TBM Vol 1 Part 14
by CherryThe accident had occurred with only one cut left to shoot. It was a joke, but Seung-yeon didn’t laugh. Instead, he glanced at him thoughtfully.
“Must’ve been boring.”
“Oh, it wasn’t too bad. Jae-ho came to visit me in the hospital.”
Seung-yeon raised an eyebrow at the mention of Jae-ho. Il-seo wasn’t known for being particularly sociable. He had spent years being relatively unknown, and even now, he still acted more like a rookie. He rarely initiated conversations and often seemed awkward or out of place on set. Yet, here he was, talking about a visit from Jae-ho, which was an unexpected development.
Their conversation drifted as the omakase courses were served.
The dishes came out one by one—sushi with bright, stylish colors. Il-seo wasn’t used to some of the more exotic pieces, and each bite felt like a new experience. The taste, the texture, and the presentation were so different from what he normally ate. He tried to pace himself, enjoying the expensive food as much as possible.
When they had finished, they stood up to leave. Seung-yeon nodded to the server, and as they made their way out, Il-seo felt a twinge of discomfort. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was—perhaps the realization that this moment of closeness might never happen again.
In the car, Seung-yeon drove in silence. The wind brushed lightly against his face as they cruised through the dimly lit streets. Il-seo’s thoughts wandered back to his early days—back before his debut when he struggled in anonymity. He remembered the loneliness, and the frustration of seeing others succeed while he seemed stuck in place. He recalled the sharp pain of rejection, both personal and professional, and how the sting of failure had pushed him harder than anything else.
But now, sitting next to Seung-yeon, he didn’t feel like that same person anymore. There was still an underlying sense of insecurity, a fear that everything could disappear at any moment, but he was no longer that frightened trainee.
The conversation during dinner had stirred memories of old friendships, particularly one that had grown complicated over time. Woo-young, a fellow trainee from his early days, had been someone he looked up to at first. But as time passed, their relationship had soured, becoming tangled with resentment and misunderstanding. Woo-young’s once supportive presence had turned overbearing, even manipulative at times until Il-seo could no longer stand it.
There had been a moment—one that still haunted him—when Woo-young had tried to push their relationship into something more. The discomfort, the pressure—it had been too much. Il-seo had rejected him, but the incident left a lasting scar. Ever since, he had distanced himself, not just from Woo-young but from anyone who tried to get too close.
As Seung-yeon parked the car and turned off the engine, Il-seo realized they had arrived back at his apartment. He turned to him, grateful for the evening but was unsure of how to express it.
“Thanks for today,” he said softly.
Seung-yeon glanced at him and smiled, his expression being unreadable in the dim light. “Take care of yourself.”
With that, Il-seo stepped out of the car and watched as Seung-yeon drove away. As the taillights faded into the distance, he stood alone on the quiet street, the warmth of the evening lingering like a fading dream.
As usual, Sa Seung-yeon was an unforgettable name—one that seemed perfect for a celebrity.
Il-seo had always wanted to be a singer, someone recognized for his vocal talent. And when it seemed that dream was within reach, acting unexpectedly entered the picture. His hunger for success was overwhelming, yet he remained kind-hearted despite the challenges.
How naive it felt to recall those early days in the dark, cramped practice rooms, as a rookie. In those moments, staring at the studio monitors, he questioned his path. A trainer once entered the practice room, wearing a faint smile, and offered tissues, sensing the weariness in the air. “This is just the beginning,” the trainer said in a calm voice. Sa Seung-yeon also started as an actor, so Il-seo realized that he had become surprisingly good at it, but he still couldn’t shake the desperation in his heart.
As he watched his own performance onscreen, his eyes clouded over. The feeling of inferiority, which once clouded his view of success, melted away in that instant. He was younger back then— he was even naive—and thought about giving up the dreams he’d harbored for so long. Yet, his mentor’s words stayed with him like a compass, guiding him forward.
It was a particularly tough day today. He found himself standing outside his home, unable to walk through the door. His past wounds resurfaced, weighing him down again. The physical pain mirrored the emotional toll, but even in agony, he hesitated to seek help. A trembling hand reached for the phone.
“Where are you? I think I should go to the hospital.”
Instead, he ended up in the emergency room. The constant shooting schedules had worn him out, leaving him on the brink of collapse. After a while, the doctors assured him,
“You’ll be fine. Just take care of yourself.”
Despite his weak state, he smiled awkwardly, opened the script, and immersed himself in the lines, trying to forget his condition.
