“Why the sudden interest in that?”
“Since you’re a PD yourself, I was curious. The PD of the drama that just concluded appeared on .”
‘I should have known.’ It had struck him as odd that Youngjin was inquiring about a director rather than an actor from a successful drama, but now the reason was clear. was a popular program that featured discussions with professionals from diverse fields. While it leaned towards educational entertainment, it had also garnered praise for its engaging format, hosted by renowned comedians. For a director, not even an actor, to appear on such a show and make such a spectacle, it was undeniably an attention-seeking stunt.
Youngjin cast a furtive glance, a mischievous smile curving his lips. Seungjun, intuiting that the topic of Nam Yiwon was far from over, stifled a sigh. Under the table, Youngjin playfully entangled his legs with Seungjun’s, chattering with an innocent cheerfulness.
“That PD looked like a model, you know? He seemed taller than you, hyung. You’re around 185 centimeters, aren’t you? That’s already quite tall.”
“I’m 187 centimeters.”
“Anyway, his face was so refined that at first glance, I wouldn’t have pegged him as a PD. He also spoke with such wit and charm, which made me wonder if you two knew each other.”
“Do you think everyone in the same profession knows each other?”
“Oh, right! You’re on the documentary side, aren’t you?”
Seungjun’s brow, which had been patiently smooth, twitched in irritation. Having just returned from three months of grueling filming in the desert, he found it impossible to let that remark pass. They had only genuinely dated for a mere month, meeting at most once a week, and throughout their brief courtship, he had invariably been preoccupied with documentary work. It was, he conceded, an entirely understandable misunderstanding.
Nonetheless, Seungjun found his patience wearing thin. Youngjin’s playful rubbing of his legs and his childish antics were anything but endearing. Youngjin, misinterpreting the reason for Seungjun’s stony expression, burst into laughter.
“Are you jealous? You’re much more handsome, don’t worry.”
“Why would I be jealous of that guy?”
“What do you mean, ‘why wouldn’t you be jealous’? He’s incredibly successful!”
“I’m not that petty.”
Youngjin, typically prone to teasing, had never been quite so exasperating. Seungjun adopted a stern expression, intending to signal that the topic was closed, but Youngjin, thoroughly delighted, only egged him on.
“He’s not just wildly successful; they say he’s practically a scion of a chaebol family. Apparently, he chose to work in broadcasting out of sheer passion for dramas, rather than inheriting his parents’ business.”
“I don’t tend to base the value of my life on wealth.”
“You *are* jealous, aren’t you?”
“No. Not at all.”
“You totally are.”
He nearly bit his tongue, stifling an angry retort. ‘Don’t let the childish provocations of someone five years my junior get to me,’ he thought. Seungjun composed himself and reached for his phone.
“Let’s go. I’ll take you home.”
“He’s jealous, he’s jealous!”
Youngjin taunted, his shoulders shrugging playfully. In that instant, as his patience evaporated and his rationality fractured, the words Seungjun had been contemplating for some time finally burst forth.
“Let’s break up.”
“…What?”
Youngjin’s brow furrowed, his eyes widening in disbelief. ‘Let’s break up.’ Seungjun articulated the words clearly, leaving no doubt that he was serious. Visibly flabbergasted, Youngjin scoffed, a disbelieving sound escaping his lips.
“Are you serious?”
“I don’t think we’re compatible.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I waited three months for you to finish filming in the desert, only for you to break up with me the moment you return? What kind of bastard does that?”
Youngjin shot to his feet, his shout echoing through the small cafe. Responding now would only fan the flames of his anger. Seungjun silently scanned the table. Two glasses. Mercifully, the drinks were finished, but both were still more than half-filled with ice.
‘Right. Better than water. Good thing it’s not hot.’
No sooner had that thought of relief crossed his mind than Youngjin seized a glass in each hand. Seungjun squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable. Moments later, a cascade of ice cubes rained down upon his face. Twice, in rapid succession.
“I hope you meet someone just like yourself next time, hyung—a real piece of trash!”
Seungjun opened his eyes, meeting the barrage of curses head-on. He sat there, numbly rubbing his cheek, until Youngjin collected his coat and rose to leave. A large, hard ice cube had landed a particularly painful blow to his cheekbone. The cold ice against his skin, which was already red from sunburn and beginning to peel, left a sharp, stinging sensation.
Youngjin turned his back, his breath coming in ragged, harsh gasps. Just as he took his first step away, Seungjun’s voice cut through the air, directed at his retreating figure.
“I’m a drama PD.”
For some inexplicable reason, his voice cracked. Gazing at his ex-lover as Youngjin walked away without a backward glance, Seungjun reiterated, his voice now imbued with a desperate emphasis.
“Not a documentary PD, a drama PD!”
****
‘What a predicament for a drama PD, constantly on the run to avoid being roped into documentary shoots.’
Seungjun let out a heavy sigh, glaring at the coffee cup clutched in his hand. The documentary <Desert,>, which he had filmed during his hiatus after completing a drama, was currently airing. Despite its late broadcast slot, the favorable reception made his arduous efforts somewhat worthwhile. Yet, as a drama PD, being repeatedly told, “It seems your documentary is receiving a better response than your drama this time,” was anything but pleasant.
