Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“We’re really sorry about this, it seems that Min Jiwon-nim got caught up in an incident at the airport,” her manager, a young man with a round face, apologized profusely, bowing low. 

Behind him, the set was bustling as crew members continued to tweak lights and details, laying out extension cables for equipment and adjusting angles for cameras. Their work was brisk and efficient, but not unduly hurried. Min Jiwon’s ‘incident’ was trending all over social media for the past hour. Without the leading lady, filming the key scenes for today would have to wait. 

The director scratched his scraggly beard and sighed. “Forget it. Apologize to Joonghyuk-ssi, instead. For now, we’ll proceed with the minor characters’ scenes first.” 

The rest of the cast had been ready since earlier that morning and now waited around the set, chatting idly or focusing on the script.

Yoo Joonghyuk, in contrast, stood directly in front of the director, powerful arms folded as he glowered. Even standing, his presence drew the eye, as though the light was drawn to only him.

“Of-- of course, my sincerest apologies, Joonghyuk-nim, we planned to get out discreetly, but it seems one of the fans got a little over-excited…” The man wilted visibly under the unimpressed look Yoo Joonghyuk gave him. 

Bi-hyung, his manager, stepped in at that point, soothing. “It’s just right, Joonghyuk-ssi has been rushing so much that he hasn’t been able to rest well. I’ll take him back to the car and you can call us when Jiwon-ssi arrives.” 

Not without digging the knife in a little bit first, of course. 

The director flapped a hand. “Yes, please get some rest.” He turned his head, barking out some instructions to the rest of the team. 

“Alright everyone, change of plans! Dokja-ssi, have you finished your preparations already?” 

“Yes, Byungho-nim.” 

“Good, good, come up, we’ll do your stuff first so you can go home for the day.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk glanced at the man who walked up towards the set. He was nondescript- the kind of good-looking face that nonetheless blended into the crowd of other, more dazzling actors. If Yoo Joonghyuk had to pick out a feature, perhaps it was his eyes, large, clear and dark, set off by long lashes. His suit was cut sharply to his form, artfully disheveled, and his bleached hair was slicked back, baring his clean face. Unfortunately, he had the unassuming aura of a drab little mouse, making the flashy suit seem too small and ill-fitting. 

Noticing that Yoo Jonghyuk hadn’t yet left, the director nodded towards him. “Joonghyuk-ssi, this is Kim Dokja-ssi, he will be playing Jin Hajoon, the son of the criminal boss.” 

“We’ve already met,” Kim Dokja said pleasantly, but he didn’t lift his gaze to meet Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes.  

“Oh, really? Ah, that’s right, you were in Zarathustra with Anna Croft, weren’t you?” 

“Among others,” Kim Dokja agreed cheerfully. 

“Well, I didn’t hear any complaints from Baram-nim, so it must have gone well.” 

It was easy to see that the director had a favorable impression of this bit actor. Yoo Joonghyuk lost interest immediately, piecing together a familiar story. 

Sensing Yoo Joonghyuk’s mood, Bi-hyung excused them and the director spoke a few words to Kim Dokja, going over the mood he wanted for the scene. 

“I’ll bring the car around closer, so please wait here, Joonghyuk-ssi.” Bi-hyung took out his car keys and motioned for Yoo Joonghyuk to sit at the waiting area near the parking lot. 

Yoo Joonghyuk nodded, digging into a pocket for his phone only to realize he’d left it in the jacket on set. With Bi-hyung gone, he had no choice but to get it himself, stalking back over from where they came. 

Thwap! 

“You useless idiots ,” the harsh voice cut through the air like a whip crack. 

Yoo Joonghyuk stopped, a sharp sense of danger piercing him like a knife. He swung his head, looking for the source, only to be arrested by the sight on set. 

The studio was dark, illuminated only by a single amber lamp on the set. The stark lighting threw shadows on what was an otherwise luxurious setup: a gilt-edged sofa under a crystal chandelier, the remains of a banquet on the table. 

Mantled in light and shadow, a pale, well-dressed young man pinned a thug’s head to the table under his perfectly-polished oxford shoe. Glass and wine lay shattered around them, and the two other actors were frozen to their seats, petrified. 

There was a mad light in the man’s eyes as he took up a fruit knife left on the table. He hefted it lazily, flicking pale liquid off with a sharp swing. Then, without warning, he abruptly jammed the seven-inch blade down an inch from the pinned man’s head. He yanked the knife out and did it again, hacking away at the table, splinters and chips flying out. In the perfect quiet, his performance seemed all the more maddened, the thud of the knife like a cleaver on a butcher’s block.

“I told you I wanted her!” the man growled. With the full force of his arm, he stabbed down, leaving the knife embedded on the table. His shoulders tipped back and a slender, graceful hand smoothed back a few locks of hair from his brow, exposing his fair forehead. The dim light cast half his bloodless face into shadow. The other half was unexpectedly delicate, like fine porcelain, a dramatic contrast to the demon from a moment past. It painted a veneer of fragile sanity over his lunacy. “So,” he said slowly, his voice dropping into half-croon, and his mouth carved a too-wide grin, saved only by a faint love-lorn glaze. “Where is she?” 

The man on the table whimpered, forgetting his lines. 

“She’s still in Seoul, we’ll find her! W-we’ll do better,” one of the others said, the stutter on his lips all too raw. 

“‘Better’ is useless. I only need ‘will’.” The man leaned back on the couch, arrogantly draping an arm over the back in a movement that stretched his expensive dress shirt taut over his chest, his eyes half-lidded with ennui, as though he’d already lost interest in the man under his heel. 

“Come back with her or not at all.” 

“Cut!” The director shouted. “All in one take, as professional as ever, Dokja-ssi.”

The man on set seemed to instantly collapse in on himself, closing his eyes as an mad second-generation tyrant and opening them as an amiable little mouse. “I’m glad if Byungho-nim is satisfied.” He removed his foot from the other actor and helped him up, apologizing.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” A voice remarked, forcing Yoo Joonghyuk back into the present. 

He glanced over to find a graceful woman in a pantsuit standing next to him. Her fresh, pretty face and neat, orderly clothes could have belonged to any starlet, but the backpack tucked under her arm and the old, peeling plastic thermos in her hands clearly didn’t belong to her. 

She looked up at him and there was a hint of steel in her gentle gaze. “He’s the best actor I know.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk shifted his eyes back to the nondescript man politely listening to another actor’s complaints. 

“You are?” 

“Yoo Sangah, Kim Dokja’s manager.” She extended a professional hand. 

Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t shake it, engrossed in finding even a speck of the former unhinged, sloppy mob boss in the prim posture and the delicate shoulder that sank under an overenthusiastic slap. 

A change so complete it was eerie. 

“I’ve never heard of him,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, finally. 

“That’s how he likes it,” Yoo Sangah smiled. “Please excuse me, Joonghyhuk-ssi.” She walked off, offering Kim Dokja the thermos with a cheerful ‘good job!’. 

‘Kim Dokja’. Yoo Joonghyuk silently marked the name and left. 

=

“What were you doing with Yoo Joonghyuk?” Kim Dokja asked Yoo Sangah curiously, once they were alone. They had a little corner of the dressing room to themselves, oddly peaceful amidst the hubbub. “You haven’t fallen for him, have you?”

“I’m loyal to Dokja-ssi.”  Yoo Sangah laughed and helped him peel out of his suit jacket. 

Kim Dokja made a face, ruffling his hair back into its usual soft mess. “It’s because you keep saying stuff like that that your mother is worried we’ll get married.” 

“I’m your fan, though?” Yoo Sangah teased. 

“You have it hard,” Kim Dokja replied, the familiar banter spooling out, but he wasn’t letting her off that easily. “You’ve never approached him before- why now?” 

“Well, because he was looking at you.” 

Kim Dokja stared at her blankly. “Yes? Didn’t he leave right after the shoot?” 

“He looked too long.”

Kim Dokja laughed. “He probably just doesn’t like being forced to wait to film. He’ll forget, just like the other times.” 

“Maybe,” Yoo Sangah hummed noncommittally. “For now, we should get to MPM for your afternoon shoot.” 

“Was that for the liniment? Or the drink?” Kim Dokja wondered as he finished changing behind a rack of costumes in the communal dressing room. 

“The drink.” Yoo Sangah handed him a change of clothes. 

“Ah, it’s been a while since we saw Gilyoung, hasn’t it?” 

“He’ll be happy, won’t he?” Yoo Sangah smiled. 

=

“Dokja-hyung!!” A short ball of energy streaked across the studio, sticking against Kim Dokja’s side. 

Kim Dokja was grateful Lee Gilyoung had stopped jumping into his arms. The boy was getting a bit too large, now, for him to lift easily. He rummaged in his pocket and produced some sweets, individually wrapped chocolate, and dropped them into Gilyoung’s waiting hand. 

“Gilyoung-ah, you’re early?” 

“I wanted to see you!” Gilyoung beamed. He tore open the chocolate wrapper with his teeth, gobbling it down clean. He was wearing a sailor-style shirt with suspenders, the detailed buttons were in the shape of beetles, indicating another original design from his mother. 

“Where’s your manager?” 

“Dunno,” Gilyoung said vaguely. “I think he got a call?” 

Kim Dokja nodded and walked over to greet the rest of the staff.  

Today’s concept was of a hardworking father and his adorable, athletic child. The product was a nutritional drink targeted for young athletes, with a new vanilla-malt flavor currently being promoted. 

Kim Dokja had read over the script in the car. It was a sweet story, innocent and charming. Like an idyllic afternoon. 

He closed his eyes and let his hand slip around Gilyoung’s small one, cradling it preciously. It was fortunate that it turned out to be Gilyoung. That was easier. 

“Dokja-ssi?” 

Kim Dokja blinked, the thin character he’d started to construct collapsing as he turned at the familiar voice.

“Hyunsung-ssi?” 

“It’s you, after all! What job are you doing today?” Lee Hyunsung bounded up to them like an oversized golden retriever, eager to see friends. The bright green singlet he had on was inappropriate for the weather, doing little to hide his thick biceps and broad chest. 

“It must be the same thing as Hyunsung-ssi-- aren’t you the brand ambassador?” Lee Hyunsung had started to gain a bit of a reputation for his uncanny athleticism and sweet nature. The Sponsors loved that kind of personality and he often did a lot of endorsements in between action series. 

“And Gilyoung is here, too, that’s great.” He reached out to ruffle Gilyoung’s hair, which the younger boy bore with great dignity, nuzzling back into Kim Dokja’s side once he was done. 

“It’s been a while since you worked together on Masked Thor, huh? Congratulations, by the way, I heard it was well-received.” 

“It’s nothing, B.YOO-nim deserves all the praise.” 

“That’s true, but Hyunsung-ssi’s Thor was very charming.” 

Hyunsung flushed faintly. The golden retriever was wagging his tail. 

Gilyoung’s face was pressed into his side, however, which usually meant he was sulking. “Gilyoung did well, too, your declaration at the end was very cool.”

Gilyoung puffed up his chest. “Next time, hyung should audition, too- you’re way better than everybody else.” 

Yoo Sangah walked over to the trio, bringing some of the crisp outdoor air with her as she tucked the car keys away in her coat. 

“Ah, Hyunsung-ssi, thank you for last time.” She bowed slightly but her smile was warm. 

“Any time,” Lee Hyunsung beamed. 

“Did you two meet up?” Kim Dokja asked curiously.

“Just by chance, Hyunsung-ssi helped take care of someone for me…” 

They chatted until the director called, breaking up the party to get ready for their shoots. 

A stylist handed Kim Dokja a parcel with his clothes and settled a slightly curly dark wig on his head, to better match Gilyoung, before leaving him to do another artist’s clothes. He dragged the sweater onto his bony frame and sat still as a makeup artist carefully dabbed subtle circles under his eyes and emphasized the lines of his mouth, finishing off with a quick powder.

“Dokja-yah’s skin is really good, I’m very envious,” the makeup artist, a woman in her forties, sighed delicately. “Aren’t you turning thirty this year? I can’t believe I have to make you look older.” 

“I wouldn’t look this good at all, if not for Airi-noona.” 

The woman guffawed and slapped him encouragingly. “Acting cute at your age, you little rascal! You always know what to say, don’t you? I’ll see to the others now, so try not to touch your face too much, you hear?” 

“...Dokja-ssi has really come a long way,” Yoo Sangah observed, once she left. 

“It’s kind of automatic if you practice it enough,”Kim Dokja laughed awkwardly. “I guess I have to start changing the script, though, I really am getting old.” 

His eyes flicked down and he tugged at the cuffs of his dark brown sweater. The somber color gave his relatively youthful face an old-fashioned air and a pair of thick glasses covered the brightness of his eyes. 

He had often been told, as a child, that his face resembled his father, more, though his eyes were like his mother’s, dark but lively. 

“Is it really okay?” Yoo Sangah asked, fiddling with the script. 

“Why shouldn’t it be?” Kim Dokja replied, turning towards her, the smile on his mouth a little crooked. “This is also a story.”  

=

Lee Hyunsung invited them to dinner, but Yoo Sangah got summoned to the office shortly after, leaving Kim Dokja free to wait at the izakaya-style restaurant not too far from the studio as the action star finished up.  

He took a sip of iced barley tea, went through his messages, replied to some, and opened his webnovel app for the sixteenth time in the vain hope there would be an update. 

Disappointed, he sent a text to Han Sooyoung and let his gaze wander.

The bar was modestly-sized, the light bright but yellowed, casting a golden glow on wooden tables and chairs. An incongruously modern LCD screen was mounted on one of the walls, playing the trailer for a new movie. 

“Ah, it’s Yoo Joonghyuk!” someone from the next table commented excitedly. 

“That movie opens this weekend- let’s go see it together!” 

Sure enough, it was Yoo Joonghyuk’s new movie. The camera cut in on the swipe of a sword, slowly panning up a moody, gorgeous Yoo Joonghyuk, dressed in a waistcoat with a stiff collar buttoned up high. The theme seemed to be steampunk, his boots tipped in brass, and his low, magnetic voice was questioning the woman at his feet. 

Kim Dokja watched as the cut-ins revealed that Yoo Joonghyuk was a bounty hunter, tracking down an infamous serial killer. Every movement felt authentic and sharp, an irresistible pull on your subconscious whispering that if you looked away, just once, then you’d regret it for the rest of your life. Yoo Joonghyuk was poetry in motion, crisp and clean in a way that spoke of long training, and he looked as though he could step out of the screen at any moment and streak like a comet through an insipid night. 

“He’s flashy, as always, huh?” A woman stood next to Kim Dokja's table, bracing her hands on the edge. Her long hair was pulled up into a messy bun and the loose shirt and plain jeans did little to hide her curvaceous figure. Her baseball cap was set low over her eyes. She casually hopped over the table, slotting herself on the inside of the booth behind Kim Dokja.

“Heewon-ssi.” Kim Dokja acknowledged as she wrapped a friendly arm around his thin shoulders. 

“Heeey! I heard from Hyunsung that you guys were having dinner, that jerk, so I invited myself.” 

“You’re always welcome to join us--”

“That’s what I keep telling you,” Jung Heewon said absently. 

“No, that’s a different issue…” 

“Anyway, another new movie, huh? Is he trying to go for some kind of record?” 

“He’s… in demand,” Kim Dokja shrugged. 

“Even though he’s always pretty much the same guy, don’t they ever get sick of him?” Jung Heewon complained, stretching out her arms on the table like a runner doing warm ups. 

“It’s a bit different,” Kim Dokja said reluctantly. As an actor, he couldn’t help but sympathize with Jung Heewon’s point of view, but it was because he’d been watching for so long as an actor that he also couldn’t really let it stand. 

“The way Yoo Joonghyuk acts is like he is a different version of himself each time.” 

Like he’d been given another chance at life, he wove a slightly different personality, made slightly different choices according to his character’s history, blending the role and himself. The audience couldn’t help but feel that the role had been made for him. Combined with his natural charisma, it was no wonder that the man never lacked for work, always the protagonist whenever he was in view. 

“Is that even really acting, anymore?” Jung Heewon scoffed. “But what do I know? I just don’t like that bastard, personally. Dokja-ssi’s a lot more talented and Hyunsung’s a lot more loveable.” 

“That’s an obvious bias…” 

“Isn’t it? But that’s life,” Jung Heewon said philosophically. “Here, how about we start ordering?” 

Kim Dokja made a vague noise of agreement. He didn’t really care what they ate, so he left it to her. 

On the screen, Lee Seolhwa was playing as the movie’s leading lady, dressed in a red cheongsam with her pearlescent hair cascading down to her waist, a feast for the eyes. Her snowy thigh flashed in and out of sight as she sauntered slowly over to Yoo Joonghyuk, a gun in hand. 

“Oh, Seolhwa-unni, too?” Jung Heewon remarked. “Ah, they must have big sponsors for this one.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk’s presence was amazing, endlessly enthralling, But next to him, her presence was steady and calm, like an untouchable moon to his domineering sun. Lee Seolhwa’s temperament was almost ethereal and her acting was as precise as a surgical blade. She often starred in medical dramas and was an undeniable match with South Korea’s most popular actor. Critics always raved about how it was a match made in heaven; gossipmongers endlessly speculating about whether the two were dating. It didn’t hurt that both of them had jaw-dropping good looks.

“Aren’t you her bodyguard in ‘Calamity’?” 

“As expected of Dokja-ssi, yes, we just started filming! She’s a gentle and cool person. Everyone always feels reassured around her.” 

Kim Dokja smiled at her enthusiasm. His phone buzzed briefly, a text from Yoo Sangah informing him that she was on her way back. 

“Does Lee Seolhwa still bring snacks for the rest of the staff?” 

“She does!” Jung Heewon reported enthusiastically. “I can’t believe she has time to cook! She wears all these really high-end brands, but she’s really got a maternal touch, you know? And her food is really good!” 

“Just be careful not to eat too much.”

“I might not have your metabolism, Dokja-ssi, but I definitely exercise more.” She poked his soft, flat stomach with a finger. 

Kim Dokja laughed, conceding the point, and leaned back in his seat, coaxing stories from Jung Heewon’s day. 

=

“What are you looking at?” Lee Seolhwa glanced over. From their private booth, they could see people passing by on the street outside, but her current dinner partner wasn’t the type to get interested in strangers. 

Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze followed a small group of men and women making their way out of an izakaya. The group lingered outside, chatting in the cooling night air. 

“Isn’t that Heewon-ssi?” Lee Seolhwa remarked. “Are those her friends?” The man next to her was tall and well-built and the woman was quite beautiful, in the refined, gentle way wealthy young heiresses often were. 

Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t reply. But he didn’t seem to be looking at Jung Heewon, either.

“...Have you heard of a ‘Kim Dokja’?” 

Lee Seolhwa blinked. “Kim... Dokja?” She repeated the name slowly, tasting it carefully like an exotic herb. She knew plenty of ‘Kim’s, but such an unusual name... “I haven’t?” 

Yoo Joonghyuk finally turned towards her. “He worked with you on Thousand Poison Doctor.” 

“Oh…” 

“A pale man. Foolish. With… a terrifying ability.” 

“For Joonghyuk-ssi to say so is the most terrifying thing,” Lee Seolhwa laughed, but her interest was piqued. She looked back at the group and picked out the one that Yoo Joonghyuk was staring at. The man seemed to fade a little, in such glamorous company, but looking closer, he was the heart of the group, each one was subconsciously inclined towards him, like flowers towards the sun. 

Lee Seolhwa gently twirled her fork into her pasta and thought. Thousand Poison Doctor had been her debut, a career-making movie that had also been a blockbuster hit. She couldn’t really forget any of the people she’d spent the year filming with, but there had been others… people who wandered in and out of the set for a time.

No, wait, there was one man who barely stayed two weeks, shooting all his scenes in record time.

“...The director called him a ‘good worker’.”  She remembered an unassuming, incredibly polite man, with the kind of delicate but average features you’d often see in a big idol group. She’d assumed he was a minor idol who had gotten too old for his job and was looking to get some cross industry experience, but would that kind of newbie really have finished up so quickly? 

