Morning light spilled through the high-rise windows of Jihoon's Seoul apartment, casting long golden stripes across the hardwood floor.
The city outside was already in motion—cars weaving through streets, distant sirens, the muffled hum of a metropolis that never truly slept.
But inside his room, time felt slower, more forgiving.
Nestled in the expansive softness of a king-size bed, Jihoon lay half-curled beneath a duvet, his hair tousled and limbs tangled in sleep.
The weight of the past few weeks still clung to his body—filming days that began before sunrise and stretched deep into the night, chaotic set changes, script revisions, and managing actors.
It had been nearly two months since the first clap of the slate echoed through their film set—two intense, chaotic, exhilarating months.
And just last night, Jihoon and the rest of the cast and crew had boarded the final flight back to Seoul, their gear packed and their hearts heavy with a bittersweet mix of relief and nostalgia.
The whirlwind was over.
The cameras had stopped rolling.
The sets had been torn down.
The island's winds, once filled with shouted cues and laughter between takes, were quiet again.
Production was officially wrapped.
All that remained now was the quiet, meticulous work in the editing suite to complete their cinematic journey.
But today? Today was his.
No early call times. No barking walkie-talkies. No rush to catch the golden hour.
Just stillness.
The sunlight, once a soft 45-degree angle on the far wall, had climbed steadily as the hours passed.
Now it beamed directly onto Jihoon's face at nearly 90 degrees, warm and insistent like a gentle hand nudging him awake.
He stirred beneath the covers, one eye squinting open before slowly adjusting to the light.
His arms reached upward in a lazy stretch, shoulders popping as he exhaled a deep, satisfied sigh.
With one hand, he fumbled for his phone on the nightstand, lifting it toward his face.
11:42 AM.
Jihoon let the phone drop softly back onto the mattress and chuckled to himself, rubbing his eyes. "Well… good morning, I guess."
His stomach growled, not subtly.
A deep, cavernous reminder that he hadn't eaten since the in-flight peanuts and a bottle of water from last night.
He'd planned to wake up early, maybe make himself a proper breakfast, but now breakfast had become brunch—or maybe just lunch with extra forgiveness.
Still groggy, Jihoon swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his feet brushing the cool wood floor.
He stood slowly, taking in the quiet hum of the apartment—his sanctuary.
The floor-to-ceiling windows framed a picture of the Seoul skyline, hazy in the distance under the late-morning sun.
It was the first time in weeks he truly felt home.
No cast. No cameras.
Just the stillness of a city in motion around him, and the silence inside that asked nothing of him.
Padding toward the bathroom, he ran a hand through his messy hair, yawning.
The mirror greeted him with the reflection of a boy too young to be directing films and too old to pretend he wasn't tired of chasing deadlines.
His face was softer today.
He splashed cold water over his skin, letting it anchor him to the moment.
Each drop washed away a little more of the fatigue, a little more of Jeju's salt and BBQ smoke that still clung to his memory.
Today, he told himself, there would be no pressure. No urgency. Just a slow breakfast, maybe eggs and toast.
Or maybe he'd order something indulgent and greasy. Maybe even nap again.
Whatever the day held, Jihoon had decided: it would move at his pace.
Not long after stepping out of the bathroom, Jihoon wandered into the kitchen, still towel-drying his hair, his movements slow and easy.
He wasn't in a rush. For the first time in weeks, he had no schedule breathing down his neck.
He opened the fridge, stared blankly for a moment, then pulled out a few essentials—bread, lettuce, a couple of eggs, and some ham.
As the smell of freshly brewed coffee began to fill the air, he assembled a simple sandwich with the quiet precision of someone who'd made this same breakfast a hundred times before.
Once everything was ready, he carried the plate and his mug of coffee into the living room.
The sun had shifted higher, washing the sleek interior of his apartment in golden light.
He flopped onto the couch and turned on the TV, flipping lazily through channels before settling on a re-run of a variety show he liked.
With each bite of his sandwich and sip of his coffee, Jihoon let himself sink deeper into the softness of the cushions, the calm rhythm of the show blending into the hum of the city outside his window.
For a moment, everything was still.
By the time he polished off the last of his coffee, a yawn was already building in his chest.
He was just about to toss his phone onto the side table and sneak in another nap when it suddenly buzzed to life.
Ringtone. Caller ID: Yoo Jaesuk.
Jihoon blinked, surprised, and chuckled to himself. Without hesitation, he swiped to answer.
