The shrill, demonic screech of my alarm clock violently yanked me from the warm embrace of sleep. With the grace of a half-conscious sloth, I failed my arm in the general direction of my phone, missing spectacularly twice before my fingers finally connected with the screen.
Victory.
Or so I thought.
Because in my half-asleep state, I miscalculated my own strength. Instead of a gentle tap to silence the alarm, my hand slapped the phone so hard it yeeted itself off the nightstand like a suicidal lemming.
In a desperate attempt to save it, I lunged—
THUD.
"OUCH! F*CK! AHHHHH!"
One second, I was in bed. The next? I was sprawled on the floor like a roadkill pancake.
For a moment, I simply lay there, contemplating my life choices, the existence of gravity, and whether or not it was too late to fake my own death and start a new life in the mountains.
Eventually, I blinked away the betrayal-induced pain and reached for my fallen phone. My screen, miraculously intact, displayed a number that sent a cold bolt of terror through my entire being.
7:30 AM.
Oh. Oh, no.
"SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, I'M GONNA BE LATE!" I screeched, launching myself to my feet with the adrenaline rush of a person about to be fired.
What followed was not a morning routine. It was a high-stakes action sequence.
I dashed into the bathroom, practically sliding across the tiles like a cartoon character. In a feat of efficiency that defied both physics and logic, I showered, brushed my teeth, and got dressed in under five minutes. Somewhere between shampooing and rinsing, I may or may not have accidentally ingested soap, but that was a problem for Future Me.
By the time I burst out of my room, still fighting my own hair, the scent of breakfast slapped me in the face like a cruel reminder of everything I would never have.
At the dining table, Jane sat in her usual spot, the picture of calm perfection. She had a warm plate of food in front of her, the coffee steam rising mockingly.
"Good morning," she greeted, completely unbothered by the hurricane unfolding before her eyes. "I made breakfast. You should eat."
I skidded to a stop just long enough to throw my makeup kit over my shoulder like a worn-out war veteran.
"Morning, Jane! Running late—take care of things! Bye!" I blurted, already halfway to the door.
"Aren't you gonna eat?" she called after me, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow.
I turned back, looking at the fluffy pancakes, the crispy bacon, the scrambled eggs that looked like they were prepared with love and care.
"I'll eat the leftovers—if I survive!" I shouted before bolting out the door.
The condo hallway blurred past me as I ran, carrying my baggage like an overworked airport employee who's one bad day away from quitting. I just had to make it to the parking lot, get in my car, and—
SMACK.
I collided with someone.
Hard.
It was the kind of collision that makes action movies look tame. My bag exploded open on impact, brushes, foundation, and powder flying everywhere like an impromptu fireworks display.
"HEY! HEY! HEY! YOU!!!" a male voice yelped. "WHAT THE HELL?! OUCHHH!"
I barely registered the victim of my accidental assault. Survival instincts kicked in, and I did the only logical thing:
I scooped up my things and sprinted for my car like I was in the final round of a reality TV competition.
"NO TIME TO APOLOGIZE, RANDOM CITIZEN!" I yelled over my shoulder, already hurling my stuff into the backseat like a bank robber mid-getaway.
I yanked the car door open, threw myself inside, and slammed the door shut.
Deep breath.
Everything was fine. Everything was—
BANG BANG BANG.
A fist pounded against my driver's side window.
I slowly turned my head to find the poor guy I had body-checked standing outside, glaring at me.
"You ran into me like a human wrecking ball, and THEN you tried to escape?!" he demanded.
I hesitated.
"...Yes?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling like a man who had seen some things. "Unbelievable."
I winced, cracking the window open. "Look, I'm really, REALLY sorry, but I literally have three minutes to get to work, or I'm gonna get fired, and I can't afford to be late right now."
He sighed, rubbing his shoulder. "Fine. But you owe me coffee."
"Deal!" I chirped, throwing the car into reverse so fast the tires squealed in protest.
As I sped out of the parking lot, I caught a glimpse of him in my rearview mirror—shaking his head and laughing.
Today was already chaos.
