My National Boyfriend

HAN STUDIO 

The sleek black cab came to a stop in front of the modern glass building. A bright "Han Studio" sign gleamed above the revolving doors. The city's quiet morning buzz filled the air—hushed conversations, clicking heels, camera cases rolling.

Y/N stepped out first, adjusting her ipad and her scarf. Rabin followed in a grey hoodie and dark shades—his face mostly covered, yet his presence still sharp.

They entered through the front glass doors.

Receptionist (with a glowing smile):

"Welcome, Mr. Rabin Angeles. We've been expecting you."

Y/N nodded slightly, her professional mask snapping back into place.

Y/N: "He's scheduled for the 11 a.m. shoot. Prep time before that, right?"

Receptionist: "Yes, ma'am. Studio Room 3 is ready. The stylist team is already there, and the creative director will join shortly."

Rabin didn't say much—he rarely did at these places. But his eyes scanned everything: the walls of black-and-white portraits, racks of clothing being wheeled around, the massive softboxes glowing behind frosted studio glass.

The receptionist handed them both visitor passes.

Receptionist: "Please head to the prep room down the hallway. Someone will assist you from there."

As they walked toward the hallway—

Rabin (quietly): "You always get like this."

Y/N (without looking): "Like what?"

Rabin: "Professional. Cold. Distant."

Y/N (glancing sideways): "Good. That means I'm doing my job."

Rabin chuckled, slipping his hands into his hoodie pockets.

But he thought to himself: Why does it bother me now?

They reached Studio Room 3, and the door opened before they could knock. The stylist waved them in.

Stylist: "Mr. Rabin! We have two looks for today's magazine cover. Let's try the lighter set first."

Y/N (to Rabin): "I'll be outside finalizing the next schedule. Call me if you need anything."

Rabin watched her walk off—again, disappearing before he could speak more.

But this time… he wanted her to stay.

The large room was humming with light chatter and the low whirr of hair dryers. Rabin had just taken off the final look, now. A fresh wave of his usual charm surrounded him—styled hair, faint cologne, face glowing from the shoot lights.

The door creaked open, and Y/N stepped inside with two coffee in her hand

She handed to one him casually. 

He took the cup, fingers brushing slightly. A flicker of silence.

He noticed it—her slightly red-rimmed eyes, the soft sniffle she tried to hide behind the cup, and the subtle trembling of her fingers when she took a sip of her own coffee.

Rabin (quietly): "I thought you left me alone…"

Y/N (without looking at him): "Tch. Not lucky enough."

But he didn't laugh this time.

Instead, his gaze lingered.

Her nose was a little runny. Her eyes had that unmistakable glassy sheen—either from a cold or fatigue. Or both.

She turned away and pulled out her phone, pretending to scroll through the calendar.

But Rabin's eyes stayed fixed on her.

He stood up, walked to her side, and casually leaned over her shoulder—just close enough to see her screen.

Rabin (softly): "Let's go back after this. You need to rest."

Y/N (still not meeting his gaze): "I'm fine."

The studio lights dimmed down one by one, signaling the end of the shoot. The last shutter clicks faded, and the production crew broke into applause.

Designer (clapping):

"Perfect! Rabin, you nailed every frame. Just wow!"

Rabin gave his classic charming smile and bowed slightly in appreciation.

His outfit for the final shot—a tailored deep blue suit—hugged him just right, catching every angle of the camera like it was made for him.

Photographer:

"He's a natural! Great posture, great energy."

The stylist was beaming, snapping a quick photo for social.

Even the studio interns were whispering in awe.

Meanwhile, Y/N stood near the monitor station, arms crossed,

Despite her slight headache and stuffy nose, a tiny, proud smile flickered on her lips.

Designer (to Rabin):

"We'll be featuring this shoot in our winter issue. Expect buzz. And thank your team—this campaign will trend for sure."

Rabin's eyes wandered for a second—towards the corner, where Y/N stood.

She looked tired. He noticed it again.

But she was clapping for him too.

With everything now winding down, the assistants were packing up, lights dimming, and the crew readying for exit.

Rabin walked straight up to her.

Rabin (low tone):

"Let's get you back to the hotel. My star assistant looks half-frozen."

