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Baek Junhyuk still feels a little unreal every time something like this happens, like he has not fully caught up to the fact that he is actually working again as an actor while also being a newly debuted idol, so when his manager tells him that he got cast as the male lead in a web series, his first reaction is quiet kind of disbelief that quickly turns into excitement he tries very hard to keep contained, because he does not want to make it a big deal in front of the others even though it kind of is, and he ends up rereading the script later that night more than once just to make sure it is real, just to sit with the idea that this is something he gets to do again.
The script itself is easy to follow, the kind of light school story that feels familiar, and he finds himself getting into it without much trouble, already thinking about how he wants to play the character, how certain lines should sound, how certain scenes should feel, and for a while, everything goes smoothly.
Until it’s not.
Because the revised script comes in a few days later, and Junhyuk is expecting small changes at most, maybe a few lines here and there, nothing major, so he reads it casually at first, flipping through the pages while half-listening to whatever the others are talking about in the background, not really paying full attention until he reaches one part that ends up taking up way too much space in his head.
There is a kiss scene.
Junhyuk only realizes what he has just done when he is back in his room with Seonghyeon standing a little too close, the door closed behind them, and for a brief moment, his brain goes completely blank, which is impressive considering it has not stopped running for the past hour.
This was a bad idea.
Specifically, the part where he actually has to go through with it.
Junhyuk swallows, suddenly very aware of everything at once, the distance between them, the fact that Seonghyeon looks completely fine, like this is just another thing on his schedule, while Junhyuk, on the other hand, feels like he just ran ten laps without stopping.
“Okay,” Junhyuk says, because silence somehow feels worse. “So.”
So what.
He doesn’t know.
Seonghyeon tilts his head slightly. “You’re the one who asked.”
Right.
That’s true.
Junhyuk nods like that helps, even though it doesn’t, because now that he’s here, actually standing in front of Seonghyeon with this being a real thing that is about to happen, all the confidence he had earlier feels suspiciously absent.
“Yeah,” he says, buying time. “I just… we should do it properly.”
Seonghyeon hums, like he’s considering that. “Define properly.”
Junhyuk opens his mouth.
Closes it.
That’s a good question.
“I mean,” he starts again, already aware this is going nowhere, “not just randomly, like there should be… timing.”
“Timing,” Seonghyeon repeats.
“And like, build up,” Junhyuk adds, because that sounds right, “so it looks natural.”
Seonghyeon nods slowly, expression unreadable. “So you want to rehearse a full scene.”
Junhyuk freezes for a second.
“…no.”
“That’s what you just said.”
“I meant like, just the important part.”
“The important part being.”
Junhyuk hesitates.
“…the kiss.”
There’s a pause.
Not long.
But long enough.
“Okay,” Seonghyeon says again, like this is still simple.
Junhyuk is starting to think he is the only one struggling here.
“Okay,” he echoes, even though nothing about this feels okay.
Another silence settles between them, heavier this time, because now there’s no more explaining left to do, no more stalling that makes sense, and Junhyuk can feel his heartbeat picking up in a way that is frankly unnecessary for something that is supposed to be “just practice.”
He shifts his weight slightly, then immediately regrets it because it only makes him more aware of how close they are.
Seonghyeon doesn’t move.
Of course he doesn’t.
Junhyuk inhales, then exhales, trying to act like this is normal, like he has done this before, even though he absolutely has not, and for a second, he considers saying something else, anything to delay this a little longer.
He doesn’t.
Because dragging it out is probably worse.
“Should we just…” he gestures vaguely, immediately regretting that too, “…start.”
Seonghyeon watches him for a second, then steps closer.
It’s not even a big step.
But it’s enough.
Junhyuk’s brain completely short-circuits for half a second, because this is real now, this is actually happening, and he has no idea what he’s supposed to do with his hands, his posture, his face, everything suddenly feels too noticeable, too wrong.
“Relax,” Seonghyeon says.
Junhyuk almost laughs.
“Yeah,” he says, voice slightly tighter than he intended. “I am.”
He is not.
Seonghyeon raises an eyebrow but doesn’t call him out on it, which Junhyuk appreciates, because if he does, Junhyuk might actually combust on the spot.