And I hadn't even clocked in yet.
"SORRY, NEIGHBOR! I'LL MAKE IT UP TO YOU! REALLY IN A RUSH!" I hollered over my shoulder, waving frantically as I launched myself into my car like I was being chased by debt collectors.
With the reflexes of a panicked squirrel, I turned the ignition and peeled out of the parking lot like I had just committed grand theft auto.
By the time I arrived on set, I looked like I had just been mugged by the wind. My hair was everywhere, my breathing sounded like an asthmatic vacuum, and my dignity? Left in the dust. But no time for self-reflection—I needed to find Mr. Park's dressing room.
I power-walked down the hallway, dodging crew members like I was in a game of Temple Run. A kind staff member pointed me in the right direction, and I skidded to a stop in front of the door.
I barely knocked before pushing it open.
"Mr. Park, I'm so sorry that I arrived a bit late—"
I froze.
There he was.
Shirtless.
Gloriously shirtless.
Abs so defined they had their own time zone.
Brain? Gone. Evaporated. Disconnected from service.
"I'M SO SORRY, I DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE CHANGING! MY APOLOGIES!" I yelped, slamming the door shut so hard the hinges nearly filed for assault charges.
The door creaked open again a second later, and Mr. Park's smug, infuriatingly handsome face appeared in the doorway.
"Come on in. It's part of your job. Consider it a perk," he teased, grabbing my makeup luggage like he was some kind of chivalrous menace.
I twitched. This man. THIS MAN.
I took a deep breath. I could handle this. Professionally.
"How can someone so ridiculously attractive be such a massive jerk at the same time?" I muttered under my breath.
"What was that?" He leaned in slightly, eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Nothing, sir! Just setting up!" I shot back, suddenly fascinated by my makeup brushes.
The awkward tension in the room could've been sliced with a plastic spoon. I focused on my kit, studiously avoiding looking at his very much unclothed torso.
Until—
"Your hand—you're wearing a brace?" Mr. Park's voice cut through the silence.
"Oh, yeah, just a small accident—"
Before I could finish, he grabbed my wrist.
"WHAT?! You should've called me! You shouldn't be working today if you're injured!"
I blinked. Since when did he care? Wasn't this the same guy who was just flirting shirtless five minutes ago?
"Ah-ah-ah, could you please release my wrist?" I said, tugging lightly.
"Oh—oh! Sorry!" He let go so fast you'd think I was contagious. Was he… flustered?
Shaking off whatever that was, I got to work. The director's notes were clear—enhancing Mr. Park's already criminally good-looking face. Simple. Until I reached the final note:
"Including… the… body???"
I slowly turned to look at him, my face a perfect representation of disbelief.
He grinned. "Oh yeah. I'm shirtless for all the scenes. You get to 'enhance' my body too."
I swallowed a scream.
I had worked on faces. Women's bodies? Sure. But men??? This was new.
"O-oh, alright, let's get started," I said, betraying none of the inner turmoil raging inside me.
I worked quickly, contouring his already unfairly sculpted abs, chest, and arms, giving them even more definition. Everything was fine. Everything was professional.
"Are you enjoying this?" Mr. Park suddenly asked.
I froze mid-stroke.
"It's hard, right? My muscles? I trained a lot for them," he added, flexing slightly.
I pressed my lips together, contemplating throwing the entire makeup brush set at his face.
"Mr. Park, if you have nothing productive to say, please keep quiet," I finally replied, refusing to engage in his nonsense.
"I'm just making conversation," he smirked.
I resisted the urge to use my makeup brush as a weapon.
After what felt like an eternity in a comedic purgatory, I finally finished. A staff member arrived to fetch Mr. Park for his scene, and I practically sprinted to the nearest sink to wash my hands.
"He's a jerk. A narcissist. A menace to my sanity. How did I end up working for him?" I muttered under my breath.
"What was that?" came a voice right behind me.
I whirled around to find Mr. Park way too close. Again.
"N-nothing! I said nothing!" I stammered before grabbing my bag and making a break for it.