"Hyung, what is it?" he said, his voice warm but still a little groggy.
From the other end, Yoo Jaesuk's unmistakable voice chimed in, light and teasing. "Jihoon-ah! What are you up to these days?"
Jihoon grinned, sinking deeper into the couch as he wiped a crumb from his lip. "Haha, nothing much, hyung. Just wrapped up filming my latest movie, now finally back in Seoul last night."
"Aigoo, I knew it!" Jaesuk exclaimed. "Look at you—Mr. Big Director now, huh? Just don't get too famous and ghost your hyungs, okay?"
"Please don't, hyung. My ego can't handle that this early in the day," Jihoon joked.
They both laughed.
Then Jaesuk's tone shifted to something warmer. "Anyway, are you busy tonight? It's been a while, hasn't it? How about dinner? Just the usual place, like old times?"
Jihoon smiled, feeling something familiar and comforting settle in his chest.
"Sounds perfect, hyung. What time should I come?"
"Let's say seven. I'll bring the others. You just bring your ass over."
"Haha! No problem hyung."
"Save your word for the soju later"
They both laughed again before hanging up, the screen dimming to black as Jihoon let the phone rest on his chest.
As the call ended, a quiet smile tugged at his lips as he stared up at the ceiling, letting the familiar stillness of his apartment reclaim the space.
He turned his head slightly—12:07 PM.
Still early.
The whole afternoon stretched ahead of him like a clean slate, untouched and full of possibility.
But rather than seize the moment with ambition or purpose, Jihoon let the post-brunch drowsiness claim him.
With a contented sigh, he slid deeper into the couch cushions, pulling a light throw blanket over himself.
Within minutes, he drifted back to sleep—the kind of nap only earned after two months of running on caffeine, adrenaline, and chaos.
It was the kind of sleep that felt heavier, slower, the world outside softened into nothingness.
When he stirred again, the golden hue of late afternoon light had painted the walls.
He blinked against it, sitting up slowly. For a second, he wasn't sure what day it was—until he remembered the call. The dinner. Jaesuk-hyung.
He glanced at the clock again.
5:11 PM.
"Perfect," he mumbled to himself, rubbing the sleep from his face.
There was no rush in his steps as he made his way to the bathroom, humming a tune under his breath.
Steam filled the space not long after he turned on the shower, and the day's sluggishness washed off him with every drop of hot water.
Refreshed, he towel-dried his hair and stood in front of the wardrobe.
A dark denim jacket over a plain white tee, black jeans, and clean sneakers—just enough flair to earn a compliment or two, though his good looks easily deserved far more than that.
Once dressed, he grabbed his phone and wallet, gave one final glance at his reflection, and headed out.
The street was alive with the usual Seoul buzz—honking cars, the chatter of evening foot traffic, the savory aroma of street food stalls setting up for dinner service.
Jihoon hailed a cab, slipped inside, and gave the driver the address of their regular haunt without missing a beat.
By the time he arrived at the restaurant, the sky had begun its slow fade into dusk.
The familiar sign above the door glowed warmly, flickering slightly at the edge like it always did.
As he stepped inside, the smell of grilled meat and sesame oil hit him like a nostalgic wave.
There they were—three of the biggest idiots he loved most.
Yoo Jaesuk sat at the head of the table, halfway through pouring himself a shot of soju.
Haha was already mid-laugh about something dumb, and Cha Taehyun was reaching across the table with tongs, stealing a slice of pork belly off the grill with zero shame.
"Look who finally decided to grace us with his director presence!" Haha called out, raising his glass.
"Ya! Jihoon-ah!" Jaesuk waved dramatically like Jihoon had just returned from war. "We were about to put your face on a milk carton!"
"Hyung," Jihoon laughed as he slipped into the seat beside Taehyun. "You called me hours ago. I'm way too early to be reported as a missing person."
Taehyun grinned, handing Jihoon a lettuce wrap like a peace offering. "Eat first. Talk later. You look like you haven't had a real meal in weeks."
Jihoon didn't argue. He took the wrap, popped it in his mouth, and sighed through the chew. "God, I missed this. Actual food. Actual people."
"Actual idiots," Haha corrected, raising his hand for a high-five that Jihoon ignored.
They all laughed.
The soju flowed. The grill hissed.
Stories began to pile up, old jokes resurfaced, and time bent the way it always did with them—stretching and folding until hours slipped by unnoticed.
For Jihoon, the night wasn't just a reunion.
It was a reset.
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe for bestowing the power stone!]