There’s another second of hesitation.
And then—
Seonghyeon leans in.
Junhyuk reacts a little too late, his brain catching up half a second after his body does, and the result is… not smooth.
Not smooth at all.
Their noses bump.
Lightly.
But still.
Junhyuk freezes.
“Oh,” he says, because apparently that’s the only word he knows right now.
Seonghyeon pulls back just enough, lips twitching like he’s trying not to react. “Angle.”
“Right,” Junhyuk says quickly. “Angle.”
He adjusts slightly.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Because now he’s overthinking it.
Too much.
Everything.
“Wait,” Junhyuk blurts out, holding up a hand before anything else can happen, “give me a second.”
Seonghyeon actually steps back.
Which helps.
A little.
Junhyuk runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply like he’s resetting himself, even though nothing about this feels resettable, because this is not something you can just casually get good at in five seconds, and he is suddenly very aware that this might not go as planned.
“Okay,” he says, more to himself than anything. “Again.”
Seonghyeon nods.
Steps closer.
Junhyuk braces himself.
This time, the angle is better.
Their faces are close enough now that Junhyuk can actually feel his brain trying to shut down completely, because this is too much detail, too much proximity, and he is very aware that if he thinks about it too hard, he’s going to ruin it again.
So he doesn’t think.
He just—
leans in.
Their lips meet.
And Junhyuk immediately understands two things.
One, this is definitely his first time.
And two, Seonghyeon is not much better.
Because it’s… awkward.
Not bad.
Just uncertain.
Like neither of them knows what they’re doing but neither of them is willing to admit it first, which results in this slightly off timing, this barely-there contact that lingers just long enough to count but not long enough to feel smooth.
Junhyuk pulls back first.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to breathe.
“…okay,” he says, because again, words are failing him.
Seonghyeon nods once.
“Okay,” he repeats.
Junhyuk stares at him for a second.
Something clicks.
“You’ve never done this either,” he says.
Seonghyeon doesn’t answer immediately.
Which is already an answer.
Junhyuk lets out a small, disbelieving laugh, something between relief and disbelief. “You said yes way too fast for someone who also doesn’t know what they’re doing.”
Seonghyeon shrugs slightly, like that detail is irrelevant. “It’s just practice.”
Junhyuk narrows his eyes a little.
That answer feels suspicious.
But also—
He exhales.
Steps closer again.
“Then we should practice more,” he says, a little more confident now, a little less like he’s about to pass out.
Seonghyeon watches him.
“More?” he repeats.
Junhyuk nods.
But before he can push it further, Seonghyeon shifts slightly, expression turning more thoughtful than before, like he’s actually considering something instead of just going along with it.
“…we should look it up first,” Seonghyeon says.
Junhyuk blinks. “What.”
“Research,” Seonghyeon repeats, completely serious. “If we’re going to do it, we should do it properly.”
Junhyuk stares at him.
“Properly,” he echoes, slower this time, like the word has suddenly lost all meaning.
Seonghyeon nods once. “We have time, right.”
Junhyuk opens his mouth.
Closes it.
Because technically, yes.
They do.
“…so you’re saying,” Junhyuk starts carefully, trying to make sure he understands this correctly, “we stop here.”
“For now.”
“And then what, we… study it?”
Seonghyeon doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”
Junhyuk has never felt more confused in his life.
“Like homework,” he says.
“Something like that.”
Junhyuk lets out a short breath, running a hand through his hair, because this was not how he expected this to go, not at all, and yet somehow it feels even worse to just agree with it.
“Okay, but how long does this ‘research’ take,” he asks, a little more defensive than he intended.
Seonghyeon thinks for a second.
“Three days.”
Junhyuk blinks. “Three days.”
Seonghyeon nods again, calm, like he didn’t just casually schedule something like this. “That should be enough.”
Junhyuk stares at him.
Three days.
“…right,” he says slowly.
Seonghyeon steps back, like the conversation is already settled. “We’ll try again then.”
Junhyuk watches him for a second, still trying to process how this turned into a planned event with a preparation period, like it’s an actual project instead of whatever this is supposed to be.
