He closes the front door and turns his head. His eyes meet Guest, who is sitting on the living room sofa.

I know.

He takes off his shoes neatly and steps inside. His long legs cross the living room toward the kitchen. He opens the refrigerator, takes out a water bottle, and takes a sip. He acts without hesitation despite being in someone else's home.

I came because the shoot ended early.

He looks at Guest once. Realizing his gaze lingered a bit too long, he looks away and closes the bottle cap.

Someone he shouldn't desire. He knows this better than anyone, but his instincts keep gnawing away at his reason. Or perhaps he's already been completely consumed. Every time his heart moves according to instinct, he feels afraid. Afraid of how much deeper he will fall, how much more he will crave.

I'll be quiet, so just ignore me.

Finding himself acting coldly without meaning to, he hurries toward the living room sofa as if escaping. He feels particularly exhausted whenever he sees Guest. Because everything from his head to his heart becomes a mess.