No one moved.
Tae-gyeom’s shoulder was touching mine.
It was contact separated by a thick shirt and jacket. The area touching me was far wider than the brush of fingertips, but my body had gone rigid, as if I had forgotten how to pull away.
Short sentences were written across the script.
Seo-ha places her hand on the buttons of her divorced husband’s shirt.
Jae-heon does not touch her.
He waits until his wife undoes the last button.
Then he asks.
*Can you make it through tomorrow morning without regretting this?*
I could not read the next line.
Eight months ago, on the night before Tae-gyeom left our home, we had been lying in the same bed.
We had turned our backs to each other and said nothing, but neither of us could sleep. There was nothing between us in the middle of the bed, yet we kept our bodies apart as if an uncrossable line lay there.
As dawn approached, Tae-gyeom turned onto his side to face me.
I remembered the sound of him moving and even the feeling of the mattress sinking slightly. He could have reached out and touched my back, but Tae-gyeom never laid a hand on me.
Instead, he asked.
*Would holding you right now make me even more of a coward?*
I did not answer.
If I asked him to hold me, I thought I might try to stop him from leaving. If I said I did not want him to, I felt I would be denying all the time we had spent loving each other.
So I stayed silent.
Tae-gyeom did not touch me until morning.
Neither had Jae-heon in the script.
He waited until his wife made her own choice.
“This scene…”
My voice rang out louder than I expected.
Everyone in the conference room turned toward me at once.
I pulled my shoulder away from Tae-gyeom and set the script down on the table. The spot that had been touching him only moments ago grew hot a moment later.
“Is this the final version?”
Director Go Se-rim adjusted her glasses.
“The major structure is. The detailed lines and blocking can still be adjusted.”
“Can the scene itself be revised?”
The writer’s expression grew cautious.
Su-jin straightened slightly beside me. Lee Jeong-u also glanced at Tae-gyeom. Tae-gyeom himself was not looking at me. His eyes remained fixed only on the script’s final page.
Director Go asked,
“What kind of revision do you think it needs?”
Her question was calm.
She was not reacting as though I were asking them to cut the scene because I felt burdened by it. I cleared my throat.
“I was wondering if they really have to show the two of them wanting each other one last time in bed.”
“You mean you think another approach would be better?”
“We could end with a conversation. They could part after kissing, or we could leave only the implication that they spent the night together.”
I had expected an intimate scene when I first read the script. It was an adult melodrama, a story about a married couple caught between love and divorce. I had not expected a work without so much as a kiss or an embrace.
But the final night was different.
Once that scene ended, Seo-ha and Jae-heon would truly part.
And once filming on Lingering Heat ended, Tae-gyeom and I had agreed to discuss our divorce again.
Acting out the fictional couple’s final night, then ending our real marriage as well.
It was too similar to call a coincidence.
“It would certainly be safer if we changed it to an implication.”
Director Go turned a page in the script.
“But safe does not necessarily mean it will be a good scene.”
“Are you saying it needs to be provocative?”
My question came out sharper than intended.
Director Go did not look offended.
“The opposite. It is a necessary scene to keep it from looking provocative.”
I stared at her without understanding.
Director Go opened to the beginning of the final scene.
“Seo-ha and Jae-heon have continued wanting each other for a month. But they avoid each other because they are afraid they might mistake that desire for love. They are afraid that if their bodies get close, it will look as though their wounds have disappeared, and they are afraid that if they embrace again, they will not be able to leave.”
Her finger stopped on a line in the script.
“On their final night, they both know they will be parting the next day. They do not promise to start over. They do not say they have forgiven each other. And yet they acknowledge only that their desire for each other was not a lie.”
“Do we really have to show that all the way through?”
“First, we need to decide with both actors how far ‘all the way through’ means.”
Director Go looked from me to Tae-gyeom.
“The bed scene I am talking about does not involve nudity or provocative movements. Seo-ha undoes Jae-heon’s shirt first, and Jae-heon keeps confirming that she is giving permission. They lie down in the same bed, but the camera captures their faces, their hands, and the moment their breathing changes. We have not decided yet how much to show.”
The writer added carefully,
“It connects to the next morning’s scene. The divorce is not canceled just because they spent the night together. Instead, for the first time, they honestly tell each other why they could not live together even though they still love each other.”
Getting physically close did not solve the problem.
It was the same thing Director Go had said a moment ago.
Even that was like us.