“The medicine seller,” she murmured. “That’s him, isn’t it?” 

She leaned in, intensely curious, her eyes lighting up mischievously. “Has he caught your attention?”

Yoo Joonghyuk frowned, stabbing his steak. “He’s abnormal.” 

Lee Seolhwa pretended to be deliberately obtuse. It was always useful for dealing with sponsors, and, sometimes, stubborn men. “I think he blends in quite well, actually.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk glowered at his meal. “Have you ever met an actor who doesn’t want to promote himself?” 

Lee Seolhwa paused. “No, not really.” 

“He’s hiding something,” Yoo Joonghyuk surmised. 

Yoo Joonghyuk seldom got riled up. People often said he was cold, but it was more of a professional detachment. Though he was often annoyed and wasn’t above being menacing, he was seldom truly discomfited like this. 

It was oddly cute, in such a stoic man. But Yoo Joonghyuk was full of these small surprises.

“Perhaps you’ll find out if you take a closer look. Under his clothes, for example.”

Yoo Joonghyuk dropped his fork, looking at her like a betrayed wolfhound. 

Lee Seolhwa laughed and poured him some wine.

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea, though? It’s nice to see you taking an interest in other people again. I can’t always accompany you like this forever. I might get a jealous boyfriend, someday.” She paused, thinking. “Or a dog.” 

“You hardly have the time.” 

“It’s true,” she chuckled. “But sometimes fate finds a way.” She smiled and took a sip of her own wine.

“Even if it’s nothing more, there’s no harm in making some friends. You’ve been consuming yourself too much.” 

“...What do you mean?” 

“I mean you’re going to see a wall, soon.” She fiddled with the stem of her wineglass. “Actors aren’t meant to be alone, Joonghyuk. Humans weren’t built that way. There’s only so many selves you can find by yourself. Sometimes, you need other people to discover them for you.” 

Sometimes, she tried to picture what Yoo Joonghyuk would be like, if he weren’t an actor. With a face like that, it was hard to imagine him being ordinary. His temperament was unruly and stubborn, ill-suited for gladhanding and social niceties. 

But he was the type of man to see things through, and once acting had fallen into his lap, he’d pursued it with a single-mindedness that seemed possessed, as though to fill a gap that existed in his soul. 

For all the rumors that surrounded him; the people that admired him, Yoo Joonghyuk’s back had always struck her as particularly lonely. 

“Do you think Heewon-ssi would bring her friends for dinner if I asked,” she thought aloud. 

Joonghyuk stiffened, looking at her warily. “It’s your business.” 

“Naturally, you’d be invited, too.” 

“...I’ll think about it.” 

“Good, noona likes obedient boys.” 

“...You’re younger than me.” 

She smiled sweetly. “Not in the industry.” 

Chapter Text

The phone had been ringing for a while before Kim Dokja noticed he was awake. Half-asleep, he groped beside his pillow, nearly knocking the phone off before he managed to swipe it open. 

“Kim Dokja, you ungrateful bastard!” 

Kim Dokja held the phone out from his ear. 

“Sooyoung, it’s… 7:53 in the morning.” His bedroom was dark, but he could make out the bright morning sunshine from the edges of his window curtains. 

“Which is why I’m telling you I’ve already updated. A double.” 

Kim Dokja blinked awake, sitting up so quickly he felt a little lightheaded. “Really?”

“Who do you think I am? I had an all-nighter-- hey, listen to me! Don’t use your phone while I’m talking to you!” 

“Yes, yes,” Kim Dokja said, already loading the webpage and setting the call on speaker. Han Sooyoung helpfully fell silent as he read the new updates on her novel.

“...”

“...Sooyoung-nim.”

“Speak, mortal.” 

“Why are the Protagonist and his Companion kissing?” 

“They’re in love,” Han Sooyoung replied, deadpan. 

“No, wait,” Kim Dokja protested. “This isn’t a BL novel?” 

“Hm? I don’t remember saying anything like that, though?” 

“The genre is clearly ‘fantasy’! They’re on a journey to destroy a fallen god! Aren’t they fighting a war on two fronts? What about all the battle scenes and the goddess's lost Companion?” 

“Romance subplots are pretty common,” she said blandly. “Hey, suck it up, don’t be a sore loser.” 

“No, you can still fix this-- Sooyoung!” Kim Dokja wasn’t ready to give up yet.

“Well, I was going to make a proper epic battle where the Protagonist could show off all the hard work he’s put into manipulating mana until his Companion calmed the fuck down,” Han Sooyoung began righteously. “But then somebody texted me last night complaining about the delayed update. So I fixed it.” 

“No, wait, I can’t accept this-- what about the high cleric templar they rescued? Or the demon princess that keeps following them?” 

“They’re healthy?” 

“Your readers aren’t going to be able to accept this!” 

“Actually.” Han Sooyoung sent him a screenshot. “I think I just topped the chart. Again. Whoops.” 

Kim Dokja switched tactics.

“You’ve never written BL before…” In fact, Han Sooyoung barely wrote any romance at all, seeming to disdain its cloying, sticky cliches. To say this situation was unprecedented wasn’t an exaggeration. 

“Spite is amazing.” There was a faint sound of candy crunching on the line. “There’s nothing I can’t do.” 

Kim Dokja mourned quietly. 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to stop reading just because of that?” 

“...No.” 

“I thought so.” 

“I just felt like, you know, Schweichen had something special going on with Yoori.” 

“...You know Yoori’s gay, right?” 

“What??” Kim Dokja’s shoulders crumpled. 

“I thought it was pretty obvious when she decided to run away with her handmaiden?” 

Kim Dokja felt like he’d been reading a different story, suddenly.

“But, well, I guess you’re like that.” Han Sooyoung hummed briefly and her desk chair creaked, like an old man stretching his back. “Read it again, properly, alright?” 

 “Yes…” Kim Dokja sighed as he continued to scroll down the chapter and read. The kissing, thankfully, was brief, and Han Sooyoung’s narrative was subtle, the transition almost natural. 

“Ah, you brought back this artifact… Wait! Is that really where it was?!” 

He was quickly engrossed as the plot came back full force. Even if it was BL, Han Sooyoung, curse her shriveled black heart, was a fantastic writer. Nothing about the shift in the deuteragonists’ relationship fell inauthentic to their characters, making Kim Dokja wonder if he really had been reading it wrong after all. More importantly, the battle scenes, new powers and the seesaw of adrenaline as they helped eachother face their entwined fates were compelling, as always.

When he came to the last word, he wanted to go back and read the whole thing over once again. 

It was only then that he realized Han Sooyoung hadn’t replied to any of his exclamations or muttered comments in a while. 

“Sooyoung?” 

Nothing but the sound of light breathing. She must’ve fallen asleep at her keyboard again. 

Kim Dokja paused, then repeated himself a bit more loudly. “Hey, wake up, you should get to bed.” 

No reply. 

Kim Dokja ended the call and got up, yawning a bit as he shrugged on a jacket over last night’s clothes and padded out of his apartment. Six doors down, he punched in a familiar code and found Han Sooyoung face down on her desk, as expected, one cheek pressed into her keyboard. 

The laptop had already idled itself off, so he picked her up and tucked her carefully into her bed. 

Her short hair was a bit lank and her baggy sweatshirt had a coffee stain on the cuff, but good genetics ensured that she just looked unkempt instead of a disgusting mess. There were bags under her eyes- she really had been working hard. 

“Thank you for the update, Sooyoung-nim,” Kim Dokja murmured fondly. 

He looked around the disorderly apartment, checking if anything might become a hazard. The stove was turned off and none of the plugged in appliances seemed to be burning anything. He did a quick look around her bathroom, just to be sure, but she hadn’t left the water on, either. There was a shoe stuck under a cabinet, forgotten, and a pile of candy wrappers had rolled off an overflowing trash bin.  

It was ironic that the country’s bestselling web novelist was living in a modest apartment without even a housekeeper, but then Han Sooyoung hated pretentiousness and loved take out. Running away from her family home and living well below her means was a choice. There was nothing that could have indicated her background in the entire apartment but for the expensive university yearbook scrunched into the back of a shelf with her diplomas, and a twisted black handmade frame that currently held her cousin’s highschool entrance photo. 

Kim Dokja tidied up a little and locked the door behind him. 

“Dokja?” A faint voice called as he returned to his apartment. “Did you go out?” 

“Yes, just a little visit to Sooyoung.” 

The reply was so soft he almost couldn’t hear. 

He smiled. “...Yes, okay.”

=

Kim Dokja was running a little late today. 

Three days after the club filming, the Solstice Moon production team had decided to shoot the street scenes before the weather got any colder. It had taken a little bit of time to find the exact location, so he squeezed into his suit and sat for the stylist to apply a bit of powder and gel before rushing out onto the street to find the film site, Yoo Sangah close at his heels.

Set H5 was a slice of a bustling metropolitan downtown area. The neatly paved streets with their picture-perfect storefronts were fake, of course, built with camera angles in mind and installed with details from the art direction team’s design boards. There weren’t any moving cars or much foot traffic, so it was easy to get a little careless. 

They rounded the corner a bit abruptly, only to run into someone else. More specifically, he did.

“Watch where you’re going, idiot!” Min Jiwon snarled as Kim Dokja swerved into a brick facade. “What if you hurt me?”  

Predictably, he bumped into an irate woman at just the wrong time. 

“I’m sorry, Jiwon-ssi.” Kim Dokja apologized immediately, straightening from where his shoulder crashed into the building. It didn’t seem like they’d made contact or he’d be in much hotter water for injuring one of the lead actors. He glanced behind her, finding the likely source of her ire when he spotted the imposing male lead nonchalantly reading the script. 

Min Jiwon scrutinized him, frowning faintly. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Ah, that’s Dokja-ssi, he’s playing Jin Hajoon.” Her manager bowed apologetically, the motion extremely practiced. It had to be hard, being Min Jiwon’s manager. “Dokja-ssi, as you know, Jiwon-nim will be Kang Eunyung…” 

“What? Couldn’t they have gotten someone better for Jin Hajoon? Is it really someone like this?” She eyed Kim Dokja’s barely made-up face and polite, obsequious air, scorning his lack of presence.

“Yes,” Kim Dokja agreed calmly. “Casting decisions were confirmed by the producers a month ago.” 

Min Jiwon’s doll-like lips pursed. “You don’t look like you can play a criminal boss at all, you know, is this really okay?” 

“I’ll do my best,” Kim Dokja smiled. 

Failing to get a rise out of him, Min Jiwon scowled and turned on her heel. “Let’s go.” 

“Jiwon-nim,” Yoo Sangah interrupted and offered her a bottle of water from her bag.

“I don’t want it.” 

Yoo Sangah smiled gently. “It should cool you down, though?” 

Min Jiwon’s eyes narrowed, taking in Yoo Sangah’s neat pantsuit and sweet face, but before she could say anything more, the director started calling for people to gather. 

“No-namers like you two should be more careful,” Min Jiwon declared and went. 

Kim Dokja watched her go, then his eyes flicked back to Yoo Sangah. “That was really unnecessary.” 

“She’s a flash in the pan,” Yoo Sangah said serenely. “If we hadn’t already signed the contract, I would’ve poured the bottle over her head.” She tucked the unopened water bottle back into her tote. “Imagine asking if there’s anyone better for this role when you’ve been in this business fifteen years longer than she has.” 

Laughing, Kim Dokja went towards the director. “Well, isn’t it fine if I just teach her?” 

Yoo Sangah blinked and glanced at him. “...You’re not usually mean to the girls.” 

Kim Dokja raised a hand and pinched his forefinger and thumb. “Just a little.”

“I don’t really mind, and it’s better for the story if she hates me a bit more.” 

“If Dokja-ssi says so.” Yoo Sangah’s mood seemed to have improved considerably, which, really, was all Kim Dokja had been aiming for. 

After all, it was fine if it was just him, but Yoo Sangah was also managing Uriel- anyone calling her a nobody was the uninformed novice.

The director waited for everyone to arrive, calling in a large group, before starting to outline today’s scenes. 

“For the first half of the evening, we’ll be focusing on Kang Eunyung and then her first meeting with Jin Hajoon. From there, we’ll directly film the chase scene through the shopping district. Everyone else please standby for the date scene and scenes 78-84.” 

“Yes,” Kim Dokja replied, a bit surprised. Being a minor character actor normally involved a lot of waiting. It seemed like he’d gotten a bit lucky? 

Min Jiwon frowned, clearly noticing the fact as well. “Wouldn’t that mess up the display? Let’s just do the date scenes first.” 

“We won’t be using that part for the rest of the scenes, so we can clear it up in the background.” 

Min Jiwon pouted. “But he--” 

“Stop wasting time,” Yoo Joonghyuk interrupted, his voice rough. 

Min Jiwon froze, like a petrified bird. “Y-yes…” 

Kim Dokja glanced up at Yoo Joonghyuk, nonplussed. In an effort to soften his imposing aura for the date, the stylist had chosen to dress him in a plain cotton shirt and a soft charcoal cardigan with the sleeves rolled up halfway, showing off his forearms.

Nothing could soften his attitude towards the lead actress, however, it was evident that the relationship was fairly hostile. It might not matter to Yoo Joonghyuk but anyone could see Min Jiwon’s mentality would be affected. 

“...It’s fine if Jiwon-ssi isn’t ready yet, we can always do the chase later to conserve her energy for the rest of the scenes,” Kim Dokja mediated. 

Min Jiwon looked at him a bit suspiciously, then her mouth firmed. “It’s fine. I can do it.” 

“Then everyone please get in position-- we’ll start from the top of the street over there,” the director seized the moment. 

Min Jiwon gathered herself admirably, passing all her scenes with only one or two retakes, before finally it was time for a villain and the heroine to meet. 

Kim Dokja stretched his neck a little, swinging his shoulders.  

“Excuse me, have you seen this man?” Min Jiwon asked sweetly, on the street some distance away. In her dainty hand, she held a polaroid of a man in his fifties, dressed in a military uniform- the heroine’s missing father. 

Kim Dokja counted, then he emerged from the barfront, his jacket slung over a shoulder and his gait an easy swing. He emptied a wine glass and dropped it on the floor, starting to swagger down the street. The camera’s blinking red light was facing him, slowly focusing on his sharp figure and the momentum of his stride as the crowd parted before him like minnows. 

Jin Hajoon was a decadent man, brought up in wealth and indulgent of every vice, a quintessential hedonist. The character enjoyed a small amount of popularity despite being a mere canon fodder villain mainly because he had a certain manner, toeing a fine line of manic fascination and a dangerous spoiled brat. He didn’t normally get casted for this type of role, but it was a type of setting common in the romances that Han Sooyoung would scoff at. Fortunately, there was a little bit more detail in the source material. 

Jin Hajoon bowed his head and lit up a cigarette, breathing ashy gray fog. The corners of his eyes were faintly red-rimmed in moments. Finally, the sweep of his meandering gaze apexed on Kang Eunyung. His pupils contracted subtly and his footsteps paused. Through the haze of smoke, his eyes lingered on her slender shoulders, as if in a trance, seeing in her form another woman from Jin Hajoon’s past. 

“Who are you looking for, pretty miss?” Jin Hajoon smiled as he sauntered over, a tilt-edged thing that looked nothing like Kim Dokja. 

Min Jiwon looked up at him, startled. Real shock flitted through her eyes. “I--” 

Kim Dokja improvised quickly, taking the photo between her fingers and lingering over her fingertips. His gloves were black, buttoned over the base of his palm- like soot, it seemed to stain her snowy skin.  “Isn’t he a bit old for you?” 

“That’s my father,” Min Jiwon said, taking her hand back as though scalded and recovering. 

Jin Hajoon loomed over her subtly, playing with the photograph as he raked his eyes over her. 

[So this was the daughter? How fun.] 

“I don’t really run in those circles, but I have a friend who’s quite well-connected. Let’s go see him together.” He placed an arm over her shoulders, thumb stroking intimately over the cloth. 

And then-- slap!  

Min Jiwon’s revulsion was perfectly conveyed, her body curled in disgust. “I don’t want to.” 

Jin Hajoon smiled as though he couldn’t feel the sting on his cheek. “I wasn’t asking.” He made a grab for her waist, but she wasn’t a general’s daughter for nothing, after all. Min Jiwon caught his arm and stomped on his foot. 

Unfortunately, Jin Hajoon didn’t balk at pain. “Aren’t you cute, kitten?” He grinned, showing his teeth.  

Frightened, Min Jiwon shoved him away roughly and ran. “Help!” she screamed, but this was Jin Hajoon’s territory, and everyone pretended they couldn’t hear her.

Jin Hajoon stretched his arm out as he let her get a head start and followed leisurely, opening his phone. “Block off 4th avenue,” he said into the phone. 

“Cut!” 

“Well done, both of you!” 

Kim Dokja winced as he rubbed at his cheek. Min Jiwon had been a little rough with that slap. It wasn’t as though a minor villain could actually lay a hand on the heroine… 

Across the street, Min Jiwon was staring at him with a complicated gaze, her pretty face scrunched up. 

Yoo Sangah came over with an ice pack. “She didn’t really hit you, did she?” 

“It was close- I compensated,” Kim Dokja admitted. “What did you think?” 

“It was amazing, as usual. She shouldn’t be putting on any more airs, for now.”

Kim Dokja laughed and allowed Yoo Sangah to apply some balm on his face, just to make sure. Since Jin Hajoon had contacted his underlings, the chase scene would be filmed with the other minor mob characters, naturally leading the female lead straight into the hero’s arms.

Speaking of which, wasn’t that guy looking this way again? 

“Dokja-ssi, let’s go sit down.” 

“Alright.” He could feel those dark eyes follow him all the way back to the seats. 

It wasn’t like Yoo Joonghyuk to pay attention to actors he wasn’t going to work with directly and the conflict with the character profile itched almost as much as the sensation of being watched. He wasn’t acting, right now, and Yoo Joonghyhuk’s Detective Yoo had little to do with Jin Hajoon. 

Most of his other scenes were harassing the female lead or reporting to the main antagonist, his father, so there wasn’t actually a lot of interaction with Yoo Joonghyuk aside from his last scene. It’d also be the first time that he’d be directly opposite Yoo Joonghyuk in a scene.

“He’s gonna burn a hole through you at this rate,” Yoo Sangah huffed. “How’s your foot?”

“Fine, they gave me steel toecaps,” Kim Dokja twisted his foot to show it was fine. 

“And you’ll tell me if you were hurt anywhere, right? Even if it serves the story?” 

“...That was one time.” 

“A few.” 

“...Yes, I will.” 

Satisfied, Yoo Sangah let him hold his own ice pack and went over the week’s schedule. 

A few hours later, Kim Dokja was exiting the bathroom when he spotted Min Jiwon on the bench outside.

“Jiwon-ssi?” 

Min Jiwon sniffled. 

At a loss, Kim Dokja sat down beside her. “Did something happen?” 

“He’s terrible.” 

“...Ah.” There was really only one man she could be referring to on set. Come to think, when he’d left, it had been the sixth take on the date scenes. They’d probably given her a little break, but her manager was nowhere in sight… 

“How am I supposed to act like I’m in love when he keeps glowering at me for every little mistake?” 

Kim Dokja fished out a packet of tissues thoughtfully left in his pocket by Yoo Sangah and considered what to say. “Jiwon-ssi, have you ever been in love with someone you shouldn’t?”

Min Jiwon wiped her face and gave him a skeptical look. 

“Me neither,” Kim Dokja admitted. 

“But Jiwon-ssi’s character is in love with an older man- she knows he won’t look at her and that he’s helping her only because he knew her father. She doesn’t expect him to look her way, but she yearns for it, like Icarus and the sun. Even if he scorches her, she can’t help but want a little more warmth. In this way, I think your current feelings are a bit similar.” 

After all, Yoo Joonghyuk’s charisma at close range was undeniable. When the cameras were rolling, Min Jiwon even blushed when he gave her his sweater. 

