All My Firsts Are You (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 16
The taxi stopped in front of a gray building interlaced with shimmering black marble. Looking around, I noticed a quiet street lined with buildings used as officetels and offices.
“It’s a private studio belonging to a director I’m close with. I got permission to use the empty space while I’m staying in Korea. The script hasn’t even started filming, let alone been released yet—so we can’t exactly spread it out and discuss it openly in a café.”
Perhaps my anxious feelings were clearly visible in the way I kept glancing at him without saying a word, because Jun readily answered a question I hadn’t even asked.
“I’m telling you in advance—I have zero intention of pulling anything shady on you. So stop staring at me with that uneasy look.”
“…I wasn’t thinking that.”
“Really? Ever since we started walking here, you’ve been giving me that exact look the whole way. It’s been making me super uneasy.”
“I wasn’t like that.”
“You don’t even see me as a man anyway.”
For a moment, his words stung, and I looked up at Jun. He gave a small, wry smile—as if to say I hadn’t made anything up—and quickly averted his gaze.
Right from the start, this kind of tension made me worry that our script collaboration wouldn’t go smoothly. Trying to shift the mood, I asked a deliberately bland question.
“So, you’ll be staying at a hotel while you’re in Korea, then?”
“Don’t ask questions you’re not even curious about. Let’s just go in.”
“…”
My attempt at a casual question only thickened the awkward atmosphere even more.
Jun grabbed the heavy front door with one hand and gestured for me to go in. I immediately passed through the ivory-colored lobby, its marble floor gleaming, and stepped into the elevator.
Jun pressed the button for our floor and leaned back against the wall. Still drowsy from his nap in the taxi, his eyelids drooped heavily for just an instant.
Without realizing it, my eyes stayed fixed on him like that.
Kim Jun. What’s driving you so hard to take on this project? Did you really doubt my sincerity that much? Was it really necessary to go this far just to find out? If it’s going to be this painful, why not just drop it altogether?
You should’ve just said outright that the schedule was impossible. You could’ve dumped everything on me, vented your frustration, and ended it right there—so why on earth did you…?
“How long are you going to keep staring? We’re almost there.”
“…Huh?”
I instinctively took a small step back from Jun, who was still keeping his eyes closed and slightly furrowing his brows as he spoke. At that exact moment, the elevator chimed, signaling we’d arrived at the floor Jun had selected.
Only then did Jun slowly open his eyes, quickly glance at me, and push himself up from leaning against the wall.
“If you really want to keep staring at my face, then go inside—I’ll give you more time.”
“…It’s not like that.”
“If it were, so what?”
“…”
Seeing me unable to say anything more, Jun gave a bitter smile. Just as I watched that smile vanish in an instant, he suddenly spoke again.
“Let’s get off first. You’re not going to run away after coming this far, are you?”
I followed Jun with my eyes as he turned away, swallowing a quiet sigh. His words—accusing me of running away or claiming I don’t even see him as a man—sank into my chest like sharp pains.
Not knowing where exactly we were headed, I hesitated right in front of the first door I saw, unable to go further. Jun, who’d been waiting for me briefly, simply gestured toward me and led the way to the room at the far end of the hallway.
Tap-tap, clack-clack—our footsteps alternated, echoing clearly down the corridor. When we reached the door at the very end, Jun swiped his card, and with a soft click, the door opened.
“Go on in first.”
I looked up suddenly—and Jun’s face was surprisingly close. Still gazing quietly at me, he teased lightly, “If you’d rather talk right here in the doorway instead of going inside, that’s fine by me too.”
Instead of answering, I walked past him and stepped into the room, its glass walls filled with the deepening hues of sunset.
Most of the spaces I’d casually glimpsed while walking down the hallway earlier seemed to be meeting rooms.
This one was different—like a cozy corner snatched straight out of a café. A solid wood table for four sat in the center, with one plush single-seater sofa on each side.
It felt just like renting a tiny two-person café meant exclusively for us—each sofa a different color, one sky blue and the other pink.
I took hesitant steps toward the sky-blue sofa. As soon as I leaned back into it, Jun finally moved, his long legs carrying him through the space between the opposite table and sofa before he sat down.
Now that we were both seated, the arrangement meant we’d automatically face each other if we stayed still. Every time Jun’s eyes met mine, my chest prickled uncomfortably, and the awkwardness only grew.
“You really aren’t uneasy, huh.”
After Jun’s blunt remark, silence settled between us.
I couldn’t find the courage to break through that silence. Any conversation we’d have would barely need to stray beyond the boundaries of script work before inevitably scraping open old wounds. The memory of what we’d already talked about during our unexpected encounter in Japan had already stolen my courage to speak first.
“You must really hate even looking at me.”
So it made sense that Jun would start the conversation like this. The fear that meeting your eyes directly would once again overwhelm me with unbearable emotions filled the air like a tangible presence.
“It’s not that.”
“Your words and your actions don’t match at all. Even as you say that, you won’t look at me once.”
“I’ll… just look on my own.”
“You’re still avoiding me even when I say it this plainly.”
A pang of unfairness hit me. After all, in that very moment, I’d agreed to work on the script as you wanted—and hadn’t I rushed out without hesitation when you suddenly showed up, terrified you’d think I’d stood you up? Didn’t I deserve at least the right to meet your eyes?
No—forget all those petty justifications. What I truly wanted was simply to take in your face slowly, with my own eyes, just once.
Gently lifting my head, which had been tilted downward, I finally let my eyes fill completely with you. And since you didn’t look away from my gaze either, we just stayed like that—quietly facing each other, silently receiving the full weight of your eyes.