No, it was, in fact, quite vexing. With the current documentary’s success sparking discussions about a follow-up series set in Antarctica, the underlying reason for such backhanded compliments was glaringly obvious: they wanted him to film another documentary.
Antarctica—the mere thought sent shivers down his spine. It had been only recently that his skin, scorched crimson by the desert sun, had peeled in patches, and he harbored not the slightest desire to be hauled to the Antarctic to endure frostbite.
‘This time, come what may, I must direct a drama. My expertise lies in dramas, not documentaries,’ Seungjun vowed resolutely, then drained the last of his coffee in a single gulp. ‘Even a successful documentary is a source of stress,’ he muttered to himself as he stood before the elevator. The lingering bitterness in his mouth felt like more than just the coffee.
He was staring blankly at the descending numbers—3, 2, 1…—lost in a reverie, when an abrupt, sharp blow landed squarely on the back of his head.
“Ah, shit, what the hell?”
“Baek Seungjun, are you even human? If I ever set you up on another blind date, I’ll eat my hat!”
He didn’t even need to raise his head to recognize the familiar voice. Seungjun stifled a sigh, then slowly straightened his posture with an air of weary resignation. Jung Dohun, his fellow PD and friend, was glaring at him, eyes bulging with indignation.
As it happened, he had been receiving a ceaseless stream of furious texts from Dohun all morning. Anticipating a prolonged argument, Seungjun took a few steps away from the elevator. Dohun followed, his finger jabbing accusingly.
“No, that’s not right. Why should *I* be a dog? The dog is right here! Hey, you bastard, I heard you broke up with Ms. Yuri over a video call?”
“I didn’t have time because I was working overtime.”
Ignoring the deluge of curious stares, Seungjun answered frankly. It had been two days since he’d ended things with the woman he was casually dating, delivering the news via video call. Unable to even go home, working day and night, he simply hadn’t had the chance to tell her in person. While it was generally considered proper to break up face-to-face, he couldn’t very well summon her to the company entrance just to deliver such news. A video call, he had reasoned, was his compromise for maintaining some semblance of decorum.
“How can you even say that with a straight face? You swore you’d never date anyone in the same industry, so I asked my girlfriend to set you up, and then you tell her to stop contacting you over a video call? Did I not tell you that Ms. Yuri is my girlfriend’s best friend?”
“Can’t you see the state I’m in? I slept here again yesterday. I’m telling you, I had no time.”
“You’re not even working on a project right now, so why the pretense of being busy?”
“I’m actually preparing for a drama. And we weren’t even officially dating, just casually seeing each other for a few weeks. That’s more than enough.”
“From today onward, I’m going to perform rituals and curse you to be dragged off to Antarctica, so just you know.”
Dohun retracted his jabbing finger and spun on his heel. ‘Looks like I’ll be enduring that temper for the next few months,’ Seungjun thought, shaking his head. He walked past the people who were casting furtive, disgusted glances his way. Even Jung Dohun was now talking about Antarctica; it seemed the rumor of PD Baek Seungjun being dragged off to the icy continent had spread far and wide. And from today, he mused, the whispers would undoubtedly include the additional epithet: ‘the human scum who breaks up via video call.’
With every person he encountered seemingly determined to irritate him, Seungjun decided it would be best to barricade himself in the editing room as quickly as possible. As he lengthened his strides, he frowned. Familiar faces, likely returning from lunch, spotted him from across the way and waved.
“Baek PD! I really enjoyed the documentary.”
“Tell them not to look for me, for I won’t be going to Antarctica even if a knife is held to my throat.”
Seungjun preempted them before they could begin their badgering on the familiar subject. With nowhere else to escape, he halted before the elevator. PD Kim Eunseong dashed over, casually slinging an arm over his shoulder. She was, he knew, the most fervent advocate for his documentary work.
“Why? Antarctica is great. How many people get to experience both the desert and Antarctica in their lifetime?”
“Shall I yield this great opportunity to you?”
“Oh, come now. I may not have a talent for documentaries, but you certainly do. You’re quite the versatile talent, aren’t you, Baek PD?”
Having learned from experience that ignoring them completely was the best approach, Seungjun looked straight ahead. However, his patience, already frayed, completely ran out as the elevator descended five floors. Seungjun, even standing on his tiptoes, looked down at her askance as she persistently tried to get into his line of sight.
“It’s not healthy to be so fixated on someone else’s misfortune. You should aim for a long life, you know.”
“Oh, you’re just playing coy! I’m truly disappointed, so disappointed.”
“About what?”
“Are you really going to be like this? You’re finally doing the drama you’ve been preparing for, aren’t you!”
Eunseong exclaimed loudly, hitting Seungjun’s back. Before he could even retort to the absurd statement, others chimed in, as if they had been waiting.
“It must have taken a long time to come together, but it’s going to be great. Truly, congratulations.”
“Speaking of which, what happened? Were you acquainted with Director Nam Yiwon?”
“You both went to the same university, didn’t you? Or was it different?”
“But I never thought Baek PD, of all people, would be co-directing. Have you finally decided to compromise your perfectionism?”
‘What is all this about?’