The shoot began shortly after sunrise.
The air was still cold, the sky washed in pale orange and quiet blue. Crew members hustled around like ants, dragging cables, adjusting lights, and whispering into headsets. The director's voice echoed, sharp and impatient.
"Scene 3. Cue position!"
Rabin stood at the center of it all — calm, unbothered, in complete contrast to the chaos around him. The moment the camera started rolling, he slipped into character like it was his second skin. Confident. Charismatic. Dangerous. Like he owned the screen.
Y/N stood off to the side, arms folded, holding a walkie in one hand, waiting for any command from the team or a filler moment to assist with. But her eyes… they didn't drift too far from him.
She watched.
Not because she was impressed (or so she told herself), but because it was still fascinating — how someone so arrogant, so rude, could look like that when the cameras were on. Like he wasn't Rabin anymore, but something else entirely.
And maybe… that's what scared her.
From where she stood, Rabin glanced briefly toward her between takes.
Just a flicker.
A second.
But enough for their eyes to meet.
He didn't smile.
She didn't either.
But something passed between them. An unspoken energy that lingered in the cold morning air.
Before she could even decode it, the assistant director barked into the walkie—
"Y/N! Bring the coat! He has a scene off-cam next!"
Snapping out of it, she grabbed the thick jacket from the rack and made her way toward him.
Business as usual, But even the air felt heavier now.
Something was shifting.
Y/N walked steadily toward him, jacket folded neatly over her arm. Her expression was neutral, but her mind wasn't. She just wanted to hand it over and get back to her spot, maybe grab a warm drink before the next take.
She was halfway to Rabin when she appeared.
The co-actress.
Dressed in a fluffy robe and heels too high for comfort, with perfect glossy waves and a tone that screamed privilege.
She moved like the cameras still loved her even when they weren't rolling.
"I'll give that, thank you."
She smiled sweetly — fake.
And before Y/N could say a word, the girl snatched the jacket right from her arms like she was stealing candy from a kid.
Just like that.
The gesture itself was small. Quick. Innocent on the surface.
But it made Y/N's blood boil.
Her hand remained frozen mid-air for a beat too long. Her jaw clenched.
It wasn't about the jacket.
It was the tone.
The dismissal.
The way the actress didn't even look at her like she mattered.
Not that Y/N cared about giving the jacket — not in the way it looked.
But she hated being stepped on.
She lowered her hand, took a slow breath, and stepped back, her eyes not leaving the woman's back as she giggled and approached Rabin, draping the coat over his shoulders like she was in some rom-com.
Y/N didn't say a word.
But Rabin noticed.
He didn't look at the actress.
His eyes trailed back toward Y/N. His brows twitched slightly, like he knew exactly what just happened.
And maybe — just maybe — he didn't like it either.
The director called for a break.
Rabin stood up slowly, tugging the coat tighter and turned toward the actress, his voice calm, cold, and just loud enough for a few crew members nearby to hear.
"I hate when someone touches my clothes."
He paused.
Then glanced sideways, just briefly, toward Y/N before finishing—
"Except my assistant."
The co-actress blinked, her smile faltering as if someone had just slapped her with a silk glove.
"Oh… I didn't know." She laughed awkwardly, trying to save face.
"Now you do," he replied flatly, pulling the coat tighter himself and walking past her without a second glance.
Y/N stood frozen for a second.
Not because of what he said — but because of how casually he said it.
Like it was fact. Like she was his, in a way.
She turned on her heel, walking off toward the waiting area, hiding the flustered heat rising to her cheeks.
He didn't defend her in a nice way.
No.
He did it in the Rabin way — blunt, cold, public.
And for some reason, it still made her chest feel heavy.
He walked toward her — steady steps, unreadable expression.
Y/N straightened slightly, unsure what was coming this time. Another sarcastic comment? Another "Hey witch"?
But instead, his voice was flat. Low.
"Where's my sipper? I need some warm water."
Y/N blinked.
"Oh… it's here."
She rummaged through her tote bag, her fingers brushing past some protein bars, a notebook, charger, and finally — the matte off-white sipper bottle.
She handed it to him.
He took it without looking at her.
No teasing smirk.
No side comments.
No sarcastic nickname.
Just a quiet nod of thanks — almost silent — and he walked away, sipping as he went, like nothing had happened minutes ago.
