TBM Vol 3 Part 7

Holding the basket, Lee Il-seo bowed slightly before leaving the entrance. Sa Seung-yeon watched him until the door closed, and as soon as it did, he walked to the wall pad and turned on the camera to watch Lee Il-seo’s retreating figure.

“…”

The limping gait—whether from carrying something heavy or from the aftermath of their intimacy—lingered in the screen. Sa Seung-yeon didn’t look away until Lee Il-seo vanished completely from view. Only then did he sink deep into the sofa.

“Hah…”

With a long exhale, he tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. His fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the armrest.

Tap, tap, tap.

When he’d seen Lee Il-seo hastily grab his coat and bag right after cleaning up, when the bottom of the ramen pot revealed itself far too quickly, and even now, when only a faint scent of him remained, there had been something off. Unsettling. Restless.

‘Missing him is bullshit.’

The thought intruded without warning. Sa Seung-yeon scowled and rejected it with quiet ferocity. Instinctively, he reached for his phone. A notification blinked. Lee Il-seo had changed his profile picture—it was the photo Sa Seung-yeon had taken earlier today.

When had he even uploaded it? Had he done it in between their kisses? Sa Seung-yeon stared at the screen, at the face smiling under the warm, fading light of sunset. His thumb hovered, then he flipped the phone over and tossed it onto the coffee table.

He felt an inexplicable tickle in his chest, and today especially, the unpredictable gap in his emotions was so unpleasant that it was unbearable.

***

The  Sa Seung-yeon family.

A silver spoon, no, a diamond spoon.

A person who acts as a hobby.

And so on.

These were the headlines that clung to him like parasites after his debut. Sa Seung-yeon neither denied nor confirmed them. Even after becoming famous, when asked personal questions about his father and mother, he maintained appropriate restraint by simply answering that they were good people.

To the world, they were the perfect picture of success. A dominant Alpha child born to powerful parents. His father ran a trading company. His mother owned restaurants and curated galleries. He grew up surrounded by comfort. He lacked nothing. People around him smiled warmly, yet behind their kindness, he always sensed envy, sharp and simmering.

There wasn’t much to lose. No matter what he said or did, people were gentler with him. They tried harder to impress him.

So he hid it.

Those conversations between his father and mother had disappeared since he entered high school.

That seeing his father once a month was frequent.

That polite discussions about property division after divorce took place during obligatory family meals.

That neither of them had any interest in including him in their future families.

He couldn’t show weakness—not to the ones who praised him with practiced smiles. He knew that, given the chance, they’d bite, tear, and rip into him without hesitation. It wasn’t just distasteful—it was terrifying. He would rather die than give them that chance.

When friends asked about his family, Sa Seung-yeon would answer with a smile, smoothly. With just the right amount of lies mixed in, very impassively. Eventually, he started laughing things off instead of answering. When he realized people liked the way he smiled, he smiled more prettier, brighter, just as they expected.

He had clung to a childish hope that his parents would stay together until he turned eighteen. But in his final year of high school, they divorced, mutually, coldly.

Both of them pretended to ask whose side he would choose, but Sa Seung-yeon carefully followed his mother. His father had already created a half-sibling as a result of his affair. It was only natural to choose the option where at least one person wouldn’t be uncomfortable.

That’s why he couldn’t relate at all when people said he must be fortunate because of his parents. It was simply that he could receive quality education in a comfortable space until he became an adult. And that his background made school life a little easier. That was all. On the day he graduated from high school, Sa Seung-yeon decided to leave that hellish house and become independent.

Fortunately, his father left first, and Sa Seung-yeon was able to stay at home until graduation. As the house grew quieter, Sa Seung-yeon became consumed by a single thought: Being born is exhausting. Whenever that thought surfaced, he blasted music through his earphones until his skull ached. At least then, the noise drowned out the spiral.

From then on, he searched for good music and began waiting for new posts on Tangerine’s homepage, which he had discovered by chance.

He didn’t remember the exact day, but he remembered the night. His mother had come home late. When he greeted her, she responded with irritation, not because he didn’t call, but because he hadn’t informed her about a parent-teacher event. Her anger wasn’t about missing a call. It was about being embarrassed by a teacher’s unexpected contact.

