seo had suddenly gotten a nosebleed while getting his makeup done. Not only Sa Seung-yeon but also Shin San-geun, who played Haru’s close older sister and often filmed with him, had frequently witnessed Lee Il-seo getting nosebleeds recently.

Seung-yeon leaned down slightly to meet his eyes.

“Are you very tired?”

“No, just a little…”

Lee Il-seo mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact. Not even bothering with the usual I’m fine, he looked genuinely worn out. Frowning slightly, he lowered his voice and muttered,

“Aren’t you tired, senior?”

It sounded like a challenge. Like he was saying, ‘How are you not tired at all after last night?’ The honest confusion in his eyes nearly made Sa Seung-yeon laugh, but he just shrugged. His own condition had dipped slightly with his rut approaching—but not enough to cause nosebleeds like this.

Seeing the red bloodstain spreading on the tissue stuck under his nose, he suddenly remembered how Lee Il-seo had collapsed half-unconscious with tears in his eyes last night, and felt a bit of remorse, wondering if he’d been too rough. Looking seriously at the small face with its pale complexion,  Sa Seung-yeon placed his hand on the round forehead and asked if he had a fever.

Nearby, Shin San-geun had been observing the two quietly, watching them whisper back and forth. She tilted her head, half amused.

“I get that you two are close now, but when’s Lee Il-seo going to drop the formalities? Sa Seung-yeon keeps calling you ‘Lee Il-seo, Lee Il-seo’, but he’s still calling ‘senior, senior’ like some drama extra.”

“Lee Il-seo says he’s still uncomfortable with me.”

“That’s not true, not at all.”

At  Sa Seung-yeon’s joke, Lee Il-seo urgently looked at Shin San-geun once, then at Sa Seung-yeon. Shin San-geun burst out laughing at the flustered Lee Il-seo, finding him cute. At first, Lee Il-seo kept to himself like a loner, not knowing any actors, but as filming progressed, he gradually built relationships with the actors around him.

Maybe it was because his reactions were so pure, or because it was sweet to see someone usually so composed stumble over himself in embarrassment. Shin San-geun gave him a light nudge..

“You’re only two years apart in age, so you’re just friends here, friends.”

Next to Sa Seung-yeon, who was smiling with one corner of his mouth raised, Lee Il-seo waved his hands, and Shin San-geun pointed at Sa Seung-yeon with her coffee straw and clicked her tongue.

“Sa Seung-yeon is secretly quite strict. I’ve never seen a junior who speaks casually or calls him ‘hyung’ or ‘oppa.'”

As Lee Il-seo looked at him as if to ask, really? Sa Seung-yeon stared back at him and said in a somewhat lighter tone.

“Try it.”

“Pardon?”

“Try calling me hyung. It’s okay.”

Lee Il-seo observed Sa Seung-yeon, who was smiling softly. It didn’t seem like a joke; Sa Seung-yeon just stood still with his hands in his pockets. Finally, Lee Il-seo, as if giving in, brought out a small voice.

“… Sa Seung-yeon hyung.”

Although he had courageously blurted it out, he felt embarrassed and laughed first, feeling that it still seemed a bit awkward. Sa Seung-yeon looked at Lee Il-seo, who was avoiding his eyes and laughing awkwardly, and blinked somewhat belatedly.

-He joined the company at eighteen and stayed sheltered. How soft must he be? Saying ‘hyung’ and clinging, damn, I fell for that.

-I was going through some tough times then, but Park Jae-ho hyung was really supportive.

-Should we have a drink together, hyung? Like in the old days?

The moment Lee Il-seo called him ‘hyung’ with his clear, round eyes, Sa Seung-yeon involuntarily furrowed his brow as he was reminded of people like Gu Dong-yeong and Park Jae-ho. He had no desire to be grouped in the same category as those people.

“Are, are you upset?”

Lee Il-seo, startled by the brief shadow on Seung-yeon’s face.

“No.”

Seung-yeon smiled belatedly, his eyes crinkling as he reached out to ruffle Il-seo’s hair. Lee Il-seo flinched at the touch—his shoulders stiffening instinctively, likely from the memory of having his hair grabbed while climaxing the night before. He quickly straightened, silently correcting the reflex.

Lee Il-seo straightened his shoulders immediately, as if reflexively avoiding the hand had been a mistake. Sa Seung-yeon, with a bitter smile on his lips, lowered his hand and lightly touched Lee Il-seo’s cheek. The eye on the touched side blinked like a mimosa before quickly returning to its original size.

“You’ve tried it once. That’s enough. Go back to calling me senior.”

“…Yes.”

“See? Told you. Deep down, the kid’s a traditionalist.”