Kissing Tae-gyeom again would not erase what happened eight months ago. It would not erase the years I had kept him hidden from the world, or the fact that he had made a decision about my life for me and left our home.
We could not live together simply because love remained.
But neither could we lie and say that love was gone.
“If an actor does not want to do it, we will not film it.”
Director Go’s tone was firm.
“It is specified in the contract. Coordinator Nam Ji-an will be joining us next week. After meeting with each of you separately, she will document everything: acceptable contact, movements you absolutely do not want, the scope of nudity, and the stop signal.”
Su-jin asked,
“Can things be changed on the day of filming as well?”
“Of course.”
“What if something you already agreed to makes you uncomfortable on set?”
“We stop. You will not even have to explain why.”
“Will you ever ask for additional movements because you think the emotions are good?”
“No.”
Director Go answered without hesitation.
“When actors are anxious in scenes like this, it shows on camera exactly as it is. I have no intention of asking an actor who does not feel safe to act out love.”
Some of the tension left Su-jin’s shoulders.
But my body remained rigid.
It was not because I did not believe her explanation about filming safely.
The problem was that my scene partner was Tae-gyeom.
With an actor I did not know, I could clearly distinguish between the touches I could allow and those I could not. I could break down the length of time our lips touched, where his hands could rest, and how far the camera could capture us into numbers and blocking.
But Tae-gyeom’s hands were different.
If those hands touched my waist, I would know the next movement before the script told me. I would remember the moment he slowed his breathing, and the habit he had of checking my expression before kissing me.
Movements that would be acting for everyone else could become a repetition of our past married life for us.
“Ms. Jeong.”
Director Go called my name.
“You do not have to decide now.”
I lifted my eyes from the script.
“It is separate from the appearance contract. We have plenty of time before the final scene. Read the script, discuss it with the coordinator, and if necessary, let us discuss the shape of the scene again.”
“Is cutting the scene also possible?”
“If you decide you truly cannot film it.”
Director Go answered honestly.
“But in that case, we would have to rewrite a considerable part of the emotional structure of the final episode. So I want to make sure whether your discomfort comes from the scene’s necessity, your scene partner, or some other reason.”
Because of my scene partner.
At those words, Tae-gyeom raised his head for the first time.
Our eyes met.
He was breathing evenly, the way he did when hiding his emotions. His expression was calm, but his right hand had already dropped beneath the table. He had probably put it in his pocket.
What would Tae-gyeom do if I said I was uncomfortable filming this scene with him?
Would he ask them to change the script?
Would he fight the production company for me?
Or would he step away so I would not have to leave the project?
The fact that I already knew what choice he would make felt ominous.
“I’ll withdraw.”
My prediction had been right.
The conference room fell silent.
Lee Jeong-u turned toward Tae-gyeom.
“Hyung.”
Tae-gyeom did not look at him.
“If Ms. Jeong has to reconsider the project because of this scene, then I should be the one to leave.”
My fingers pressed hard into the corner of the script.
The production company’s executive producer leaned forward in alarm.
“Mr. Baek, there is no need to talk about withdrawing. We have not even begun adjusting the scene.”
“That is why I am saying it now. Changing things now will cause less damage than changing them after filming begins.”
“We have not even confirmed whether replacing the scene partner would solve the problem.”
Director Go spoke up.
“Ms. Jeong has not said she will not film it.”
“It may be more uncomfortable for her because I am her scene partner.”
At Tae-gyeom’s answer, Su-jin and Jeong-u both went rigid.
The writer and production staff would have taken his words to mean something else. The feud rumors surrounding the two people the public knew. Actors who had briefly worked together on a past project and whose acting styles had not matched. Destined rivals who had always spoken coldly about each other.
But I knew what he really meant.
Because I had to act out my final night with my husband.
“Stop.”
My voice dropped coldly.
Tae-gyeom looked at me.
“Ms. Jeong I-seo.”
“Why are you withdrawing, Mr. Baek?”
I deliberately pronounced his name clearly.
“Did I say I could not film this scene?”
“You have not said anything yet.”
“And you are already withdrawing?”
“I mean that you do not need to make a choice while forcing yourself to endure discomfort.”
“Who said I was going to endure anything?”
“Ms. Jeong.”
“Director Go said she would give me time to decide.”
I did not look away from Tae-gyeom.
“So why are you taking that time away from me?”
His lips pressed tightly together.
“If I withdraw, you can decide without pressure.”
“How is that without pressure?”
My heart was beating fast.