Well, of course. Sa Seung-yeon left only an apology with empty eyes and locked his door.

By coincidence, a new video from Tangerine had been uploaded, and Sa Seung-yeon listened to his song with headphones on. It was track 12 from the 4th album of an artist he usually liked. The original song was excellent, but the guitar sound he played and the snow-white voice that embroidered over it accumulated in the curves of his ears.

After listening to it three times, he typed to leave his usual comment: 4566 > I’m listening well┃]

It was a subtle nudge—a reminder that someone was waiting. But before hitting enter, his fingers hesitated. He deleted it all.

[4566 > I was exhausted, thank you.]

And the next day, instead of the robotic ‘Thank you’ reply that usually appeared under his comment, there was a question:

[4566 > I was exhausted, thank you.]

→ [angerine > Is something wrong?]

Sa Seung-yeon stared at that sentence for a long time before typing on the keyboard. His long fingers hesitated over the keyboard several times, and only after much time passed did he complete a meager sentence.

[4566 > My parents got divorced and neither of them wants to take me.]

It was the first honest feeling of his nineteen-year-old self, confessed to a stranger with the help of anonymity.

He checked that page every day after. Nothing came. The silence became more painful than he’d expected. Just when he was about to delete his comment—finally tired of hoping—there it was:

→ [Tangerine > I uploaded a song for 4566. It’s a song I often listened to after my mother passed away. It was her favorite song. Sorry for the late reply.]

All the emotions that had stirred his heart for days vanished, and his heart pounded painfully. Biting his lower lip, Sa Seung-yeon quickly took out his headphones. Throughout listening to the song, he struggled to suppress the surging emotions.

They continued their conversation under the video of track 12. And when they finally happened to be online at the same time, Sa Seung-yeon impulsively asked for a private chat..

Yes. Everything with Tangerine was governed by impulse, and in front of him, there was no need to weigh things, be cautious, or hide.

After vague conversations, they only learned that they were both high school students. Leaning on that ambiguous anonymity where they didn’t know each other’s names or exact ages, Sa Seung-yeon honestly shared everything with Tangerine.

[4566(me) > I’m planning to leave home as soon as I become an adult. It’s suffocating.]

[Tangerine > I want to leave too ㅠㅠ]

While Sa Seung-yeon’s parents were cold, Tangerine’s stepfather was violent. In his videos, there were days when his wrists moved stiffly, or bruises peeked from his sleeves.. Those days made Sa Seung-yeon nauseous with anger.

[4566(me) > Don’t just keep getting hit, just hit him back; he’s not even your real dad ㅡㅡ]

[angerine > He’s an Alpha… I’m no match for his size]

[4566(me) >I want to beat him up myself. You have to get out of there, seriously

[4566(me) > Are you saving up some money?]

[4566(me) > Money is important]

[Tangerine > Little by little… He says I can’t have a part-time job, so I’m doing it secretly haha]

[4566(me) > So much shit he says you can’t do. Is he really crazy?]

[Tangerine > Thanks for cursing him out Hahahahaha]

[Tangerine> By the way, it would be so weird if we ended up meeting as neighbors! Just thinking lol]

Neighbors?

Sa Seung-yeon tilted his head at that word. Slowly, a smile spread across his face.

I think I’d like that, he thought. It was a sudden, childish thought about someone whose name and age he didn’t even know.

***

He slowly opened his eyes to the sharp alarm sound.

After becoming partners with Lee Il-seo, he often dreamed of that boy. Lee Il-seo didn’t have the charming mole at the corner of his mouth, and his guitar technique and voice were different, but strangely, the overall feeling was similar.

“…”

He didn’t get up right away. Instead, he lay there, one forearm resting over his eyes, breath long and shallow. His body felt heavy, especially his lower half, and his mind was sluggish. Even the alarm, a sound he heard daily, grated on his nerves today. He reached for his phone with half-lidded eyes, turned off the noise, and checked the date.

Indeed, next week was his rut. Dominants cycled regularly, and Sa Seung-yeon always planned his life around it. Today marked the final shoot for ‘Temperature of Overflow’, and he had no plans afterward. Just rest and isolation.