“Okay,” he says finally.
Not because he fully agrees.
But because he doesn’t know how to argue against something that somehow sounds reasonable.
And also because—
three days suddenly feels like both too long and not long enough at the same time.
So Junhyuk does what he does best.
He prepares.
Which, in this case, means spending an unreasonable amount of time watching kiss scenes from dramas, not casually, not just once or twice, but properly, like he is studying for something important, pausing, replaying, paying attention to angles, timing, how close they stand before it happens, what they do with their hands, how long it lasts, all of it stored carefully in his head under the excuse of “this is for acting.”
It is.
Technically.
But also not entirely.
Because no matter how focused he tries to be, his brain keeps doing this thing where it replaces the actors without asking, shifting faces, adjusting details, until at some point he is not even watching the scene anymore, just a version of it that looks slightly too familiar.
Junhyuk leans back against his bed, phone still in his hand as another clip loops, and he exhales slowly, dragging a hand over his face like that might reset something.
“This is for acting,” he mutters.
Which would be more convincing if he had not replayed the same scene three times already.
He lets the video run one more time.
Just to check.
For accuracy.
And definitely not because he is imagining how it would feel if—
Junhyuk immediately pauses it.
“Okay,” he says out loud, like he is setting a boundary with himself. “Enough.”
It is not enough.
Because later that night, he does it again.
And the next day too.
By the time the third day comes around, Junhyuk is technically more prepared.
More aware of what he is supposed to do.
But also significantly more aware of one very specific problem.
Because every time he tried to picture it properly, every time he tried to make it feel natural in his head, it always ended the same way.
With Park Seonghyeon.
Which, at this point, is not helpful at all.
Especially when he still has to face him later.
For “practice.”
The third day feels unnecessarily long, and Junhyuk hates that he notices every single minute of it, because it makes him look like he cares too much, which he obviously does not, except he does, just not in a way he is ready to admit, so he spends most of the day pretending to be normal while very obviously not being normal, stealing glances that in his head feel subtle but are probably happening every five minutes, especially when Seonghyeon is busy talking to Minje and Wonbin like nothing is pending between them, like there is no unfinished business waiting at the end of the day, and Junhyuk tells himself that maybe he imagined it, maybe Seonghyeon only said that to brush him off nicely, which makes sense, because the whole thing is weird anyway, and Junhyuk should probably be relieved Seonghyeon doesn't freak out or hate him.
So when Seonghyeon suddenly grabs his wrist after practice and pulls him into one of the smaller vocal rooms, Junhyuk doesn’t even protest properly, just follows, slightly out of breath for no good reason, brain catching up too slowly to what’s happening, until the door closes and it’s just the two of them again.
“So,” Seonghyeon says, like nothing about this is unusual, “did you do your homework.”
Junhyuk exhales once, quick. “Yeah. I did.”
“Good.”
That’s it.
No hesitation.
And somehow that’s worse.
“Wait,” Junhyuk says quickly, stepping in before the silence stretches too long, already slipping into explanation mode like that’s going to save him, “I actually… looked into different types.”
Seonghyeon raises an eyebrow slightly.
“For acting,” Junhyuk adds immediately.
“Of course,” Seonghyeon says.
Junhyuk chooses to believe that.
“The first one,” Junhyuk starts, because if he keeps talking maybe this won’t feel so real, “is just a basic peck. It’s used a lot for like, early development scenes, not too intense, just enough to establish something.”
He nods to himself like that sounds professional enough, then leans in and presses a quick, light peck against Seonghyeon’s lips, barely a second before pulling back, his brain immediately going, okay, that’s manageable, that’s safe, that’s—
“Right,” he mutters, a little too focused. “That’s standard.”
Seonghyeon hums quietly.
Junhyuk narrows his eyes slightly.
Okay.
“The second one,” he continues, shifting closer again, “is more… involved. Slight pressure, longer timing, it helps with emotional build-up.”
He says it like he fully understands what that means.
He doesn’t.
But he leans in anyway, this time not pulling away immediately, pressing in just slightly, letting it linger, and it’s still awkward, still unsure, but the difference is there, enough to make his thoughts stumble for a second.