If Tae-gyeom left the project, the production company and investors would look for a reason. People would believe we were on such bad terms that we could not act together, and I would be left in the spot he had abandoned.
Once again, I alone would know that he had sacrificed himself to protect my career.
It was exactly like eight months ago.
Tae-gyeom had made the worst choice with the best intentions.
He had decided I could not endure it and disappeared before even asking me.
“You two.”
Director Go called to us in a low voice.
“This is not the place for the actors to reach a conclusion by themselves.”
Only then did I realize that I had reacted far too emotionally in front of the production staff.
I slowly steadied my breathing.
“I’m sorry.”
“There is nothing to apologize for.”
Director Go closed the script.
“Let’s stop discussing the final scene for today. Both of you, read the script again at home. If you dislike the scene, you can say so. If filming it with your scene partner would be difficult, you need to be honest about that too.”
Her gaze shifted to Tae-gyeom.
“But sacrificing yourself before the other person can decide is not the answer either.”
Tae-gyeom gave a short bow of his head.
“Understood.”
“And the production company will pretend we never heard the word ‘withdraw.’”
The executive producer nodded quickly.
“Of course.”
The meeting ended earlier than scheduled.
The documents were gathered, and people began standing from their seats. Su-jin picked up my bag and watched me carefully.
“Let’s talk in the car.”
“You go on ahead.”
“I-seo.”
“It’ll only take a minute.”
Su-jin’s gaze moved to Tae-gyeom.
He was speaking quietly with Lee Jeong-u. Jeong-u seemed to be pressing him about something, but Tae-gyeom did not answer.
Su-jin swallowed a sigh.
“Do not lock the door.”
“Okay.”
“Pick up if I call.”
“Yes.”
Su-jin left the conference room.
Lee Jeong-u also gave Tae-gyeom’s shoulder a single pat before heading out. Director Go and the writer said they had another meeting and left as well.
When the door closed, only Tae-gyeom and I remained in the spacious conference room.
The chairs where people had been sitting moments earlier were pushed around messily. Scripts, water bottles, and coffee that had not yet gone cold remained on the table.
Tae-gyeom spoke first.
“I knew you would be angry.”
“You did it knowing that?”
“It was better than putting you in a difficult position.”
For a moment, I almost laughed.
It was the kind of laughter that came when something was absurd.
“You said that eight months ago too.”
A little of the expression disappeared from Tae-gyeom’s face.
“I know.”
“You said it was better for you to leave than for me to lose an advertising contract. You said it was better for you to claim there was nothing between us than for those photos to spread.”
“Back then, I thought there was no other way.”
“You thought that.”
My voice trembled.
Not because I wanted to cry. Because I was sick of having the same fight all over again.
“I never even got the chance to think.”
“That is why I told you first this time.”
“Told me what first?”
“That I could leave if you were uncomfortable.”
“Is that asking me?”
I stood from my seat.
The chair scraped across the floor as it slid back. Tae-gyeom did not approach. He stopped about two steps away from where I stood and looked at me.
“You already reached a conclusion. That I would be uncomfortable, and that since I could not give up the project, you would leave.”
“Because it was the way that would cause you the least damage.”
“Do not make my choices for me again.”
Tae-gyeom’s mouth closed.
After the words left me, the conference room felt unnaturally quiet.
I clenched my right hand. The area beside my index finger, where I had pressed it with my fingernail earlier, throbbed.
“Do not dress it up by calling it protection either. If you disappear in my place again, I become the person left behind.”
Tae-gyeom’s gaze lingered briefly on my hand.
He did not approach or unfold my fingers. In the past, he would have taken my hand to stop me from pressing it harder.
Now he knew I had not given him permission.
“I will decide whether I film this scene.”
“Okay.”
“Even if I decide I cannot film it because you are my scene partner, I will say so myself. Even if I think the scene is unnecessary, I will persuade Director Go myself.”
“Okay.”
“Do not step aside first just to become the good guy.”
Tae-gyeom’s eyes wavered at those words.
I knew I had hurt him.
I also knew he had not left our home to look like a good person. He had truly believed that disappearing was the way to protect me.
That was why I was even angrier.
Because inside that belief was no thought that I was someone capable of making my own choices.
“I was not trying to become a good person.”
His voice was low.
“I did not want to lose you any more than I already had.”
One side of my chest tightened painfully.
“If you say things like that, do you think I will not be able to say anything?”
“No.”
Tae-gyeom pulled his right hand from his pocket.
