TBM Vol 1 Part 11

It was purely by chance that Seung-yeon stumbled upon the video.

He usually enjoyed listening to music. When he discovered a song that wasn’t popular but matched his taste, he’d get excited as if he had uncovered a hidden gem, feeling a sense of superiority. In hindsight, it was an immature and egotistic thought typical of high school students.

The moment he locked his door and put on his headphones, he felt like he entered his own little world. That day, like any other, he searched for a live performance of his favourite song and clicked the video tab. Resting his chin on his hand, he scrolled indifferently until he saw a video he hadn’t seen before.

The man in the video, only visible from the neck down, was holding a guitar. The views were at 2, with no comments. He clicked play with no real expectations.

Even though the song ended in just 2 minutes and 30 seconds, Seung-yeon remained still, blinking at the now-black screen. He found it surprisingly satisfying. His fingers moved instinctively, clicking the personal homepage button next to the user’s ID. The page was bare, with no introduction or promotions, but there were over ten live videos, all with the same setup and pose, though the man wore different clothes in each.

After binge-listening to all the videos to the point of exhaustion, Il-seo began to eagerly wait for new uploads. Whenever a new live video appeared, he’d hit the recommendation button. Judging by the views, it seemed no one else was watching, but he hoped the channel wouldn’t disappear. He had found this page just as he was growing tired of searching for good music online, so it was a relief to have something consistent. Seung-yeon enjoyed his arrangements, guitar playing, and his voice, which had a certain warm, ticklish quality to it.

One day, after a 10-day gap between uploads when videos had usually come once or twice a week, the anxiety I had been feeling was replaced with joy. Impulsively, he left his first-ever comment, thinking that if the creator knew someone was waiting, they might upload more often:

“4566 > I’m listening to you.”

Three days later, a new song was uploaded, and there was a stiff reply under his comment:

“tangerine > Thank you.”

Seung-yeon burst out laughing. He was real. It might have seemed like a silly thought to others, but he felt so happy realizing the boy in the video was a real person. Strangely, his ears felt warm inside the headphones that day while he listened.

“Cut, okay.”

The director’s voice signalled the end of the scene, and the two actors left the set after exchanging light greetings. It had been a tense scene where Seung-yeon and another actor argued. His emotional performance was crucial in this scene.

Il-seo, who was too nervous to face Seung-yeon directly, wandered around the set clutching the script. When he saw Seung-yeon leaving for the bathroom, he quickly ducked behind the staff to avoid being seen. His heart raced, and his copper-brown eyes trembled with unease.

“Actor Lee Il-seo!”

Fortunately, the youngest member of the makeup team called out, and Seung-yeon, who had been walking away, glanced briefly at Il-seo’s retreating figure before turning away with a cold expression.

After a brief inspection, it was Il-seo’s turn to film. He stopped by the makeup room, which had been set up in a corner of the set, and sat down with a tired look. Playing the role of Haru, a character with emotional scars, meant the makeup artist needed to do final touch-ups.

“This doesn’t cover well, does it?”

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

Il-seo frowned slightly at the makeup artist’s frustration. Haru’s lips were supposed to appear chapped, and Il-seo’s real injury on his lips helped with the look, but the faint mark on his neck was a problem. It wasn’t quite a scar or a hickey, but the location was awkward and a bit embarrassing to show.

The experienced team leader took over, applying thicker foundation in an attempt to conceal it, but frowned, saying it would still be noticeable in close-ups. “I’ll apply it as thick as possible for now.”

As they continued layering concealer, Director Chae Geum-soo passed by with a cup of coffee. His eyes landed on Il-seo’s neck.

“What happened to your neck?”

“Oh, it’s just a small injury. Sorry.”

“Is it serious?”

Director Chae asked casually, causing the makeup team to exchange awkward glances. Il-seo flushed slightly but nodded, hoping his face wouldn’t turn too red. Sensing his discomfort, the director smiled playfully and nudged him with an elbow.

