Chapter 2. The Guy Next Door (2)

“Thanks, Eunkyo. I would’ve been totally stuck without you.”

Sunggeun grinned as he placed a chilled yogurt drink in front of her. She was curiously looking around the recording studio. He even unwrapped the straw and handed it to her.

“It’s nothing. The professor asked, and honestly, this script is simple—anyone could’ve done it.”

“Still, we’re lucky to have a star writer like you helping out.”

“Don’t flatter me. Really, it’s no big deal. So… when’s the recording?”

“Oh, the guy doing the narration just got here. The professor recommended him too. But he’s from the sculpture department? Kinda surprising, right?”

“Yeah, totally. Sculpting and narration—doesn’t really go together.”

“Take a look. You’re seriously gonna be surprised.”

Just as Sunggeun stood up after checking a message on his phone, the studio door opened and someone walked in.

“Sorry I’m late, hyung.”

“Oh, no worries. Bet it was hot out there, huh?”

“I drove, so it wasn’t too bad.”

He said it was a volunteer narration gig, but the man’s voice was chillingly deep with a strange kind of resonance.

Eunkyo kept her eyes glued to the script, silently hoping he would walk past without noticing her. But after greeting each of the engineers in the studio, the man came to a stop—right in front of her.

“Hello, sunbae.”

They hadn’t gone to school at the same time. They weren’t even acquaintances. Why call her sunbae? Feeling awkward, she looked up with a hesitant smile—and met a pair of soft, curved black eyes staring down at her.

For a second, her throat tightened, like something had caught and wouldn’t let go.

“Hi… I’m Jung Eunkyo.”

“I’m Lee Jaeheon, sunbae.”

“Ah… I graduated ages ago. You can just call me by my name.”

“I couldn’t possibly do that, sunbae.”

He smiled and extended his hand for a shake. As she took it, the noticeable coldness of his hand sent a strange feeling through her.

‘What is this sense of unease??’

She felt like she’d seen that smile somewhere before. His features were sharp, and he was unreasonably handsome—so much so it was almost unsettling. And no matter how hard she tried to recall, she couldn’t remember ever knowing someone this good-looking. Not even among celebrities.

“Shall we start the recording?”

If one of the engineers hadn’t nudged them along, she probably wouldn’t have been able to look away from his face.

Bending slightly to meet her gaze, he placed his disposable cup down on the table. His fingers—large, a little rough but smooth in motion—looked like the hands of someone who worked with clay. They had a kind of sexy energy to them.

Eunkyo found herself flustered.

Condensation slid down the clear plastic cup and pooled on the table.

And then she noticed it—the logo of Haeda’s café printed on the cup sleeve. That’s when everything clicked.

That crisp, bold fabric softener scent that didn’t match the heavy heat of summer.

‘No way… earlier…?’

She let out a breathy, incredulous laugh. And then, as Lee Jaeheon’s voice came through the speakers, she unconsciously clenched her script.

The first line of the promotional narration was a quote from poet Park Joon. His voice was quiet but steady—not dry, just calm. And it sent a shiver through her, making the fine hairs on her arms stand on end.

It was the kind of thrill that bordered on catharsis.

She lifted her gaze, staring through the glass at the man inside the booth. For a moment, she thought their eyes met. But that was impossible—he couldn’t see her from there.

The chill from the A/C above, the murmurs of the staff holding their breath, the soft gasps of admiration. The tension was so thick, it was almost suffocating. Then the PD raised a hand.

“Let’s go one more time. Start again from the third paragraph, the ‘I hope’ line.”

Inside the booth, Jaeheon scratched his temple with a sheepish expression and agreed, looking genuinely fresh and a bit boyish.

Eunkyo slowly exhaled and relaxed her fingers, opening her clenched hand. Her script, curled tightly in her grip, was damp and wrinkled from the humidity. She discreetly folded and tucked the ruined page away.