Jihoon turned his head slowly, one brow arching as a bemused smile tugged at his lips, disbelief flickering in his eyes.
Taeyeon's words had come out in such a flustered jumble—half warning, half embarrassment—that Jihoon couldn't help but chuckle softly.
There was something unexpectedly funny and oddly endearing about the way she said it, like she'd stepped straight out of some overly dramatic late-night drama… or maybe one of those awkward, old-school porno flicks.
He gave her a sideways glance, eyebrows raised with a teasing smile.
"What have you been watching on those lonely nights?" he murmured, voice low and playful.
"Seriously… where is that imagination of yours taking you?"
Taeyeon's cheeks turned an even deeper shade of pink.
With a flustered gasp, she quickly shook off Jihoon's hand and buried her face in the nearest pillow—like a rabbit diving headfirst into its burrow, desperate to hide from her own embarrassment.
Then, with a warm, wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips, Jihoon added, "Come on now… do I really look like that kind of guy to you?"
There was no accusation in his voice—only a soft incredulity, gently laced with affection.
He wasn't offended—not even close. If anything, he was amused, and quietly intrigued by where her thoughts had wandered… even a little tempted by the idea of such intimate closeness.
But he knew better than to lean into it.
As much as the moment shimmered with curiosity and unspoken tension, it was still too early—too delicate—for anything more. Especially with her group still navigating the waves of online controversy, and he himself merely a piece on the chaebol chessboard.
Jihoon let out a soft sigh, a half-hearted smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he gently reached out to that small figure buried under a fortress of pillows.
Taeyeon had all but vanished behind her improvised wall, shielding herself from the embarrassment still coloring her cheeks.
With a quiet tug, he coaxed her to sit up, though she clung to the pillow like it was the last defense against the world.
Still hiding her face, she let him guide her across the room. Jihoon said nothing, just smiled faintly.
He knew her well enough by now—sometimes, the best comfort came in silence.
Once they reached his desk, he flipped open his laptop and clicked through a few folders until one opened—a collection he kept carefully tucked away.
It was filled with melodies, lyrics, and fragments of inspiration that had poured into him during quiet nights or at odd, random moments.
Some of them came like echoes from another time, as if the past life he didn't quite speak of had whispered them into his ear.
"I've been thinking for a while," he said, his voice light but sincere.
"You'll be turning eighteen soon. I wanted to give you something meaningful—but I couldn't figure out what."
"After a lot of back and forth, I decided... why not make a personal album? Just for you."
He paused, glancing at her with a small smile. "So far, I've only finished four songs. But if I push myself a little, I think we can get a mini album out by your birthday next year."
Taeyeon peeked out from behind the pillow, her eyes wide with surprise. "Wait—me? Really?"
Jihoon chuckled at her reaction. "Yeah, you. But—" he added with a shrug, "with this sudden OST request from MBC, I might have to borrow one of the songs from this batch… if it fits the drama's theme."
In an instant, Taeyeon's embarrassment melted into excitement.
She tossed the pillow aside and leaned in, curiosity lighting up her face. "Let me hear it!"
She clicked on the first track, and as the melody filled the room, her expression softened. "This is beautiful," she whispered.
"Your voice has something special," Jihoon said gently. "Warm, textured... it draws people in. If dancing ever gets too exhausting, just focus on singing—you'll still shine."
There was a quiet note of pity in his voice, though not unkind—just honest.
He admired her persistence, even if he knew she was forcing herself to play a game she didn't love.
Taeyeon had never really been drawn to the idol spotlight, not in the way others were.
But in Korea's current entertainment climate, debuting as part of a group was the only surefire way for a young artist to be noticed.
Going solo from the start was like shouting into the wind—no one listened unless you already had backing or luck.
He thought briefly of Jieun. In his previous life, her rise had taken years of relentless effort and a mountain of carefully allocated resources.
Loen had poured everything into her, shaping her career from the ground up. But Taeyeon was in a different system.
SM was an old, established company.
Their strength had always been in grooming groups—well-oiled machines of synchronized dance, catchy hooks, and interchangeable visuals.
Building a soloist from scratch wasn't their style.
It was too risky, too resource-intensive.
They couldn't afford to center all their energy on one artist when they had entire teams lined up behind the curtain.
But this life… this life was different.
Because this time, he was here.
And with him in the picture, the road didn't have to be so steep. He could smooth the path, shift the spotlight just slightly—just enough—for her.
Because all she ever truly wanted was to sing. To enjoy it.
To lose herself in it. That was her dream, simple and pure.
Lost in that thought, Jihoon didn't realize he'd been staring until she glanced up at him, eyes catching his in the low glow of the desk lamp.
Her expression softened, a little unsure but warm.
The corners of her lips curled into a bashful, almost childlike smile. "Thank you," she said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Really."
She had no idea what he was thinking—no idea of the quiet vow he'd just made in the silence between them.
To her, this was a thoughtful gesture. A birthday surprise. A mini album.
But to Jihoon, it was more. It was a promise. One she didn't even know had been made.
Then he turned to look at her—and froze for a split second.
She was close. Far too close.
Her face was illuminated by the screen's soft light, every detail seeming to glow.
Her eyes were wide, curious, and just a little too sincere.
Her lips, glossed with a subtle shimmer, looked soft—too soft.
He swallowed hard and quickly turned his gaze back to the laptop, ears burning.
Taeyeon must've felt it too—the subtle, almost imperceptible shift in the air.
Her heartbeat quickened, and her breath hitched just slightly.
Whatever it was between them, it was fragile, electric.
Neither of them spoke, but the weight of that unsaid thing lingered in the space between them.
Then—ding.
The laptop pinged.
A new email arrived, snapping the spell.