But Yoo Joonghyuk was a man with unyielding principles, so it was to be expected that he was a bit terrifying to a woman who was used to being pampered and acting coy. 

“....Hey, how do you know my character?” 

“I read the novel.” Kim Dokja rummaged in his pocket and handed her a sweet. 

She took it, tearing the wrapper fiercely between her fingers. “Even though your role isn’t even in it much?” 

“I like reading,” Kim Dokja said complacently.

Min Jiwon scorned him. “It’s not like we’re making an art film, you know, this is just another summer romance movie, no matter how much they dress it up. I don’t know why anyone’s trying so hard! In the first place, the schedule got moved up so suddenly!” 

Kim Dokja listened to her complaints quietly. It was to be expected that Min Jiwon, a popular starlet who got her first big break modeling and hosting rather than acting, might feel this way. She had her own pride and it was clearly bruised after butting against Yoo Joonghyuk’s indomitable will. 

“Then why don’t you quit?”

Min Jiwon looked at him in shock. She’d clearly been expecting him to be more sympathetic. It wasn’t that Kim Dokja didn’t sympathize, however… 

“Jiwon-ssi is young and there will be many other opportunities. You don’t need this one.” 

“No, even if you say that-” she stammered.

“It’s the easiest way, isn’t it?” Kim Dokja laced his fingers loosely, settling them over his knee. “Of course, it might not be the ‘proper’ way.” He looked over at her and smiled. 

“But Jiwon-ssi, you have over six million followers, don’t you? If you kicked up a fuss, perhaps they would have no choice but to let you go.” 

“I can’t do that.” Min Jiwon shook her head directly. 

“Why not?”

“They’ve already announced I’ll be participating in this movie! If my fans… they’d be disappointed. And my agency…” 

Kim Dokja’s smile gentled a fraction. “Then, what can you do?” 

Min Jiwon sniffed, rubbing at her face. Even with her eyes swollen from tears, she really was a beauty.

“...I know, alright!” 

Kim Dokja sighed inwardly. It seemed she was not an unreasonable person. “Shall we go?” 

“...I’ll wash my face, first.” 

She stood up, patting her skirt down, then hesitated as she turned towards the washroom, fidgeting. “...Thanks.”

It wasn’t exactly an apology, but it was good enough. 

More importantly, it made filming scenes with her over the next week much easier, so Kim Dokja counted it as a win. When she was relaxed, Min Jiwon wasn’t a terrible actress. Moreover, it was Kim Dokja’s job to make her sparkle: a desirable woman, a tragic angel- all of it was seen through the story of Jin Hajoon’s twisted love for Kang Eunyung. 

“She looks really good in these shots,” Yoo Sangah sighed as the crew reviewed the footage. 

“Doesn’t she?” Kim Dokja smiled. 

=

Lee Seolhwa had sent Yoo Joonghyuk an unlisted video playlist a couple of weeks after their last dinner- mainly, she confessed, from the coworker they’d seen that night. Along with Kim Dokja’s standard, agency-mandated webpage, it became possible to slowly piece together his career.

He’d clicked on the links arbitrarily, with the absentminded thought of letting it play in the background as he did his usual routine.  

Instead, when Yoo Joonghyuk finished watching, a pale dawn was already creeping up outside his apartment windows. Mia was sleeping in- likely up late playing games, she hadn’t stirred since Yoo Joonghyuk had gotten back and taken a shower.

Yoo Joonghyuk sank back against the couch. His hair was long dry, the towel he’d slung around his shoulders forgotten several hours ago. 

On the laptop screen, a villainous blue-skinned demon with papier-mâché horns and wings laughed maniacally, his sweeping movements made his figure seem larger and his jerky steps highlighted his unnatural stilt-like legs. The lines were equally unsubtle, a typical melodramatic speech that could only work in the children’s cartoon it was in. Fortunately, the atmosphere and the character melded together harmoniously, as though he were an existence that was meant to live in the cheap-paper cavern covered in green cellophane. 

He flipped to another youtube clip. A blind teenager, the hero’s younger brother, tragically ill, languished on a hospital bed. His eyes were perfectly still and unnerving, but the despair contained in his bone-thin arms as he read his brother’s final letter brought the audience into his grief. 

On the TV, a medicine man was forced to take poison, descending into insanity. 

A cold assassin, a cowardly young master, a flamboyant king, a clownish best friend. 

They were all small roles, bit parts whose flaws served to highlight the protagonist. And yet each one felt like someone you might know, a reality embodied in every exquisitely crafted expression and methodically planned mannerism. 

Actors, especially minor ones, often got siloed into certain roles or themes, but Kim Dokja had no theme. The breadth of his acting range and versatility was frankly shocking. 

His roles were as inconsistent as his acting ability was solid, a man of many faces and none of them his. As a supporting actor, nobody could find any fault in his performances- it was as though there was no ‘Kim Dokja’ but instead a vessel within which the character existed, serving the story. 

It was no wonder people hardly made the connection. He appeared in at least one of the most memorable scenes of each production he worked on but he simultaneously faded into the background, like a prop that had been appropriately used. Nobody remembered who he was, simply raving about how amazing the leads were or how satisfying the downfall of the villain character was. 

The bottled water in his clenched left fist creaked. 

Eventually, a message notification popped up on his phone from Bi-hyung, informing him of the new dossier of curated offers for him to accept. 

Yoo Joonghyuk scrolled through the file. With filming for Solstice Moon about to wrap up in several weeks, it was time to consider the offers for several new films and dramas. There was also an assortment of commercials and endorsement deals spanning the usual items: clothes, watches, cars and new smartphones. Bi-hyung had marked several of them with notes, hinting.

None of the offers really caught his eye. On his laptop, the film clip rolled over to advertisements, a cheerful jingle announcing a sale for a mass market clothing line.

Yoo Joonghyuk glanced at it, then stilled. 

That silhouette, and that pose, with the long, straight legs crossed, looked incredibly familiar. 

His face was turned slightly away, obscured by the hat he wore, but after the past few hours of attempting to match actor to roles, that carefully unremarkable form had become unfortunately familiar.

This guy… did he even pop up in places like this? The filmography on his page had been relatively thin, only noting major productions spanning over the past decade. There was no mention of commercials or other side jobs, like background work, that usually only needed an able body. With his agency, it was entirely possible that he was making a living from such advertisements. 

Yoo Joonghyuk reviewed his dossier again. 

...No, this was ridiculous. 

He texted Bi-hyung to inform him he would decide later and closed his laptop, feeling restless.

A quick flick turned the TV off, right after, and he tossed the remote next to the candy dish on the low coffee table. 

It was a bit early, but there was no reason why he couldn’t continue with his usual routine. He jammed on a pair of running shoes and slipped his phone into a pocket, heading out the door in two quick strides.

Chapter Text

“What are you looking at?” Kim Dokja asked. 

“Yoo Joonghyuk’s unofficial instagram.”

“...Isn’t that a tabloid account?” 

Na Bori flipped her phone to show him the feed, featuring a scrolling wall of shirtless photos of Yoo Joonghyuk taken by paparazzi. The latest one appeared to have been made a few hours ago, featuring the superstar jogging, half-naked and looking strangely pissed off. Kim Dokja supposed the fans might call that ‘smoldering’. 

“It’s not like that’s anything new, right?” Kim Dokja wondered. As far as he could tell, Yoo Joonghyuk had never been shy about going around shirtless. The latest shot was a three-part image, with two closeups: one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s glistening, perfectly-sculpted abs as his powerful thigh was caught mid-run, and the other of his flawless face, his hair curling wetly onto high cheekbones. 

Even sweaty, the bastard looked amazing. There were no bad angles, either. Was it plastic surgery? 

“You don’t understand a woman’s heart, Ahjussi,” Na Bori sighed dramatically. 

“Aren’t you eighteen?” 

 “Yes?” 

Kim Dokja shook his head and placed a piece of chocolate on her palm. “Well, I just wanted to say good luck for your audition, as Jihye’s friend.” 

“Aht! Ahjussi, giving out candy to young girls makes you look really suspicious!” Lee Jihye gasped dramatically, 

“...Weren’t you the one who called out to me?” 

“I didn’t think you’d actually come over!” Lee Jihye huffed, but Na Bori laughed. “Hey, give me one, too.” She stretched out her hand and Kim Dokja obligingly gave her a piece. 

“Is it okay for you to be here?” 

“Just because I’m also from G-PRO doesn’t mean I’m taking her through the backdoor, alright?” Lee Jihye made a face at him.

While she wasn’t exactly a star, yet, Lee Jihye was a signed-on talent undergoing training at G-PRO, the same talent agency that employed Yoo Joonghyuk, coincidentally enough. There was no shortage of teenage girls in the waiting room hoping to catch a glimpse of their idol during their audition. 

“What are you doing here, anyway, Ahjussi?” 

“They’re doing a casting call for men, too, you know?”

“Oh! Then maybe we’ll get to work together?” 

“Maybe,” Kim Dokja smiled. “It’s a bit strange, I didn’t think they’d do a general audition like this for such a big drama. There are a lot of us from Nebula trying out.” 

In fact, he’d come with Jung Heewon, but it seemed like this wasn’t the area for the role she was trying for. 

“I should get going, Heewon-ssi will be needing her bag soon.” He shrugged a shoulder, indicating the printed white tote. 

Jihye’s eyes sparkled. “Heewon-unni is here? Can I go with you?” 

“Shouldn’t you stay with your friend?”

Lee Jihye hesitated. 

“Go ahead, I’m not gonna get called in for at least another hour.” 

“Don’t miss me too much!” She gave her a friend a quick hug. “I’ll bring you back a drink!”

Na Bori waved them off, going back to scrolling on her phone. 

“I’m surprised Unni didn’t just get picked,” Lee Jihye remarked as she trotted along beside Kim Dokja. 

“Well, it’s the sponsors’ decision in the end,” Kim Dokja said. As a rising young female actor, Jung Heewon was reasonably popular, but there was no doubt that she’d had her fair share of friction for her unyielding personality. 

“But she’s one of the only actresses who can keep up with Master!”

“...Are you really still calling him that?’ 

“Of course! Master is master. This is my respect to him as my sunbaenim.”

Kim Dokja wasn’t convinced. “Does he even teach you anything…?” 

“Of course he does,” Lee Jihye affirmed. “I learned how to gut a man within five steps- theoretically,” she added. 

...That guy, what was he teaching, exactly? 

“Ah, this must be it--” Lee Jihye tugged on Kim Dokja’s sleeve and pointed at a hall marked by a large banner indicating ‘Demon Spring Auditions: Women’s Hall’. 

Inside, it looked like the audition was already more than half over. Jung Heewon was in the  large cleared area in the middle, relentlessly attacking a man covered in safety gear. 

“Look, it’s unni!” Lee Jihye whispered excitedly, grabbing Kim Dokja’s arm and squeezing.

“She’s so cool!”

She really was quite cool, whenever she performed. Kim Dokja watched Jung Heewon pivot on her heel and execute a ruthless spin kick.  With her looks, Jung Heewon could have easily become a female lead in a romance- but she’d taken to stunt acting like a fish to water. Now, her hard work had born fruit, allowing her to easily net roles in major action dramas. 

The man feinted to the left and Jung Heewon dove after him, like a bird of prey. He swung a foam sword and Jung Heewon collapsed on cue, clutching her side and trembling, as though enduring great pain. 

“Why do you go so far for a man you barely know?” The man shouted the script dialogue. 

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Heewon delivered. “That man,” She closed her eyes, her voice faint and yet clear as she staggered to her feet. “He is the world I want to save.” 

There was a clap. “Thank you, Heewon-ssi.” 

Jung Heewon straightened, bowing to her sparring partner in thanks. She excused herself from the stage and spotted them at the entrance, walking over. 

“Unni! You were great!” 

“Thanks, Jihye!” Jung Heewon accepted an enthusiastic hug and turned to him. “Perfect timing, Dokja-ssi,” she beamed, taking her bag back. 

“Good work,” Kim Dokja congratulated. “Whenever I see Heewon-ssi perform, it’s like you’re an unstoppable force.” 

Jung Heewon laughed. “It’d be nice to be like that in real life, too. Aren’t you auditioning, Dokja-ssi?” 

Kim Dokja nodded. “There’s still some time until the second round.” 

“Would you like some pointers?” She smiled, her eyes bright with mischief. 

“...It’ll be fine. Probably.” 

If he were being honest, Kim Dokja had no confidence in performing in a martial arts focused xianxia drama. The facts were that his body was weedy no matter what he did, barely able to develop an acceptable muscle tone that was a far cry from Lee Hyunsung’s chiseled body. 

Fortunately, this casting call was forgiving in that regard, but there wasn’t much he could do about his mediocre physical talent even if he trained with Jung Heewon for the whole day. His current aptitude was fine for short scenes but a protracted battle was impossible for him. 

At any rate, he was here to taste a little bit of a new story. 

“Then I’ll walk you to your audition hall- I’m done, anyway.”

“...Isn’t that a bit backwards?” 

“Dokja-ssi is really delicate, I’m worried those big, rough men at the audition hall will bully you.” 

Lee Jihye's boisterous laugh was completely unwarranted. 

Kim Dokja made a face. “They won’t even notice me.” 

“They will once I walk in with you.” Jung Heewon said cheerfully, slipping her arm through Kim Dokja’s.

“I wish you’d stop doing that, actually…” 

They left Jihye back at her original audition hall. (“Call me if anyone makes you cry, Ahjussi!”) 

Just as Jung Heewon had expected, every man in the room turned to look when she entered. Her athletic crop top and leggings hugged every curve on her figure, even under the jacket Kim Dokja lent her. 

“Come on, Dokja-ssi, we can sit here.” 

Kim Dokja sighed and sat down beside her on a spindly plastic chair. He knew from several prior instances of escorting her to events that the woman never took ‘no’ for an answer. Besides, being in Yoo Sangah’s presence usually garnered him the same kind of envious looks. 

“So what part are you auditioning for?” Jung Heewon asked as she rummaged in her bag for an energy bar. 

“Kim Kyungmo.” 

“...The teacher?”

“He’s a neutral character, but he has an interesting setting.” 

“Just that?” Jung Heewon frowned. “Even if you can’t be the main character, there are still other parts…” 

“This much is enough,” Kim Dokja smiled. 

“They’d be crazy to turn you down,” Jung Heewon sighed and crunched down on her snack. 

“Excuse me, are you Jung Heewon?” One of the auditioning participants sat down on the chair behind them. “I’m Lee Mansoo. I’m a big fan. Are you doing anything after this?” 

...Picking up girls at an audition, was this guy taking his career seriously? 

“Yeah,” Jung Heewon said flippantly. “I am.” 

The man had a good face. He seemed vaguely familiar, likely a C-list celebrity from another company. That was probably what gave him the confidence. “Then, can Heewon-ssi make some time for me another day?” 

“No can do, right, darling~?” She leaned into Kim Dokja’s side, doing her best to flutter her lashes. 

It’d be a lot more convincing if she didn’t have a shit-eating grin on at the same time. 

Sighing inwardly, Kim Dokja adjusted his posture, spreading his legs a little and craning his neck around with an aggressive snap. 

“Where’re you looking, dumbass?” His entire demeanor changed and his voice came out as a rumbling growl.  What he lacked in physique, he made up for in attitude, giving Lee Mansoo a sense of menacing hostility. As though Kim Dokja were contemplating how he would cut him up, limb from limb. The man paled, his perfect skin going ashen. 

“N-nothing!” He scrambled back, retreating back to where most of the others were waiting, several rows away. 

Watching him, Jung Heewon held her sides and guffawed. Her shoulders trembled in poorly repressed mirth and she leaned against the wall, trying to catch her breath.

“What happened to protecting me?” Kim Dokja asked, exasperated.

“Sorry, sorry, I was just feeling a little nostalgic.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “Remember when we first met?” 

“How could I forget…” Jung Heewon had been working a dead-end job at an upscale bar in Gwangjin-gu before Kim Dokja found her fending off an inebriated sponsor at a launch party. 

“...I might’ve gone a little overboard, that time.” Thinking back now, he might have been a little too impulsive, a few years ago. In his defense, the sponsor had truly been horrifically disgusting.

“Nah, it was perfect. I always wanted to be rescued by a psychotic serial killer waiter.” 

“It was better than you cutting that sponsor’s hand off with a steak knife,” Kim Dokja said, shaking his head. He hadn’t actually been sure who he had been saving anymore, at that point. 

“I appreciated the help,” Jung Heewon said modestly. “Besides, Dokja-ssi’s skills really made an impression.” And the rest, after all, was history.  

“Why don’t you make your actual boyfriend do bodyguard duty?” 

“He’s too sweet to pull it off. Practically useless.” 

“All he’d have to do is stand up,” Kim Dokja said drily. There weren’t a lot of men who could compare to Lee Hyunsung’s height in South Korea. 

“Don’t pout, Dokja-ssi.” Jung Heewon knocked her shoulder into his. “If he’d hit on you , I would’ve crushed his balls.” 

Kim Dokja winced. “Please don’t.”

“It’s fine if it’s not the face, right?” 

=

Sufficiently warned, nobody else bothered them before Kim Dokja’s group was called in. 

This group had been shortlisted to ten and Kim Dokja knew at least half the faces by name. It really was going to be a big production, wasn’t it? Kim Dokja browsed the scripts handed out, noting that they were all scenes with the main antagonist, Lee Jaesong.  

 “Hello, I’m Lee Sungkook, #27.” 

“Please act out section 16 with Cheon Inho-nim.” 

Cheon Inho… had he been casted as Lee Jaesong for this drama? It wouldn’t be an unusual decision, he’d been enjoying a steady, if modest, rise in popularity since he’d debuted a few years ago. His resume was thin, but he was being cultivated well. All of his projects had been successful, if not particularly memorable. 

Kim Dokja watched impassively as both actors stood up and started acting out a scene where the antagonist and his master discussed a trip outside the Sect. 

From the table where Cheon Inho had come from, the assistant director and three other people were observing the proceedings- acting as judges, most likely. He wasn’t sure about the other three, but seeing Gong Pildu among them, he could hazard a guess. These were probably the drama’s sponsors, either investors or their representatives, come to make sure it was a success. 

Gong Pildu’s rough face looked as dissatisfied as usual, but he seemed to notice Kim Dokja, staring balefully at him as he bit down on an unlit cuban cigar. 

Really, Gong Pildu could have made a pretty convincing mob boss if he were inclined to try. However, he was a family man, through and through. 

Kim Dokja smiled brilliantly at him, making Gong Pildu grind his teeth and glare harder. 

Next to him, the assistant director made a note on his paper. “As expected of the one who played ‘Dohun’. Your performance was quite clean. Thank you, Sungkook-ssi. Next, #51.” 

Kim Dokja stood up. 

“Good afternoon, I’m #51, Kim Dokja.” 

The assistant director nodded. “Please do scene 67.” 

Kim Dokja turned the page on his script and took a breath. 

Cheon Inho mirrored the motion and started reading. “So it’s you,” he spat out angrily. 

Kim Dokja’s eyes flicked up. Was that how he wanted to do this scene? He folded the script up and held it like a fan, straightening his back. He was Kim Kyungmo, an immortal and a lord upon whom the people rely. Kim Kyungmo, who’d found two little orphaned boys and seen them grow into hero and villain. 

“You plundered every village between here and the western Yi, destroyed every altar and stole the Treasure Pavillion’s Hundred-Color Spirit Condensing Lotus.” The complex line rolled easily off his tongue, unhurriedly, but frosty, a perfect counterpoint to Cheon Inho’s fiery wrath. 

“What would Yang Jitae say if he knew everything you’ve done?” 

Cheon Inho frowned, visibly taken aback, and forced an abrasive laugh. “Yang Jitae? You dare bring up this name to me?” 

It was truly what one would expect of a ‘villain’. If they were from a children’s show.

