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365 days Under His Skin
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The studio lights flicker to life one by one, casting long shadows across the set floor as crew members shuffle around, taping marks and running final checks. Yohan's voice rang across the room, sharp but not harsh, reminding everyone of their cues.
I stood near the monitor station, clutching the latest version of the revised script—my script. It had gone through three rewrites in the past week alone, each one slicing away something I loved, replacing it with safer choices.
Still, I tried not to let it show. I tried to remember that I wasn't here as Taeha, the poor BL fanfic writer and university student who was so desperate for attention for her work that she was running behind on deadlines and academic stress, along with family responsibilities. I am Taekyung now. Respected screenwriter. Observed by everyone around. Picked apart in silence.
Across the set, Siwoo was in costume, already mic'd up, and being fussed over by a makeup assistant brushing invisible specks off his cheek. He laughed at something she said—full, easy, and far too pretty.
Junho, on the other hand, appears irritated by the actor's laid-back demeanor. So he decided to speak with the other actor, who is also the lead, along with Siwoo.
When will he realize that he is jealous?
Because I always assumed he was annoyed because Siwoo was being too nosy with me as a protective best friend, he was attempting to push me away from him, but now it was clear he had feelings for him. However, I never attempted to dig it up because it was none of my business.
I sighed and looked down at the page. Scene 17. The big confrontation. A vulnerable moment—where the actor Hyunjae, now trapped in Doyun's body, the cashier's body, is finally stripped of the ego he once wore like armor. When he realizes how the world treats people who have nothing to offer but hard work and late nights. No fans, no favors. Just exhaustion and silence.
Siwoo scoffed the first time he read the scene, which I thought was too dumb for him, because why not? As an actor must never have faced situations like this, so I didn't blame him at the time. But now, standing near the monitor with my script in hand, I braced myself to watch the actor's performance, as this was the first vulnerable scene in the entire script that he would be acting in.
And I hadn't seen any of his films or dramas before, but I'd heard that he does justice to every character he plays, mainly from his biggest detractor, Junho, and "If there is anyone I could trust with these kinds of concepts, it's him," Yohan told me on and off during shoot time.
Thus far, the other scenes have gone well, just like they all were told, so I was curious how he'd perform this one. I also doubt this charming one would do well.
Yohan stepped forward from behind the camera; his eyes were so focused and on alert. He said something low to the DP, nodded at the sound crew, and then finally turned to Siwoo. "You ready?" he asked as if he wanted to make sure the actor was okay with everything.
Siwoo rolled his shoulder once, like he was ready to go on a fight scene, before giving a nod and walking into the narrow convenience store set. The light was dim enough to maintain the late-night shift his character was working. The props, half-empty racks, the lights, and a register that beeped too loudly were all in place.
I watched closely, holding my breath. The camera rolled. Yohan's voice called out loud and steady: "Scene 17. Take one. Action!"
Siwoo stood behind the counter in the scratchy uniform shirt that hung just slightly loose on his lean frame. A customer had just left. The bell above the door rang. And then it was just him. Alone, not just as the Doyun he was pretending to be, but as Hyunjae, the arrogant actor who got swapped into Doyun, who finally understood Doyun's life, the real life.
His hand dropped the crumpled receipt onto the counter, which he stared at with eyes that were more exhausted than Doyun's. "That guy just argued with me and then won…" He mumbled quietly, almost flat. His voice trailed off, and then his lips twitched, not with amusement but with a grave disbelief, the kind of twitch that comes from being humiliated and trying not to let it show. a tired, aching type of bitterness.
He walked out from behind the counter. One slow step at a time. He picked up a broom and leaned on it as if it were the support that could make him stand. The camera followed him.
Then… His phone buzzed, Douyn's. He pulled it out as the name on the screen lit up: "Hyunjae is calling," but it wasn't really him. It was Doyun, in Hyunjae's body. He answered but didn't speak at first except to breathe.
Hyunjae's original voice through the phone came with Doyun's calm but distant one. "Hey… Are you at work?"
Doyun's Hyunjae's) voice was rough, almost like a whisper, "Yeah… Just had a customer yell at me over ten won."
