By the time the first take rolled, Joon-ho could feel the set watching them like a living thing.
Not openly. Not enough to get scolded. Just in the way conversations dipped when Mirae passed, in the way Seo-yeon's stylist suddenly found reasons to stand between her and the crowd, in the way a runner's phone kept appearing and disappearing like a nervous tic.
He kept his face neutral through it all. Public protocol didn't mean being cold. It meant being boring.
Boredom was armor.
When the director called for a reset and the crew scattered to adjust lights, Su-bin drifted in like she belonged there. Cap pulled low, lanyard clipped, a half-used coffee in her hand like she'd been on this set since dawn. She didn't greet them like a friend. She didn't even look at Seo-yeon long enough to make the girl self-conscious.
She stopped at Joon-ho's shoulder and murmured, "Walk."