Shin San-geun rolled her eyes and joked, and Lee Il-seo also covered his lips with the back of his hand and laughed quietly.

Sa Seung-yeon’s gaze drifted to those lips, where a smile was beginning to appear more and more often these days. And with it came the sinking realization that everything was coming to an end.

***

# The Actor and Crew’s Attitude Toward the Final Shoot  [I don’t know why this is here]

There was a different energy on set for the final shoot. Though the day started at dawn like any other, a quiet exhilaration buzzed through the crew. The finish line was near, and that alone gave them strength..

Sa Seung-yeon prepared both lunch and dinner on the last day. Lunch was boxed meals, and dinner was a buffet. Sa Seung-yeon called it a food truck, but it was a high-quality catering buffet that made that term seem inadequate.

The food was diverse and delicious, making everyone’s face light up with smiles. Lee Il-seo, who had recently lost his appetite and frequently felt bloated, emptied a full plate and enjoyed a hearty dinner for the first time in a while.

The dessert table even had fresh fruit juice. Il-seo stood by the container of orange juice, refilling his cup for the third time, watching the sky darken above him. Just as he finished sipping, the makeup team called him over.

His expression sobered as he flipped through the script. Only two scenes with his character remained. One, where Haru rides a motorcycle to meet Jang Tae-hyun and realizes he’s being followed, then loses the tail. The second, where he finally meets Jang Tae-hyun at his house, he breathes a sigh of relief… And is suddenly murdered.

Due to equipment setup, they would first shoot the scene where Haru dies. The ending where Haru is murdered right after overcoming the crisis and achieving love heightened the tragedy of the story.

When Lee Il-seo first read the final episode’s script, he buried his face in his pillow and burst into tears without realizing it.

Of course, it was painful enough to say goodbye to the character of Haru, whom he had embodied for months, but it was even more heartbreaking that Jang Tae-hyun, who had already lost his brother, would have to experience the same pain again. Lee Il-seo had given his best performance to show Haru gradually opening his heart to the world and feeling happiness for the perfect ending of this drama.

‘I need to die well.’

So the end had to be all the more tragic. It was a somewhat eerie determination, but Il-seo immersed himself in the emotion for a magnificent finale.

Standing in the alley, artificial blood in his mouth and cold sweat makeup on his brow, Lee Il-seo looked ahead. Sa Seung-yeon was a short distance away, bent over slightly while a stylist touched up his makeup, cigarette dangling between his fingers. That profile—casual, familiar—hit Lee Il-seo with an ache.

‘This is really the end now.’

Today was the end for him both as Haru and as Sa Seung-yeon’s partner. Being able to see the person you love up close every day was an incredible happiness and a fortune that wouldn’t come again.

Though many regrets remained, the past four months would live in his heart like a sealed world, unforgettable. Lee Il-seo slightly raised the corners of his mouth while keeping Sa Seung-yeon in his gaze.

“Okay, we’re shooting now.”

“Ready.”

Perhaps because he was lost in thought, the production team’s call seemed particularly loud to his ears. After standing by, Lee Il-seo quickly transformed into Haru.

“Action!”

At the cue, he rushed down the alley, glancing behind him, anxiety in every movement. Cigarette smoke curled under the streetlamp. Sa Seung-yeon turned at the sound of his footsteps, his smile brightening on cue.

“…”

Sa Seung-yeon turned his head at the familiar footsteps echoing through the quiet alley. Shifting his cigarette between his fingers, Sa Seung-yeon smiled brightly at Lee Il-seo.

Lee Il-seo took another step forward with an even more desperate expression. Then, just as planned, another figure emerged: the boss from Tae-hyun’s old organization. The man who had lost everything because Jang Tae-hyun disbanded the gang and walked away.

Knowing that Haru was Jang Tae-hyun’s weakness, he intended to harm Haru instead of Jang Tae-hyun as his final act. A knife blade gleamed silver in the darkness, catching the light.

Just as rehearsed, Lee Il-seo hunched his body to match the movement of the blade being thrust into Haru’s abdomen.

Immediately after being stabbed, Lee Il-seo stared blankly at Sa Seung-yeon, as written in the script. He weakly spat out the blood he had been holding in his mouth, and the lukewarm, viscous liquid flowed from his lips down his chin.

The man pulled out the knife. Lee Il-seo’s hand instinctively brushed his stomach, just before he crumpled onto the cold winter ground. The impact was jarring, but oddly, he felt no pain. Maybe he was too immersed.

As his vision tilted, so did Sa Seung-yeon’s face. The cigarette slipped from between his fingers, falling in slow motion, and his blank expression swayed with the shift.