Then a pause. A pause that was enough to make me more intrigued, and I stared at the actors. The scene continued with Hyunjae's (Doyun's) gentle voice, which was calm like water.
"You used to say people like me made too big a deal out of small things."
The words are so hard that the expression that Siwoo gave is more like he received a punch by regret to his guts, to Hyunjae's guts.
"I didn't know small things could feel this big." And then another silence. A painful one, with tons of regret. Doyun (Hyungjae) sank slowly to the floor, the broom clattering beside him.
"I thought being you would be easy. Wake up. Stand behind a counter. Smile politely. Go home." He paused just to take a breath, looking straight ahead, leaning his head against the metal, blinking hard. He continued, "But every hour feels like a punishment. Like I'm invisible unless I make a mistake."
The camera moved slightly in, slow and steady, capturing the muses' handsome faces, one with regret and the other with guilt.
Doyung (Hyunjae) continued again, "I get it now. Why did you never smile much? Why do you never answer my stupid jokes?"
That's it. My heart leaped when I heard the crack in his voice. But stood there watching the scene as he spoke, "You were tired." The phone pressed to his ear was still connected.
"This wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't ask for it either." Hyungjae (Doyun) spoke on the phone
"Damn, they're making me forget they are actors," I thought as I stared at the scene I had scripted.
"Maybe we weren't supposed to understand each other… not until we became each other." Doyun (Hyunjae) said with a bitter smile, lowering his voice just like his head. "I…I…" His voice was cracking as he spoke, but why do I feel the lump in my throat?
"I'm sorry, Doyun. For everything. For never seeing you until I became you." A tear finally slipped down just one, but it was enough.
Sniffle, I turned my head at the sound of soft sniffling to find Junho already on the verge of crying; his lashes shimmered with unshed tears, and his mouth was pressed into a tight, trembling line. His usually calm eyes, which would glare at Siwoo most of the time, were now glassy, wide open, and unblinking, staring not just at Siwoo but through him. Through the scene. Like he had just seen something that hit too close to home. Then Yohan's voice came through the quiet.
"Cut!"
No one, literally no one, moved right away. Everyone in the set stood blinking and let out large exhales, like they had been holding their breaths.
My eyes found Hyunjae swapped. Doyun, who was now back to Siwoo, yet stayed seated, breathing heavily, eyes still damp. Not bothering to wipe his cheek. He let the emotions settle.
Sehyun, the other actor playing Hyunjae and who got swapped with Doyun, placed his hand over Siwoo's shoulder, causing him to look at him. Sehyun said something that appeared to be asking if Siwoo was okay, to which the man nodded with his charming smile.
I hadn't realized my grip on the script had tightened until I heard the crinkle. It's such a mess for a person to act as both characters. As a writer, I had gotten confused too many times while writing, but He nailed it; they nailed it.
Siwoois is not only an actor. But as someone who... understood the essence of the moment. Doyun's heart. I must commend both actors for their excellent performances. But Siwoo...maybe I underestimated him?
From the corner of my eye, I caught Yohan glancing toward me. He didn't say a word, and he didn't need to. The way he crossed his arms and slightly tilted his head toward me, all saying, "See? He can do it."
I looked down at my script, now crumpled from the pressure of my grip. He was right. Maybe I should have acted more like Taekyung rather than acting like Taeha, who was out of this circle.
"Taekyung-ah~"
I looked up. Siwoo was walking toward me now, a towel over his shoulders, a bit of sweat clinging to the sides of his forehead, but no trace of exertion in his posture. He stopped in front of me and leaned slightly, peeking at the script in my hand.
"Still reading it like you didn't write the damn thing?" he asked, smirking.
"I was just checking if you were missing any line," I replied dryly.
He hummed and tilted his head as he spoke, his smirk growing. "So, did you find them?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Not at all," I replied with a genuine tone. His smirk immediately turned into a full smile, and he asked, "So how was my performance then?"
You slayed it! It is something I would have said if I weren't Taekyung, but being Taekyung, I need to choose the words, just like him: "Not bad."
His round eyes, which were quite red, widened dramatically. "Not bad?" He winced with a pout. "That's harsh. Coming from the writer himself."