“Then does it mean nothing? Yang Jitae treated you like his own brother. If you had a spark of humanity left in you, Lee Jaesong, you’d turn back now.”

“And what If I won’t?” Cheon Inho asked derisively. The retort was quick, but it lacked power.  

Kim Kyungmo closed his eyes, his lids trembling faintly. Anguish faintly colored his cold voice. “Then here, we cut all ties.” 

The words were softly spoken, but boned in steel. 

For a moment a hush fell over the room, caught in his momentum, then the assistant director cleared his throat. “Thank you, #51. Kim Dokja, was it?” 

Kim Dokja wondered if he’d gone too far. Cheon Inho’s face was ugly. Was that okay, Mr. #12 Most Wanted Bachelor? 

The other two sponsors were frowning, too, but Gong Pildu simply huffed. “You haven’t changed, Kim Dokja.” 

Kim Dokja smiled. “I’m honored you think so, Pildu-nim. I only want to stay true to the character.”

“Nasty brat,” Gong Pildu muttered. 

“Do you know him, Pildu-nim?” The assistant director asked, a bit surprised. 

“He auditioned for ‘The Constellation Banquet’,” Gong Pildu said shortly. “He failed.” 

Kim Dokja nodded. That was what had happened, skipping a few steps. “I apologize for the trouble.” 

“Spare me,” Gong Pildu declared. “After that, this punk went and got himself signed on for “Land of Gold.” Skipping a blockbuster to go for an art film- despite being a minor actor, one could say Kim Dokja had guts. 

“I’m flattered that Pildu-ssi remembers.” It seemed like Kim Dokja had done this audition for nothing. It was a pity, but Gong Pildu was more bark than bite. He probably wouldn’t make too much trouble for him after this. 

Gong Pildu gave him a piercing stare. “He’s that kind of bastard” Then he paused, grumbling as he added, “but ‘Land of Gold’ was good.” 

The assistant director frowned. “I see. Thank you for your insights, Pildu-ssi.” 

“Hey, just now, it felt a bit strange. The main character of this scene is Lee Jaesong.”

“Hmm, it’s alright, isn’t it? It sounded good.”

“No, Cheon Inho needs to be better positioned… we have endorsement deals riding on his popularity.” 

The other sponsors seemed divided. 

Kim Dokja didn’t audition too often, these days. Instead, the agency coursed in small, odd jobs. Things that didn’t require sponsor approvals or much deliberation. It wasn’t often he got to pick a story he liked, but then it was good that he wasn’t picky. 

Gong Pildu stared at him throughout the rest of the audition, so Kim Dokja escaped as soon as it was polite to do so. The rest of the actors hovered, hoping to rub shoulders a little and improve their chances of getting picked for a part in what promised to be the next big hit drama series to be aired on national television. 

Perhaps, if he were like the others in the room, like Cheon Inho who was struggling to make this drama his next big break, then he’d be more concerned. 

But what Kim Dokja had now was enough. There were other jobs, even if it wasn’t this one. Other small, struggling stories and other, ordinary characters. Each one was still a story that needed to be told. 

=

“Oh, he’s early,” Kim Dokja blinked, surprised.

It had been a few weeks since he’d been called back on set for his criminal boss role. Now, it was time for Kim Dokja’s character to kidnap the female lead, forcing the male lead to hunt him down and kill him. It’d be a small climax, the death of Kim Dokja’s character serving as a catalyst for the criminal underworld led by his father to band together against the detective. 

Yoo Joonghyuk was already waiting on set and dressed. His custom-designed detective’s coat was draped over a chair, showing off the way his shoulders filled out the dark dress shirt and the elegant fall of his trousers from hip to ankle. 

His gaze homed in on Kim Dokja and Yoo Sangah the moment they came in, his arms folded. 

He wasn’t late, was he? Kim Dokja checked his phone, just to be sure.  

Why was the lead actor glaring at him? 

“Isn’t it a little early for him to be getting in character?” Kim Dokja lifted a hand to whisper to Yoo Sangah.

“I heard Joonghyuk-ssi is the type that likes to maintain his condition outside his shoot.” 

“What do they do when he plays serial killers?” Kim Dokja wondered.

Yoo Sangah laughed. “Perhaps Dokja-ssi can subdue him.” 

“...Are you trying to give me a death sentence?” 

Kim Dokja glanced back towards the man, but if anything, he was only glaring harder. 

“Dokja-ssi!” Min Jiwon greeted him cheerfully. “I almost can’t recognize you when you’re not dressed up-- you really have a different aura off-set.” 

Kim Dokja greeted her back. “You’re early today.” 

“I have to be, after all, there’s him…” She glanced nervously towards Yoo Joonghyuk. “He’s even scarier than usual…” 

“He’s been like that since we got here,” Kim Dokja reassured. “Don’t worry, Jiwon-ssi, he’s still a professional, I’m sure the filming will be fine.”

“He’s scary in a different way, then, you know?” She sighed. “He’s so intense… I thought this job would help grow my career but even now I just feel like I’m getting pushed around.” 

“Jiwon-ssi has her own strengths,” Kim Dokja could only soothe her with platitudes. 

In fact, while Yoo Joonghyuk couldn’t be said to be completely terrible at romances, he was notorious for being a hard act to follow. The contrast was simply all the more dramatic when you were playing as the female lead. 

“It’s easy for you, Dokja-ssi, this is your last day, isn’t it?” Min Jiwon groaned, looking at him enviously, her glossy lips affecting a pout. “How nice.” 

“I believe Jiwon-ssi can continue to persevere for her fans.” 

“That’s only natural!” Min Jiwon waved her hand. “And you’ll be watching me, of course?” She glanced at him sidelong, almost shyly. 

Kim Dokja blinked. “Yes, of course.” It wasn’t as though he had a choice… 

Thankfully, Yoo Sangah intervened before the atmosphere could get awkward. “Then, shall we get ready, Dokja-ssi?” she offered. 

“Ah, yes…” 

=

Yoo Joonghyuk glowered in his seat, staring after where the little group had disappeared into the dressing rooms. Min Jiwon had been all but spitting fire at Kim Dokja during their first filming session and yet they were now thick as thieves.

What had happened? 

Contrary to public opinion, Yoo Joonghyuk was perfectly aware that he was difficult to approach and harder to handle. His first step into show business had been an unprecedented success and he’d rocketed to stardom nearly overnight. 

There had been no shortage of people, then, crowding around to curry favor, attempting to connect their name to his. It had been annoying, so it had been simpler to cut them off before they could try. 

He didn’t need to be liked, so long as he provided results. In front of the billions his name represented, he could afford his arrogance. 

As a direct result, friends were difficult to come by and the handful he had were mostly business associates, industry veterans he could tolerate, and the occasional fearless mentee. 

Kim Dokja had no such issues, that much was clear. 

Initially, he had thought he was being suppressed-- that Kim Dokja had offended some powerful entity and now struggled to stay afloat by taking any role that he could, forced to cultivate lesser connections. But his behavior, while polite, was neither fawning nor cautious. Almost as though he was walking on a different path, simply brushing past, quietly disappearing into silent darkness.

And yet people who caught a glimpse of that small, unremarkable shooting star seemed to be pulled into its gravity.

Yoo Joonghyuk stared at the dressing room doors long after the trio had left, contemplating the script today. 

=

“No choreography?” Kim Dokja blinked, surprised.

“A rough outline is fine. Joonghyuk-nim prefers to do his own fight scenes and we’re confident in his ability to adapt.”

Kim Dokja fell silent, obviously thinking, then nodded. “We can try it out.” He glanced up at Yoo Joonghyuk. “The scene has to be satisfying to the viewers, but I’m afraid I’m not as adept at fighting as Joonghyuk-ssi. Please go easy on me.”

“Relax, Joonghyuk-nim has done this a lot of times. You’ll be perfectly safe, barring any accidents.” 

“It’d be a lot more reassuring to hear that from Joonghyuk-ssi,” Kim Dokja observed, but he nodded and disengaged from the group, walking into first position. 

“Then, let’s start- roll it!” The director bellowed out a few words and clapped his hands. 

Yoo Joonghyuk strode into the underground club, his coat flaring out behind him, and kicked the door down with a bang. 

His eyes scanned the area inside only to see a man stretched out on a long, plush sofa in an eye-searing color, swirling a glass of wine between his fingers. 

“Where is she?” Yoo Youngcheol growled. 

“Somewhere you can’t reach.” Jin Hajoon smirked. He sat up languidly, pulling his ankles from the opposite end of the sofa. The detective took in his missing suit jacket, the disheveled hair, now scattered around his face and the slender hand that pushed it up, head tipping back as though to outline the elegant line of his throat. 

His indolent air that always hid the malevolence and violence in his heart was the perfect foil to the protagonist’s upright justice and ascetic atmosphere. 

“But then, what does it matter to you? Someone you wouldn’t touch, does it matter if she gets crushed?” 

Yoo Youngcheol saw red. Snarling, he pounced on the man, grabbing a handful of his shirt and hauling him off the couch. The next second, Jin Hajoon was on top of him, a knife in hand and stabbing for Yoo Joonghyuk’s gut. His entire presence changed like a wick lit on fire, a beast baring its fangs. 

Yoo Youngcheol rolled to pin the arm with the weapon, forcing him to his knees on the floor. 

Jin Hajoon cried out, then snarled, the indolent human mask torn and replaced with bestial fury. He bucked, trying to get out of the detective’s grip, but Yoo Youngcheol jerked back harder, folding Jin Hajoon’s arms back, his frail wrists gathered in a hand. His other hand sank into silky blonde hair and yanked, forcing the man’s head up.

For a moment, they were at a stalemate, Jin Hajoon’s pulse fluttering in his slender throat and his shirt hanging loosely off his shoulders. Yoo Youngcheol’s breath gusted just above him and his jaw was tense. “You’re just a thug.”

Kim Dokja couldn’t let it end here. 

Jin Hajoon grit his teeth and used his knees to heave himself backward, headbutting Yoo Youngcheol’s chin savagely. The detective pulled back, but rather than retreating, Jin Hajoon sought the advantage, knocking a punch to his head. 

Yoo Joonghyuk was still reeling, allowing the hit. They rolled across the floor, slamming up against the bar counter and toppling the display of bottles. 

Jin Hajoon reached into his waistband for a gun only for Yoo Youngcheol to stop that, too, gripping his wrist. 

“CUT!” The assistant director called out suddenly. 

Both men froze. 

Neither of them had gotten an ‘NG’ in recent memory. 

“What’s wrong?” Kim Dokja recovered swiftly.

“The fight is developing a bit strangely.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk blinked. He currently had Kim Dokja pinned, but after all, he was the protagonist, he was supposed to win. 

“...I can’t really throw him, he’s too heavy,” Kim Dokja admitted. “It would be better to just take the gun out first.” 

“...Joonghyuk-nim.”

Yoo Joonghyuk lifted his head. 

“Please get up from Dokja-ssi, first.”

Kim Dokja’s face went very still, abruptly realizing that his clothes were a mess. The shirt pulled messily open now, barely clinging to his shoulders and Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand was trapped underneath him, where they had been grappling for the gun tucked into the waistband. Now that they weren’t in the scene, he became aware of the way Yoo Joonghyuk’s knee was between his thighs, dangerously close.

Yoo Joonghyuk got up so fast he seemed burned, eyes narrowed at Kim Dokja as though it were entirely his fault. 

Kim Dokja calmly fixed his clothes, slightly annoyed. Yoo Joonghyuk had been the one who wanted something ‘natural’ and unscripted, after all. There was no need to react quite that strongly when it didn’t go as planned.  

“Let’s go over it from the top,” the director said blandly.

“Yes.” Kim Dokja headed over to the instructor, keeping a safe distance from Yoo Joonghyuk. 

“Dokja-ssi, you said you haven’t had any instruction in fighting?”

Kim Dokja coughed. “It’s not that I haven’t had lessons, just that I'm really not very good at it. I learned enough to keep myself from being injured too badly and to support the scene, but to be honest my character usually dies fairly quickly, so it’s never been an issue.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk scoffed. “Use your legs more- your arms are too weak.” 

“I’m a second generation mob boss, not a professional wrestler.” Kim Dokja said waspishly. “I’ll use the gun. There’s a holster in the dressing room for it.” At the time, ‘Jin Hajoon’ opted to carelessly stash it in his clothes. 

Yoo Joonghyuk folded his arms. “It’s not a gun fight.” 

“It isn’t, if I’m the only one with a gun,” Kim Dokja agreed. After all, Yoo Youngcheol was an upstanding detective who could only fight barehanded. “And Jin Hajoon isn’t above using a gun.” 

“Convenient.” 

Kim Dokja’s eyes narrowed slightly. He made it a point not to fight with anyone high profile enough to make waves... but he’d never been able to keep his temper when it came to the characters. 

“Then you think Yoo Youngcheol would toss around on the floor with a second generation mob boss?” 

Yoo Joonghyuk flinched, like Kim Dokja had punched him. 

Kim Dokja turned back to the director. “Is it possible?”

“Ah? ...Yes, I suppose It’s an option. But it’s a pity to have the fight start so passively. I liked the feral feel of Dokja-ssi’s Jin Hajoon just now.”

The instructor thought it over. “How flexible are you, Dokja-ssi?”

“...It’s okay?” Kim Dokja blinked. 

“Can you do a handstand?”

“Not for long.” 

“Are you bad at fighting because of your reflexes? Would it help if we go through a flow for you?” 

“Ah, I’ll do my best…” 

The Instructor spent the next fifteen minutes going over a simple series of blocks and counterattacks he could string together. Kim Dokja then spent another fifteen adapting them to Jin Hajoon. Jin Hajoon’s sloppy instinct and his pampered swagger; an untrained hooligan whose arms would inevitably buckle under the hero’s. 

He could feel Yoo Joonghyuk burning a hole through his back, just like before. At least he had a reason this time. 

Once he was ready, he carefully gauged his attacks so that he and Yoo Joonghyuk kept an appropriate distance. Yoo Joonghyuk was thankfully cooperative, but their fight seemed artificial, stilted like an awkward conversation. Director Byungho stopped them twice, and re-shot the scene another five times before he was satisfied. 

Kim Dokja carefully felt around for bruises, wincing when he found several likely spots. Even with every lesson that had been drilled into his body on how to fall, it still hurt. He could feel the one from when he fell a little too quickly onto his knees particularly terribly. He wondered if he could qualify for medical insurance. He’d have to ask Yoo Sangah later. 

Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t look much better, for all that he hadn’t been the one getting flung around. His hair was an artful mess and he looked visibly grumpy despite not being the least out of breath. 

The director let them take a quick break to the side while they went over the shots. 

Kim Dokja sat against a pillar from the set, elbows on bent knees, slowly stretching out his back. The brief peace didn’t last long. Yoo Joonghyuk sat on the couch next to his pillar.

Kim Dokja stared out at the rest of the set. “Was there something?” 

Yoo Joonghyuk looked down, almost hesitant. “You-- What do you think about my character?” 

“He’s the protagonist?” Kim Dokja blinked. “Hey, don’t look at me like that, alright.” He huffed and let his legs drop down to sit properly. 

“Yoo Youngcheol is a detective who left the army. He was a loyal soldier with a debt to pay to the general who saved his life, but he chose to become a PI. Isn’t it strange?” Kim Dokja mulled over the script. Naturally, not all scripts were made the same, but...

“It’s almost like he’s haunted by his past. Like there’s a guilt eating away at him. He’s not cold, he’s scared. But even if he is, he has no choice but to move forward.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk’s fist clenched. “Isn’t it enough that it’s his duty?” 

“It’s because he performs his duty that we admire him, but without knowing his suffering, we don’t appreciate him.” Kim Dokja’s voice was calm and even. “We won’t understand him.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk stared at him, something indefinable in the faint tremor of his eyes. 

Kim Dokja wondered what would happen if only Yoo Joonghyuk knew how to make that kind of expression on camera. 

“No need to get so upset,” Kim Dokja said quickly. “There’s nothing wrong with your Yoo Youngcheol being responsible and unattainable, either. They’ll still watch it and dream about him. Sometimes it’s better when our heroes are out of our reach.” 

Kim Dokja sighed and fished some blood capsules out of his pocket, playing with them in his palm like dice. It was pointless to say this kind of thing to Yoo Joonghyuk in the first place.

“Forget it. Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi has his own way.” A wildly successful one at that. He glanced over at where the director was signalling for them. 

Yoo Joonghyuk grabbed his arm before he could go, his fingertips digging into the skin. “You think I can’t do it?” 

Kim Dokja smiled and pried his fingers off one by one, pulling his arm back. “It’s not a matter of ‘can’ but ‘will’. Just knowing that another option exists doesn’t mean you have to do it. I think it’s fine if Joonghyuk-ssi continues to stay true to himself. It’s the kind of spirit that would do Mingyoung-nim proud.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk’s brow furrowed at the casual reference to his mentor, but it wasn’t a secret that Namgoung Minyoung had discovered him.  Kim Dokja quickly escaped before he could blow up, heading over to the director. 

“We’re ready for the next scene, Dokja-ssi, do you need more time to collect yourself?” 

“Don’t worry. Death scenes are my specialty,” Kim Dokja said brightly. 

As a direct consequence of playing a lot of canonfodder villain roles, Kim Dokja was excellent at death scenes. He’d died a hundred deaths, by now, and had planned out each one down to the roll of his eyes. 

After all, there could be no happy ending if the antagonist didn’t die or suffer in some way. In the space of their agony was the vindication of the hero and the audience both. He was personally a little proud of his ability to realistically cough up blood in sixteen different ways and had honed his craft to control the degree of suffering in each death that best supported the story. 

For Jin Hajoon, this tyrannical, insidiously disgusting man, it was best to die quickly but miserably, without dignity- the ugliness of his death would manifest his inner character, highlighting the protagonist’s.

He waited for the cameras to start rolling, just outside of the frame, then stumbled back into the shot, clutching his bleeding side where Yoo Youngcheol had slashed at him with a knife. Red seeped into his expensive shirt, quickly streaking over his pale fingers. Kim Dokja squeezed the pouch underneath faintly, producing another gush of dark red blood. 

“You think this is over? But I’d already won before you ever came here.” Jin Hajoon gave Yoo Youngcheol a mad, tilted grin. “You’re standing here, but your little bird’s already gone. My father knows your name. You won’t have a good death.” 

He laughed and blood flecked his lips, sputtering out as his breathing choked with pain. He raised his gun and started to fire indiscriminately in Yoo Youngcheol’s direction. His eyes were pinpricks, rolling madly around as he choked on his own blood. 

“Ah, stay still, it’ll be quicker if I kill you n--” 

In a different view, a shot pinged off a steel frame, ricocheting back, and Jin Hajoon’s body jerked. Kim Dokja bit down on the capsules in his mouth, red seeping from his thin lips. Wide-open eyes stared at unseen ghosts, pupils shaking as he vomited out a mess of dark blood that spilled onto his shirt. He keeled over like an abandoned marionette, limbs askew.  

Blood and spittle dribbled slowly down his cheek and gathered underneath it, and his distorted lips forced out a strange, chilling little smile, more like a grimace, affixed to his face as his breath stopped. 

“....Cut!” 

Kim Dokja exhaled slowly, breathing back in. He sat up, wiping the excess blood on the back of his hand. 

“How was it?” Kim Dokja bent slightly to look at the monitor where they ran the last scene.  

“Good,” the director praised. “The reaction isn’t bad, either.” On the screen, the camera panned to Yoo Joonghyuk’s face- shock slowly turning into confusion. Then, he turned his face away from the camera, as though the sight was no longer worth his attention-- or perhaps, he couldn’t bear to look any longer. 

It was really unfair. Even the back of Yoo Joonghyuk’s head was ridiculously good-looking, perfectly shaped and without a hair out of place. Some people truly were born differently. 

“And with that, you’re done. Congratulations, Dokja-ssi,” the director said, clapping him on the back. 

“Thank you, it was great working with everyone,” he replied politely, smiling. 