Y/N watched his back for a second, unsettled.
Something felt… different.
The fire from earlier — gone. His energy was colder, but not in the usual arrogant way. More distant. More thoughtful.
Was he bothered?
Or… was he protecting her earlier, and this was his way of brushing it off now?
She didn't know.
But she suddenly realized — Rabin's silence could be louder than his words.
Y/N: "Ahh, you can rest in the greenroom."
Rabin: "Ohh."
He walked off casually, entering the greenroom and slumping down onto the couch. Phone in hand, legs stretched out, he looked like he didn't have a care in the world — the global icon in full rest mode.
Y/N pushed the door open, ready to head out for his lunch.
Just as she stepped out—
"Where are you going?"
His voice was calm but carried that strange tone again. Not commanding. Not teasing. Just… aware.
She turned back.
"Ahh, I'm going to pick up your lunch."
A pause.
Then, still staring at his phone, he said—
"Pick yours too. Eat here."
Y/N blinked.
A small silence sat between them.
"You want me to eat here?"
He didn't look up.
"I don't like eating alone."
A beat passed. Then a casual shrug—
"Plus you're my assistant, right? Should stay nearby."
She didn't reply for a second. But something about the way he said it — like it wasn't about her job — made her feel weirdly… seen.
"Okay. I'll get mine too," she finally said, gently pulling the door closed behind her.
As it clicked shut, Rabin's eyes left the screen for the first time and stared at the door.
A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
Just a little.
Time Skip – Evening Shoot
The golden hour kissed the waves as they rolled gently onto the shore. The sky blushed with hues of orange and soft lavender. The scene was simple — romantic, soft. The perfect shot.
Rabin walked barefoot on the beach, his co-actress beside him, holding his hand lightly. They laughed. She playfully kicked sand toward him and he returned it with a gentle splash of water, all while the cameras rolled and the crew watched in quiet focus.
But Y/N?
Y/N didn't look through the monitor like the others.
She watched him. Carefully. Quietly.
And when he smiled — not the cold, smug grin he gave during interviews, not the sarcastic twitch he threw her way when teasing — but this soft, carefree one…
…her chest tightened.
Her hands, resting on her lap, curled slightly.
"That eyes," she thought, staring at him.
"That's the one that haunts my every single night. That blurry face… the voice in my dreams… it's always been his."
Her eyes didn't blink.
She didn't even realize she was holding her breath.
"I'm right," she whispered inside her head.
"It's him. He's the one from that night."
A gust of sea breeze blew past her, making her hug her arms around herself.
And yet the cold she felt wasn't from the wind.
She blankly stared at the monitor, eyes unfocused, breath shallow.
The sea waves crashed gently in the background, but in her ears, everything was muffled — like being underwater.
Then suddenly—
"Wrap up!! For today!"
The director's voice boomed through the set, breaking the trance.
Y/N flinched, her body slightly jerking in her seat.
"Oh–" she gasped under her breath, blinking fast.
"Shit… I zoned out."
She looked around. The crew had already started packing up the lights. The camera was being taken off its rig. The sun had almost dipped behind the ocean.
And Rabin?
He was walking back from the shoreline, his hand no longer in the actress's, his expression now unreadable — just the mask again.
Y/N stood up and wiped her clammy palms on her jeans, trying to shake the unease.
But her heart?
Still racing.
They walked along the dimly lit path that led from the beach set to the nearby resort. The sound of cicadas filled the air, mixing with the faint crash of waves behind them.
Rabin walked a step ahead, hands in his pockets, hair still a little messy from the shoot. Y/N caught up and handed him a card key.
"It's your room card," she said, holding it out without meeting his eyes.
He took it wordlessly and turned to walk toward his room.
Without thinking, Y/N followed him —
Halfway down the hallway, he stopped and turned.
"Why are you still following me?"
She blinked at him, caught off guard.
"I need to keep your things," she said flatly. Then with a dry tone,
"Mr. Devil."
He tilted his head a little, lips curling into a smirk.
"Ohh…" he drawled.
"I thought you liked the idea of sharing the room with me."
Y/N gave him a tight-lipped glare.
"Dream on. I don't sleep with nightmares."
Rabin laughed under his breath and unlocked the door.
"Tch. Feisty."
He walked in and left the door slightly open — a silent signal.
She sighed and followed.