When Kim Taehyung's fictional romance with his costar Jeon Jeongguk feels more genuine than anything he accomplished in his entire acting career, he believes it shouldn't be a problem: after all, it's just acting.
But isn't it wrong to be envisioni...
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The final days of filming the movie went by before Taehyung could comprehend it.
It was difficult, especially since Jeongguk barely talked to him after they were done filming certain scenes. Once filming the required scenes were done, Jeongguk would leave before he could get a chance to speak to him.
There wasn't much to say or do. Their interactions on set were reduced to unreadable, lingering glances, stolen when neither were paying attention. All the things Taehyung wanted to say were trapped behind a forced smile, a scripted line, and every time he would reach out and attempt to break character, Jeongguk would slip right through his fingers every single goddamn time.
Taehyung didn't know what to do. They were back to square one, and for some reason, Jeongguk's refusal to even look at him made him feel horrible. But for some strange reason, it didn't hurt. Nothing about this hurt, and he wondered if something was wrong with him.
Instead, his head was always heavy after each shoot, and his heart was stuck in place, rusted over. With every look Jeongguk spared him, it would creak, but when he remembered he wasn't happy with him, his heart, like the rest of him, would remain frozen in place, too stunned, too confused without any directions.
Maybe it was supposed to be like this.
Maybe it was for the best.
However, Taehyung didn't want that.
He couldn't leave this be. There were so many things he was terribly unsure of, and honestly, nothing made sense to him, but he knew this for sure. He didn't want to leave Seattle without talking to him. Hell, Taehyung spent sleepless nights trying to figure out what to say, struggling to piece himself together with trembling hands and a stupid voice reminding him over and over how he couldn't do this, how he wasn't enough.
And it fucking sucked. It would suck how his hands trembled uncontrollably and he couldn't make sense of the lines that were supposed to define him. Even in a mirror, he was a blur of words, of scripts, of a face he couldn't recognize because for some reason, it wasn't like his features ever truly belonged to him in the first place.
He curled into a ball on the icy bathroom floor and held himself close, his fingers digging into his biceps. With every shiver, a sob caught in his throat, and with every face that flashed through his mind when his weary eyes fell shut on accident, Taehyung couldn't escape their disappointment.
He wanted to disappear. He wanted everything to just shut up, to drown already because he couldn't take it. He couldn't fucking take this, and he couldn't escape the walls that closed in on him, making him feel smaller, more hopeless than he already was.