As though summoned by the scattered clapping, Yoo Joonghyuk unfroze from where he’d been standing still on set, just then, looking like he was about to walk over. 

Never let it be said that he didn’t know when he’d outstayed his welcome. Kim Dokja swiftly walked away and found Yoo Sangah, waiting with a change of clothes. Yoo Sangah, his ever-dependable partner in crime, didn’t even flinch, smiling as her sensible heels clicked along with him, away from everyone else.  

Thankfully, Yoo Joonghyuk had too much dignity to chase after him, but he could feel his glower prickling the back of his neck all the way until they turned the corner. 

“What did you say that made him so mad?” Yoo Sangah wondered.

“Just some stuff about his character.”

“Dokja-ssi…”

“Hey, he asked first!” Kim Dokja protested. 

“Then, do we need to be more careful?”

Kim Dokja mulled it over for a few moments. “No need. He’s not the type who wouldn’t know right from wrong.” 

“That’s a lot of faith for someone half the industry doesn’t get along with.” 

“Mm, call it his character setting. I’m not really worth his time to harass.” 

“And you’ll tell us if he does?” Yoo Sangah asked lightly, but her lips were pulled into an uncommon frown.

“It won’t be necessary,” Kim Dokja promised her. “But you’ll be first to know.”

Chapter Text

Kim Dokja whisked eggs in a bowl, staring outside of the apartment’s tiny balcony as bright sunshine poured over the laundry.

“There won’t be any eggs left if you keep going,” his mother called out. 

Startled, Kim Dokja set the bowl down. “That’s impossible.”

Lee Sookyong looked at the frothy yellow mixture and raised an eyebrow, turning knowing eyes onto her son. “What's on your mind? A new story?”

Kim Dokja hesitated. “Not exactly. I finished the latest job, but the main actor was a little strange.” 

“Strange how?”

“He talked to me.”

“A bitter offense. Do you have any idea why?” She handed him a cup of hot chocolate and started bringing the fried rice together, adding ham, chicken, and snap peas into fragrant garlic and oil. 

Kim Dokja shook his head, scowling. “What would he have to complain about? Nothing went wrong with the shoot and he was still the main character. I’m the one who had to spend the past few shoots walking on eggshells just because he’s in some kind of snit.” 

He gave a brief outline of what happened on set, particularly the way Yoo Joonghyuk had kept glaring at him throughout, and knocked back the hot chocolate like it was alcohol, scalding his tongue slightly in the process. 

Lee Sookyong tossed yesterday's rice into the pan and hummed. “Shall I read it with you?”

Kim Dokja thought about it, but it wasn’t like it mattered anymore, no matter how strange. “It’s fine, he’ll forget who I am next time, anyway.” 

“You think so?”

“He’s got much more to worry about than I do.”

His mother didn't seem too convinced, but she was quickly frying the egg, folding the rice inside and dishing up the whole thing onto a plate in rapid succession. 

When the plate arrived, she’d written ‘hesitation’ in bright red ketchup.

“...Why this?”

“It was written under your star,” she smiled, and turned on the TV for the morning shows. “Ah, isn’t that your friend?” 

Kim Dokja looked around.

On the TV, a stunning blonde woman in a black leather minidress was being interviewed by a popular media host.

“Congratulations on your sixth album to hit platinum, Uriel!” The host handed her a bouquet of large, ostentatious roses in fiery hues amidst cheers.

“Thank you! I’m always grateful for the fans’ support,” Uriel bowed, her long hair cascading down. 

“You’ve managed to gain so many achievements at such a young age, it must be exhausting! Do you ever have time for your personal life?” 

“I never feel tired because I’m always doing something I love,” Uriel smiled. “Whether it’s at work or during my free time, there’s always something to do!” 

“Oh, then, do you have any particular hobbies?” 

“I like watching movies!” Uriel laughed. “And I like talking about them with my friends. A lot of my songs are inspired by the movies we watch.” 

“Then you must have watched a lot of movies!” The host laughed with her. “If you don’t mind us asking, is there a special someone in your life, now, then? Someone that you like?” 

Uriel pressed a finger to a cheek. “I’m not seeing anyone, but…” 

“Oh my, then do you have a crush?” 

“I- I wouldn’t call it that!” Uriel replied quickly, flustered. 

“How cute! Then, can you tell us what type of man you like?” 

Uriel sat up straight in her seat. “Well, I guess, someone who is like a squid?” 

“A--a squid?” The host blinked, bewildered. 

“Yes!” She said enthusiastically. “Someone who is quiet and always changing to suit his environment, but very cute and unexpectedly cool! He’s older than me, but he’s just really cute? I’m a big fan!”

Kim Dokja’s spoon clattered to the table. His phone started vibrating violently off the counter where he’d left it. He could almost hear Han Sooyoung cackling from six apartments away. 

“How specific! Is this a public confession??”

“What? No! I can't do that! He... he might hate me a little bit if I did something like that.” She fidgeted shyly with the tips of her hair.

“No way, how could anyone resist you, the angel of rock?”

“He doesn’t like being the center of attention, but you know, if you saw him, you’d understand! It’s like my eyes just can’t stop following him.”  

“It sounds like true love!”

Uriel laughed. “In fact, we’re already good friends and we’re even working in the same company, so I’m happy that I get to support him.” 

Kim Dokja felt a headache building at the back of his head as he reached for his phone.

                    KDJ: Uriel, please stop saying such misleading things, they’re misunderstanding.

                    Uriel: Ahhh!! ❤❤❤ Sunbae!! 

                    Uriel: Ah, did you watch my interview? Oh no, that’s so embarrassing! ヽ(＊>∇<)ﾉ

                    KDJ: No, that’s…

                    Uriel: But I’m happy, really happy~! o(≧∇≦o)

                    Uriel: Did you like it? It’s about my new single!

Kim Dokja stared at his phone helplessly, then weakly typed in a few words.

                    KDJ: Yes, it was great, congratulations!  

                    Uriel: I saw your commercial, too! The one with Gilyoung! 

                    Uriel: It was so cute, the mature you is still handsome!! ∩(︶▽︶)∩

                    KDJ: Ah, thanks… 

                    Uriel: Are you doing any other projects right now? 

                    KDJ: I just finished my part for a movie, but I don’t know when it’ll be out. 

                    KDJ: I might just pick up some other commercials while we wait for jobs.

                    Uriel: How about some drama CDs? Sunbae has a nice voice!

                    KDJ: ...these drama CDs, are they BL? 

                    Uriel: ...Not all of them! ｡(*^▽^*)ゞ

                    Uriel: But, well, maybe? ꒰#’ω`#꒱੭

                    KDJ: ...I’ll think about it. 

He sighed and closed the app, resolutely ignoring all the other notifications in his friends’ chat group. They were likely just making fun of him again. 

The doorbell rang as they were finishing up breakfast. “Ah, that must be Yoosung.” 

Lee Sookyong patted her hands dry and went to answer the door, revealing a little girl, dressed in a neat white one piece dress and a warm jacket hemmed with rabbit fur. There was a rolling travel bag behind her, nearly as tall as the girl herself. 

“Halmi!” She hugged Lee Sookyong by the waist. “Is Appa awake?” 

“Right here-- did you walk all the way up by yourself?” Kim Dokja asked, accepting an enthusiastic little girl into his arms. She was a little lighter than Lee Gilyoung, despite the slight height difference, so it was a little easier to cart her up onto his hip. 

“And don’t call me ‘Appa’, ‘Ahjussi’ is fine.” He got enough questions from the neighbors about his ‘divorce’ and ‘missing daughter’ that it was getting a little concerning. 

“Yeah, they’re headed to the airport now.” She took out a phone that looked comically large in her small hands and raised it up. “Let’s take a photo, Ahjussi!” 

“Wait, I’m not really--” 

With the speed of a professional, Shin Yoosung quickly snapped a photo of herself kissing Kim Dokja’s cheek and contentedly sent it to a group chat. It seemed to be a different app from what they usually used, so Kim Dokja was a bit curious.

“Who did you send it to?” 

“Gilyoung,” Shin Yoosung replied immediately. “He sent photos from the commercial,” she explained. “So this is just fair.” 

“...Alright,” Kim Dokja sighed. The strange rivalry between the two children never really made sense to him, especially as they got older and started becoming more aware of eachother. But at this point, he knew better than to intervene. 

She quickly exited out of the app as the notifications blew up--likely Gilyoung’s replies. 

“Since I’m free today, what would you like to do?” 

“Haimi promised we’d go to the zoo!” Shin Yoosung cheerfully. 

Lee Sookyong smiled. “I did, didn’t I? Shall we go after lunch? Then you can unpack your things in the spare room, first.” 

Shin Yoosung nodded obediently and Kim Dokja rolled the suitcase inside with his free hand. 

“Ahjussi, you auditioned for ‘Demon Spring’, right?” Shin Yoosung asked as they put away her things in the tiny bedroom she’d once stayed in long ago. 

“Hm? Ah, did Jihye tell you?” 

Shin Yoosung shook her head, her fine hair, done up in a ribbon, bounced lightly. “I heard uncle talk about it.” 

Shin Yoosung’s uncle was one of the executives at G-Pro, so that wasn’t too unusual. “I’ll be in it, too. It’d be nice if Ahjussi got in. Then we can film together.” 

Kim Dokja coughed. “Well, that might not be possible, for now.” 

“It can’t be that they think Ahjussi can’t do it?” Shin Yoosung asked, a little aggrieved. 

“No, not at all. It’s just that I might not be a good support for the person playing one of the main roles.” 

“But that doesn’t mean Ahjussi isn’t qualified,” Shin Yoosung insisted. 

“I’m only human, I can make mistakes, you know?” 

“You might make mistakes, but you never make the wrong story,” she said confidently. For an otherwise very mature little girl, Shin Yoosung’s faith in him was sometimes a bit disconcerting, if incredibly flattering.

Kim Dokja laughed and gently patted her hair. “Well, even if it’s not this one, we might be able to film together someday.” 

“Then if there’s a chance, Ahjussi should definitely take it, alright?” 

“If there’s a chance,” Kim Dokja agreed, smiling. 

=

“What are you doing here?” Shin Yoosung folded her arms, her confrontational tone was uncharacteristic of her normally sweet nature, but then, Lee Gilyoung seemed to be her exception. Lee Gilyoung, on the other hand, had been as deeply suspicious as a currently interred housecat. Shin Yoosung’s continued presence seemed to rouse his competitive spirit, though Kim Dokja didn’t think it was entirely professional, he was a bit unclear on the specifics. 

“I’m here for work- why are you so upset?” Lee Gilyoung scoffed. He was wearing a set of color-coordinated bright green clothes, obviously in costume. Behind him, his minder wringed his hands. 

Lee Gilyoung’s actual manager had several stars under him and he often delegated taking Lee Gilyoung to his shootings to the interns and lower ranked managerial staff. The hapless Lee Hojun clearly had no idea what to do with a boisterous child, no matter how popular a star. Kim Dokja had seen him at the company offices, from time to time, usually fetching coffee for his superiors. 

He nodded towards Kim Dokja. “Are you here on business as well, Dokja-ssi?”

“No, just taking Shin Yoosung around…” Kim Dokja eyed the two children, currently in a standoff like two puffed, feral cats. 

“Gilyoung-ie, it’s time to head back to the set,” Lee Hojun reminded him. “The break time is five minutes.”

“Don’t wanna,” Lee Gilyoung said briefly. “I’ll stay with hyung for a bit- it’s not like the others will be ready yet.” 

Hojun swiveled his head back to look imploringly at Kim Dokja. Lee Gilyoung turned his own beseeching stare at him, too, making it even harder. 

“...It’s too bad you have work, but if you finish up quick, there shouldn’t be any problem coming with us around the zoo,” Kim Dokja said, finally. One or two kids, it was about the same, wasn’t it? Besides, if he remembered correctly, there was an insectorium among the many exhibits.

“Really? Yes!” Lee Gilyoung pumped a fist and looked smugly back at Shin Yoosong. “Come on, Hojun, let’s go!” He tugged on the man’s sleeve. 

Kim Dokja coughed. 

“Hojun-ssi,” Lee Gilyoung amended, contrite. 

Shin Yoosung pouted after they left, prompting Kim Dokja to try to coax her with a snack.

Heading over to the nearby thematically-decorated food stall, Kim Dokja perused the wares: sausages, corndogs, boiled sweet corn on the cob, and grilled squid still sizzling on the grill, wafting savory heat in the cold air.

“Do you want anything Yoosung-ah?” Of the food, the corndogs were probably easiest to eat while walking around, but it was too big for Shin Yoosung to finish on her own. 

Shin Yoosung, her hand curled like an iron hook in Kim Dokja’s, finally looked up reluctantly. “That.” She pointed without really looking at anything. 

Kim Dokja helplessly bought it, depositing the small orange box in Shin Yoosung’s hands. The front had a cartoon drawing of a cheerful yellow squid. 

Seeing her simply hold onto the box, Kim Dokja laid a hand on the top of her head, patting gently. “No appetite? It’ll get cold soon.” 

Shin Yoosung opened the box neatly, showing a small mound of perfectly grilled strips of giant squid. She then offered the box to Kim Dokja. 

“This is for you, though?” Kim Dokja shook his head. 

“Ah,” Shin Yoosung opened her mouth, mimicking a baby bird. 

“...” Alright, this was his fault for changing the plans, too, probably. He picked up a stick from a little cup at the stall, using it to spear and drop a strip of squid into her waiting mouth. 

Shin Yoosung brightened up immediately, chewing on the savory treat. “It’s tasty,” she told him. “Does Ahjussi want some?”

“Maybe later. For now, we should get going.” Moreover, there was someone standing a few feet away holding her phone out and blatantly recording the whole thing. 

“You could say you’re back,” Kim Dokja told his mother. 

“Would you begrudge an old woman some precious home videos?” she smiled. 

“I thought you were taking a while…” If not for the small incident with Lee Gilyoung just now, he might have gone over to look for her. His mother’s directional sense was much better than his own, but he always worried when they went to crowded places like this. 

“Mm, I’m fine.” She pocketed her phone and came over, allowing Shin Yoosung to feed her a piece of squid in Kim Dokja’s place, taking the strip neatly between her teeth. 

“Shall we continue? You wanted to see the Lemurs, right, Yoosung?” Lee Sookyung

Shin Yoosung slipped her hand into hers. “Yeah, I think one of them had a baby!”

Kim Dokja watched them from a few steps behind. In many ways, he thought they were surprisingly good for eachother, perhaps finding in each other’s pasts a twin to their own suffering. An odd claim, between a young girl and a woman well into her fifties, despite looking no older than Kim Dokja himself. 

But he thought if his mother saw her past in Shin Yoosung, then it was a hope that things could be righted. And in Lee Sookyung, Shin Yoosung had found not only a mother but a vision of a future where she could stand tall. 

=

Facts proved that there really was a tiny lemur pup clinging to her mother’s back, black-masked little face staring out at the world. The mother rested on a branch near the viewing deck, almost close enough to touch. 

Kim Dokja boosted Shin Yoosung up so she could see a little better. Both pup and mother stared back at her, but seemed content to continue nibbling at the leaves and flowers on the branch.

Shin Yoosung leaned in, seeming to communicate silently with the wide-eyed pup, before grinning. “They both look healthy.” 

“Not ‘cute’?” 

“Of course they’re cute,” Shin Yoosung said calmly. “But it’s better if they’re healthy, right?” 

For a girl almost eleven years old, she really was frighteningly pragmatic, sometimes. When Shin Yoosung had strayed into their life, she had been solemn and quiet, with an independence forced upon her by an absentee mother. Kim Dokja wondered, sometimes, if her fondness for animals stemmed from a need to take care of something the way her mother never could her. 

Now, her glossy hair was obviously cared for and her clothes had been meticulously chosen- all signs of the quality of her new life with her uncle’s family.   

“It’s certainly better to be healthy,” Lee Sookyung agreed, reading the little educational display boards set up for visitors. “It seems she’s still quite young, too, not more than a couple of months old.” 

He watched the little girl make faces at the diminutive monkeys, imitating their little chirrups in conversation. Before long, his arms felt a little numb, forcing him to set her down. Shin Yoosung didn’t seem to mind, leaning against his thigh as she nibbled on her grilled squid.

“Did you want to stay a little longer?” 

Shin Yoosung shook her head. “Then where should we go next?”

“Bears,” Shin Yoosong said decisively. “I heard there are ones here that are bigger than Hyunsung-ahjussi!”

“Well, that’s pretty normal, for bears.” 

Shin Yoosung gave him a skeptical look. “Even though Heewon-unni calls him a bear?” 

“It depends on how you look at it…” Kim Dokja admitted, thinking of their tall friend. 

“Polar bears can grow up to 10 feet!” Shin Yoosung argued, continuing the conversation as she skipped lightly over the flowers painted on the concrete path. 

While the lemur pavilion had been empty, the roads away merged into a larger thoroughfare, bringing with it a river of families, schoolchildren, and couples. 

Kim Dokja paused, scanning the area for alternate routes. Beside him, his mother had gone still. 

Before long, someone seemed to notice Shin Yoosung. Housewives nudged eachother and pointed. While her fame wasn’t anywhere near bad enough to need bodyguards, Shin Yoosung’s petite, angelic face was often featured in commercials. She’d participated in a drama, before, but it had been a web series, without much reach. The commercials, on the other hand, aired regularly on national TV, absently viewed by idle housewives doing chores at home. If it had been Gilyoung, then even the kids might have noticed.

Kim Dokja scooped her up again as quickly as possible, casually turning around and walking away. 

Shin Yoosung wrapped her arms around his neck, but she stared out over his shoulder as the sign that cheerfully announced the direction to the bear enclosure got farther and farther away. “We can’t go?” 

“No, not right now,” Kim Dokja said apologetically. 

Shin Yoosung nodded, ever level-headed, but Kim Dokja’s heart ached for her silence. Kids of all ages ran freely around the park, screaming and laughing, but Shin Yoosung had never had that. And perhaps, she wouldn’t get to see the bears, today, either. 

Kim Dokja’s conscience pricked at him. It was rare enough for Shin Yoosung to have time in her schedule to visit, much less go somewhere as normal as a zoo. 

“We’ll go a bit later, once the crowds clear up.” 

Lee Sookyung reached into her bag and drew out a shawl printed with pastel blocks of color, wrapping it around Shin Yoosung’s distinctive, light brown hair, unusual in a child. She tied it off with a perfectly balanced bow, a knack that Kim Dokja couldn’t claim to have inherited. 

After smoothing the scarf over Shin Yoosung’s hair, Lee Sookyung turned to straighten Kim Dokja’s collar in passing, tugging it out from where it had bent. 

“...My clothes were fine,” he told her. 

“To me, you’re both children,” she said peacefully. Her fingers trembled, nearly as pale as her face, faded scars stark on her skin from where her hands had been broken, once. 

Shaking his head and pretending not to see, Kim Dokja turned down another path. 

By some fluke, it seemed they’d rounded over to the area that was being used for filming. A small crowd lingered on the periphery of the site, but Kim Dokja could make out Lee Gilyoung’s small figure shouting at a villain dressed in a purple gorilla suit from afar. 

Kim Dokja spared a thought for the man inside- even on a day as cold as this one, he knew from personal experience that the heavy, insulated suit would be stifling and hot.

The other kids playing as Lee Gilyoung’s classmates screamed, stumbling away from the scene. As the boy hero, Lee Gilyoung naturally stood out, standing his ground. One of the mounted cameras slowly circled around the two, panning. 

“What can a little kid like you do?” The villain chortled, the gorilla holding his belly as he shook. “I most like to eat foolish little boys like you!” 

“I’ll stop you here, Ape King!” Lee Gilyoung declared valiantly and raised his hand, where a prominent green watch wrapped around his wrist. “GO, TITANO!” he yelled out. 

Another actor in a sculpted, vaguely insectile costume dashed into view, sliding on wheels to engage the Ape King in combat to cheers from the kids. 