“I respect your privacy, but take care of yourself. You know your body isn’t just yours anymore, right?”

The director smiled while turning to the makeup team and suggested, “Why don’t we just emphasize it?”

“Oh, yes.”

The makeup artist gently wiped away the makeup, causing Il-seo’s skin to sting. As he examined the red mark and slightly raised skin, he nodded, “Let’s make it look like a proper kiss mark.” They cleverly added some rouge pigment around the wound.

After the makeup was finished, Il-seo returned to the set for rehearsal. The guitar, prepared by the props team, was set up on one side of the stage. He adjusted the microphone and checked the guitar, which had already been perfectly tuned. He loosened his hands a few times and checked the microphone volume as part of his preparation.

Meanwhile, Hwan, who had seen Seung-yeon coming back from the bathroom, pulled out his car keys and asked, “Hyung, are you heading out by car?”

Seung-yeon shook his head and sat down, crossing his legs. Hwan put the keys back in his pocket but couldn’t help noticing the slight change in Seung-yeon’s expression. Though subtle, Hwan could sense that Seung-yeon was uncomfortable—an insight gained from years of being his confidant.

In situations like this, it was best to keep the conversation light and obligatory.

Seung-yeon, seated next to him and sipping his coffee, appeared calm on the outside, but his eyes were sharp, as though he were about to pierce someone with a glare. The intensity suited his role as Jang Tae-hyun, but in any other context, he might look as though he’d just been caught in a scandalous photo or video.

“Action.”

Seung-yeon fixed his gaze on Lee Il-seo. Instinctively, his eyes were drawn to the wound on his neck, which seemed even redder than before. A knot twisted in his stomach, and his eyes narrowed.

Their meeting two days ago had been, in a word, a disaster. The fragile atmosphere he had tried so hard to maintain shattered the moment Lee Il-seo touched the USB. He fled, leaving Seung-yeon to briefly collect himself. It wasn’t normal for him to be so angry, especially after inviting him into his home and sharing a part of his personal space.

What inherently bothered him was the way he had thought of Tangerine when he heard Lee Il-seo’s song. Trying to take the USB with the song had sparked emotions he couldn’t control.

The day after he sent him away, it would be a lie to say it didn’t cross his mind while he went through the motions of filming stage greetings, interviews, and promotional videos for social media. The movie posters and ticket stubs that had spilled from his bag were too vivid to forget.

As the hours passed and his mind grew more rational, he began to wonder if he had been too harsh on a fellow actor—and a fan, no less. He had planned to lighten the mood when he saw him on set today, but Il-seo had avoided him at every turn, like a mouse timidly running from a cat. Well, if he wasn’t ready to face him, there was no need to chase him down.

That USB was the real problem, he thought coldly, crossing his legs and watching Il-seo’s performance. They filmed his singing from multiple angles first, before moving on to the confrontation scene between Jang Tae-hyun and Haru.

The strumming of the guitar filled the set as the cue was given. The room went still, as though the immediate sound mandated collective silence. With no background noise allowed, everyone held their breath, waiting. Surrounded by more than thirty staff members, Lee Il-seo played the guitar, his face calm and composed as always.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze, and the song began. Seung-yeon’s attention wavered for a brief moment. His dark eyes traced the lines of Il-seo’s face—his eyes, nose, mouth, chin, and neck—before resting on the guitar in his hands.

He told himself that it was the alcohol that had made him think of Tangerine’s song while watching him. But now, he was sober. More than that, he was in a calm state, free from any intrusive thoughts or desires.

Yet, despite this, Seung-yeon’s gaze remained fixed on Il-seo for the entire duration of his slow, drawn-out performance. That same indescribable feeling he had when he first heard Tangerine’s song—a feeling that had grounded him when he was lost—rose again, making him struggle to breathe.

“Cut. Okay.”