7:00 PM – Back at the Hotel

The black van rolled to a slow stop in front of the hotel. The tinted windows reflected the quiet glow of Seoul's evening lights. Inside the van, the atmosphere was hushed.

Y/N leaned back in her seat, her head resting gently on the headrest. The city buzz outside seemed far away as her eyelids fluttered shut—fatigue finally sinking in. Rabin, seated beside her, kept stealing glances. Her breathing was soft. Rhythmic. She was finally still.

He didn't say a word.

When the door slid open, she quietly stepped out, rubbing her eyes just a little. The chill of the night kissed her skin. She reached into her tote and pulled out something white.

Y/N: "Here. Your sipper."

She handed it to him without much expression—tired, mechanical. Rabin took it slowly.

Rabin:

"Rest well… Let's eat something when you wake up."

She only nodded, eyes still dull with sleep and a cold lingering behind them. No sarcasm. No witty remark this time.

Just:

"Rest well."

She turned and walked toward the hallway, her figure slowly disappearing into the elevator.

Rabin remained still for a moment. The sipper still in his hand.

Then he looked down at it—white, warm from her hold—and sighed.

Rabin (softly):

"She's really not okay today…"

He turned and headed to his room too, footsteps a little heavier than usual.

The golden rays of Seoul's gentle morning peeked through the curtains.

It was finally their day off — a much-needed pause after the whirlwind of shoots, chaos, and emotional swings. The next two days were booked for vlogging content — an agency-planned "fan service" project to show a more real, relaxed Rabin for their official YouTube channel.

But today, was for nothing at all. A rare luxury.

Scene: Rabin's Room – 10:24 AM

Rabin stirred awake slowly, stretching like a lazy cat. He stared at the ceiling, groaning a little from sleeping too much.

Rabin:

"Finally… no call time."

He rolled over, checked his phone.

Nothing from Y/N.

No 'wake up call', no 'your breakfast is ready', not even a sarcastic one-liner.

He sighed, dragged himself out of bed, and padded to the window, drawing the curtain aside slightly. The Seoul skyline blinked at him.

Knock. Knock.

Y/N shuffled toward the door, her oversized pajamas crinkled, hoodie sleeves flopping over her hands. Hair slightly messy, nose red from last night's sneezing fit. She opened the door halfway, eyes still drowsy and guarded.

Y/N:

"What now?"

She blinked when she saw Rabin — damp hair from the shower, white T-shirt clinging softly to his shoulders, and grey joggers riding comfortably low on his waist. He looked too fresh for a rest day.

Rabin stands at the doorframe, his eyes narrowing slightly as he sees Y/N's flushed cheeks and tired posture. Without a word, he steps forward and gently presses the back of his hand to her forehead.

RABIN

(softly)

You're burning up.

Y/N blinks, startled. She quickly bats his hand away and turns her back to him.

Y/N

I'm fine.

RABIN

(stepping inside without hesitation)

No, you're not.

She doesn't reply, walking further into the room with her arms crossed.

Y/N

So… what are you doing here?

RABIN

(shrugs casually)

Checking in on you.

What if my assistant faints alone in a hotel room with no one around to know?

Y/N

(snorts, rolling her eyes)

You drama king.

RABIN

(grinning)

I'm an actor. Comes with the crown.

She huffs a weak laugh despite herself, shaking her head as she sits on the edge of the bed.

RABIN

(gently)

Just let me stay a bit. I'll sit quietly. Promise.

Y/N doesn't say anything. But she doesn't ask him to leave either.

Y/N crawls back under the blanket, clutching her laptop. She opens it on her lap, sniffling lightly.

Y/N

(murmuring)

I still have work to do…

Before she can type a word, Rabin reaches out and snatches the laptop, placing it out of her reach on the nearby table.

Y/N

(startled)

Hey! What now? I'm working!

RABIN

(firm but soft)

It's not time to work.

Y/N

(half sitting up)

Tomorrow we have a full schedule, I need to prepare…

RABIN

(sits her back gently and pulls the blanket over her shoulders)

And you need to get better, or there won't be any tomorrow to work for.

Without another word, he picks up the hotel phone and orders some medicine and warm soup from room service.