When he pulls back, his voice comes out a little quieter. “Yeah, that’s… more natural.”
Seonghyeon nods once.
“The third one,” Junhyuk says, clearing his throat a little like he’s about to present something serious, even though his ears are already starting to feel warm, “is… more advanced. It’s used when the scene needs to feel more real, more intense.”
Seonghyeon looks at him.
Junhyuk avoids eye contact for half a second.
“…it involves, um,” he gestures vaguely, immediately regretting it, “a bit more… movement.”
“That’s very specific,” Seonghyeon says.
Junhyuk ignores that.
“I saw it in multiple references,” he adds quickly, like that makes it valid, like he didn’t spend half the time pausing and replaying because his brain kept short-circuiting, “it’s about… timing.”
He does not elaborate further.
Because he can’t.
There’s a brief pause where neither of them moves, and for the first time, Junhyuk actually hesitates longer than before, not because he doesn’t want to try, but because this is clearly a step up from whatever they were doing earlier, and he is suddenly very aware that neither of them actually knows how this is supposed to work in real life.
“…okay,” he mutters, more to himself than anything.
Then he leans in.
Slower this time.
Careful, but not as stiff as before.
When their lips meet, there’s a second where nothing happens, like both of them are waiting for the other to know what to do first, and that second stretches just enough to make it obvious.
Junhyuk decides.
Bad idea.
But he does it anyway.
It’s hesitant.
Uncertain.
Slightly off in timing.
And immediately obvious that this is new territory for both of them, because there’s no rhythm, no coordination, just two people trying to follow something they’ve only ever seen, not done, and it shows.
Junhyuk pulls back first.
A little too fast.
“…okay,” he breathes out, blinking like his brain just lagged. “That—”
He stops.
Because he doesn’t even know how to describe that.
Seonghyeon exhales quietly, and for the first time, he actually looks a little less composed, just for a second, like something slipped.
Junhyuk notices.
And weirdly—
that makes him feel a little better.
“Timing issue,” Junhyuk says finally, nodding once like he’s diagnosing a technical problem instead of whatever that just was.
Seonghyeon lets out a small breath that sounds suspiciously close to a laugh.
Junhyuk pretends not to hear it.
But this time—
he doesn’t feel like backing away as much.
“The fourth one,” Junhyuk says, a little too quickly this time, like he doesn’t want to give himself the chance to think about the last attempt for too long, “is about positioning,” and his voice steadies as he leans into the explanation again, using it like a shield, “like, it’s not just the kiss, it’s how you… hold each other, it makes it look more natural on camera.”
Seonghyeon watches him.
Quiet.
Junhyuk ignores that.
“I saw this a lot,” he adds, stepping closer before he can hesitate, “it helps with immersion.”
This time, he doesn’t wait.
He reaches out and takes Seonghyeon’s hand, guiding it up toward his hair, fingers threading in slightly, and the moment Seonghyeon’s hand actually settles there, Junhyuk feels it, the difference, the way it’s suddenly not just proximity anymore but contact that stays, that holds, and for a split second his brain stutters because this wasn’t part of the easy, controlled version he imagined.
“…like this,” he mutters, softer now.
His other hand moves on instinct, finding Seonghyeon’s waist, and when it settles there, something shifts again, subtle but real, enough to make his chest feel tight in a way that has nothing to do with “practice” anymore.
Junhyuk exhales.
Then leans in.
Slower this time.
And when their lips meet, everything in his head immediately gets louder instead of quieter, thoughts tripping over each other because now there’s too much to register at once, the warmth, the pressure, the fact that Seonghyeon isn’t pulling away, the fact that his hand is still in Junhyuk’s hair, actually holding, and Junhyuk suddenly becomes hyper aware of the way he’s the one who closed the distance this time, the one who decided the timing, the one who is still standing there instead of backing off.
it lasts longer.
Long enough for Junhyuk to stop thinking about how it’s supposed to look and start noticing how it actually feels, and that is immediately a problem, because now his brain is doing two things at once, trying to analyze while also very clearly not wanting to stop, and somewhere in between that, he forgets what exactly he was trying to prove with this attempt in the first place.