“Isn’t that Gilyoung?” Lee Sookyung commented, surprised. “No wonder there seems to be more people than usual.” 

“Ah, we met them earlier…”

His mother glanced around. “Looking at all that energy is making me a bit thirsty. Would you two like some juice?”

Eyeing his mother’s complexion, Kim Dokja nodded. 

“Then we’ll wait by the shade.” The road sloped down to the film site, which meant they could sit at a bench while keeping an eye on the proceedings. 

In the manner of most costumed villains, the Ape King promptly went down without much struggle, before jumping up with the sprightly energy of the undying to run away. 

Shin Yoosung didn’t seem particularly impressed as she watched Lee Gilyoung give Titano a hug and the pair proceeded to go through an overenthusiastic victory sequence.

“What’s wrong?”

“He’s just so loud…” Shin Yoosung sighed. “He’s always shouting whenever I see him.” 

“He wasn’t always,” Kim Dokja said gently, recalling a quiet, lonely boy on a plastic seat. “And isn’t that just around you? Because you're friends?” Frankly, the way both of them got so animated around eachother was a bit comical. 

“He’s not my friend! I only know him because Ahjussi does.” 

“But you talk a lot, don’t you?” Kim Dokja smiled. “Even if it’s just online.” 

“That’s not the same. We talk about Ahjussi, mostly.” 

Honestly, that was a bit problematic, but... “That can’t be everything? Don’t you like the same things?” He dimly remembered that they both once wanted the exact same white jacket… It had certainly made Christmas shopping that year easier.

Shin Yoosung turned her large, toffee-colored eyes towards him. “He likes bugs , Ahjussi,” she explained patiently. “He even crawls around with them!” she whispered in horror.

“But you like animals, don’t you?” Kim Dokja couldn’t help but tease, just for the scandalized look she gave him next.

“That’s completely different!” Shin Yoosung’s cheeks puffed up.

Chuckling, Kim Dokja almost didn’t notice when Lee Hojun walked up nervously. 

“Hojun-ssi?” 

“Ah, Dokja-ssi, that is, would you mind having a little talk?” 

“Right now?” Kim Dokja glanced at Shin Yoosung. He could hardly leave the little girl by herself.

“Ah, of course, I’m sorry, er, may I sit down?” 

“Go ahead.” Kim Dokja gestured with a hand. 

Lee Hojun sat down gingerly, an anxious man in his late forties, but after wringing his hands a bit, he finally sighed and started to talk. “Are you familiar with the russian girl, Iris? She’s recently been assigned to me…” 

Kim Dokja did remember. She had been an impetuous young starlet, quickly arrogant after her debut as the child protagonist in ‘Red Square’. With her foreign features and blonde curls, she had been an instant media darling and people had exclaimed over how she looked just like an english doll. 

But that had been three years ago. Kim Dokja had a feeling he knew why such a talent had been assigned to this hapless manager. 

“You always seem good with kids, so I thought I’d ask for some advice…” 

“It’s not like that,” Kim Dokja corrected. Lee Gilyoung and Shin Yoosung were exceptions, rather than the rule… After all, when they had met, he hadn’t really been able to turn away. 

“But if I can help Hojun-ssi then of course I will.” 

“Right, right.” Hojun nodded, almost to himself. “Well, she’s been temperamental, lately- more than usual, I mean. Throwing things.” He sketched a hand vaguely. “At first I thought it was just how she was, but it’s become increasingly clear that…” he hesitated, looking over at Shin Yoosung. 

Shin Yoosung, for her part, was doing an admirable job of pretending she was focused on her little box of squid strips, her head bowed as though she couldn’t possibly hear anything right now.

Lee Hojun dropped his voice a little lower anyway. “The work’s dried up. I’m not sure what the agency’s intentions are, but there’s not much I can do. Her contract will be expiring next year…” 

It wasn’t an unfamiliar story. 

He could understand Hojun’s reluctance to discuss the details. Lee Gilyoung and Shin Yoosung were still at the prime of their careers as child stars, but that wouldn’t last forever, either. Shin Yoosung had an even temperament and her uncle would ensure that she’d be fine, no matter which path she took, but others weren’t so lucky. Child stars who couldn’t cope with the sudden change in popularity or public opinion were liable to disappear from the industry and others would be bogged down by the expectations of others as much as themselves.

“I thought, well, I heard Dokja-ssi started young, so perhaps you’d have some insights?” Hojun asked hopefully. 

Kim Dokja thought about it. Iris wasn’t a hopeless talent. She clearly had the drive to put herself forward and work hard. Her attitude could certainly be better, but it wasn’t as though there was a shortage of divas in the industry. 

“Has she considered finding smaller work?” 

Lee Hojun shook his head woefully. 

“At this point, she is still quite unique... It is better if she finds a brand or a sponsor she can tie herself to and start doing commercials.” Even if they might not be particularly glamorous, it was still better than giving up. Kim Dokja absently picked a leaf from Shin Yoosong’s scarf as he talked. 

“Perhaps Hojun-ssi can talk to her about her future this way.” 

“I’ll try… Thank you, Dokja-ssi. It’s a shame but ever since Nebeonjjae-nim left the company, it seems that a lot of things get left behind-- ah, sorry, I mean, the staff misses him a lot. Also.” 

“Good luck,” Kim Dokja smiled encouragingly, lightly sidestepping his awkwardness. He even meant it. Only time would really tell the trajectory of anyone’s life, but as a veteran, he’d seen would-be stars crash and burn too often for the wrong reasons, reaching for something they couldn’t have. 

=

Half a bottle of juice and a couple of trips around the pavilions later had Kim Dokja excusing himself to go to the restroom. 

When he got back, it seemed like Lee Gilyoung had not only finished shooting but had also taken the opportunity to meet up with Shin Yoosung. The two were arguing, though seeing as they were still both on the same bench, he’d count it a win. 

“Sangah-unni is smart, gentle, and she’s beautiful! She’d definitely take care of Ahjussi!” 

“What do you know, one time I saw him and Hyunsung-ahjussi sleeping together on the bed!” 

No, what did he come back to?? 

Kim Dokja walked a little faster, perturbed. His mother was watching the whole thing, vastly entertained. The grin she turned upon him when he arrived was positively mischievous. 

“Ah, you’re back.” 

“Hyung!” Lee Gilyoung called at the same time Shin Yoosung said “Ahjussi!” 

“You like men more, right?” 

“No, you definitely think women are better, right?” 

Kim Dokja could think of far more appropriate things for the kids to discuss than his lack of a love life. Such as the merits of sticking knives into electricity outlets. 

“I’m also interested in this topic,” Lee Sookyung said breezily, knowing full well that her son had been single his whole life. It was only relatively recently that he’d even able to enjoy some free time. 

“I need to start planning for my grandchildren, no matter what they might be.” 

“I think I’d like my drink back,” Kim Dokja answered drily. Answering either option seemed like it’d just make the argument worse-- as it always did. 

“Coward,” his mother chided. Thankfully, the kids were more easily distracted. 

“Ah, here--”

“No, take mine, I haven’t opened it yet!” 

...Maybe taking them both through the zoo hadn’t been the great idea he’d thought it was. 

“By the way, does Hojun-ssi know you’re already here?” Kim Dokja asked. With Lee Gilyoung’s tendency to act without saying a word, it was possible that the poor man was searching for him right now. 

“Doesn’t he already know?” Lee Gilyoung blinked guilelessly. 

Kim Dokja pulled his phone out of his pocket, quickly finding the conversation with Lee Hojun in his pinned messages and sending a text to confirm Gilyoung was with them. 

As he took the opportunity to scroll over some of the unread messages, swiping away spam with a flick, he froze. 

Kim Dokja’s thumb was hovered uncertainly, paused over a window panel. The long inactive window now had a blinking dot right next to the brief nickname he'd transcribed many years ago: 'Fourth'.  

「Good af ternoo n, Dokja-ya. Would you be fr ee? SWK wan ts to talk.」

The slow, ponderous typing, with its strange spacing, was very evocative of the Fourth’s usual style. Kim Dokja could imagine the squat old man bent over a phone many years out of date, pecking at the tiny keyboard. He replied quickly. 

「When?」

Kim Dokja tucked the phone back into his pocket after he made sure the message sent. 

“Who was it?” Lee Sookyung asked, her preternatural intuition giving her a hunch. 

“Nebeonjjae-nim.”

“Who’s that?” Gilyoung asked as he tussled with Shin Yoosung for the box of squid. 

Kim Dokja quieted. It was difficult for him to describe. To his surprise, his mother answered for him.

“He’s the one who found him.” 

Chapter Text

“You can drop me off at the next corner,” Kim Dokja said, pointing.

Yoo Sangah looked over, still waiting at the stoplight. “Really? Isn’t it still a bit far?”

“There’s a shortcut down the side street.”

“Ah, as expected of Dokja-ssi- you used to do theatre?”

“Not that long, and it was backstage, mostly.” 

“Was that when you met Sage-nim?” Yoo Sangah glanced over at her talent, a manicured finger smoothing idly over the steering wheel. 

He was dressed surprisingly casually, for someone about to meet a household name. A white sports jacket was zipped up to his chin and he was wearing jeans with sneakers. If there was any indication, it might have been the carefully tidy hair or the way his hands were tucked into the pockets, almost nervous. 

“Yes,” Kim Dokja replied, unaware he was being assessed, his absent gaze on the street outside. “He was like a mentor to me, back then. I’m a little surprised he still remembers me.” 

“Of course he would,” Yoo Sangah said staunchly. “The younger Dokja-ssi was very cute and lovable.” 

“...I was nineteen.” 

“I know. Sookyung-ssi posted some photos of you at that age, once.”

“Posted where…?” 

Yoo Sangah laughed. “It’s a secret.” 

“They’re my photos,” Kim Dokja pointed out. 

“We’re your friends,” Yoo Sangah countered. Kim Dokja shook his head, unable to argue. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll use them responsibly.” 

“For what..?” Kim Dokja began, before clearly deciding he was better off not knowing. 

“The uniform looked good. You played a highschool student?” 

“Yes, Sage-nim was the lead at the time, a teacher. It was a powerful performance.” 

“He’s truly outstanding- not a lot of people go from film to stage, it’s usually the other way around.” 

“It’s not like he needs any more money,” Kim Dokja commented. “You could say the stage was always his true passion. He’s pretty traditional, despite how he looks.” 

“Everyone’s talking about the new play he’s running,” Yoo Sangah noted. “Do you think he’d offer you a role in the next one?” It seemed the likeliest possibility. 

Kim Dokja’s gaze didn’t waver as he smiled wryly. “I can’t hold a candle to the troupe he’s brought up personally. Would I even have the time, if he did?” Kim Dokja asked back.

“It depends on when,” Yoo Sangah admitted. Stage plays usually took over a month of dedicated rehearsals and it might be difficult for Kim Dokja to balance it if one of the larger jobs pushed through. Difficult, Yoo Sangah conceded, but not impossible. 

“If it's for the Great Sage, I don’t think Nebula will fight us too much.” Collaborating with Sun Wukong would be a feather in the agency’s cap. Even if Kim Dokja himself didn’t get a particularly good part, it could open channels for future work. 

Yoo Sangah turned into a sidestreet and pulled over at the curb. 

Kim Dokja stepped out, leaning into the car interior, looking for all the world like he was twenty again with the sunlight haloed in his hair. “Thanks, I’ll see you later.” 

“I’ll follow once I park,” Yoo Sangah waved back cheerfully.

=

It wasn’t often that Kim Dokja went to see a play, but he knew this particular theatre like the back of his hand. The paneled walls of its extravagant foyer were papered with the original posters of successful classics, all of which had been performed in this very building. History was steeped into the wood of the stage, the cavernous hall hushed as though a ghostly audience were still present, holding its breath. 

There was one man, however, who didn’t care about the rich but antiquated chronicles of the hall. 

“Kim Dokja!” Sun Wukong bellowed, striding out to sling a brawny, lightly fuzzed arm around his shoulders. He was dressed casually in a dark sleeveless turtleneck and joggers cut mid-calf, an orange jacket was knotted at his hip, patterned with tiger stripes. 

“Sage-nim,” Kim Dokja greeted, doing his best not to fall over. 

Sun Wukong was a man slowly approaching fifty, though like all great stars, he had aged gracefully. There was hardly any gray in his wild mane of flaxen hair and his classically handsome features only wrinkled when he grinned. His famous golden eyes remained bright and lively, suiting a man decades younger. It was to be expected, from the former top actor and worldwide sensation best known for playing the titular great sage in ‘Monkey King’.

People called him ‘Sage’ as a title, a play off his most iconic role, but few in the industry would dare oppose him, even now. Whether it was his wealth, his expertise, or his absolute charisma, very few could match.  

“Retirement suits you well.” Kim Dokja smiled, observing his brimming energy. It had only been a few years ago when Sun Wukong had abruptly announced that he was stepping down from acting. If he hadn’t then perhaps even Yoo Joonghyuk wouldn’t have been able to steal the crown of South Korea’s most popular actor so easily. 

But Sun Wukong had always forged his own path. Heedless of public opinion, he had started over as a director and a producer-- in theatre. 

“I know!” Sun Wukong said smugly, bringing Kim Dokja back from his musings. “I feel younger every day. I always said I wanted to produce a living story and here we are.” 

He patted Kim Dokja’s left bicep. “By the way, have you grown a little thinner?”

“No, Sage-nim is just too strong.” 

“I see, of course! Still, you’ve grown up a fair bit, haven’t you? I remember when you were still young…” 

“Nebeonjjae-nim mentioned you wanted me to do something?” Kim Dokja interrupted, desperate not to relive his sordid past. 

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do!” 

“How can I help?”

Sun Wukong’s eyes twinkled as he glanced at him. “Aren’t you going to ask what it is, first?” 

Kim Dokja smiled. “I trust that Sage-nim wouldn’t give me something I’m incapable of delivering.” 

“Good, I missed that confidence! You won’t believe the kind of weak-willed lackwits the agencies keep sending me here for backup. None of them are half as interesting as you.” 

“Rather, I think Sage-nim’s brand of ‘interesting’ is a bit different.” 

“Of course it is,” Sun Wukong said, sweeping Kim Dokja backstage. “There’s no point to me standing here trying to create a different play, otherwise.” 

Kim Dokja grinned. “It’s exactly as you say.” 

“That’s what I like to hear. I don’t suppose you’d want to switch tracks and audition for my plays?”

“I’m flattered, but it’s impossible for me.” 

“Are you bad with a live audience?” Sun Wukong asked in concern. “With your focus, it should be easy to ignore.” 

“It’s not like that,” Kim Dokja sighed. “But I have other considerations as well.” 

“Too bad,” Sun Wukong tsked, tugging at the neatly-trimmed beard that framed his sharp jaw. As a seasoned master of the industry, he knew as well as anyone that few people arrived at the gates of show business without being chased by their past. 

Even the Sage’s own inexorable rise to fame had been marked by struggle. He’d been suppressed and ridiculed by countless celebrities and sponsors, but in the end, he had won. And to the victor went the glory and the spoils. 

Backstage, it was clear that rehearsals hadn’t passed long ago. The area was brightly lit, with racks of costumes and props arranged in organized chaos. A teenage girl dressed in a plain shirt and sweatpants was bent over a script, curled towards it in an unknown agony.  

“As it turns out, my Du Liniang has fallen sick and her understudy isn’t confident in expressing the role… I thought you might help me with a demonstration.” He indicated the girl with a hand. 

“...Surely Sage-nim could do it better?”

“It’s not my style to cry,” Sun Wukong said, without a trace of shame. “But I remembered that your tears were very moving when we worked together last.”

“...It wasn’t so amazing to be remembered…” The excuse was almost suspiciously thin. But it wasn’t like Kim Dokja could refuse the request. 

He tried to remember acting in his teens, then stopped. Frenetic sorrow battened at the wall in his mind. Once, it might have unnerved him, but the wall had thickened, calloused over by time. 

Nineteen had been a turning point. And part of that was because of this man. 

Kim Dokja picked up a piece of gauzy fabric someone had left behind on a table, flicking it out. 

“I never did thank you.” 

“For what, Maknae?” Sun Wukong raised his brows. At the time, Kim Dokja truly had been the youngest person in the cast. 

Kim Dokja draped the length of cloth over his shoulders and smiled. A small, soft little curve, endlessly bright, like a coin of sunlight trapped in your palm. “For letting me love acting again.” 

=

Kim Dokja flipped through the script, eyes darting over the printed text. The worn edges and frequent notes in the margins told him how seriously the owner had studied it. The scene Sun Wukong had pointed out was particularly underlined with thick slashes of ink. 

He’d watched the video of the rehearsals with the original lead actress earlier. Nobody picked by the Great Sage would have shoddy acting skills and it was certainly true that the shoes her understudy had to fill were larger than she was.

“So the problem is the transition?” 

The understudy, Park Chohee bit her lip then nodded.

Kim Dokja stared at the script, tapping it thoughtfully. “I understand. Shall I give it a try?” 

“Ah, yes…” 

He gave her back the script, taking care not to wrinkle it further, and smiled. “Don’t worry. I believe that you love the story enough.” 

He walked onstage, where a single spotlight had been lit. Sun Wukong had settled himself cross-legged on one edge, chin propped up on a fist, seemingly taking a nap. He opened one eye as Kim Dokja approached. 

“Are you done?” 

Kim Dokja nodded. “When you’re ready, Sage-nim” 

“Then let’s begin!” Sun Wukong slapped the stage floor with a broad palm, the crack of it echoing, and got to his feet. He was barefoot, wearing a black robe open over his own clothes, a counterpart to the white cloth that trailed behind Kim Dokja’s arms. 

Sun Wukong stepped forward, bending close, his posture befitting an earnest suitor. His voice was sonorous and low, reverberating in the empty hall. “Liniang, come with me, the peonies bloom beneath our feet and the sun will soon climb. The lake longs for your beauty and my ears long for your sweet voice.” 

The cloth in Kim Dokja’s hands pulled taut between them, his face turning away. Du Liniang’s face was thin and her young heart was easily swayed. 

“Halt, Yao! Cease your whispering in my ear!” Du Liniang’s hands shook, her voice worn low and raspy by a bittersweet sorrow. “You are a ghost in a dream, sent by the peonies’ mischief and preying on my heart! The leaves shake and you croon, the wind sighs and you vanish!” 

=

Yoo Sangah sat down quietly in the audience seats. A few rows away, a teenaged girl was watching raptly, her upturned face shining in the dim light.

On top of the stage, without music or stage props but for a piece of cloth, two people were immersed in a story. 

Sun Wukong played Liu Mengmei and he circled around Du Liniang, too close for propriety and too far for indecency. His body leaned in intently, power coiled in the elegant arc of his body, the beguiling yao coaxing, and Du Liniang, rooted in place, his helpless prey. 

Kim Dokja’s shoulders shrunk, trembling, but Du Liniang’s eyes yearned gently even as his face was turned away. The cloth now veiled his head and trailed over his shoulders, a vain attempt to hide a shy glance. 

Caught in a hazy web of push and pull, the dream Liu Mengmei, a man Du Liniang didn’t know, single-mindedly wore down her wavering heart. Slowly, the veil slipped off, hanging freely from Kim Dokja’s slender hands. From grief, a faint ray of hope, nourished by infatuation. He faced Liu Mengmei with a joy that filled his face with light. 

Du Liniang moved, for the first time, clumsily following the steps of Liu Mengmei’s dance, simply a young woman, hopelessly in love. 

They spun and twirled with laughter, tentative, at first, like fledglings, then bolder. The white of the veil and the black of his robe arcing in playful waves, meeting like a touch of lips, collapsing between breaths. 

Until finally Du Liniang took one more step, silvery cloth flaring dramatically behind, wanting to rush into Liu Mengmei’s arms. 

But one step short and the dream collapsed. Liu Mengmei stepped back into darkness beyond her reach, leaving nothing but his cast-off robe. 