Ten days after his recovery, filming resumed. The energy on set was brighter and more vibrant. People greeted Il-seo warmly, and those who knew about his recent struggles were especially kind. Director Chae Geum-soo noticed that he had lost weight and teased, “It’s just a tough day!”—earning a sharp glance from the assistant director. Everyone chuckled, lightening the mood.
Later, while preparing for a scene, Sa Seung-yeon saw Jae-ho Park, who had returned to the set after a break.
“Are you okay now?”
Jae-ho asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. Il-seo, trying to ease the tension, laughed and replied,
“I’m fine—half fine, at least.”
Jae-ho smiled while noticing Sasungyeon’s embarrassment, he joked,
“I was going to buy you something healthy, but today’s menu is sashimi.”
Il-seo laughed, playfully replying,
“Don’t tease me, just buy me a proper meal next time!”
As they bantered, Il-seo reached for a chocolate cookie in Jae-ho’s hand. Playfully, Jae-ho pulled back, making him jump in an attempt to grab it. The commotion was barely noticeable amidst the usual bustle of the set, but Seung-yeon’s eyes were fixed on them. Il-seo’s smile faltered as he stumbled slightly, and Jae-ho instinctively caught him.
“You’ve lost more weight than I thought,”
Jae-ho said, surprised, as his hands lightly touched his shoulders.
Beneath the thin fabric, the bones felt too prominent.
Il-seo shrugged it off with a laugh, “I’m on a diet,” but Jae-ho’s expression remained serious.
Just then, Il-seo smelled a familiar scent. When he looked up, Seung-yeon was standing right in front of him.
“Hello, Actor Park Jae-ho,” he greeted.
“Ah, hello, Senior,” Jae-ho responded, bowing his head politely.
Seung-yeon, acting indifferent, slightly raised the script he was holding and addressed Il-seo directly.
“I need to discuss something with you about the next scene.”
Caught off guard by Seung-yeon’s sudden familiarity, Il-seo’s eyes widened momentarily before he remembered they had arranged to talk. The sound of him calling his name echoed in his ears, causing his heart to flutter unexpectedly.
Jae-ho, noticing the sudden change in atmosphere, awkwardly scratched the back of his neck and said,
“Well, filming will start soon, so I’ll leave you two. I’ll contact you later, Il-seo!”
Seung-yeon’s gaze darkened slightly, but he lowered his eyes to his script.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft but steady.
“I’m fine,” Il-seo replied while trying to compose himself.
They quickly went over the scene—Haru and Jang Tae-hyun’s lines. Seung-yeon, without any hesitation, explained the details clearly, but his tone was distant. Embarrassed at his own flustered reaction, Il-seo let out a small cough and focused on the script.
Once their discussion ended, Il-seo left, and almost immediately, people gathered around Sasungyeon again. His eyes followed him out of habit, noticing how he stood out even amidst the crowd.
He was holding a cup of iced coffee in one hand and his script in the other, his tall, broad figure was impossible to ignore. His smile, while beautiful, seemed tinged with a hint of weariness. Even though they had just spoken up close, he felt like someone from another world—a world Il-seo couldn’t quite grasp, weighed down by his own lingering gloom.
“Shooting starts now…” someone called, bringing Il-seo back to reality. He grabbed his guitar and walked towards the set.
Park Jae-ho glared at Seung-yeon, who responded by slamming a glass cup onto the table. The sound of it shattering made Il-seo flinch as shards scattered.
“Cut. Okay,” the director called out.
Everyone felt the pressure of the tight schedule, as almost all the scenes were being approved in a single take. Park Jae-ho and Seung-yeon, who had been standing face-to-face, exchanged brief nods and left the set.
With that, Park Jae-ho’s special guest appearance came to an end. Il-seo cautiously approached him.
“Hyung, are you coming to the company dinner?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’ll be there. I’m stopping by a friend’s café nearby first, but I’ll join when the time’s right.”
“Great, see you there.”
As Park Jae-ho left and the crew began organizing the set, a short break was announced, but Il-seo couldn’t relax. The upcoming bed scene weighed on his mind.
He busied himself by carrying construction materials to the waiting room and ensured everything was prepared. After a quick change, the makeup team touched him up, preparing him for the intimate scene.
Today’s location was the club sofa, a somewhat narrow and exposed space, which made the physicality of the scene even more crucial. After a brief rehearsal, Seung-yeon and Il-seo were positioned on the sofa, ready for action.
