From that day on, I started arriving at the practice room a little earlier than scheduled. At first, I made excuses—wanting to read the script more, warming up, not wanting to be noticed by the director—but ultimately, one thing was pushing me from deep within.Don't be later than Han Dong-min.It was just that one.
But every time I arrived, the kid was already there.
When I opened the practice room door, the first thing I noticed was the lights on. The scripts spread out in the corner, the chairs cleared away, and the stage props arranged around her were the first things that announced her presence. I didn't have to do anything. The preparations were already complete; all I had to do was sit down. It wasn't uncomfortable; in fact, it felt strangely familiar.
A few days later, I was handing over the script by myself.
Dongmin, who was sitting across from me at the desk, suddenly asked.
“Senior, did you change this scene?”
I stopped my fingertips. I just raised my head without saying a word.
That scene had been recently revised, and I hadn't even told the director yet. I figured it would be fixed right before rehearsal anyway, so I figured... but I was surprised he'd already noticed.
“Yeah. I think it would be more appropriate to avoid eye contact when speaking.”
“Then, you won’t look at me?”
“…Is that what you plan to do?”
“Then I’ll be the only one who can control my emotions.”
I almost burst out laughing, but I cleared my throat.
“That’s acting.”
“But I can’t control my emotions in that scene.”
“Why are you telling me that?”
“So, please take a look at my eyes.”
The ending of his words was strangely subdued. It felt like a simple request, or a petty complaint. That made it even more difficult.
I said this while just flipping through the script.
“…Okay. I’ll let you have a look.”
The kid just nodded without saying a word of thanks, and I found that bothering me for no reason. It was just a simple exchange, but it lingered too long. I wondered if a single glance was really worth so much, but the weight of that "one time" felt a bit strange to me.
The scene we rehearsed that day was one the director had put a lot of effort into refining. It was a scene where emotions overlapped, glances crossed, and tension built with a single breath. We repeated that scene over and over again, and no matter how many times we rehearsed, we looked at each other without a hint of fatigue.
The moment we first met eyes, I missed the line by about 0.1 second.
I was in his eyes, and it felt strange to see myself in his eyes.
This was acting, but it felt like someone was revealing their true feelings. It was a first for me.
When the smoke ended, I took a deep breath.
Dongmin approached quietly and asked.
“Was it okay?”
“Yeah. But…”
"yes?"
“You, stop it.”
“What?”
“Those eyes.”
“…What kind of eyes?”
“…You know.”
The kid gave a short laugh at that, and I turned my head away. Not because I didn't want to be caught, no, because I felt strangely embarrassed at the thought of being caught.
After that, the practice continued.
Strangely, I only vividly remember the moments when she looked at me. Every time the stage lights came on, I felt nervous, afraid she'd see me, and at the same time, I had a strange feeling that my emotions weren't aligned unless I was looking at her.
One day, after practice, he left a stage light on. As I was getting ready to leave, I turned around and saw the light quietly waiting for me in the middle of the stage.
“Why didn’t you turn off the lights?”
“I want to try just one more thing.”
He stood before me, holding a script. It was a familiar scene. I'd repeated it countless times. But that day, it felt strangely unfamiliar and exciting. The way he was looking at me didn't feel like acting. I took a deep breath and went back up on stage.
Believing it to be an act, hiding one's true feelings.
But my heart kept saying no.
It was exactly the same scene.
It was a feeling that felt genuine.
And I did that,
He kept pretending to be acting.