it is both familiar and not, being back in this atmosphere. it’s a far cry different from working with signal, a group of oversized puppy children, suitably singing about cats and dogs. they look at her differently, they have to spread already too - long legs to get their faces down to her level. they fall asleep in the chair while she blowdries bleach damaged hair and they simper noona at her with bright eyes and full lips and she dotes on them as if they might be her children, despite being only fractionally younger than her, an almost negligible difference. but sheltered, in their way, by the isolation of a grueling trainee life.
here on set with gun is different, but those differences are familiar. it looks so similar to the first sets she’d worked with him, and the range of eyeliner options on the table before her indicates a similarity in the style. he wants a call back to the last, they’d briefed her. like a reminiscence on the success he’s found since those days, on the soaring career that lifts spread wings, now. so they’re bringing her back to the fold - but tread carefully, they add, with a pointed look.
that’s what she tells herself, pushing round spectacles up the bridge of her nose and gathering her hair into a ponytail, back out of her face. he looks half asleep as her assistant drapes accessories on him, and sera thinks of how strange it is to have gotten to the point where she has assistants and he has a say in his concepts, creative contributions from both of them so much more meaningful now. when sihyun steps away from him, sera moves in, doesn’t bother announcing the change, stepping forward to carefully place her fingers against his skin, swallows hard once before she adds a helpful, “keep your eyes closed,” and takes the liner to them carefully, watches the flutter first as he recognizes her voice, a slight grin playing at her lips. “so you’re back to a smoky eye, huh?” there’s a quiet laugh, “you hated it so much back then.”
