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The interview room was colder than Yerin expected.
Not freezing, not uncomfortable
just enough that she became aware of every little thing.
The bounce of the chair beneath the interviewer.
The bright studio lights.
The way Luke smiled when he walked in.
"Hello, Luke. It's so nice to meet you."
Yerin watched the interviewer lean forward slightly, all bright eyes and enthusiasm. The woman was lovely. Confident. Charismatic. Dressed in a short skirt that seemed perfectly suited for television.
Luke smiled politely.
"Hi. So happy to meet you."
The interviewer laughed.
Yerin folded her hands in her lap.
It was ridiculous.
Absolutely ridiculous.
She wasn't jealous.
She wasn't?
The interview hadn't even started yet.
But still.
She noticed things.
The way the interviewer kept directing questions toward Luke first.
The way she laughed a little longer at his jokes (actually, they were not even jokes)
The way her smile seemed to sharpen whenever he looked her way.
Yerin told herself she was imagining it.
Then the interviewer said, "Luke, let's start with you."
And somehow that made it worse.
Luke, completely oblivious, launched into an answer about Benedict and hamster wheels.
The interviewer laughed.
Luke laughed.
The audience laughed.
Yerin smiled too.
Because what else was she supposed to do?
The annoying thing was that Luke wasn't encouraging any of it.
He wasn't flirting back.
He wasn't even particularly looking at the interviewer.
Every time Yerin glanced sideways, his attention somehow drifted back toward her.
When she answered questions about her audition process, he listened.
Actually listened.
Not the polite celebrity-interview kind of listening.
The kind where someone looks at you like they're
genuinely interested in what you're saying.
When she talked about getting the role while she was with her mother, Luke's expression softened.
When she described the whirlwind ten-day process, he grinned like he'd heard the story before and still enjoyed it.
It should have made her feel better.
Instead, it made the jealousy worse.
Because now she felt guilty.
The interviewer complimented their chemistry.
"There's one scene in particular where there's a lot of longing eyes from you, Yerin."
Yerin laughed.
"I'm great if he's looking away."
Everyone laughed.
Luke included.
Then came the question about staring into each other's eyes.
And that was when everything became unfair.
"By the end of the day," Luke said, turning toward her, "you get to know each other. You're like, 'I can look at these eyes all day.'"
The audience laughed.
The interviewer laughed.
Yerin laughed.
But for one tiny second, something in her chest squeezed.
Because Luke had said it so casually.
So honestly.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world.
As if he hadn't just accidentally short-circuited her brain on camera.
She looked away first.
Not because of the cameras.
Because of him.
The rest of the interview passed in a blur.
Music questions.
Costume questions.
Food questions.
The interviewer remained warm and charming and increasingly obvious—at least to Yerin.
There were little things.
The extra attention.
The lingering eye contact.
The playful teasing.
Yerin noticed every single one.
Luke noticed none of them.
By the time they wrapped, Yerin was equal parts amused, irritated, and embarrassed with herself.
Which was how she found herself trailing behind Luke down a quiet hallway afterward.
They were finally alone.
Well.
Mostly alone.
Staff bustled in the distance.
Someone wheeled a rack of costumes past.
Luke stretched his arms above his head.
"That was nice."
Yerin stared at him.
"Nice?"
"Yeah."
"You don't think she was flirting with you?"
Luke stopped walking.
"What?"
Yerin folded her arms.
"The interviewer."
"What about her?"
"Oh my God."
Luke blinked.
"What?"
Yerin laughed despite herself.
"No, seriously. You didn't notice?"
"Notice what?"
"Luke."
"What?"
"She was flirting with you."
The confusion on his face was immediate and genuine.
"No, she wasn't."
"She absolutely was."
"I don't think so."
"You don't think so because you never notice these things."
"I do."
"You don't."
"I do."
"You really don't."
Luke looked genuinely distressed now.
"Wait. Was she actually?"
Yerin groaned.
"You're hopeless."
A grin tugged at Luke's mouth.
"You sound upset about it."
"I'm not upset."
"You seem upset."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm not."
Luke's grin widened.
And suddenly Yerin realized she was losing this argument.
Terribly.
Because now he was looking at her with entirely too much amusement.
"What?"
she demanded.
His expression softened.
The teasing disappeared.
And something warmer settled in its place.
"Nothing."
"Luke."
"You know..." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I genuinely didn't notice."
Yerin looked away.
"Sure."
"I'm serious."
She shrugged.
He stepped closer.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Just enough that she could hear the sincerity in his voice.
"I was mostly paying attention to you."
The hallway suddenly felt very quiet.
Yerin stared at him.
Luke, apparently realizing what he'd just said, froze.
"Oh."
"Oh?" she echoed.
"Oh."
His ears turned pink.
Which, annoyingly, made him even more endearing.
"I meant—"
"I know what you meant."
"No, because that sounded—"
"It sounded exactly like what you meant."
Luke looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
Yerin laughed.
A real laugh this time.
The kind that finally loosened the knot that had been sitting in her chest all afternoon.
"There he is," she said softly.
"Who?"
"The man who can stare into my eyes all day."
Luke groaned.
"Oh, that's never leaving, is it?"
"Never."
"Brilliant."
Yerin started walking again.
Luke fell into step beside her.
Their shoulders bumped.
Neither moved away.
After a moment, Luke spoke.
"For the record."
"Hm?"
"If someone was flirting with me..."
Yerin looked up.
Luke was already looking at her.
Steady.
Certain.
"...they'd have a pretty hard time competing for my attention."
For once, Yerin had absolutely nothing to say.
Luke smiled.
And somehow that was enough.
More than enough.
By the time they reached the elevators, the jealousy was gone.
Replaced by something infinitely softer.
Something that felt suspiciously like coming home.