Neither Sa Seung-yeon nor Haru had been instructed to cry. It was supposed to be a nightmarish death that came too suddenly. But when Sa Seung-yeon embraced him and softly called his name, Lee Il-seo’s nose began to sting and his eyes grew hot. Just as he thought, he might cry unattractively—

“Okay, cut. Makeup team.”

Fortunate, or perhaps not. The break came. The makeup team stepped in, their hands steady and precise, painting a realistic wound across his abdomen and spreading blood as needed. To ensure continuity, Lee Il-seo held the blood in his mouth again, keeping the same position, still wrapped in Sa Seung-yeon’s arms. Through it all, Sa Seung-yeon continued to gaze at him, his expression solemn, unflinching.

“Okay, let’s go again. Everyone, clear out.”

“Haru, Jang Tae-hyun, focus. Ready, action.”

With Director Chae’s brief direction, Sa Seung-yeon’s hands gripping Lee Il-seo’s shoulders tightened.

“Haru…”

Sa Seung-yeon’s voice was low, saturated with grief, as if there had been no interruption at all. His hand swept across Lee Il-seo’s cheek, tentative at first, then pressed firmly against his stomach. Blood spilled from Lee Il-seo’s mouth. The fake blood gurgled in his throat, thick and wet. Sa Seung-yeon cupped his face with trembling hands, eyes glistening with intensity. Lee Il-seo looked back with everything he had, burning that moment into memory.

His breath grew ragged. He blinked slowly—open, close—like he was memorizing Sa Seung-yeon’s face. Or maybe Jang Tae-hyun’s. Maybe both.

He felt it then: the realization that this might be the last time they’d be this close. Flesh against flesh. Heat against heat.

At that moment, it really felt as if someone was heavily pressing on his chest, making it hard to breathe. Lee Il-seo slowly closed his eyes, and finally, tears he couldn’t hold back escaped from the corners of his eyes.

“Haru…”

Unable to finish calling the name, Sa Seung-yeon gently shook Lee Il-seo’s chest. Sa Seung-yeon’s breathing, the trembling of their touching bodies—all of it felt so raw even in the darkness.

Something wet landed on Lee Il-seo’s cheek. He wondered, was that…? But with no cut signal, he didn’t dare move. He kept his eyes shut, holding his breath as silence stretched, broken only by Sa Seung-yeon’s unsteady breathing.

“Cut.”

“…”

“Hmm, okay.”

The director tilted his head and stared at the monitor after saying a half-beat late. Since the okay signal had been given, both Lee Il-seo and Sa Seung-yeon got up and approached Director Chae. Still not taking his eyes off the footage, the director muttered in a voice that sounded almost like he was talking to himself.

“Hmm… Jang Tae-hyun shouldn’t be crying…”

So it had been tears. What Lee Il-seo had felt on his cheek was real. On screen, Sa Seung-yeon was crying—contrary to the script, which had insisted on restraint.

“Shall we do it again?”

Seung-yeon politely asked Director Chae. He hadn’t followed the direction. Under normal circumstances, Director Chae would’ve ordered a reshoot immediately. But instead, he scratched his head, arms crossed, and let out a long, thoughtful sigh. He watched the footage for a while, then a smile tugged at one corner of his lips.

“No, let’s keep it like this.”

At the director’s decisive answer, Lee Il-seo looked back at the screen.

Since quite a lot of tears had fallen on his face, Lee Il-seo had thought Sa Seung-yeon had cried quite sorrowfully. But the image on screen told a different story. There was no sobbing. No dramatic breakdown. Sa Seung-yeon hadn’t shut his eyes or made a sound. Only clear tears slid down his still face, silent and steady, like rain over stone.

With an icy expression, Sa Seung-yeon placed his ear on Lee Il-seo’s chest, and only after looking at Lee Il-seo again did he clench his teeth and drop his head.

It was acting that made one’s heart ache just by watching. Lee Il-seo unconsciously swallowed to calm his surging emotions. He could understand why Director Chae had kept this cut.

“And Lee Il-seo.”

The director’s voice cut through his thoughts. Il-seo stiffened, fists curling slightly. Compared to Seung-yeon’s raw intensity, his own acting felt lacking. Bracing himself, he bowed his head, expecting critique., Director Chae’s firm voice landed firmly.

“Really, well done.”

Lee Il-seo slowly raised his eyebrows and looked up. Director Chae laughed heartily at Lee Il-seo, who had opened his eyes wide as if he’d misheard.

“You were Haru himself, without any excess.”

As Lee Il-seo stared at the director with a dazed expression, he met his eyes with an unexpectedly warm expression. Director Chae raised his hand and patted Lee Il-seo’s stiff arm. In the four months of filming, Il-seo had received praise here and there, but always with corrections. This was the first time he was acknowledged so fully, so completely, without caveat.