RABIN

(into the phone)

Yes, one serving of ginger-chicken soup and fever medicine… right away, please. 

He hangs up and turns back to her. She's watching him from under the blanket, eyes drowsy, but trying to stay stubborn.

Y/N

(muttering)

You're so annoying.

RABIN

(smirks)

That's what assistants say right before they feel better.

Rabin sits on the small sofa beside her bed, her iPad in hand, scrolling through the never-ending schedules she's prepared for him.

He glances at her from the side. She's curled up, her face half-buried in the blanket.

RABIN

(softly)

Try to rest… the medicine will be here soon.

Y/N doesn't answer, but her eyes flutter slowly. He can tell she's trying not to fall asleep—still clinging to the idea that she should be working instead of resting.

Rabin sighs as he flips to another schedule tab—bookings, calls, rehearsals. All color-coded and neatly aligned.

RABIN

(to himself)

You really don't know how to take care of yourself, huh…

He gently locks the iPad and places it aside. The room falls into a comfortable silence, only the soft hum of the AC and the occasional sniffle from Y/N filling the air.

He leans his head back against the sofa cushion and closes his eyes briefly, whispering almost to himself:

RABIN

(quietly)

You're not just an assistant to me anymore…

He hears a slight rustle—Y/N shifting under the blanket—but when he turns, she's already asleep, cheeks flushed from the fever, breath finally even.

The doorbell rings softly. Room service has arrived.

Rabin stands up quietly and walks to the door—careful not to wake her.

Rabin enters quietly with a tray—a bowl of steaming soup, some toast, and the medicine on the side. He places it gently on the bedside table and sits next to her, voice soft, careful not to startle her.

RABIN

(gently)

Y/n… let's have the soup first, then you can rest again.

She stirs under the blanket, blinking her eyes open slowly. Her voice is husky from sleep, and a little groggy.

Y/N

(blinking)

You're still here…?

RABIN

Of course. I'm not going anywhere if you're burning up with a fever.

She slowly sits up, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders. Her eyes drop to the tray.

Y/N

You really didn't have to…

RABIN

(cutting her off)

Just eat. No arguments.

She huffs softly but reaches for the bowl. He helps adjust the tray closer to her.

RABIN

(light teasing)

Your assistant wouldn't let me sleep if I skipped a meal. It's only fair I return the favor.

Y/N

(quiet laugh, voice weak)

I guess I'm lucky… having an actor who turns into a nurse when needed.

He smiles. A real one. The kind that reaches his eyes.

She takes a few spoonfuls, silently grateful.

RABIN

After this, take the medicine, then sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be a long day.

Y/N

(nodding)

Okay…

They sit there in silence—her eating slowly, him watching to make sure she finishes.

Y/N's eyes flutter open slowly. The first thing she sees is him—Rabin, lying right beside her on top of the blanket, still in his hoodie and joggers. His hand rests near hers, their fingertips almost touching.

Her heart skips.

Y/N (V.O.)

(internal monologue)

Damn… my heart—why is it beating so hard…

Is it the fever? No… it's definitely not the fever.

She stares at him, observing quietly. His long lashes brush softly against his cheek, pink, plump lips parted just slightly in sleep. There's no trace of the usual cockiness—just a boy who looks far too peaceful, far too beautiful.

Y/N (V.O.)

How is he this calm in sleep, when he's chaos when awake?

Those lashes… those lips… ugh. He's really got what most girls dream of.

Good job, God. You made him unfairly perfect.

She shifts slightly, careful not to wake him. Her cheeks flush as she realizes how close they are. For a brief second, her fingers twitch, tempted to touch his hair.

But she pulls away.

Y/N (V.O.)

I'm seriously losing it.

It's the fever… must be.

She slowly rolls to the other side, burying her face in the pillow and groaning softly.

Y/N (murmuring to herself):

"You're dangerous when you're asleep too, Rabin Angeles…"

Y/N gently slides out of bed, careful not to disturb Rabin, who's still peacefully asleep. She tiptoes around the room, grabbing her phone and wallet as quietly as she can. One last glance at him—he's still unmoving, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

She smiles faintly, almost affectionately, before whispering,

Y/N (softly):

"Sleep well, drama king."