The set fell silent, amplifying the sound of their breaths and movements. Il-seo, skilled and composed, received Seung-yeon’s kiss before slipping his shirt off, his lips trailing over Seung-yeon’s chest. His red tongue flicked across the firm skin, causing Seung-yeon’s head to tilt back in response. Il-seo following the cue, moved to unbuckle Seung-yeon’s pants, though the actor’s thick thighs made it a bit tricky.
Il-seo pressed against Seung-yeon’s groin, feeling a solid mass beneath his palm, and almost pulled back. But he steadied himself, fighting through the urge to make a mistake, and quickly refocused.
Today’s scene demanded Shin Haru to take the lead, and Il-seo’s determination was stronger than ever, especially after Seung-yeon’s sharp critique of their last bed scene.
Seung-yeon’s hands deftly unbuttoned Il-seo’s shirt, letting it slide off from his slender frame, revealing his bare body. Seung-yeon’s eyes flickered briefly as they took in the sight. The marks from his healed stitches were concealed by makeup, but Seung-yeon’s touch was cautious, avoiding that area.
“…”
Il-seo barely flinched as Seung-yeon’s tongue brushed his nipple, letting out a soft, languid breath. Seung-yeon, sensing a moment of pride, ran his hands along Il-seo’s body. His skin was warmer and softer than before, and Seung-yeon’s gaze searched his face, hoping to see a loss of composure in Il-seo’s red eyes.
Yet, despite Seung-yeon’s teasing, Il-seo remained calm, with a faint smile on his lips.
Growing frustrated, Seung-yeon decided to push further. Without warning, he bit down on Il-seo’s n1pple—a move they hadn’t rehearsed.
“Ha…”
But instead of flinching, Il-seo let out a low laugh and gently ran his fingers through Seung-yeon’s hair, as if he was stroking a pet.
‘This kid…’ Seung-yeon thought internally feeling irritated.
He laid Il-seo flat on the sofa, pressing down on his abdomen and mimicking an intimate motion with his hips. Only then did Il-seo tensed slightly, though he quickly recovered.
“Haa…”
“Damn…”
The intensity of the scene increased as their movements quickened. Though they weren’t actually making contact, their taped bodies rubbed against each other multiple times, causing both actors to sweat under the lights. Il-seo’s body grew flushed, his hair disheveled, and his breath came in soft gasps.
The climax of the scene neared, and Seung-yeon measured the timing perfectly. With a final deep thrust, the director called it.
“Okay, cut!”
Director Chae, pleased with the take, clapped his hands. The rest of the crew exhaled, relieved, some even joked about how realistic the scene had felt.
“Thank you for your hard work,” Il-seo mumbled as he sat up, his body drenched in sweat. Seung-yeon had already slipped back into his pants, turning away to button up his shirt.
Il-seo, still catching his breath, scrambled to find his crumpled shirt and put it on. His fingers, slick with sweat, fumbled with the buttons, and his mind raced with the thoughts of how the scene turned out.
Seung-yeon always checked the results with a critical eye, and even though Director Chae seemed satisfied, Il-seo couldn’t help but feel nervous.
He hurried after Seung-yeon, hoping for feedback, but Seung-yeon suddenly turned in to the opposite direction.
“Where are you going? We’re monitoring the scene,” Director Chae called out.
“Bathroom,” Seung-yeon replied flatly.
“You can carry on with the rest.”
Il-seo stood awkwardly as Director Chae gestured for him to join him. Il-seo followed, listening intently as he reviewed the scene.
“No, seriously, did you take some kind of acting pill while you were resting? You were amazing!” Director Chae praised.
“Thank you,” Il-seo replied modestly, though inwardly feeling relieved. After days of feeling unwell and receiving medical treatment, it felt good to be recognized.
Still, a part of him waited anxiously for Seung-yeon to return with his thoughts on the scene.
In the bathroom, Seung-yeon turned on the cold water and splashed it on his face, running his fingers through his damp hair.
He had overheard Director Chae’s comment, and it stung more than he expected. It wasn’t jealousy of Il-seo’s performance- it was far from it. Seung-yeon had been genuinely impressed by Il-seo’s focus and immersion in the scene.
But there was something else, something more that was troubling him.
He glanced down at himself, his black pants still perfectly pressed-except for the outline of his erection, stark against the fabric.
He had an erection while filming a bed scene with that half-ass.
“Damn it,” he muttered to himself.
How had he let himself get so carried away during a scene with someone who was supposed to be just an actor?