Shadows of the Spotlight

Chapter 52

A silence lingers between us, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

To break it, Arc clears his throat and says, "So... the series?"

Grateful for the change in topic, I nod quickly. "Yeah, let's watch it."

Arc doesn't push further. Instead, he picks up the remote and starts the first episode. The opening scene plays, and just like that, the moment shifts into something lighter, something comfortable.

As we watch, I shift slightly, trying to find a better position for my ankle. Arc notices and, without a word, grabs the blanket folded at the foot of the bed. He drapes it over my legs, tucking it gently around me.

The simple action warms me in a way I don't expect, but it also makes me suddenly aware of something—I'm wearing shorts. And not just any shorts, but ones that are quite short. Normally, I'd feel self-conscious about wearing anything too revealing in front of others. I've always avoided crop tops and shorts when I know I'd be around people. But with Arc... I hadn't even thought about it.

The realization is strange. I had become so comfortable around him that I forgot to be self-conscious.

I glance at him, expecting some teasing remark, but he simply shifts back to his side of the bed, staying on top of the blanket himself. He's giving me space, privacy—respect.

I appreciate the gesture more than I can put into words.

Turning my attention back to the screen, I focus on the series as Arc occasionally leans in to share behind-the-scenes stories about Xander's filming days—how he struggled with the heavy hanbok, how the cast would prank each other between takes, and how nervous he had been before his first fight scene. His stories make me laugh, adding a whole new layer to the series.

Between episodes, we munch on snacks, the room filled with the soft sounds of crunching and occasional laughter. It's easy, effortless—like we've been doing this forever.

Before we know it, midnight creeps up on us. My eyelids grow heavy, and I stifle a yawn. The warm atmosphere, the quiet hum of the TV, and the comfort of Arc's presence lull me into a sense of peace. The last thing I remember is the soft glow of the screen flickering in the dimly lit room.

I slowly drift back to consciousness, the hazy remnants of sleep still clinging to me. The room feels unfamiliar at first, but waking up in a different hotel room isn't exactly new when touring. What is unusual, however, is the steady warmth beneath me and the comforting weight wrapped around my waist.

Frowning, I shift slightly, only to realize that the pillow I was hugging isn't a pillow at all—it's Arc.

My heart stutters.

My hand trails down hesitantly, and that's when I feel it—his arm draped securely over my waist, holding me close. My entire body goes still.

Did we...?

No, no, I probably just fell asleep while watching, and he didn't want to wake me. That's it.

Swallowing, I take a slow, deep breath before daring to glance up at him.

Arc is still asleep, his breathing even, his face relaxed save for a small frown between his brows. He looks like he's dreaming. I can't help but stare, taking in the way his lashes rest against his skin, the way the early morning light casts soft shadows on his features.

Without thinking, I reach up and gently smooth the crease on his forehead with my fingers. His expression eases instantly, and I don't know why, but that makes my heart ache in the best way.

I let my fingers wander, tracing the bridge of his nose, lingering at the curve of his cheekbone before I reached the corner of his lips. Just as my fingertip is about to graze his lower lip, a warm hand suddenly catches mine.