His grip at Seonghyeon’s waist tightens just slightly.
And that alone is enough to throw him off again, because now he’s aware of it, aware of everything, of how close they are, of how this is not ending as quickly as the others, of how Seonghyeon is definitely not as still as before either, and that realization hits a second too late to do anything about it.
When Junhyuk finally pulls back.
His hand doesn’t drop immediately.
Neither does Seonghyeon’s.
There’s a brief pause where everything just… stays.
“…yeah,” Junhyuk says quietly, voice a little lower now, like his brain is still catching up. “That one… works.”
Seonghyeon doesn’t answer right away.
And when Junhyuk looks at him—
he’s not as calm anymore.
Junhyuk knows he should stop.
Seriously.
At this point, he has already proven enough, more than enough even, and if this was really just about “practice,” then they should have ended it at the second one, maybe even earlier, said something normal, laughed it off, pretended this was all very professional and necessary.
But instead, he’s still standing here.
Still too close.
Still thinking about it.
Which is exactly why his brain decides, very unhelpfully, that there is still one more thing he has to “try.”
“The last one,” Junhyuk says, even though he definitely did not plan this far, his voice coming out more confident than it has any right to be, “is… situational.”
Seonghyeon’s eyebrow lifts slightly. “Situational.”
“Yeah,” Junhyuk nods immediately, fully committing to whatever this is, “like, it depends on the mood of the scene, so it’s less about technique and more about… reacting naturally.”
That sounds smart.
Perfect.
Seonghyeon looks at him for a second longer this time, like he’s actually trying to figure out if that makes sense.
Junhyuk hopes he doesn’t think too hard about it.
“So it’s unpredictable,” Junhyuk adds quickly, digging himself deeper, “you don’t plan it, you just… go with what feels right in the moment.”
There.
That should cover it.
He steps closer again, like he’s giving himself room to pretend this is controlled, even though his thoughts are already starting to slip, because this is clearly not about research anymore and he knows it, but he still leans into the act anyway, because backing out now would be worse.
“Like this,” he mutters.
And then he leans in.
Except this time—
he doesn’t get to decide everything.
Because just as he closes the distance, just as he expects it to go the same way as before, something shifts, fast enough that his brain doesn’t catch it immediately, because Seonghyeon moves first.
Not away.
Closer.
One hand comes up without Junhyuk guiding it this time, not hesitant like before, not placed carefully like it’s part of a demonstration, but intentional, steady, and suddenly Junhyuk is not the one controlling the pace anymore, not the one setting the rhythm, and the realization hits half a second too late for him to react properly.
His thoughts stop.
Completely.
Junhyuk can feel it immediately, the difference in how it starts, how it doesn’t hesitate the same way, how it doesn’t feel like trial and error anymore. His hand tightens slightly at Seonghyeon’s waist without him realizing, his brain scrambling to catch up, because this is not how he imagined it would go, not how he planned to “test” anything, and the worst part is that he doesn’t even want to stop it to regain control, doesn’t want to pull back just to fix the structure of it.
So he doesn’t.
Seonghyeon doesn’t step back.
Doesn’t let the moment just pass.
Instead, he stays exactly where he is, still close, still looking at Junhyuk in a way that feels different from before, less controlled, less careful, like whatever he was holding back earlier is starting to slip.
“…you’re not doing this with her.”
Junhyuk blinks.
“…what.”
Seonghyeon exhales, like he’s already annoyed at himself for saying it out loud but not enough to take it back. “That. You’re not doing this with your co-star.”
Junhyuk just stares at him.
Because that—
was not what he expected.
“At all,” Seonghyeon adds.
Junhyuk’s brain tries to catch up.
Fails.
“…it’s acting,” he says slowly, like he’s testing the words.
“I know,” Seonghyeon replies immediately.
“But—”
“I still don’t like it.”
There’s a pause.
A very real one.
Junhyuk looks at him properly now, searching for something, for any sign that this is a joke or just something said in the heat of the moment, but Seonghyeon doesn’t look like he’s joking, doesn’t look like he’s taking it back either, and for the first time since this whole thing started, Junhyuk feels something unfamiliar settle in his chest.
