BETWEEN BUTTON & SECRETS

CHAPTER 8

The studio felt heavier today. Maybe it was the stale heat from the lights, maybe the constant rush of staff shouting directions, maybe the fact that you weren't assigned to Ji Hoon this time. 

You were at the far side of the room, bent over another actor. Powder brush in hand, you tapped gently against his cheekbones, careful, steady. Your kit was open at your side, neat as always. 

But your eyes... they kept straying.

Across the room, Ji Hoon sat in the main chair. Tall. Unmoving. And beside him, not you.

A senior stylist.

She was well-known in the industry. Polished, confident, with years of experience handling A-list names. Everyone respected her. Everyone trusted her. On paper, she was the perfect choice.

But from the moment she leaned toward him, you sensed it. Something was wrong.

_

LINGERING HANDS

Her touch wasn't precise. Not efficient, not clean. It lingered.

She smoothed the lapel of his blazer even though it was perfectly aligned. She dusted powder on his jaw when his skin already looked flawless. Her fingers brushed against his throat when a puff of sponge would've sufficed.

And Ji Hoon...

His face was carved  from stone. Expressionless. His eyes fixed ahead on the mirror, lashes lowered, lips pressed into a thin line. But you noticed the tightness in his shoulders. The way his jaw flexed once, twice.

The stylist leaned closer, smile coy. "Oppa..." she purred, the world deliberate, rolling off her tongue like she had every right to it. 

Ji Hoon turned his head, slow, deliberate. His eyes cut through her like a blade. 

"...I think you're older than me, noona." His voice was cold, flat, the kind that should've ended the conversation.

A few staff members chuckled nervously, awkward in the heavy silence.

But she didn't back off. If anything, she pressed further.

_ 

CROSSING LINE

"Don't be shy, oppa..." She laughed softly, patting his chest under the guise of fixing  his blazer again. Her hand lingered, sliding down as if she owned the right to touch him.

Ji Hoon's shoulders stiffened. You could see the pulse at his temple ticking faster.

And you...

You froze mid-motion with your own actor. The brush in your hand hovered uselessly over his cheek. Your heart thudded hard against your ribs as you watched from across the room, breath shallow.

The stylist bent lower, whispering something you couldn't hear. Her hand moved down again, this time deliberate, shameless.

And then, 

Ji Hoon's chair  screeched violently against the floor as he shoved it back, rising to his feet.

"Enough!" His voice thundered, sharp and raw. It ripped through the studio like a gunshot.

Every head turned. The room froze. Silence slammed down so heavy it felt suffocating.

The stylist jerked back, eyes wide. "O... Oppa-"

"Don't." His tone was ice, his glare merciless. "Don't call me that. Don't touch me like that."

His voice wasn't raised anymore, it didn't need to be. The fury in it  was enough to send chills through the room. 

Your chest tightened, air sticking  in your throat. You had never seen him like this. Never seen the cold, controlled Ju Ji Hoon snap.

Gasps rippled across the crew. No one moved.

_ 

The stylist stammered, trying to laugh it off, but her smile faltered under the weight of his gaze. Her hands hovered in the air, guilty, exposed.

Ji Hoon ripped blazer off with a single, harsh tug, threw it onto the chair, and turned on his heel.

His long strides cut across the room, every step vibrating with anger. The studio door slammed open. 

"Hyung! Wait-" His manager scrambled after him, almost tripping over cables as he ran, tablet clutched to his chest. 

And then they were gone.

Silence. Whispers rose a second later, hushed, scandalous. The stylist paled, fumbling with her kit, pretending to look busy. Crew members exhanged uneasy glances.

And you, you stood frozen. The brush still in your hand. Your actor calling softly, "Y/N ssi?'' But you didn't move. Your heart pounded, your skin prickled, your eyes  fixed on the empty doorway he had stormed through.

You could still hear his voice, sharp and furious, echoing inside you.

For the first time, you realized, his cold silence had never been indifference. It had always been control. And when the control broke... it was terrifying. 

You didn't know whether to be more shocked by his shout or by the flicker of something inside you that wanted to run after him.