His fingers were bare. His wedding ring was nowhere to be seen, but it would be somewhere beneath his shirt.
He did not reach his hand toward me.
He simply let it fall at his side.
“I think I was about to make the same mistake again.”
The unexpected admission left me speechless.
Tae-gyeom did not make excuses.
“You looked like you could not breathe while reading the script, so I thought I could make it work by removing myself from the scene first.”
“That is the problem.”
“I know.”
“Do you really?”
“When you were struggling, I thought about how to solve it first.”
He gave a bitter smile.
“Before even asking what was hurting you.”
My anger did not completely subside.
But there was no need to repeat the same thing anymore. If Tae-gyeom understood what he had done, what he did next was what mattered.
“Then ask me.”
I spoke quietly.
“Now?”
“You said you wanted to know why I was uncomfortable.”
Tae-gyeom’s gaze stayed on my face.
“Do you hate the scene?”
I could not answer right away.
I saw the script spread open on the table.
A night when Seo-ha undid her husband’s shirt buttons first, and Jae-heon waited until his wife made her choice.
“I do not know if I hate it.”
I answered honestly.
“But I am afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That we might act that scene too well.”
Tae-gyeom’s breathing faltered for the briefest moment.
“That we might have to pretend we are fine even after acting it out.”
I lowered my eyes to the script.
“Seo-ha and Jae-heon get divorced when that night ends. We agreed to sort things out again after this project ends too.”
“So you thought it was like us?”
“Didn’t you?”
Tae-gyeom did not deny it.
His silence was always more precise than an answer.
“It’s not the same.”
A moment later, he spoke.
“What isn’t?”
“Seo-ha and Jae-heon choose to spend their final night together because they were unable to say everything they needed to say to each other.”
“You mean we have?”
“No.”
Tae-gyeom looked straight at me.
“I mean we have not even begun yet.”
My heart began racing again.
Worried that his words might sound like a demand to get back together, I hardened my expression. Tae-gyeom noticed the change immediately.
“I am not saying we should change our agreement.”
He drew the line first.
“Nor am I saying I will persuade you until filming ends.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I am saying I will wait this time.”
He took one step back.
It was the opposite of the way he had approached me in the dressing room.
“Until you decide whether to film this scene, how far you will act with me, and whether you will still have me as your husband after filming ends.”
Tae-gyeom did not move any farther away.
He stood at a distance where I could reach him if I chose to, and where he could turn away if I did not.
“I’ll wait until you decide.”
“How long?”
“Until you have an answer.”
“What if it takes a very long time?”
“I waited six years.”
It hurt more because his words held no resentment.
I bit my lip, then released it.
“When you say things like that, you make me sound like a bad person again.”
“I have no intention of making you a bad person.”
“You already did.”
“Then I’ll take it back.”
The faintest smile crossed Tae-gyeom’s lips.
“Waiting six years was my choice. It is not a debt you have to repay.”
It was exactly what I had wanted to hear, and exactly what I had been afraid to hear.
Tae-gyeom did not call the time he had loved me a sacrifice. Then I could not use that love as an excuse to avoid my own mistakes.
“I’ll read the final scene.”
I spoke first.
“Take your time.”
“I’ll talk to Director Go and the coordinator too.”
“Okay.”
“I will decide whether to film it with you.”
Tae-gyeom nodded.
“I won’t disappear first this time.”
His answer made my chest ache strangely.
I had never told him not to leave.
And yet, when he said he would stay, I could breathe a little easier.
I gathered the script from the table.
Tae-gyeom’s script lay right beside it. The two covers were identical, and so were the final pages.
“And one more thing.”
I stopped on my way to the door.
“Never say in front of other people again that you are going to leave first.”
Since we were alone, I did not call him Mr. Baek.
The look in Tae-gyeom’s eyes softened slightly.
“Can I say it when no one else is around?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“You understand, right?”
“Can I take that to mean you do not want me to withdraw?”
I glared at him.
This time, Tae-gyeom smiled clearly.
It was a very brief smile. But it was the first face I had seen in eight months that belonged not to actor Baek Tae-gyeom, but to my husband.
I felt that I should not keep looking at that face for too long.
I opened the door first.
In the hallway, Su-jin and Jeong-u were each leaning against a wall. The moment we came out, they both straightened at once.
“Did you fight?”
Su-jin asked.
“No.”
“You both look like you did.”
“We talked.”
Jeong-u asked Tae-gyeom,
“Hyung, you’re not leaving, right?”