It felt as if we’d been trapped in an illusion where time itself had stopped. Neither of us broke eye contact; neither of us spoke. We simply held each other gently, yet firmly, in that shared stillness.
Then, I noticed Jun’s eyes slowly turning red at the corners. Startled, I couldn’t hide my surprise, my eyes widening. Jun immediately dropped his gaze diagonally downward, avoiding my eyes.
“Don’t just stare so openly like that—it’s embarrassing,” he muttered with clear irritation—though he knew perfectly well that the same applied to him, who’d been staring at me so intently just moments ago.
You were the one who complained I never looked properly at you—but then you were also the one who suddenly got flustered and scolded me for staring so openly.
“What do you have to be embarrassed about, anyway?”
I murmured softly.
“It’d be weird if you weren’t affected at all. Not with us.”
Jun finally spoke, his expression now a little more composed. He was right.
Though we’d met for the purpose of script work, our relationship couldn’t simply be defined as just director and writer.
We were ex-lovers whose past had already ended, yet we couldn’t meet casually either—it was an uncomfortable connection. And yet, we also couldn’t cleanly draw a private boundary between us, weighed down as we were by emotions tangled with lingering regrets.
That was why even just locking eyes made one of us flustered and the other ache inside.
I felt like I understood it a little better now—the faint anxiety I always sensed when we were alone together.
“But still, we met again pretty quickly this time.”
At that moment, Jun pulled my gaze away from the floor, where it had been wandering blankly. Confused, I looked at him, wondering what he meant.
“You saw me in Japan, and it’s only been about a week since then.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
“All that waiting for nine years was worth it. We got to meet so easily like this.”
“…Don’t be sarcastic.”
“I’m not being sarcastic. Right now, my heart is genuinely full of fulfillment.”
I caught the slight upward curve of Jun’s lips. His relaxed expression, as if to say there was nothing to take too seriously, eased my tension a little. I spoke, letting that feeling show.
“Yeah, we’re meeting. So easily like this.”
Then, Jun softly repeated my words to himself, like a whisper: “Yeah, so easily like this.”
Silence frequently settled between our conversations, as if we were people who carefully savored the lingering resonance of every single word we spoke.
Then, as if remembering something just then, Jun quietly began again.
“In Japan, that day—I was a bit overwhelmed and forgot to mention it.”
“…Huh?”
“You became a TV writer. You’d said that’s what you wanted to do, ever since nine years ago.”
“…Yeah.”
Not knowing what else to add, I gave a short reply. Suddenly, I remembered the conversation we’d had that very first night we met, sitting together in the living room.
Back then, I’d hesitantly confessed my worry—being shy and timid, I wasn’t sure if I dared even dream of becoming a broadcast writer. You’d told me gently that you’d definitely want to watch any show you made, because you’d take the time to truly understand people’s hearts.
Those words had anchored me every time I wavered—wondering if this path was truly right for me, or if the broadcasting station would ever need someone like me.
“What you told me back then gave me tremendous strength. You probably never knew that.”
“…I see.”
“Yeah, really. Truly so.”
Because of you, I became a broadcast writer—and thanks to that, I got to meet you again.
If it hadn’t been for you—and if I hadn’t become a writer—there wouldn’t have been this program, I wouldn’t have been chosen as the first storyteller, and I never would’ve met you again.
But in the end, I swallowed those words inward, and my chest burned with the bitterness of it.
“But you also became a film director—and a really famous one at that.”
“…”
“I knew you loved making films a lot, so it’s not exactly surprising.”
“…Do you even know what kind of films made me famous?”
For a moment, my words caught in my throat.
“I guess I should thank you too. If it hadn’t been for you, I never would’ve made films like that.”
“…”
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not trying to say something dramatic like, ‘After you left me, the only films I could possibly make were these,’ or ‘Every time I filmed, it felt like my heart was being torn apart.’ The point is—I’m thanking you.”
I must’ve misunderstood the meaning of “the point.” Thanking me? The most important words you’d just spoken to me—the ones you claimed were your “point”—felt utterly meaningless.
“Seriously.”
Even the word “seriously” seemed to carry a different meaning than what I knew. Swallowing the breath that threatened to burst out, I tried to clarify your words a little more precisely.
“…You’re saying you’re thankful because I made you feel that way?”
“Yeah. That’s exactly why I’m thankful.”
For an instant, my eyelashes trembled. Your clear, unadorned answer left me feeling utterly exposed, with nowhere to hide. Afraid you’d see me like this, I hurriedly changed the subject.
“…Should we stop for today? You called me here for the script work, right?”
“That’s true, but before that, there’s something I need to clarify first.”
Even before you finished speaking, I already felt like I couldn’t breathe. Jun said,
“That program about finding your first love—did you happen to be the one who planned it?”
Male lead reborn without memories — but he still falls for her.
The person he finds displeasing in this life turns out to be his cherished wife-master in previous life…
Xie Zhi and Fang Xianxing who had known each other for less than three days through a blind date sat in the same car in front of the civil affairs bureau. They had a disagreement and failed to get married.
Xie Zhi immediately took out his phone, slid through his contacts, and randomly selected the next marriage candidate.
The woman snatched his phone and hung up. Looking at his phone wallpaper, she awkwardly changed the subject: “An ancient painting, eh? It looks pretty good, it’s just that the person in the painting looks a bit like me.”
When he heard this, he sarcastically mocked her for being so delusional, completely unaware that, the person in front of him was the reincarnation of Wen Ru, the famous prime minister of Yuan Shun whom he most admired…
The female CEO who doesn’t want to get married with a divorce agreement in hand × The male archaeological researcher who will only get married if he’s sure he can get divorced
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