The rest of the day passed in a cycle of torment. Retouching. Waiting. More retouching. More unnecessary shirtless moments. By 7:00 PM, I was done. I packed up, exchanged pleasantries with the staff, and made my way to the parking lot.
Just as I loaded my stuff into my car, the director approached me.
"You're Jovy, right? Mr. Park's makeup artist?"
"Yes," I answered, giving a polite bow.
"Your work was incredible. I've never seen anything like it on camera before. Amazing job."
I beamed. "Thank you so much, Director! I'll keep doing my best!"
As I turned back to my car, a voice suddenly startled me.
"This is your car? Damn, you must be rich."
I jumped and turned to find—
"OH SH*T! MR. PARK!" I yelped.
"Wow. Already cursing at me?" he chuckled.
"You scared me! Don't sneak up like that!" I huffed, catching my breath.
He smirked. "I wanted to treat you out since you did a great job."
I stared at him, unconvinced. "Maybe next time. I feel kinda sick," I lied through my teeth before hopping into my car and speeding off like I was in Fast & Furious.
Because the last thing I needed tonight… was another shirtless conversation.
I arrived in the parking lot of the building, dragging my luggage like a defeated traveler returning from a failed expedition. The two puppy-eyed gentlemen—In-Hyuk and Hyun-Jin—were already waiting for me. They looked worried, like I had just returned from war, or worse, ignored their texts.
The moment In-Hyuk spotted me, he bolted in my direction with all the energy of a golden retriever seeing their owner after five minutes of separation.
"JOVY!"
I barely had time to react before he launched himself at me like a missile. Instinct kicked in. I sidestepped.
THUD.
"ACK—!"
In-Hyuk crashed to the ground in a dramatic heap. His whimper of betrayal echoed through the parking lot.
Meanwhile, Hyun-Jin, the responsible one, took one look at my overstuffed luggage and wordlessly lifted both bags as if they weighed nothing. I mean, those things were basically filled with my entire career, and he lifted them like they were shopping bags.
"Hyun-Jin, take it easy! Those are heavy—you'll get muscle pain!" I said, concerned for his well-being.
He ignored me. Just straight-up acted like I didn't exist.
Uh-oh. Was he mad? Angry that I didn't tell him about my schedule? That I didn't call for help? Look, I'm an independent woman, but a little communication wouldn't have killed me.
Before I could get an answer, a groaning voice interrupted.
"What?! You only care about him? And here I am, on the cold, hard ground, emotionally and physically damaged?" In-Hyuk fake-cried, rolling around in agony like he had just been hit by a truck in a K-drama.
"Stop it. You look ridiculous," I deadpanned before stepping over his fallen body and heading toward the elevator. Hyun-Jin followed without a word, still carrying my bags like a silent, brooding protagonist.
With a dramatic sigh, In-Hyuk peeled himself off the pavement and trailed after us.
Inside the elevator, there was an awkward silence. In-Hyuk, now standing tall and uninjured (miraculously), kept sneaking glances at me, possibly planning his revenge. Hyun-Jin? Still ignoring me. The tension was thick.
Ding.
The doors slid open, and we stepped onto the 14th floor. That's when we all froze.
There was a man. Standing in front of my door.
Suspicious. Motionless. Ominous.
I stopped in my tracks. Hyun-Jin and In-Hyuk did the same. Our eyes met in silent conversation.
Who the hell is that?
Are we about to be murdered?
Did I forget I ordered something online?
Hyun-Jin, still holding my bags, shifted slightly, his protective mode activating. In-Hyuk, the previously-injured, suddenly stood straighter, ready for battle.
I took a deep breath. Time to be brave.
I cleared my throat and asked, "Uh…excuse me, but… are you lost?"
The man turned.
Oh no.
It was HIM.
The guy I bulldozed this morning. The one I left on the ground like roadkill.
His eyes locked onto mine, and the dramatic silence in the hallway stretched for eternity.
"YOU!" he pointed, voice filled with righteous fury. "YOU GOT ME INJURED, YOU BASTARD!"
Oh. Crap.
Oh. Crap.
It was the guy I had knocked over that morning.
-End-