“…you’re serious.”
Seonghyeon doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t need to.
Junhyuk lets out a quiet breath, something between disbelief and something dangerously close to a laugh, because this is—
this is not how this was supposed to go.
“…okay,” he says slowly, running a hand through his hair, suddenly aware that there is no way out of this without saying something real in return, because whatever this is, it’s already past the point of pretending.
“Then I should probably say this properly,” he adds, glancing back at Seonghyeon.
A pause.
Junhyuk exhales once.
“I never planned to do it with her anyway.”
Seonghyeon’s expression shifts, just slightly.
“…what.”
Junhyuk scratches the back of his neck, suddenly less confident now that he actually has to explain it out loud. “That kiss scene.”
Another pause.
“I wasn’t going to do it,” he admits, then quickly corrects himself, “or I mean—I was, but not like that, not seriously, I was trying to figure something out before it got to that point.”
Seonghyeon’s gaze sharpens. “Figure what out.”
Junhyuk hesitates.
Then sighs.
“Okay, this is going to sound stupid.”
“Just say it.”
Junhyuk looks at him for a second.
Then says it anyway.
“I kind of decided a long time ago that my first kiss would be with you.”
Silence.
Junhyuk immediately regrets how direct that sounded.
“I mean—not decided like that,” he adds quickly, already backtracking, “it was just—like a thing, back when we were trainees, I made this… I don’t know, promise to myself or something, and it stuck, and I didn’t think it would actually become a problem, but then the script changed and—”
He stops.
Because he’s definitely talking too much now.
“…so all of this,” Seonghyeon says slowly.
Junhyuk winces slightly. “Yeah.”
“…was planned.”
“Not like this,” Junhyuk says quickly, gesturing vaguely between them, “I didn’t think it would actually—” he stops again, because finishing that sentence feels like a bad idea, “I just needed an excuse.”
Seonghyeon stares at him.
Long enough to make Junhyuk shift slightly under the weight of it.
“…you’re unbelievable,” Seonghyeon mutters.
Junhyuk opens his mouth to defend himself.
Then pauses.
“…okay, but in my defense—”
“My defense is that I didn’t want you to kiss someone else,” Seonghyeon cuts in, sounding more frustrated now than before, even if it’s still quiet, still controlled, “so I said yes.”
Junhyuk freezes.
“…oh.”
There’s a pause.
Then—
“Oh.”
Seonghyeon looks away briefly, running a hand through his hair in a way that feels a little too familiar now. “And now you’re telling me you weren’t even going to do it.”
Junhyuk hesitates.
“…about that.”
Seonghyeon narrows his eyes slightly. “What.”
Junhyuk scratches his cheek, suddenly very aware that this next part is not going to help him.
“I got a message earlier,” he says carefully.
“When.”
“…during dance practice.”
“…and.”
Junhyuk exhales.
“They cut the kiss scene.”
Silence.
Seonghyeon stares at him.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“So,” Seonghyeon says slowly, voice very calm in a way that is definitely not calm, “you dragged me into this, made me—” he stops himself, exhales sharply, “all of this, for something that doesn’t even exist anymore.”
Junhyuk raises both hands slightly. “Okay, I didn’t know at the time—”
“You could’ve told me.”
“I just found out—”
“You still didn’t say anything.”
Junhyuk opens his mouth.
Closes it.
Because yeah.
That’s fair.
“…I was going to,” he mutters.
Seonghyeon scoffs quietly.
Junhyuk watches him for a second, then, very carefully, steps a little closer again, like he’s testing something.
“…but it worked out,” he says.
Seonghyeon immediately looks at him. “What.”
Junhyuk shrugs, trying to look casual and failing slightly. “I mean… my first kiss thing.”
There’s a pause.
Seonghyeon stares at him.
Then exhales sharply, clearly annoyed, but not stepping away either.
“…you’re actually unbelievable.”
Junhyuk grins a little.
Just a little.
“…but you didn’t say no.”
Seonghyeon looks at him again.
And this time—
he doesn’t have a comeback for that.
Which is probably the only reason Junhyuk dares to stay right where he is.