Back in Time: The Best Actress Surrenders

Yul continues to sit by the window of the coffee shop, reminiscing. Her hands cradle a warm mug of coffee, untouched for minutes now.

Soon, it starts to rain.

Outside, the city blurs—wet streets, passing cars, and reflections shimmering on the glass like memories she can't quite shake.

Then suddenly, something breaks through the fog of her mind.

A presence.

She blinks.

On the other side of the glass, just beyond the table's edge, stood Baek Sijin.

His black shirt hangs half-buttoned, clinging to his damp skin—as if he has hurriedly put it on. He must have run here—hair damp, chest rising with exertion. His gaze bores into her through the thin glass separating them, disbelief and something else colliding in his eyes.

His chest rises and falls with exertion, but his dark eyes never waver.

Yul's heart stutters.

Before she can gather herself, he strides into the coffee shop and effortlessly scoops her up—her stomach slung over his shoulder like a sack of rice, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other hooked behind her knees. Her hands grapple at the back of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as her breath catches.

She yelps, startled.

Gasps ripple through the room.

The baristas freeze. A couple of customers glance at each other, unsure whether to intervene or just stare.

But Baek Sijin doesn't care.

He walks straight out the door, carrying her down the street without a shred of shame—as if hauling a grown woman over his shoulder is the most natural thing in the world.

"Wait—put me down!"

Of course, he doesn't listen. He's stubborn—always has been.

But his grip shifts, loosening just slightly—as if to make sure she isn't hurt, yet still tight enough not to let her go.

Before she knows it, he strides into Cheongdam Aria's lobby, presses the elevator button, and steps inside. The soft music playing overhead does nothing to ease the tension.

Yul lets out a small whimper, shifting uncomfortably as a cramp twists through her stomach—pressed too long against his firm shoulder.

In response, he tenses slightly, then gently sets her down—only to immediately scoop her back up into a princess carry before she can even steady herself on her feet, as if afraid she'll run if he doesn't hold on tight enough. Her arms lock around his neck reflexively to keep from falling. Their faces are close—close enough to feel each other's breath. Their eyes lock, charged and unblinking.

She can see the turbulence in his eyes, as if he is constantly fighting against something, as if holding himself back. 

Unlike the man he becomes three years from now—the one who surrenders to temptation, casts morality aside, and keeps her close regardless of her resistance, shamelessly embracing his desire and darkness—the Sijin standing before her now is different.

He still hesitates. Still wrestles with what's right.

She knows that three years from now, he'll stop pretending. He'll give up the illusion of control—and come to her without restraint.

She still remembers what he said then.

"I know letting you go would be the right thing to do, if it meant you could be happy—even if it left me broken," he said through a clenched jaw, his voice tight with restraint. "But when I saw how your father painted you—like you were with other men just to get roles—I knew I wouldn't be able to stand it. Even if it was all lies, even if none of it was real… I couldn't bear the thought of you with someone else."

He said it while cradling her from behind, their bare skin pressed together in the bathtub, the water still rippling from what they'd just done. His fingers trace her face with gentleness, a quiet contrast to the desperation that had just consumed him only moments ago.

"That's when I realized," he murmurs, his eyes darkening as they meet hers in the reflection of the silver faucet, "I'm selfish. I'd rather keep you… even if you end up hating me for it."

Looking at the current version of him—still hesitating, still trying to wrestle his instincts into submission—she almost finds it laughable.

Why struggle so hard… when he's only going to give up in three years?

Still, she knows she can't blame him.

Back in high school—and even later, after she signed the contract—she gave him every reason to believe she hated relying on him. She used to scoff at his protectiveness, telling him he was overbearing, too careful, too controlling about where she went and what she did. Always watching. Always monitoring.

But the truth was more complicated.

If she hadn't been so ashamed—so determined to pretend she didn't need anyone—she might have realized it sooner: his presence made her feel safe. His constant attention, his insistence on looking after her… it was the only thing that grounded her. And if he ever stopped, she would've unraveled.

It's not true that she hates being with him.

Right now, he believes the opposite. And maybe, that's the cruelest part.

Because it's her fault.

Now, it's her turn to show him—through action, not words—that she wants him. That she's not pushing him away this time.

"What are you planning?" Sijin asks, his voice low and tight, slicing through the silence between them. He doesn't wait for an answer before continuing, his tone sharpened by something between longing, fear, and fury.

"You're not coming back to me just because you miss me… are you?" he says, the mockery in his tone thin and brittle—unable to mask the hurt beneath.

His arms tighten around her, firm, possessive—yet there's a slight tremble beneath his grip, betraying the tension he's trying to hold back.

"If this is just some emotional whim," he mutters, "if you're here to toy with me… just say it now."

Sensing the storm beneath his tone—the distrust, the pain, the barely restrained desire—something tightens in her chest. Her eyes grow glassy, the sting of emotion rising before she can stop it.

She lifts her eyes to his. Her voice is quiet, but steady, like someone choosing truth over pride for the first time.

"I'm here because…"

Her breath hitches, chest tightening with the rush of emotion she's tried so hard to bury.

"Because I was wrong."

The silence between them pulses. Her fingers curl slightly against his chest, grounding herself as her next words push past the fear lodged in her throat.

"Because I want you."

Sijin's breath hitches, eyes glazing over in stunned silence. She can feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm, curled lightly against his chest. For a moment, he doesn't move—caught in the stillness, as if her words cracked something open inside him.

But then he blinks and snaps out of it, his eyes turned dark and piercing. A dry, bitter laugh slipped from his lips.

"Now you want me? After all this time?"

His eyes search hers, torn between belief and disbelief, afraid to hope.

"I always knew—even back then—that you were good at acting," he says, voice low and tight. "Looks like you've only gotten better. I can't tell what's real anymore. I can't tell if this is the truth… or just another performance."

Her throat tightens, the weight of his words pressing down like a stone. But she doesn't look away, eyes shimmering with unspoken resolve.

"Then… how do you want me to prove it?" she asks, voice quiet but steady. "I'm willing to do anything."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, but he doesn't move. He stands there, frozen, breath caught—sharp and involuntary. For a moment, he just stares at her, as if he didn't quite hear her right. 

His eyes are quickly eclipsed by something darker—desire, panic, hunger. His arms tighten around her, taut as coiled wire, pulling her closer until her breath turns shallow.

As if something in him finally snapped, he leans in and presses his nose against the curve of her left ear, inhaling deeply like he's trying to devour her scent—anchor himself to it.

Then, without warning, he bites her earlobe. Not hard—just enough to make her flinch, a startled breath escaping her lips.

But he doesn't pull away.

Instead, he soothes the sting with his mouth, sucking gently, his tongue flicking over the sensitive skin as if trying to placate her with every motion. The contrast between the sharp bite and the tender heat of his lips and tongue sends a jolt down her spine, her body tensing in his arms. 

"Ah…" A soft whimper escapes her.

Unable to bear the sensation any longer, she buries her face in the crook of his neck, her breath hot and uneven against his skin. Both arms wrap tightly around his neck, clinging to him as if it's the only way to steady herself, her chest rising and falling with every heavy breath.

"You're willing to do… anything?" he murmurs against her ear, his breath hot and unsteady. She can feel the tension in his voice, the strain of his restraint threading through every word. The warmth of his breath sends heat rushing to her face, her ears turning red beneath the intensity.

He's a sliver away from snapping—one wrong breath and she knows he'll lose control.