“I’m not.”
Tae-gyeom answered.
“Why are you looking at Ms. Jeong for approval while you answer?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I pretended not to hear and walked toward the elevators.
Su-jin followed beside me.
“What are you going to do about the scene?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You do not have to film it.”
“I know.”
“Do not decide just because of the contract.”
“I won’t.”
“Or because of Tae-gyeom.”
My steps slowed for a moment.
“That too.”
The elevator doors opened.
Su-jin and I entered first. Tae-gyeom and Jeong-u stayed behind. We were going down to the same underground parking lot, but riding the elevator together would draw attention.
Our eyes met just before the doors closed.
He did not say anything.
He had said he would wait, and he seemed to mean it.
Until I pressed the button.
Before the doors closed completely, I could not take my hand off the open-door button.
But I did not open them again.
As soon as we got in the car, Su-jin checked the filming preparation schedule the production company had sent.
“Individual meeting with Coordinator Nam Ji-an next week. Full script rehearsal the following day. Costume fitting that Friday.”
I fastened my seat belt.
“When is the first shoot?”
“They are still coordinating the scene order. It seems the production company wants to film an early intimate scene first for publicity, but apparently Director Go is blocking it.”
“She should.”
“I know. Who tries to make actors kiss when they only signed their contracts today?”
Su-jin got into the driver’s seat and started the car.
“The joint casting announcement is finally confirmed for nine tomorrow morning. Our side will review the announcement copy by tonight.”
“What about the feud rumors?”
“They said they will describe it as the first official melodrama pairing between two actors who once drew attention as rivals. Nothing more than that.”
“Will the production company CEO be satisfied with that?”
“Even if she isn’t, that is what they are going with.”
The car left the underground parking lot.
The late-afternoon sunlight stretched long beyond the window. I placed the script on my lap.
Even without opening the cover, I felt as if I could see the final scene.
*Can you make it through tomorrow morning without regretting this?*
If Tae-gyeom asked me that for real, what would I say?
If we were filming, I could deliver Yoon Seo-ha’s line.
But what if the question remained even after the director called cut?
I turned the script facedown.
“Go home and rest today.”
Su-jin spoke.
“Don’t I need to go to CEO Moon?”
“I’ll report that you signed the contract.”
“She knew Tae-gyeom was the other lead and still hid it from us.”
“Are you going to confront her?”
“I need to hear why she hid it.”
“Do it tomorrow. There are too many emotions today.”
“I’m fine.”
“The moment you say that is when you are least fine.”
Su-jin changed lanes decisively.
I did not argue.
There were no notifications on my phone.
Tae-gyeom had not sent a message.
Like someone keeping his promise to wait.
I liked that fact, but it also made me uncomfortable. When he had not contacted me for eight months, I had resented him so much. Now I felt as if I understood even why he was not contacting me.
Until I made the first choice.
Just as I was about to turn off the screen, my phone began ringing repeatedly.
It was not just once.
Messenger alerts, a call, and news alerts poured in almost simultaneously.
Su-jin’s phone began ringing right away too.
“What is it?”
She answered the incoming call through the car’s display.
“Yes, manager.”
The production company’s publicity team employee spoke urgently through the speaker.
“I’m sorry. The casting article just went out ahead of schedule.”
Su-jin’s face went rigid.
“You said nine tomorrow morning.”
“It looks like it was accidentally made public while the distribution materials were being uploaded in advance to the media outlets’ systems. We are requesting that they take it down, but several outlets have already received the article.”
“You uploaded material before we even finished reviewing it?”
“I’m truly sorry. We took down the original, but the article is already showing on the portals…”
As I listened to the call, I turned on my phone screen.
New articles were appearing by the second.
None of them had the tame headlines the production company had prepared.
The moment I saw the headline at the top, my fingertips turned cold.
*‘Entertainment Industry’s Biggest Feuding Pair’ Jeong I-seo and Baek Tae-gyeom to Play Divorced Couple.*
A more provocative line appeared beneath it.
*From Kisses to the Bed: Two Top Stars’ Daring Melodrama.*
In the photo, Tae-gyeom and I were looking in opposite directions at an awards ceremony from several years ago.
No one knew that we had gone home in the same car after the event ended that day.
Another call came in.
It was CEO Moon Hye-ran.
Before Su-jin could answer, Tae-gyeom’s name appeared on the screen.
No.
My husband.
A name that had not rung for eight months trembled in my hand alongside the articles.