Abandoned to reality, the joy slipped from Du Liniang’s face and tears welled in her eyes, spilling like water from a cracked jug and glimmering in the harsh light. Her shoulders were strung back, frozen stiff, as though still caught in time. Her eyes stared after Liu Mengmei’s silhouette, unwilling to part. 

And then, she collapsed, face in hands, curled like a child. The veil lifted, following the movement before being abruptly released, scattering on the floor like spilled milk, left to spoil. Heart-rending sobs heaved from her body, inconsolable. 

“Cruel Yao, heedless one. Why must you show me the world in the water when the stone is cast?” 

Yoo Sangah held her breath, but the sound of steady clapping broke through the phantom pain in her heart. 

“As expected, I wasn’t wrong. What do you think, Park Chohee?” Sun Wukong walked back into view, offering Kim Dokja a hand up. 

“You were amazing, Sage-nim!” Park Chohee clapped enthusiastically, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “And you, too, Dokja-ssi-- I feel like I understood Du Liniang a little better, today!” 

“Then that’s all that matters. The rest is up to you.” Kim Dokja squatted on the edge of the stage, eyes still faintly red-rimmed, but his face clean, and carefully tossed the cloth over her head, letting it drift down to her shoulders in benison. “All you have to do is show them how much you love her.” 

“Y-yes!” 

Kim Dokja smiled and dropped down to the audience seats. “Sage-nim picked you, so you can stand a little taller. He doesn’t offer lightly.” 

Sun Wukong raised his brows. “I don’t,” he agreed. “But you’re the only one who hasn’t taken it.” 

Lips curved, Kim Dokja shook his head. “You’ll have to speak to my manager, first.” 

“Hm? Oh, that’s right, you have a new one, now.” Sun Wukong turned towards Yoo Sangah, scratching his head. “That’s going to take some getting used to. Almost forgot he retired again.” 

“It was his time,” Kim Dokja said, carefully composed. “Yoo Sangah took over- I couldn’t ask for anyone better.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Sage-nim,” Yoo Sangah greeted, bowing gracefully. 

Sun Wukong waved away the formality, examining her with mild interest. “So you’re our Maknae’s current manager? You remind me of someone.” 

Yoo Sangah blinked. “Yes?”

“An old friend,” Sun Wukong sighed, melancholy. “You have the same atmosphere. But nevermind that. Maybe you can convince this stubborn idiot to go back to acting on stage?” 

Yoo Sangah laughed sweetly. “So long as Dokja-ssi’s conditions are met, he would never refuse.”

“‘Conditions’?” Sun Wukong repeated, intrigued. 

“Yes, but,” she dropped her voice conspiratorially. “He’s a bit shy. It’d be best if we discuss it separately.” 

“...You could try to plot a little more subtly.” 

“I would never presume that I could fool you with my acting skills,” Yoo Sangah said easily.

Kim Dokja shook his head, but truth be told, he owed Yoo Sangah a lot. She worked hard at being his manager, despite having Uriel, now. From the moment they’d gotten their first job together, she’d been consistent and efficient, ensuring a steady stream of jobs despite her then-rookie status. 

Most days, he felt like he didn’t deserve her. Sometimes, he was scared to ask her if she regretted it. 

But Yoo Sangah turned her tawny eyes towards him, just then, and there was a familiar, mischievous glint concealed under courtesy. “Ah, that’s right, Dokja-ssi, I apologize for taking so long...”

“That’s not your fault. Parking was that bad?” 

“I had to stop to take a call.” 

“A call?” 

“Yes,” Yoo Sangah said evenly. “You’ve received a callback for Demon Spring.”

=

Walking into G-Pro’s meeting room, Kim Dokja reflected that Shin Yoosung might have seen the future. That, or she hadn’t told him everything she knew. 

The perceptive little girl greeted him enthusiastically as soon as he’d come in, dragging him over to a seat next to her. Her hair today was slightly curled, done up in two pigtails. 

“So you’re playing the little sister?”

“Yes,” Shin Yoosung beamed. “What will Ahjussi be playing?” 

“Kim Kyungmo,” he replied, still slightly shell-shocked he’d actually gotten the part. Usually, when a sponsor didn’t have a favorable impression, the actor was avoided at all costs.

Jung Heewon settled on his other side, followed by Lee Hyungsung. They wore matching sweaters that looked as though they might’ve gotten swapped in the wash. Jung Heewon’s sleeves were folded twice and Hyunsung’s strained heroically at the seams. He hadn’t seen the other man at the auditions- had he been casted directly? “Don’t tell me you’re playing the lead role?” Kim Dokja wondered. 

“Ah, no, of course not!” Lee Hyunsung waved his hands. “I will be playing as one of the hero’s followers.” 

“Then, who…” 

But as soon as the words left his mouth, Kim Dokja realized there really could only be one person who would take the leading role in a big drama co-produced by G-Pro. 

With the perfect timing only a protagonist could have, the door opened and Yoo Joonghyuk strode into the room. He was dressed plainly, a thin, unseasonable henley and jeans, but the whole room seemed to focus on him immediately. 

Behind him, a beautiful woman in her early forties walked in. She was wearing tinted shades rimmed in gold, her long white hair tied up into a ponytail. On the designer jacket she wore, ‘B.YOO’ was emblazoned in gold thread. 

She surveyed the room and smiled, flashing pearly teeth with sharp canines.

“Good, everyone’s here- then, shall we get started? I’m B.YOO, the producer and director of Demon Spring. I look forward to working with everyone.” 

She looked around the room as everyone introduced themselves and exchanged greetings. 

Not all directors were particularly sociable. In the industry, artistic tempers were fairly normal, after all. Kim Dokja couldn’t help but admire her vivacious personality, tempered by candid sincerity. 

B.YOO teased Yoo Joonghyuk over a scheduling conflict he’d stood her up for, congratulated Cheon Inho on his interview in a magazine, and seemed to have something to say about everyone on the cast. Finally, her sharp eyes alighted on Kim Dokja curiously as his turn came up. “You must be that ‘Kim Dokja’?” 

Kim Dokja was bewildered. “My name is Kim Dokja,” he affirmed cautiously. There weren’t a lot of people with a name like his. 

She grinned at him. “I like you.” 

“Pardon?” 

“Ah, that is, as an actor. You’re very interesting, aren’t you?” 

Kim Dokja couldn’t think of any reason why she was bringing this up now.

She laced her fingers and propped her chin on them, elbows on the table. “I heard you had a fascinating ‘Kyungmo’. I look forward to it.” 

Did the assistant director tell her? He hadn’t seemed to like the performance. By the way Cheon Inho was currently staring unpleasantly in his direction, it couldn’t have been a popular decision to sign him on. 

Shortly after the remaining cast introduced themselves, an assistant passed out copies of the full script- Kim Dokja had already read it. It was a fairly faithful adaptation of the source material. 

“I thought we’d do a reading so that everyone can get a feel for the characters. Joonghyuk-ssi, you can start from scene 41.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk ruffled through the pages, a long finger stopping at the correct page. “Tell me they’re lying,” His voice was low, simmering with unvoiced anger. 

Cheon Inho flinched, on the other side of B.YOO, but he gamely pushed forward. “Why ask me this?” he replied scornfully.

B.YOO frowned, but said nothing as the conversation between the protagonist and the antagonist, his once best friend, continued. 

It was a bit like watching a lone tree quiver in the force of a typhoon. Cheon Inho really wasn’t any worse than Min Jiwon. His experience shone through and his voice was clear and strong. However, Min Jiwoo’s role had been a general’s daughter. She had never been meant to equal the protagonist. 

Lee Jaesong, in contrast, was meant to be the protagonist’s equal- his dearest friend and worst enemy. It was only a first reading, but a pitiful Lee Jaesong would only inspire the audience’s ridicule, not their hate. 

But then, Cheon Inho would not be the first co-star destroyed by Yoo Joonghyuk’s momentum. 

Even with a subpar villain, Yoo Joonghyuk’s presence alone would attract viewership, an instant blockbuster was assured whenever his name was in the cast list.

Kim Dokja turned the page with the others and opened his mouth as his line came up. “Stop.” Like ice snapping, the word cut apart the squabble. “Lee Jaesong, do you know what you’re saying?” 

“What reason could he have to lie? Shizun , you know this.” Yoo Joonghyuk glanced up at him over his script. 

Kim Dokja ignored the provocation. “I would hear it from him. Speak.” 

Cheon Inho frowned. He wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t tell that his presence threatened to disappear. Unfortunately, he compensated for it with anger. “I have nothing to say to either of you!” 

“Not even to defend yourself?” Kim Dokja snuck a look at Cheon Inho, his unhurried voice brimming with disappointment and pity. 

Cheon Inho caught his look and seethed, his frustration seemed to reach a peak. “You called yourself my Shizun but you were just a hypocritical fool all along! You fear me because I am a demon-- then let me realize your fears!” 

“Stop him!” One of the other crew members shouted, on cue. “He’s going to escape!” 

“Stand back! He is my disciple!” Kyungmo roared back at them, nothing like the frosty Immortal moments ago. And then-- “Khgh!” Kim Dokja gasped roughly, as though he could feel the steel in his ribs. 

Cheon Inho laughed. “Then, I will go first!” 

“And- cut,” B.YOO made a chopping motion with her hand. “Thank you, everyone.” She made a few notes in her script. 

“That was a good first run. But there will definitely be a lot for everyone to refine. Joonghyuk-ssi, you were amazing, as always, G-Pro must have chosen this script with you in mind. I look forward to how you develop the character further. Inho-ssi, it was very powerful but I would like to hear more of Lee Jaesong’s feelings. After all, the core of this story is the conflict between him and Yang Jitae.” 

Cheon Inho’s expression darkened faintly, but he nodded. “I understand, director-nim.” 

B.YOO turned towards each of the members in turn. When she got to Kim Dokja, she simply beamed. “I’m happy you didn’t disappoint, Dokja-ssi. Truly worthy of having been recommended by Pildu-ssi.” 

Kim Dokja blinked. “I was?” 

“Yes, didn’t he tell you?” 

They weren’t exactly on speaking terms, were they? Kim Dokja started to wonder if maybe there had been a clerical error for the casting. Wasn’t there a candidate #61? 

“We don’t really have a good relationship, so it’s surprising.” 

B.YOO laughed brightly. “He said that if it’s ‘that bastard’, there definitely wouldn’t be any problems.” She smiled. “I hope Dokja-ssi continues to make me curious about his Kyungmo.” 

Kim Dokja murmured a vague agreement, thanking her. 

To her left, Cheon Inho’s face was perfectly neutral but his grip on the script was white-knuckled. 

Despite any misgivings, the rest of the reading went well and the meeting ended on a good note. B.YOO seemed happy with the progress and distributed some details to be forwarded to their agencies.

“As you all know, ‘Demon Spring’ is set to be one of the biggest dramas of the year. The Sponsors have really gone all out for this one and they look forward to seeing the best possible ‘Demon Spring’. We plan to shoot on location immediately. Please check the requirements and details in the file we will be sending.”

With a few words of encouragement, she ended the meeting quickly and everyone went their separate ways. Or, mostly everyone.

Kim Dokja looked up warily at the tall man blocking out the fluorescent light. “Can I help you, Joonghyuk-ssi?” 

At 184 centimeters, Yoo Joonghyuk topped six feet and had an impressive loom. This close, all Kim Dokja could see was a sculpted neck and the ridge of his collarbones rising above the black v from two opened buttons, forcing him to crane his neck back to meet a stormy glare. A subtle whiff of bergamot and pepper clung to his skin, likely his aftershave. 

For several long moments, Yoo Joonghyuk seemed to regard him, stewing in silence. 

Struck by deja vu, Kim Dokja shifted back uneasily, shoulderblades coming up flat against the wall. 

He had been waiting for the others to finish up in the bathroom, leaning against the wall with his phone out, absently loading some chapters to read, but now the small alcove he’d found seemed narrow and cramped. The width of Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulders seemed to fill the space.

He looked towards the rest of the corridor, pondering how rude it might be to simply walk away.

As though sensing the thought, Yoo Joonghyuk pinned a hand against the wall next to him, blocking his escape route. Bastard. 

“Why did you audition for Kyungmo?” Yoo Joonghyuk said, finally, deigning to speak.

Kim Dokja lifted his gaze and frowned. “There was an open audition. Nebula wasn’t excluded.” Was he not supposed to? He didn’t think they’d parted on such terrible terms, despite the awkwardness. He briefly contemplated what would happen if Yoo Joonghyuk asked to remove him from the cast list. 

But Yoo Joonghyuk looked vaguely upset, under the ire. Kim Dokja couldn’t for the life of him fathom why. 

More importantly, shouldn’t he be getting ferried to his next job, right about now?

Speak of the devil… Bi-hyung was already bustling up. “There you are. The company just confirmed the driver has arrived. Hm? Ah, excuse me, Dokja-ssi.” Bi-hyung darted between them, perhaps wondering if his star actor was about to start a fight. 

“No, no, take him.” Kim Dokja smiled blithely. He tried to push Yoo Joonghyuk towards his manager but the man was too heavy, so he settled for patting him on his solid shoulder, once. At any rate, this bastard was younger than him. 

“We weren’t talking about anything important.” 

No matter how awkward it might be, it wasn’t like he could just back out now, when the contract was signed and Shin Yoosung had made him promise. If Yoo Joonghyuk thought he needed to warn him off, Kim Dokja was perfectly fine avoiding him as much as possible on set. It wasn’t as though he had that many scenes with the aged-up Yang Jitae. 

“Don’t worry, Joonghyuk-nim. You won’t even notice I’m there when we’re not filming,” he promised cheerily.

Yoo Joonghyuk glowered at him, then turned, clearly done. “We’ll continue this next week.” 

Next week was when filming started for Demon Spring, but not all of the cast would be starting at the same time. Kim Dokja wondered if Yoo Joonghyuk was aware.

Probably not. But it wasn’t important to tell him. 

Barely a minute after Yoo Joonghyuk had been ushered away, Cheon Inho walked down the corridor, tension in the line of his neck. A scowl pulled at his neat, well-groomed face and his expensive leather shoes squeaked against the vinyl floor. 

He spotted Kim Dokja and veered towards him, looking intent. 

“Inho-ssi,” Kim Dojka said neutrally. It had been a while since he’d participated in such a big production, but surely that didn’t mean both of the leads had to come see him? 

“I don’t know what kind of strings you pulled, but I hope that Dokja-ssi is more aware of himself, in the future.” 

It seemed that today’s chapter would have to wait again. Kim Dokja locked his phone reluctantly and tapped it gently against his thigh. “I’m always perfectly aware of my role, Inho-ssi.” 

Cheon Inho seemed unconvinced. “Then there’s no need to put on a display like before, is there?” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kim Dokja refused. 

“Kyungmo is just a background character- you shouldn’t be competing with the leads. In the first place, this drama is just big budget fan service- the audience wants to see how cool the leads are, not the minor characters.” 

Ah, so it was like that. 

Kim Dokja smiled gently. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Inho-ssi. Most of them will be watching Yoo Joonghyuk. Even ‘Lee Jaesong’ is only a villain.” 

Certainly, Lee Jaesong was complex and domineering, the sort of character who you couldn’t help but be awed by and sympathize with. It wasn’t a stretch to say under different circumstances, he would’ve been a deuteragonist. But Cheon Inho’s Lee Jaesong was simply a villain. 

Cheon Inho tsked. “You--” 

“Dokja-ssi, sorry for the wait.” Lee Hyunsung strode over, his tall bulk reassuring. “Ah, Inho-ssi, hello.” 

Cheon Inho frowned, but then he smoothed his expression and smiled politely. “Hello, Hyunsung-ssi.” He shot Kim Dokja one more glance before excusing himself. “I just stopped for a bit of a chat, but it looks like my agent is calling. I’ll see you both on set.” 

Lee Hyunsung nodded along, a bit confused, but willing to let it go. 

“Heh,” Kim Dokja snorted. 

“Dokja-ssi?” 

“Nothing.” Kim Dokja shook his head. “It’s just been a while since I had this feeling, that’s all.” 

“...Did he say something unpleasant to you?” Lee Hyunsung frowned, looking as though he might go follow Cheon Inho to give him a piece of his mind. 

Kim Dokja hummed and pulled him back by his arm. “It’s fine. He’s all talk.” Trying to go up against Yoo Joonghyuk with only this much conviction… they could just wait for him to get chewed up on his own. 

After all, the true monster on this set was still Yoo Joonghyuk. 

Whether Kim Dokja was there or not, that was a battle Cheon Inho couldn’t win. Not to mention the rest of this star-studded cast- perhaps only a handful of people were as unknown as ‘Kim Dokja’. Wanting to suppress everyone with only this much skill was laughable. 

“I don’t really get it, Dokja-ssi,” Lee Hyunsung said apologetically, “but you’ll tell me if you need my help, right?” 

“Of course,” Kim Dokja soothed. He brought his phone up again and leaned a shoulder against Lee Hyunsung’s warm side. “I’ll be counting on you.”

Lee Hyunsung beamed, as though he’d been praised. 

Kim Dokja relaxed, seeing it. Lee Hyunsung might never break out from his action star do-gooder roles but that was fine, too. He had an innately soothing quality that was rare in a man as muscled as he was. 

Lee Hyunsung himself certainly didn’t seem to mind. What he’d needed was a place to be himself. To be needed for what he was. 

Thinking about how they met, Kim Dokja smiled back. “You’ve gotten really strong, Hyunsung-ssi.” 

Lee Hyunsung ducked his head bashfully, “it would be nice if Dokja-ssi relied on me more, too.” 

Kim Dokja laughed. “If it’s Hyunsung-ssi, I’d feel very safe, no matter where it was.”

Chapter Text

The onsite filming location turned out to be at a relatively remote mountain villa settled on top of a rambling forest. The whole place had been rented out, encompassing a set of traditionally-styled buildings with slate-green roofs, a handful of hanoks dotting the garden, and the surrounding sweeping natural vista. Inside the buildings, light cherrywood panels covered modern insulation and the paper doors and carved decor evoked the feeling of an onsen. There was even a natural hot spring, carved from the mountain like a rough-hewn jewel, its water milky and roiling against wet, dark stone. 

Kim Dokja marveled at the extravagance, but he supposed they were all just piggybacking on Yoo Joonghyuk’s treatment. 

The superstar reportedly had a whole suite to himself while the rest of the cast doubled up in the various guestrooms. Shin Yoosung looked a little heartbroken when she found out the men had rooms in the leftmost wing, an entirely different building from the women’s rooms. She didn’t kick up a fuss, but she did manage to extract a promise to at least have breakfast together while they were filming. 

Splitting off from the others, Kim Dokja picked a corner room with Lee Hyunsung. They had just finished unpacking when the taller man had been called away, leaving Kim Dokja to wander around the amenities by himself. 

It didn’t take him long to find that the hot spring was central to the villa, surrounded by several buildings connected by corridors and communal areas for food and recreation. The outer buildings housed the guest rooms and residences for live-in staff, currently empty.

Kim Dokja, predictably enough, had gotten lost in the span of two minutes. He now faced a long, empty corridor that looked much like the others except this one was dim, lit only by the fading sunlight through the windows. The wooden lanterns were dark and the red dusk threw long shadows behind them. 

The eerie atmosphere reminded him of a horror movie set, as though a bloody silhouette could jump out at any moment… 

Instead, a hand grabbed his shoulder. 

“Ah!” Heart in his throat, Kim Dokja swung his fist out reflexively, shoulders curling up immediately afterwards. 

“What are you doing here?” Yoo Joonghyuk scowled down at him. A sturdy arm blocked his strike before it could even reach the man’s broad chest. 

“Yoo Joonghyuk?” Kim Dokja blinked as his pulse settled. What would the man be doing in an empty corridor like this?  “Does this hallway lead to your suite?” 

Yoo Joonghyuk gave him a strange look. “No. This leads to the kitchens.”

Why was he in the kitchen? Kim Dokja bit back the question. “I see, would you know how to get back to the guest rooms?” 

“You’re going to be late.” 

“I’m what?”