Jihoon blinked, rubbing his neck as if to shake off the heat in his skin. "Ah... it's the script from MBC," he murmured, clicking it open and scanning the text with a frown of focus.
Taeyeon glanced at him and smiled gently, reading the shift in his posture.
He'd slipped into work mode again.
"You should get to it," she said, rising from her seat. "I'll head back to the dorm."
"What? I can walk you to the station," Jihoon said quickly—almost too quickly, like part of him wasn't quite ready to see her go.
She chuckled softly and shook her head. "It's alright. It's still early. The streets are calm, I'll be fine."
He hesitated, lips parting as if to protest—but then nodded. "Okay… just text me when you get back, alright?"
"I will." She moved to the door, then turned back one last time. "Thanks for today."
Her smile lingered. Bright. Warm. Healing.
It struck him then, how her presence always felt like that—like sunlight spilling into a quiet room.
No announcement, no noise, just warmth that filled the spaces he hadn't realized were cold.
He stood in the doorway for a moment longer than necessary, watching Taeyeon's figure disappear down the hallway, her soft footsteps gradually fading into the evening hush.
Something about the way she left—no dramatic goodbye, no lingering glance—made the moment feel even more intimate.
No promises had been exchanged.
No boundaries had been crossed.
But still, something had quietly passed between them.
A thread of unspoken understanding.
A shared warmth.
A seed of possibility.
And for now, that was enough.
Letting out a slow breath, Jihoon gently closed the door behind her.
The soft click echoed like punctuation at the end of a chapter.
He stood still for a beat, letting the silence settle around him, before turning back to his desk.
There, the screen glowed faintly with the script MBC had sent.
His cursor blinked like it had been waiting for him all along.
With her smile still lingering in his mind like the last note of a song, he sat down again—this time, the weight on his shoulders a little lighter.
The melody he had been chasing all day suddenly felt within reach. Her presence had given it shape. Emotion. Voice.
He dove into work, slipping into that quiet zone where time became elastic.
Minutes blurred into hours.
He studied the script carefully, page by page, letting the tone and rhythm of the story guide his choice.
By the time he finally selected a track from his archive—a melody originally meant for Taeyeon's birthday album—the sun had already dipped beneath the horizon, casting amber streaks across the room.
In the middle of his focused haze, the front door creaked open.
"I'm home!" Jieun's voice rang out, casual and familiar.
Jihoon barely looked up as she entered, but that didn't stop her from launching straight into a mock scolding.
"You said you'd pick me up from practice today," she huffed, arms crossed dramatically at the doorway.
Jihoon blinked, still half in the world of music and scripts. "Did I?"
"Yes! You promised just now at the office, remember?" Her voice was playfully accusatory, but her pout was real.
"Okay, okay," he muttered, raising his hands in surrender. "How about I make you dinner to make up for it?"
Jieun narrowed her eyes, skeptical but tempted. "Kimchi fried rice."
"That's your condition?"
"And an extra egg."
"Deal," Jihoon said with a chuckle.
Just as he rose from his chair, stretching out the stiffness in his back and heading toward the kitchen, his phone vibrated on the table.
He glanced down, expecting maybe a message from Taeyeon… or an update from MBC.
But the name flashing on the screen made him freeze.
"Tahee noona."
His brows drew together, surprise cutting through the casual air around him.
Son Yejin.
The name alone pulled him back.
They had worked together on Secret, his debut feature film.
Back then, Jihoon had been young in appearance, but with two lifetimes' worth of experience behind the camera, he knew exactly what to look for on set—every glance, every hesitation, every unscripted pause between breaths.
And it didn't take much for him to notice it.
The familiarity.
It was most evident during the intimate scenes—those moments where physical closeness wasn't just a blocking note, but a test of trust between actors.
Yejin and Hyunbin had moved with an ease that wasn't entirely crafted.
There was a natural rhythm between them, one that didn't need direction.
Their eyes lingered just a bit longer than the script required.
Their silences carried weight that couldn't be rehearsed.
Jihoon never said anything. It wasn't his place, and frankly, he didn't need to. He'd seen that kind of spark before—subtle, private, and all-consuming if left unchecked.
Maybe it was part of why Secret had resonated so deeply, earning its place at Cannes that year.
The rawness, the unspoken longing—it wasn't just written. It was real, even if never confirmed.
After the film wrapped, Yejin had gone her way, and Jihoon his.
She drifted into the spotlight, gathering roles, awards, endorsements.
He dived deeper into work, quietly letting his career expand beyond Korea's borders and into the beckoning chaos of Hollywood.
The industry didn't leave much time—or space—for casual check-ins. They hadn't stayed in close contact. Maybe the occasional holiday greeting. But that was it.
So when her name flashed across his phone screen—at 8:30 pm, no less—his first reaction was disbelief.
After all, as mentioned, they weren't exactly close—certainly not the kind of close where late-night calls for drinks or dinner would make sense.
Jihoon hesitated, his thumb hovering over the answer button.
A dozen thoughts flitted through his mind—chief among them, the lingering memory of those scenes she'd shared with Hyunbin.
The way they looked at each other on set, the quiet intensity between them—it hadn't felt like acting.
Not to someone like Jihoon, who had lived two lifetimes behind the camera.
He knew when a moment was just performance… and when it wasn't.
Still, curiosity—and courtesy—won out.
He exhaled, then brought the phone to his ear.
"Hello? Noona?" His voice was calm, polite—but laced with confusion. "How can I help you?"
The line crackled, then her voice came through—warm and gentle, like a breeze at dusk.
Ripe with quiet maturity, yet carrying a softness that lingers—subtle, yet quietly stirring.
"Jihoon-ah, I hope I'm not calling too late…"
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, JiangXiu and Daoistadj for bestowing the power stone!]