The Scent That Wouldn't Wash Away
“I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I'm fine now.”
He didn't look fine at all.
At that utterly pale face paired with a voice far too calm to match it, Lee Sihyun's expression hardened even further.
“Did I wake you? Was I being too loud?”
“No, I just came out for some water… Have you not slept this whole time? Or did you wake up? You're not feeling nauseous, are you?”
Lee Sihyun, who had nearly been swept along by his attempt to change the subject, shook her head firmly.
Faced with the question again, Yeonjae gave an awkward little smile before answering.
It was a considerate answer, but not one that helped pin down what had actually happened.
“Yeonjae, stop just saying you're fine… I'm worried about you.”
It hadn't been long since she'd seen him drenched in cold sweat.
Back then, too, he'd come out for a glass of water, and the moment she flipped on the light and saw a figure standing there, her heart had nearly dropped out of her chest.
Fortunately, the face was so familiar that her relief came quickly—only to be replaced by alarm at how deathly pale he looked, and she'd rushed over.
Yeonjae had been unmistakably off that night. Anyone could see it.
It was like he didn't recognize me…
She remembered how his eyes had darted around, and how long it took him to answer.
She'd asked him over and over, but he kept insisting he was fine, so she'd had no choice but to send him back to bed. Even the next morning, the unease lingered, and she went to check on him again.
Actually, I was practicing acting. I got so absorbed in the moment that it just… happened, I think.
Only after seeing that sheepish smile had she finally been able to relax.
She'd wondered how anyone could sweat that much just from getting into a role, but having personally watched him perform at that funeral scene, she found it easier to accept.
“Is it the same this time? Did practicing a scene do this to you?”
“…….”
All she knew was that he'd taken a supporting child role in a fusion historical drama—she had no details, and that only deepened her worry.
Could the role really be so grueling it would leave a child traumatized?
Whatever the cause, vomiting was never a normal reaction.
He didn't answer right away—his lips just moved soundlessly—and she could see him deliberating over how to answer so this conversation could be wrapped up.
She couldn't speak for anyone else, but having watched Yeonjae since he was six, Lee Sihyun could read him.
She kept her gaze fixed on him, and eventually—whether because he'd finished sorting out his thoughts—Yeonjae spoke slowly.
“Um, this time… for the shoot, I've been practicing getting used to a certain scent. But I accidentally sprayed too much, and I think it made me sick.”
“Perfume? You mean this smell, right now?”
“Yes. I'm not nauseous from food or sick with anything, and I didn't overdo it. I've just never worn perfume before, so I was clumsy about it. I'll be careful from now on.”
Having finished, Yeonjae gave an innocent smile.
The smile at the corner of his mouth was bright, but his face was still ghostly pale.
Cold sweat was still trickling down his forehead in thin lines—he clearly hadn't recovered yet.
And yet he stubbornly pretended to be fine. That was Lee Yeonjae for you.
Having grasped the situation well enough, Lee Sihyun quickly organized what needed to be done.
“Where did you spray the perfume?”
“My wrists and my neck.”
“You really did douse yourself. This scent is way too strong—at this concentration, even soap won't get it all off. I'll bring some alcohol wipes from the office, so go wash it off right away. And change your clothes completely. When you're done, I'll wipe down your neck and behind your ears for you.”
Yeonjae said he understood and moved quickly.
Lee Sihyun, moving just as fast, hurried off to grab the first-aid box.
What on earth was all this commotion in the middle of the night?
Still, thank goodness I didn't leave him alone.
If she hadn't woken up, Yeonjae might still have been alone, retching by himself.
Just imagining him suffering helplessly through the night, unable to get rid of a smell that wouldn't wash away no matter how much he scrubbed, made her chest ache.
Because of perfume, of all things. Well, it was less serious than she'd feared, at least.
What kind of shoot requires getting used to a scent…
Lee Sihyun tilted her head as she bustled about.
It had only been a few days ago that, after a meeting with the teachers, they'd decided not to ask Yeonjae any more questions about his acting.
Special treatment for Yeonjae alone might make the other children feel something was off, and above all, Yeonjae didn't seem eager to talk about it either.
But seeing him suffer like this, she wondered whether, as a precaution, she ought to know at least a little.
Maybe she should ask that big-built manager who came by last time.
“Oh my, look at the time….”
Sigh. First things first—get the kid back to sleep.
Checking the clock, Lee Sihyun hurried into motion.
“Actor-nim. Drink this first.”
“I'm really fine….”
“No, you're not. Drink it.”
Faced with Manager Ahn Jinbae's resolute expression, Yeonjae finally accepted the orange vitamin drink.
Ugh, this stuff is so sweet. I hate it. Already knowing the taste, his hands turned infinitely slow as he pried the cap open.
Given the chance, he'd have loved to dump it somewhere the moment Ahn Jinbae looked away.
But thinking of that unwavering stare—the kind that wouldn't lift until every last drop was gone—it was an impossible dream.
“Ugh.”
“Well done. Have some water.”
Determined to get it over with quickly, he tipped it down his throat.
The moment he swallowed, the sweetness coating his tongue made his face scrunch up automatically.
He drank the water he was handed, but the sugary aftertaste refused to fade.
“Anyone watching would think you're drinking poison.”
Actor Kim Seokjun, sprawled half-reclined in his chair, snickered.
