DTM | Chapter 3.1

03. The Omen

 

As filming continued, the staff of <Comma> visibly lost stamina in real-time. Keeping up with Kwon Yi-tae’s grueling schedule was practically like living his life alongside him; it would have been strange not to feel exhausted.

If only Kim PD could dial back his ambition a little and reduce the shooting load, we might have been able to catch our breath. But Kim PD, burdened by the thought of all Kwon Yi-tae’s global fans watching the documentary, was desperate to capture even a single usable scene, no matter what it took.

The staff, battered by the extreme workload, looked ready to crawl into their coffins themselves when Kwon Yi-tae’s day off finally arrived. His day off meant no additional schedules, which in turn meant we could wrap up filming early as well.

For the first time, we began filming not at his agency or a scheduled location, but at his home.

“Kwon Yi-tae… he’s surprisingly frugal, isn’t he?”

Go Hyeong-woo whispered as he set up the camera.

“Hey, since when is a 40-pyeong (about 132 square meters) brand-name apartment in this neighborhood considered frugal?”

Kim PD frowned like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But Go Hyeong-woo, undeterred, continued his train of thought.

“No, I mean… for someone with Kwon Yi-tae’s level of fame, it’s frugal. I thought he’d be living in some brand-new, 100-pyeong penthouse, like where CEOs live.”

“Cleaning something like that would be a nightmare, you idiot.”

“Why would Kwon Yi-tae clean it himself? He’d hire people. This is probably just his ‘broadcast house,’ right?”

“Instead of wasting your time thinking about nonsense, go edit another cut.”

In response to Kim PD’s scolding, Hyeong-woostuck out his tongue while grumbling, “It’s just small talk, geez.”

I listened to their banter while taking in the interior of the apartment. A storm of emotions swirled inside me, leaving my chest uneasy and my breath catching in bursts.

This was the very same house I had practically lived in three years ago. Most of the furniture remained unchanged. He was never one to fill his home with things, preferring minimalism, so there wasn’t much to begin with. The one noticeable addition was a television.

He probably bought it for monitoring purposes, given his job.

I couldn’t pinpoint the source of my tangled feelings. The leather sofa, the dining table, the bed—everything held traces of the life I’d left behind three years ago, untouched and intact.

“Why the hell hasn’t he moved yet?”

I took a deep breath, trying to dispel the rippling unease in my chest.

Kwon Yi-tae emerged into the living room in comfortable clothes, and the camera, already rolling, turned toward him. Without a glance at it, he shuffled sleepily to make coffee, then sat at the dining table. Sunlight poured through the large windows, scattering across his skin. He was merely sipping coffee, but the scene could have come straight out of a movie.

Wait… isn’t that mug mine? I squinted my eyes, leaning forward slightly. The white cup he was holding looked oddly familiar.

As he raised the cup to his lips, the crude cloud-shaped design on the bottom came into view.

It was mine!

My heart dropped like a stone. Anything Kwon Yi-tae used would undoubtedly sell out immediately thanks to his fans. There was no way they’d miss that poorly drawn cloud design on the mug.

It wouldn’t take long for fans to deduce that it wasn’t a commercially available item. With their finely tuned instincts from years of fangirling, they’d figure out it belonged to a girlfriend—or an ex-girlfriend.

Cold sweat began trickling down my back. If the fans set their minds to it, there was no way they wouldn’t uncover my name. Unha—the un character for cloud, just like the shape of the cloud on the cup. Add to that my name in the broadcast’s ending credits, and it’d be a wrap.

No! This scene has to be cut!

“Hahhh-choo!”

“Cut! Writer Yoo!”

“Writer Yoo!”

I forced out an exaggerated sneeze. Kwon Yi-tae glanced at me before setting the offending mug back on the table. Kim PD apologized to him on my behalf and temporarily turned off the camera.

“Sorry. I tried to hold it in, but I couldn’t….”

“If you press your nostrils like this, the sneeze will go away.”

Go Hyeong-woo demonstrated by pinching his nose with his thumb and index finger repeatedly. I pretended to be amazed and copied him.