"I didn't say it was bad. I said, Not bad; there is a difference," I corrected, tilting my head, arms folded. "I thought you would overdo it, or you just flirted your way through rehearsals," I muttered.
"I flirt to get through life, Taekyung-ssi; that doesn't mean I don't do my homework." His tone was teasing, but his eyes had that unfamiliar steadiness,s a little too long on my face. And that quiet moment told me something else: that he wasn't just saying it…he meant it.
"...You did a good job today I said eventually. Those words brought a grin to his face.
"Finally! A compliment! I was starting to think I had to fake a faint just to get one."
I rolled my eyes. "Don't give the crew any more heart attacks."
He leaned a bit closer. "From you? I'd consider it." I took a step back, sighing at his flirtatiousness.
But then he said, "Oh, also, tell your best friend not to glare at everyone around me. I might think he loves me."
The words stopped me. My brow furrowed. "What does Junho have to do with—" Before I could finish, Siwoo tilted his head to the side, casually motioning with his chin, and I followed his gaze.
And there, just past the monitor station, Junho stood, not watching the screen or packing up but just staring at us. His jaw was tight. Eyes locked on us. Not angry. But something close. Possessive, maybe. Or protective, but heavier than usual. And the glare is not at me. He had never glared at me, but he was glaring now. But the target was Siwoo. My lips parted, but no words came out.
Siwoo didn't look smug or laugh. He just said, softer this time, almost like a secret, "Guess it's not the characters who are confused, huh?"
With that, he left me, staring at him, dumbfounded. What does he mean by that?
*2 months passed*
And just like that january dissolved into February, and just like that, the days lined up and marched forward to march. There were hiccups, like plenty of them. Adjusting to being in a man's body wasn't as easy as I had pretended.
But somehow, with time, I'd stopped referring to his body as his. His fingers became my fingers. My reflection became familiar. I stopped flinching at the sight of broad shoulders or Siwoo's hugs. I started calling this body "mine."
The shooting progressed steadily, and for a while, I stopped thinking about what Siwoo had said until the day of the rain scene shoot. I never liked the rain, not even before. It reminded me of a day long ago that I kept locked up inside my mind, just like I was locked up in my childhood.
But no,w being out in the downpour with freezing droplets drenching me, reminding me of the time I was drenched in the rain alone, it hit me differently. It seeped into my bones, awakening the bitter memory just like every time it rained.
And strangely, it wasn't me who got sick the next day. It's Siwoo. The entire schedule was canceled. The crew was on standby, and the mood dipped. Rumors flew that Siwoo had caught a terrible cold. And to make things even more complicated, Junho took the day off. To stay with him.
No one said it outright, but I overheard the makeup coordinator whisper it to the assistant producer. "Junho? Yeah, he's at Siwoo's place. Heard he didn't even hesitate."
That night I couldn't sleep. How could I when my bloody boy-love mind activated, replayinSiwoo's's words in my head? That softly knowing voice. "Guess it's not the characters who are confused."
Was he hinting at something between them?
The worst is that Junho hadn't answered any of my texts all day. I even asked Yohan, but the director, as ever, gave his more confusing answers, but in the end, anyway, he said he too didn't receive any.
He always replied; he is the type of friend who would spam your chat box, but now it's quiet. Not even a lazy kk or any stickers, which are more like his communication. But today, nothing.
I am at my desk right now, the harsh glare of my monitor causing my eyes to ache. I closed them for a moment, pressing my fingertips against the bridge of my nose. Sleep deprivation, eye strain, or just too much in my head, I don't know anymore.
I waited for the scripts to be printed out. I couldn't stare at the screen any longer. The sound of printers echoed across the office, spitting out pages and revisions. The phones rang, keyboards clacked too loudly, and people buzzed from desk to desk with urgency in their steps.
A very usual chaos, but in the middle of it all, this one stood out like nails on a chalkboard. It belongs to none other than Director Park. The man himself was a walking nightmare. Condescending, petty, and obsessed with control. He had a way of speaking that made even compliments sound like complaints and insults.
Everyone on the floor dreaded his presence. He didn't so much direct as dictate, and he loved watching people squirm under his gaze.
Today was no different. I heard him before I saw him.
And somehow, that was worse.
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Thanks for reading. See you in the next chapter.
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