Manager Ahn Jinbae gathered up the empty vitamin drink and water bottle, told him to resume practicing, and disappeared.
Kim Seokjun, thoroughly stretched out, glanced with his eyes toward the corner where the manager had been standing.
“Your manager seemed especially worn out today. Are you feeling all right? Your color doesn't look great.”
“I'm fine. Just tired.”
I answered vaguely, not lifting my eyes from the script.
I knew he wasn't asking out of any real curiosity.
Sure enough, a careless is that so and a glance devoid of interest drifted away almost immediately.
My stomach really was off. Probably from three straight days of vomiting.
The first day, when I'd never worn perfume before and sprayed far too much, was one thing—but I threw up just as reliably on the second and third days too, even with a reasonable amount. So it didn't seem to be a matter of quantity.
Part of it was that I'd been so anxious not to disturb anyone the way I had that first day that I'd burned through even more energy watching my own volume.
Judging by how Ahn Jinbae had audibly sucked in a breath when he came to pick me up and saw my face, my complexion must have been pretty bad.
I could feel him wanting to turn around and check on me the entire drive, and no matter how many times I said I was fine, he didn't believe me.
Watching him fidget, I felt a twinge of guilt, so I'd been dutifully swallowing everything he put in front of me without complaint—though honestly, that stuff is just too sweet.
Still, all that vomiting wasn't for nothing.
Through endless rounds of retching, I'd wondered whether such a brute-force approach was really the right one, but apparently it wasn't entirely without effect.
After all, I could lift my head now, face to face with this thick scent, without so much as a flicker of a grimace.
“Hey, noona.”
“Yeonjae, you're early. I hurried here myself. Oh, sunbaenim, you're here too.”
“Yeah, Seyeong, hello.”
Actor Kim Seokjun, still in his half-reclined pose, gave a lazy wave of his hand.
At that, Han Seyeong smiled warmly and turned to me.
“Could we run lines before the shoot? It's our first scene together, after all.”
“No can do. I've borrowed him for a bit~.”
I was about to tell Han Seyeong sure when a languid voice cut in from behind. It was Kim Seokjun.
He said he'd hand me over in twenty minutes, and after a brief hesitation, Han Seyeong agreed—just send him over when they finished, she said, and left.
What is with these two… acting like I'm some kind of shared property.
Watching his retreating figure—still carrying that heavy scent, walking with perfectly measured steps—I turned my head away.
Kim Seokjun, settled back into his chair, muttered.
“I've told that kid at least thirty times to speak casually with me, and he's still calling me sunbaenim.”
“Maybe that just comes more naturally to him.”
Everyone finds comfort in different ways.
One look at Manager Ahn Jinbae was enough to know that.
Once you realize that everyone's standard of comfort is different, the standard of consideration becomes blurry too.
Things I did out of consideration might strike someone else as a burden instead.
Maybe that's why getting close to people is even harder.
“Huh. I suppose so.”
Kim Seokjun, who'd been staring blankly at the ceiling, creaked upright in his seat.
“We've only got twenty minutes, so should we get to the point? I've been dying of curiosity ever since we got cut off last time.”
The day of my first shoot with Actress Kim Hyeonju.
With all the repeated NGs, the filming had run long, and by the time it wrapped and I went looking, Kim Seokjun had already left.
What were we talking about? I was racking my memory when Kim Seokjun, unable to wait, asked first.
“Why did you think Yuhyeon would hate the Queen Consort? I reread the script after hearing you out, and I still don't get it.”
Oh, that. I nodded and chose my words to accompany the explanation.
He was right—on the page alone, there were no lines or stage directions that would suggest Yuhyeon would come to hate the Queen Consort.
Looking into the two eyes fixed intently on me, I opened my mouth slowly.
“If you look at the things the Queen Consort says to Yuhyeon over and over, a pattern emerges. She constantly sends the message that she alone is cheering for him, that she alone supports him. Through those words, I thought she was trying to cement her position as his 'only savior.'”
“His only savior?”
“Yes. And yet, for all that talk, none of it ever turns into action.”
What does it mean, that someone who repeats I'm the only one who understands you has never once held you?
Could Yuhyeon really fail to notice—someone who acts as though her arms are always open wide, yet has never actually embraced him?
Of course, it was the Queen Consort who helped Yuhyeon's power take root, and the Queen Consort who chose to flee when his life hung in the balance.
But none of those acts would have registered to Yuhyeon as care.
You can tell from how Yuhyeon always appears rigid and stiff beside her. In the end, she simply isn't someone he can relax around.
“Okay. I get that Yuhyeon finds her uncomfortable. But isn't being uncomfortable different from hating her? It feels like you might be over-reading it.”
“For Yuhyeon to hate the Queen Consort based on what I just said, there's a prerequisite. He has to be an intelligent character.”
Only someone capable of recognizing the Queen Consort's contradictions and hypocrisy could hate her—or not.
I pictured Yuhyeon, standing alone in the middle of a room, staring blankly at nothing, thinking of the Queen Consort.
Unconsciously, my fist clenched and unclenched.
“When I first read the script, I actually thought Yuhyeon was stupid.”
“Isn't that right, though? I still think so.”
I smiled silently at Kim Seokjun's puzzled murmur.
Strange—it wasn't even directed at me, but it left me feeling a little off somehow.
Whether it was just my imagination, the palm beneath my fingernails throbbed dully.