Taking advantage of the brief commotion while the set was being adjusted, I approached the table. I had to get rid of that mug. Feigning calm, I reached out for the handle.

“What are you doing?”

“Ah! God, you scared me….”

That low murmur brushed against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. My heart nearly stopped! As I struggled to compose myself, his long arm reached past mine, brushing my skin, and snatched the mug away, placing it firmly back on the table.

“Stealing someone’s coffee, are we?”

His breath, warm and teasing, grazed my ear. Why was he standing so close? His body heat seemed to seep into my back. Perhaps it was because of the dream I’d had recently, but even this slight touch made my body overly sensitive. My resolve to remove the mug was smothered under the growing tension, replaced by another kind of anxiety.

I awkwardly rubbed the back of my neck to hide the goosebumps. Pressing myself closer to the table to put some distance between us, I found that he only leaned in further, oblivious. Stay calm. Trying to appear unfazed, I replied.

“That mug just looks exactly like one I made in high school.”

“Amazing. That must be fate. Why don’t we have coffee together, then? Stay for a bit after filming.”

“No, I’m allergic to caffeine. It gives me hives.”

“You don’t look like someone who gets hives. You seem more like the type who drinks coffee every day.”

Damn him. Was he really quoting what I’d said three years ago? How petty could he be?

“I used to be like that, but as I’ve gotten older, my diet’s changed.”

“Then have juice with me. If that doesn’t work, we can have water.”

Though there wasn’t even a sliver of space between us, he somehow leaned closer. His lowered voice tickled my ear. Every place his breath and warmth touched began to tingle. I tried to steady my pounding chest.

Yoo Eunha, you’re not an animal. Don’t get worked up here.

Swallowing hard, I opened my mouth.

“While you may have the day off, I don’t….”

“Are you worried I’ll eat you up?”

“……”

“Your ears are red. Maybe you want me to.”

“Hah….”

Kwon Yi-tae had already caught on to my state. Worse, he seemed to be enjoying my frazzled reaction, as though reveling in the chaos he was orchestrating. I was dancing completely in the palm of his hand. Gritting my teeth, I bit down hard on my lower lip, then jabbed my elbow against his stomach and turned my body away.

“Why are you so desperate to have coffee with me?”

“Because you keep avoiding me.”

“I don’t know what you want, but if you’d stop trying to single me out like this, I wouldn’t avoid you.”

He leaned over the table, boxing me in with his arms.

“Why can’t we meet one-on-one?”

“Because we’re not that kind of relationship.”

“If you’ve sucked each other off before, you can at least have coffee together, don’t you think?”

“……”

“You’ll make my dick feel neglected.”

“Ugh.”

Kwon Yi-tae’s deliberate choice of lewd words broke through my composure. My poker face cracked, my frustration spilling over.

But I knew better than to let my emotions dictate my actions. The consequences of responding in kind would only make things worse.

Doing my best to mask my turmoil, I spoke.

“Don’t use the mug.”

My best option was to remove myself from the situation. But I couldn’t leave without some semblance of dignity, so I disguised my distress with irritation, pitching my voice low.

Kwon Yi-tae raised an eyebrow. I swatted at his arm blocking my way, though I barely pushed—it was more that he moved it willingly.

The heat from his gaze lingered on the back of my head as I walked away, a million thoughts chasing one another in my mind.

“Why did I even try to act tough?”

Thinking it over, I realized I had everything to lose. If that petty bastard decided to refuse filming, it’d be my problem. If he insisted on using the mug out of spite, it’d be my problem. Just the thought of dealing with the fallout left me utterly drained.

“Not a single day goes by smoothly, does it?”

When filming resumed, to my relief, Kwon Yi-tae didn’t touch the mug. Maybe my final act of feigned anger had worked.

Now that I think about it, even back when we dated, Kwon Yi-tae had a habit of backing down when I got mad—aside from his obsessive tendencies, of course. He’d pout when I snapped at him but folds the moment he sees even a hint of real anger.

Was my glare that scary? It wasn’t a productive thought, but curiosity won out. Quietly, I switched my phone to selfie mode to check my reflection.