#20200819

He can’t focus on the calls and conversations in his ear when you’re around. When the stage manager tells him to step back because he’s too far out on the stage, it barely registers. Another floor crew member has to yank him by the back of his shirt to drag him out of view. He apologizes and promises it won’t happen during the main shows, but he knows it’s a fragile vow.

As Romeo continues to recite his lines — in a manner so unconvincing, Jisung thinks he himself could do better — you pretend to admire the nonexistent stars in the nonexistent sky before choosing to settle your gaze on the lights hanging above the audience. You angle your head up, and he wonders if you will do the same when you kiss him. He can see the scene in his mind: your long lashes fanned out on your cheeks, your pink lips pursed together, your breath against his skin. He feels his heart racing as he clutches a hand to his chest in a vain attempt to slow his breathing. The floor below him sways, and he tries to shuffle his feet to steady himself, but he stumbles backwards into the black curtain that masks the wings of the stage. The curtain ripples, and someone in the comms chastises him for being careless. He apologizes and promises it won’t happen during the main shows, but he isn’t so sure.

The girl in charge of costumes seems to realize that he’s acting strange. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder and asks, “Are you okay? You seem off today.”

The heat from her palm seeps through his worn t-shirt, and he is acutely aware of how close she is. He wishes it were your hand instead. He shrugs it off, feeling uncomfortable from her foreign touch. “I’m fine, Ryujin,” he assures her. “Just stressed by school and tired from no sleep.”

She nods knowingly. “Yeah. And you’re moving around things a lot too. Must be tough.”

He doesn’t try to continue the conversation. When she finally takes the hint and leaves him be, he turns his undivided attention back to you. The spotlight on you is bright and blinding and a cheap imitation of luminosity compared to you. Even with it directly in your eyes, you look at the audience and say your line with ease. Then you sigh as if your heart was shattered into a million pieces, and he wants to do nothing more than run on stage and shove Romeo aside. Let him be your new Romeo and sing of your praises, let him wax poetry about your beauty, let him give you the happiness you deserve.

Romeo says two lines before being cut off by the director for not being adoring enough. A smug grin replaces the serene look on Jisung’s face as he hears the director criticizing Romeo’s lack of emotion. In the meantime, you lean against the balcony railing, resting your forearms and head there. The mic crackles as your hair brushes over it, and you mumble a “Sorry.” Your eyelids flutter, and you suppress a yawn. He reaches out a hand to stroke your hair before he remembers you are halfway across the stage and on a platform. He continues to extend his arm, pretending to stretch, and he slowly closes his fist around your form, pretending he can hold you.

The director decides to end rehearsals a little early, citing that it’s getting late and that everyone seems tired. She thanks everyone for their hard work and reminds the actors to meet in the green room for notes. You climb down the balcony set piece, picking up your long skirt as you go. Jisung retreats farther into the wings and makes sure to bump into you as you weave through the mess that are the props and stage pieces. Your mic is off, so he is the only who hears you swear.

“Sorry,” you quickly whisper. You step to the side to let him walk first.

“It’s okay. You can go,” he says.

“Thanks.”

After a moment’s hesitation and more directed at your back than you, he adds, “You were really good today. Especially during the party scene.”

“Oh!” you say, surprised to be receiving such a compliment. You tuck your hair behind your ears before turning to face him. “Thanks.”

He sees a small smile forming, and excitement rushes through his body. Your smile grows, and he feels heat spreading across his cheeks. It dissipates when he sees Romeo’s actor approaching. He ignores Jisung, brusquely walking past him and almost knocking him into a rack of clothes.

“Hey, Juliet! Nice job today!” he smiles.

You fiddle with your mic and the piece of mic tape on your cheek. “Not too bad yourself, Romeo,” you reply, more breathlessly than possible for someone standing still.

“Ah!” He runs a hand through his hair, and Jisung doesn’t miss your sharp inhale. “Ms. Park’s gonna give me so many notes for the balcony scene. I bet she’s going to make me run through it with her during class tomorrow.”

“I thought you were good. I almost believed it.”

“See? ‘Almost believed it!’”

You laugh, reminding Jisung of windchimes in the summer breeze. Romeo joins in soon after, and Jisung has never felt more like an extra in his life. You and Romeo walk out the side doors, shoulder to shoulder, still chatting about rehearsal. You tilt your head up when speaking to Romeo, and Romeo lowers his when speaking to you. An unfamiliar heat flashes through Jisung. It makes his heart race, but it’s a different kind of thumping from when he dreamed of kissing you. He stares at the now-closed side door, trying to figure out the feeling. He taps his foot at the same beat as his heart.

“Hey, Jisung,” the floor chief calls, “Help me move the balcony to stage left.”

Jisung stops his rapidly increasing tapping and gives Changbin a thumbs-up. “Let me take off my headset first.” He leaves it on the tiny table where Changbin’s binder of cues are usually located and then follows him to the main stage.

They push the set piece to the stage left and leave it behind one of the black curtains. The tech director begins with his notes when he sees that all of the crew is seated somewhere in the auditorium. He starts with lights, then sound, and finally stage crew. There’s a small argument between Changbin, the floor chief, and Felix, the stage manager, about calling cues, but Jisung gets the brunt of the criticism for being too slow during blackouts and for not paying attention to calls. Notes end with the tech director thanking the tech crew for their hard work and bidding everyone good night.

After helping Changbin sort out the set, Jisung goes to the drama classroom that doubles as the green room to pick up his backpack and books. He sees you out of your costume, sipping on a bottle of water while sitting on top of one of the many tables scattered about. You hold your phone with your other hand, a frown on your face. Taking a look around, he notices that you and him are the only ones in the room. He uses this opportunity to approach you.

“You okay?” he asks.

You swallow your water with an audible gulp, and Jisung tries to not pay attention to the motion of your throat. “Yeah. I’m just waiting for my mom to pick me up. She still hasn’t seen my text yet though.”

“I can drive you home,” he blurts out. “If you want.”

You give him an appreciative smile. “It’s alright. She’s probably just finishing her show. She’ll be here soon.”

Jisung nods and shuffles his books. He doesn’t want the conversation to end, but he doesn’t know what else to say. His eyes wander around the room, looking for inspiration. Whiteboard markers? Gray hoodies? His search is cut short when Romeo — Jisung still doesn’t know his name — comes in with two bags of chips.

“Catch, Y/N!” He tosses one to you, and you barely do so in time with two hands.

Jisung’s presence is forgotten as you grin at Romeo. “What’s this for?”

“Just ‘cause. The vending machine gave me two instead of one, so I thought I’d give it to the first person I saw. Which happened to be you.”

Liar is the first thought that goes through Jisung’s mind. He hugs his books to his chest and glares daggers at the floor. You lying, lying liar.

You either believe him or don’t care. You open the bag with vigor and pop one into your mouth. “Thank you, vending machine gods.”

Romeo sidles up to you and tilts his head towards you with a similar grin to yours. He reaches a chip from your bag, and you playfully smack his hand away. Jisung somehow feels less than an extra, like someone who’s watching on the other side of a television screen. It’s more than he can bear, so he mumbles, “See you tomorrow,” and leaves.

Neither you nor Romeo notice him exiting.

Jisung drives home with one arm dangling out of the window. His car is suffocatingly stuffy after sitting all day in the sun, and he feels hot after having spent all day basking in your sunshine. A love song quietly plays in the background, and he wishes you were in the passenger seat, singing along, thinking about him.