During this period, unless an Alpha engaged physically with an omega, there was no way to release Alpha pheromones. Sa Seung-yeon never did. He always relied on prescribed suppressants and solitude.

Come to think of it, today would also be the last day of his relationship with Lee Il-seo. Sa Seung-yeon stretched and got up, then walked heavily to the bathroom. Water, almost cold, poured from the top of his head.

Since visiting the reed field, he had called Lee Il-seo about every other day to have conversations. He wanted to do it every day, but with filming reaching its final stages and frequent overnight shoots, it was impossible. Lee Il-seo also seemed to be reaching his physical limits, often passing out during their encounters.

It was unfortunate for the guy, but undeniably stimulating and fun to witness the flash of shock and embarrassment on his face when he woke up, realizing their relationship wasn’t over yet. Even more amusing was how quickly he masked it, pretending nothing had surprised him.

For Sa Seung-yeon, an Alpha, it was manageable. But it couldn’t have been easy for a beta’s body to endure the relentless sexual drive of someone with such a dominant trait. Still, maybe due to his experience, the guy never complained—no matter how rough, how frequent, how intense.

He had been a convenient partner in many ways. Since they were filming a drama together, moving together was less likely to raise suspicion, and in fact, not a single rumor had circulated during their consistent relationship.

While washing off the foam, Sa Seung-yeon suddenly wondered if he should create another safe and comfortable partner next time. A man he could physically dominate with less guilt. Ideally, with a similar appearance to Lee Il-seo, and someone he could casually talk about music with.

‘Wait, that’s just Lee Il-seo.’

He paused after shutting off the shower lever, eyes catching his reflection in the fogged mirror. The corners of his lips were curled upward in a soft, easy smile—a look he hadn’t seen on his own face in a long time.

In the early dawn, Hwan greeted Sa Seung-yeon as he got into the car, handing him an iced coffee with a bright smile.

“Wow, it’s finally the last day of filming, sir.”

“Indeed.”

“I wonder when we’ll finish? I hope it ends early so we can have the wrap party today.”

Grinning at the thought of meat sizzling on the grill, Hwan smacked his lips.

“It’s going to take too long. We won’t be able to do that.”

At that blunt answer, Hwan pouted. It was impossible for the final filming to end early. There was still quite a bit left to shoot, including action scenes that required coordination and makeup.

And even if by some miracle they finished ahead of schedule, Sa Seung-yeon had no intention of wasting the evening at a wrap party.

This was the last of their promised meetings. I’ll pound him until he’s completely torn apart.

As it was, he felt his sexual desire building to a different level as his rut approached. The guy was a beta, so he couldn’t sense the pheromones filling the bedroom, and he probably blamed his own stamina without realizing why their relationship this week had been particularly overwhelming.

Smirking to himself, Sa Seung-yeon put in his earphones and opened the script. The final scenes brimmed with emotional intensity. Picking up on his shifting mood, Hwan turned his focus to the road in silence. As Seung-yeon flipped through the last pages of the script, his expression darkened with each turn.

[S19. Alleyway, dim lighting under a street lamp]

Haru, who was breathing heavily in Jang Tae-hyun’s arms, closes her eyes. Jang Tae-hyun, covered in blood, stares at Haru. With a face that seems disbelieving, he carefully caresses her and listens to the fading sound of her heartbeat.”

He lingered over the stage directions, mentally rehearsing how to express heartbreak without shedding a tear. Just the eyes, the face—no sound, no cry. It was several times more difficult than weeping.

The sad ending had been decided from the beginning. ‘Temperature of Overflow’ concludes with the disappearance of Haru’s warmth—the temperature that made Jang Tae-hyun overflow.JangTae-hyun’s heart, which had begun to flow because of Haru, becomes permanently still with Haru’s death, and he remains unable to leave the small town.

Some would love the sorrowful conclusion, others would hate it. But it wasn’t a family-friendly daily soap—it was an OTT drama, and that gave it freedom. Sa Seung-yeon was satisfied. The lingering sadness felt right.

Slowly closing the script, he turned up the volume of the music. The last filming always created a strange mixture of excitement, achievement, relief, joy, and sadness, but with this project, there was a slightly stronger tinge of indescribable regret.