Director Chae’s voice broke through Seung-yeon’s reverie. He blinked, finally exhaling a small breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Wow.”

“That was incredible.”

Around him, the staff murmured in admiration and burst into applause. Even Seung-yeon’s manager and stylist covered their mouths, still staring at Il-seo in awe. Feeling awkward about the overwhelming reaction, Il-seo set down his guitar and shyly hunched his shoulders.

Director Chae, visibly proud, gestured for Il-seo to come over. The two huddled over the camera monitor, reviewing the footage. The director pointed to a corner of the screen, smiling, while Il-seo watched with a keen and focused expression. After a brief conversation, the scene received an immediate “okay” with no need for reshoots.

“Things are going smoothly. Let’s prepare for the next scene.”

“We’ll start the next scene in ten minutes. Directing team, get ready!”

At the assistant director’s call, the crew sprang into action. 

Seung-yeon stood up, watching Il-seo return to his seat. Ignoring his manager’s questions about whether he needed anything, he walked towards him.

‘I was too harsh on him yesterday.’ he thought. With the next shoot approaching, it seemed only right to clear the air. He didn’t want to admit that Il-seo’s song had affected him, but he justified his decision by telling himself that it was for the sake of the project.

Just as he was about to call out to Il-seo, who was talking to his manager while flipping through the script, someone else beat him to it.

“Il-seo!”

Il-seo’s head snapped up at the sound. His eyes widened, and in an instant, he was running towards the entrance of the set. Seung-yeon stopped in his tracks, his gaze landing on the man standing there. He recognized him belatedly.

“Park Jae-ho.”

It was a familiar face. Park Jae-ho had recently gained popularity for his role in a weekend drama and had been appearing in numerous variety shows and commercials. 

He was surprised—no one had mentioned he would be making an appearance in this project.

From the way Il-seo beamed at him, cheeks puffed with excitement, it was clear they had known each other for a long time. It was the first time Seung-yeon had ever seen Il-seo smile so brightly, his lively voice carrying clearly across the set.

“Hyung…!”

“Wow, it’s been ages. How have you been?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m a special guest. Didn’t I work together with the director on the last film?”

“Right! How come I didn’t hear about this… No, why didn’t you tell me?”

‘Was he always this chatty?’ Seung-yeon thought, watching Il-seo scratch the back of his head while engaged in animated conversation.

Suddenly, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

“What’s with that look on your face?”

He blinked, realizing he had been frowning. Director Chae stood next to him, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m just surprised,” he mumbled, quickly smoothing his expression. The director sighed with relief.

“Isn’t the song fantastic?” 

“Oh, yes. Definitely,” he replied, somewhat distracted.

“I told you I was the first to cast him,” Chae said with a knowing smile.

Seung-yeon nodded, his thoughts still spinning. He couldn’t deny it—Lee Il-seo’s singing was incredible. So good, that he couldn’t understand why he wasn’t focusing on music rather than acting. Then he remembered Koo Dong-young mentioning that Il-seo had nearly disbanded a group during his trainee days. Watching him now, laughing and joking with Park Jae-ho, he couldn’t help but let out a small, sarcastic remark.

“Well, there are a lot of kids who can do that these days. Some are even more well-known.”

“You’re ruthless, Sa Seung-yeon,” Director Chae chuckled, stretching lazily. 

“But you’ll see. He’s going to steal the spotlight. We needed a fresh face.”

“By the way, actor Park Jae-ho is here.”

“Oh, he acted well in my last film with Shin Sang-eun. I needed a solid supporting role, so I asked him to appear in Sang-eun’s special.”

“Ah…”

Seung-yeon smiled politely at Director Chae and returned to his seat, flipping through the script aimlessly. He couldn’t focus on a single word. His gaze drifted to Lee Il-seo’s empty seat. Even though they hadn’t seen each other in a while, why had they talked for so long? Filming was about to start, yet he was still wrapped up in thoughts.