Set to Fail // Minsung (BOOK 1 OF 2 'SET SERIES')

STF 08

they were filming on the rooftop that night. scene 32: eunjo and jaewon lying side by side after a dramatic fight sequence, silent, tired, bruised, and emotionally fucked. nothing romantic. honest. jisung knew the script by heart. still didn't stop the nerves. the rooftop set was freezing. even under three layers of costume, the chill seeped into his skin like it was trying to settle in his bones, and his fingers were already numb when they started blocking. minho stood near the railing, reading his lines.. calm, focused, as always.

"lie down over here, please," the assistant director waved.

jisung moved to his mark, cold tiles beneath a thin cushion, face turned toward the stars. minho dropped down beside him a beat later, and they stared upward in silence while the camera moved into place.

"scene 32, take 1," the clapperboard snapped. "and-action."

the scene was simple but intimate. jaewon reaches out—not touching eunjo, just... reaching, leaving space.

"I used to think I didn't deserve peace," minho said softly, his voice echoing in the night air.

jisung blinked up at the fake stars. "and now?"

"I still don't. but I want it anyway."

their hands rested inches apart on the ground, minho's pinky twitching closer.

"and you?" minho said, his eyes turning to him. "why do you keep running?"

the line wasn't supposed to sound like that- supposed to be casual, curiousbut minho made it feel... personal. jisung swallowed.

"Because if I stop, I'll have to feel everything I left behind."

"cut."

silence followed. the director murmured something, the sound team gave a thumbs up. they were going to do another take, but no one yelled for reset right away. minho didn't move. neither did jisung.

"You cold?" minho asked suddenly, his voice low.

"Fine," jisung mumbled, very clearly not fine.

minho shrugged off his jacket and draped it over him without asking. jisung stiffened.

"It's part of the costume, technically. you're preserving continuity."

jisung blinked at him. "...Right."

the coat smelled like him... like warm detergent and the faintest trace of something clean and minty. it smelled like... was it febreze? it was unfair.

the second take was softer in a way, more quiet between words, less acting. jisung found himself slipping... into the scene, yes, but also into that space beside minho, where the world felt smaller and calmer. they were supposed to hold silence at the end of the scene for twenty seconds, but when the timer passed, no one called cut, so they just stayed there, breathing side by side, stars above, fingers not touching, hearts beating too loud.

later, after wrap, jisung was slow to get up. minho stayed beside him, crouched low.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Just tired."

"Good tired or bad tired?"

jisung glanced at him. "Is there a difference?"

minho shrugged. "One means you'll sleep well. The other means you'll lie awake thinking about shit you can't fix."

jisung snorted. "You always talk like a therapist after midnight?"

"Only to people who need it."

that silence again. then, as jisung started to stand, minho reached out—just brushed his fingers lightly down jisung's forearm. barely a touch, but it stayed. jisung looked at him. minho looked back. neither of them spoke. then someone called for minho from the hallway. he stood, tugged his coat off jisung's shoulders, and walked away.

jisung stood there alone for a long time, staring at the space minho left behind, wondering what he almost said, what he almost felt, and what the hell he was supposed to do with it.