Yoo Joonghyuk raised his phone, showing him a message. “The director called everyone for a general assembly before dinner. They should have called everyone who was in their rooms a while ago.” 

But only Lee Hyunsung had been called. 

Kim Dokja frowned. 

“I see, thank you for informing me, I shouldn’t have wandered off.” He paused. “Which way should I go for the assembly?” 

Yoo Joonghyuk was silent for a moment. “...Come with me.” 

Kim Dokja fell into step cautiously. While Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t seem particularly annoyed at the moment, the incident from last week was still fresh in his mind. Attention from someone too high up tended to turn complicated. 

Thankfully, Yoo Joonghyuk seemed to have forgotten about whatever had irritated him last time. He half-suspected Bi-hyung had slipped in a reminder about proper professional behavior after seeing his top talent menace an unsuspecting passerby. 

Today’s Yoo Joonghyuk was surly but calm, as though he’d reached an inner balance long sought by buddhist monks. The crease between his brows had eased, drawing attention to the perfect expanse of smooth forehead. It was a shame the man couldn’t seem to make a proper smile. 

He trained his gaze back on the ground, absently noting how far one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s strides went compared to his own, filing the cadence for some future role. Something on the edge of his vision caught his eye, flashing past. Yoo Joonghyuk’s left wrist had something green clinging onto it. Unconsciously, Kim Dokja reached out to brush it away. 

Yoo Joonghyuk startled before they could touch, stopping to look at him with another frown. 

“Sorry,” Kim Dokja raised his hands in appeasement. “I just saw something on your cuff.” 

“...I see.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk lifted his sleeve and found the errant piece of green onion, nipping the cloth between his teeth to get it off. 

“...Is that hygienic?” 

Yoo Joonghyuk glared at him. “I chopped it myself. I know where it’s been.” 

“You… you what?” Kim Dokja blinked, wondering if he’d heard it wrong, but Yoo Joonghyuk had started walking again. 

“I make my own meals.”

Was that supposed to be common knowledge? Kim Dokja wondered. He’d never paid attention to any interviews Yoo Joonghyuk was in. It seemed superfluous. 

But now he was a bit curious. “What did you make?” 

“Dumplings.” 

“...From a package?”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s scrunched eyebrows looked offended. “From scratch.” 

“I’m surprised you have time…” It couldn’t be easy, juggling all his projects, training shirtless in public, and cooking for himself. He had to cut corners somewhere, right? 

“I make time. It’s just discipline.” 

‘Discipline’ fitted Yoo Joonghyuk’s profile more than ‘home cook’, at least. 

Thinking about it, it wasn’t like Yoo Joonghyuk could just eat the same fatty takeout that everyone else was going to be having. He likely had a strict diet to keep his body so fit. Kim Dokja’s eyes wandered slightly over the man’s biceps, stretching the fabric of his thin turtleneck. He couldn’t really argue with the results. 

Unfortunately, he was fairly sure no amount of diet would work the same wonders on his own physique.

“Ah, that’s right, I heard that Minyoung-nim had a particular recipe for dumplings, is it the same one?” It was a family recipe, he’d heard, dating back to when her ancestors had lived in China.

“Similar,” Yoo Joonghyuk said briefly. “It’s been tweaked.”

“How accomplished,” he commented lightly. It was the same polite phrase he might’ve used to make small talk with anyone else. “As expected from the country’s top male lead.” 

But anyone else wasn’t Yoo Joonghyuk. 

“Have you never been?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked, abruptly.” The lead,” he clarified, shortly after.

“...Once or twice.” Land of Gold, most recently, though his name was unlisted. And once, a very long time ago. 

“Why did you stop?” 

It was this question, in the end. It wasn’t the first time he’d been asked, though he hadn’t thought Yoo Joonghyuk would be the type. Still, this much was likely fine… “Are you looking down on supporting roles?”

Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t refute it. His dark eyes rested on Kim Dokja, before flicking away. “You’re too good for them.” 

He hadn’t thought Yoo Joonghyuk would give empty flattery. Did he want an answer that much? 

Kim Dokja hummed softly. “Even if they’re small, they’re stories that deserve to be cherished. Everyone loves the heroes, but without the supporting cast, the hero becomes a monster of the plot- nothing but a means to an end.”

Kim Dokja smiled, the curve a little sharp. “It’s fine if you don’t understand.” To many others, it was useless to give supporting roles these kind of lofty ideals. It likely sounded like false comfort in a world that measured others in comparison.

But contrary to his expectation, Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes were wide. 

“You…” He paused. It was the first time Kim Dokja had ever seen the man look so hesitant. 

“Ah, don’t misunderstand,” Kim Dokja reassured. “The hero’s job is also very important. They must prove they are worthy to manifest the dream. It’s like I said: you are well-suited to it.” 

“Do you hate the main character so much?”

Kim Dokja choked a little. “No? It’s because I like them. I want to see them at their best.” 

“And you can’t make it happen?”

Kim Dokja quieted. Strangers, particularly ones in the same industry, didn’t often ask that one. After all, one less rival in a sea of struggling stars was a boon. 

“I can’t,” he said, finally. He’d been living a different fate since he was fifteen. 

Yoo Joonghyuk grabbed his arm, a handspan from his elbow, threatening to bruise. “Do you really think that?” 

Kim Dokja blinked. He had an idea that Yoo Joonghyuk was a fairly physical person, but the strength in his grip still shocked him, like static. “Whether I do or I don’t, it’s nothing to you,” he said coolly. After all, he and Yoo Joonghyuk were acquaintances at most. 

Yoo Joonghyuk scowled, but he didn’t make any other sudden movements. His earlier calm had fled entirely, leaving a spirited bullheadedness, unresigned. 

Kim Dokja gave him his best business smile, tilting his head like Shin Yoosung. “Shouldn’t we be getting to where the director is? She’ll be wondering where her protagonist went.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk considered him, then turned, visibly unclenching his fist. “You’re a fool.”

Kim Dokja dipped his head slightly. “Your majesty is right. The best place for a fool is in the shadow of the throne.” 

Giving him one last searing and undecipherable look, Yoo Joonghyuk turned into a different corridor. 

They emerged into a more familiar-looking hallway. Kim Dokja noted a vase he thought he’d seen before. 

“It’s here.” Yoo Joonghyuk opened the door.

“Ah, there he is.” B.YOO smiled from where she was perched on the arm of an armchair, her long hair pinned up and  a sheaf of papers in one hand. “Good, you brought Dokja-ssi with you, too. I was just about to have him called.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk sat down in one of the chairs as Kim Dokja quickly walked towards Lee Hyunsung. Jung Heewon was with him, holding Shin Yoosung’s hand. The little girl’s hair was done up in a simple half-up braid, the plait tied off with a pink, strawberry patterned ribbon. Jung Heewon’s hair had a similar style, with a matching ribbon. It was cute. They looked like a little family. 

Kim Dokja slotted himself in an empty space to their side and waited for the director to start.

“As you know, we’ll start to film more group scenes starting tomorrow, so I thought we’d go over some of the ground rules for everyone who just arrived.” 

B.YOO cleared her throat.“First, please do not share any sensitive information, including what we’re filming or any selfies you take, especially in costume. This is included in your NDA in the contract, so I don’t want anyone saying they forgot! Second, anyone under eighteen has a curfew at 10 PM, the rest of you adults should be getting enough sleep, so I do recommend you get to bed by midnight, at least. If you show up tired for the shoot, that’s on you. Third, don’t wander around outside by yourself- even if it’s a villa, we’re still on a mountain. If you go outside, make sure to let someone know and carry the emergency kit in your rooms with you. The cliffs are steep, so try not to wander near them. We haven’t had any accidents yet and I’d like to keep it that way.” 

She ran down a few other rules and general information, before going over the schedule for the week, some changes to the expected call times and locations to report to. 

It would really have been difficult if he’d missed this… It seemed the digital copy of the schedule they’d sent a week ago had undergone a lot of changes. The script seemed to have been updated, as well. 

“Hm?”

“What is it, Ahjussi?” Shin Yoosung looked up at him curiously. 

“Nothing, I just realized that it seems like a lot of Lee Jaesong’s scenes got pushed back.” 

“Oh?” Jung Heewon leaned in, bringing a waft of fruity shampoo. “I guess you’re right. I wonder what happened?” 

“Maybe Cheon Inho-ssi had some conflicts?” Lee Hyunsung suggested. 

“Yeah…”

They kept their voices low, but Kim Dokja still saw Cheon Inho himself looking their way as B.YOO finished up.

Slightly embarrassed, he put his phone away. 

“...Alright, everyone, time for dinner!” B.YOO closed out, to cheers from everyone else. 

Kim Dokja followed the crowd towards the dining hall, where a simple service for three or four dishes was set up on a long table. 

He distributed some plates for the others as Lee Hyunsung went to secure some seats. He was about to grab a handful of cutlery when his hand bumped up against someone else’s. 

“Oh, excuse me--” 

“Ah, sorry, Ahjussi--” A teenaged boy apologised quickly, then he looked up and paled, like he’d seen a ghost. “I’m really sorry!”

He hurriedly walked to the other side of the table. 

“...Do I look that scary?” Kim Dokja asked doubtfully. 

“Hmm, maybe a little bit around the ears?” Jung Heewon pondered. 

Kim Dokja pointedly handed Shin Yoosung her cutlery first. 

“So why did you come in with Yoo Joonghyuk?” Jung Heewon asked when they sat down with their food. 

“We bumped into eachother outside,” Kim Dokja glossed over the details and took a bite of japchae. The fragrant sesame oil and chewy noodles were done just right, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit unsatisfied. He hadn’t seen any dumplings at the table, but doubtless it would be a bit much to ask for Yoo Joonghyuk to cook for everyone. 

“Hmm, I see. Hyunsung texted you, too, you know, when B.YOO showed up. You’re lucky the bigshot wasn’t here yet or she might have started without you.” 

“I only found out why we were called when the director said we’d be going over the schedule,” Lee Hyunsung said apologetically. He had a mountain of rice and beef on his plate, which he was steadily demolishing with a spoon. 

“It’s fine, it worked out in the end,” Kim Dokja soothed. His eyes drifted over to a different table across the room, where Cheong Inho seemed to be holding court. 

“More importantly, I found a gym a little ways past the recreation halls, have you seen it?” 

“There is?” 

“Nice!” Jung Heewon grinned. “I was worried I should’ve brought more equipment if there wasn’t. I don’t suppose it’d be good to train outside with it getting so cold...” 

“No, there’s really no need to go that far…” 

“Ahjussi, want some of my tteokboki?” Shin Yoosong scooped some out for him to try.

Kim Dokja obligingly accepted a piece of sauce-covered rice cake and transferred some noodles and beef into a plate for her. “Here, you shouldn’t eat just that.” 

Shin Yoosung obediently took a bit of beef between her chopsticks.

Jung Heewon laughed. “You two look just like a father and child, as always.” 

“Mm, I noticed you two matched your hair today. It’s very cute.” 

“Heewon-unni did it for me- she can do yours, too, if you’d like!” 

“...I’ll pass, it wouldn’t look good on me.” 

“How would you know if you don’t give it a try?”

“A thorough imagination.” 

The conversation flowed smoothly enough as they ate that Kim Dokja didn’t realize until later that two of the production’s most prominent members were missing. Yoo Joonghyuk and B.YOO hadn’t been in the dining hall until dinner hour ended.

Chapter Text

“Again,” Yoo Joonghyuk said briefly. Yang Jitae’s sword was thrust into the ground before him, one hand cupped over the other on its pommel. The ominous look he leveled at his costar wouldn’t have been out of place on a drill sergeant.

Cheon Inho was less than impressed, a tic on his cheek. He turned towards B.YOO and smiled. “Joonghyuk-ssi’s perfectionism is well known. However, director-nim, I thought the scene flowed well. Is there anything unsatisfactory?” 

B.YOO hummed, considering. “Let’s take a five minute break.” It was the fifth break in the past 2 hours alone. 

“Are we going to be okay…?” Shin Yoosung was settled in Kim Dokja’s lap, adorable in a set of light pink robes with bright golden yellow accents. Her fine hair was done up with flowers and she had a hand curled into the lapel of Kim Dokja’s own robe as she played a game on her phone. 

“It’s running a bit late…” Kim Dokja admitted. 

Both he and Yoosung were supposed to have had their scenes by now, but it seemed like the leads and the director couldn’t agree on anything. Even though he’d heard incredible things about the budget, it was hard to imagine that this had been going on for the past week. Surely they’d filmed something . 

If the past couple of hours had been any indication, however, their prospects seemed bleak.

Most of the staff were wrapped in thick layers, but the weather was a bit chilly to have a little girl out for so long. Kim Dokja sighed and tucked the white fur cape a little more firmly around Shin Yoosung, hugging her. 

If this lasted any longer he’d ask the director if they could have Yoosung wait back in the villa. 

“Ahjussi,” Shin Yoosung reached up and put her warm little hand on his face. “Your cheeks are getting cold.”

“I’m fine,” Kim Dokja reassured. “They put a lot of makeup on.” 

As Kim Kyungmo, he’d been fitted with a long dark wig and three layers of powder to make his complexion even paler, as white as frost. A coin of silver hung between his brows and a pin with a silver filigree crescent moon secured a low, braided half-updo. 

His robes were the luminous white of a bright, faraway moon, draped in several layers cascading around him: from the stiff-collared inner garment fastened by a silver pankou to the silver-embroidered overrobe, cinched together with an argent belt at the waist. 

The only spot of color was the thick viridian cord which held his white jade flute, wrapping around the end and ending in an incongruous, roughly woven tassel. The knot securing the flute was a little loose and he’d been forced to wrap the end haphazardly to secure it. 

The little girl frowned, still fretting. “It’s no good. They should just call us when they’re done.” 

Certainly, it would be better, but there was still a certain hierarchy to things. As minor characters, they had no choice but to wait.

“I’ll ask B.YOO-nim in a while if you can go back. Just be a little more patient, for now.” 

“You can’t get a cold,” she said sternly. 

“Right, of course, I can’t get a cold,” he agreed. 

Over to the side of the set, it looked like the director and Cheon Inho were currently discussing something. Or perhaps she was soothing the actor’s wounded pride. 

The perpetrator of the current situation was standing off to the other side, staring stoically at the picturesque forest landscape. If he glared any harder, a poor tree was going to catch on fire. Kim Dokja had to admit, however, that the scene suited him. Or, more precisely, it suited Yang Jitae. 

Yang Jitae was a hot-blooded hero more inclined towards the martial arts than his master and his clothing reflected the fact. A black, sleeveless leather vest framed the column of his neck down to his sternum, the edges dipped in gold and the shoulders capped in a burnished bronze. Gold-embroidered forest green robes with fitted sleeves went under that, with pants of a similar color slipped into calf-high boots. 

His chartreuse overrobe, verging on gold, was half-tucked into a belt with a buckle fashioned into the head of a wolf.  His forearms were bound in black leather all the way to his palms and his long, wavy dark hair had been gathered into a high ponytail with a pale jade pin, giving him a heroic air. 

It was so flashy that the fact that Yoo Joonghyuk could pull it off was honestly impressive in itself.  But then, perhaps this much was to be expected from the protagonist of a xianxia novel. Yoo Joonghyuk’s figure seemed to paint a moment from a bygone era of another world, a warrior about to embark on an epic journey.

Unfortunately, the warrior seemed to be making that journey alone. 

Cheon Inho hadn’t even glanced in that direction since the break had started. The friction couldn’t be more obvious.

Eventually, they managed to film a few scenes and Shin Yoosung had her turn, running into Yoo Joonghyuk’s arms and getting spun around. She laughed and pranced around the forest floor, playing with him, like a little fairy. But to Yang Jitae, this was a dream, a memory from a distant past. 

“Was it okay?” Shin Yoosung asked breathlessly when she came back. 

“Yes, it was great.” He patted her gently on the head, careful not to muss her hair. Shin Yoosung’s acting, like Gilyoung’s, was still embryonic. Most often they were only required to be cute, but there were hints of a future for them beyond that.

“Since you’re done, get an ahjumma to take you back to the villa,” he reminded her.

For the next scene, Kim Dokja would be acting with Yoo Joonghyuk. 

He walked up to the nearby lake and waited for the cameras to be repositioned. 

Yoo Joonghyuk came to stand a little away from him, looking displeased. 

“Can you look a little less murderous to see me?” Kim Dokja wondered.

“It’s unsuitable.” Rude. He didn’t think he looked that terrible in this getup. Maybe it was how the eyeliner had changed the shape of his eyes into something elegant and narrow. 

“Even if you don’t want to, you still have to call me ‘shizun’.” 

That netted Kim Dokja a very satisfying glower.

He treated the man to his most saccharine smile, in response.

He’d timed it just right, too, as the assistant director yelled “first position!”, forcing Yoo Joonghyuk to retreat a little further out of the camera frame.

The lake was calm and pristine, the wind rippling the surface at its unfrozen heart. The beginnings of frost had started to creep up the branches and leaves, crowning them in white. 

Kim Kyungmo stood at the edge of the lake, playing soundlessly on the flute. His thin, pale lips pressed neatly to the mouthpiece and his fingers danced along the keys. His upright posture and austere colors complemented the bleak landscape, as though he were a fey spirit, grown from the frigid winter. 

Yang Jitae walked up to him and knelt, cupping his fist as he waited for his master to address him. 

Kim Kyungmo turned his head, the wind lifting his long hair like a ribbon. “You’ve returned. Where is your shidi?”

Yang Jitae’s face twisted in anger and grief, his shoulders trembling. For a moment, Kim Dokja wondered if he’d change the line, but apart from a flash of his eyes that the camera angle could not capture, Yoo Joonghyuk delivered it perfectly. “Shizun, I have no shidi.” 

Kim Kyungmo’s brow wrinkled faintly and the hand holding the flute dropped at his side as he fully faced his disciple. “What are you saying?” 

“Lee Jaesong is a demon.” Yang Jitae stared up at Kim Kyungmo, letting him read the betrayal in his eyes. 

Kim Kyungmo’s grip on his flute tightened, his knuckles stark. Yang Jitae would not pull such a cruel joke. His face was as still as the lake behind them, but his eyes were dark with pain. 

Still, he reached out towards his grief-stricken disciple. His cool fingers lay against his creased temple, the back of his hand brushing against tearless cheeks, lighter than a butterfly’s touch; like a shaft of moonlight. “Tell me what happened.” 

“Cut!” B.YOO called the end of the scene.

Kim Dokja waited a moment, then carefully tucked the flute back into his costume. Seeing Yoo Joonghyuk still kneeling at his feet, he couldn’t help the impulse to needle him a bit. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Yoo Joonghyuk stood up and tightened the ties on his wristgloves, sending him a withering look. “Did you think I couldn’t deliver such a simple line?”

Kim Dokja waved a hand. “Naturally, you should be the best.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze seemed complicated as he looked at him, but he didn’t say anything else, pointing towards Kim Kyungmo’s flute, instead. “You’ve tied it wrong. It’ll fall out.” 

Kim Dokja hesitated. He’d never been particularly dextrous and the knot was a bit complex. “It’s fine- I’ll have someone fix it, later. I won’t need it for the next scene.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk clicked his tongue once, then reached out to roughly pluck the flute from his waist, unwrapping the cord and retying the knot properly. His movements were deft and practiced. Now that he thought about it, although Yoo Joonghyuk’s hands were large, they were fine-boned, elegant and precise.

“...Amazing,” Kim Dokja praised, not insincerely. “Did you get that much into character?” In the novel, the cord had been a gift from Yang Jitae. He hadn’t thought Yoo Joonghyuk would have remembered. 

Yoo Joonghyuk’s movements halted, freezing mid-knot. 

“...Joonghyuk-ssi?” 

“...It’s not difficult.” Downcast eyes stared at the braided cord in his hand as he tested the knot. Seeing that it held, he dropped the cord unceremoniously, allowing the flute to swing back towards Kim Dokja’s hip. 

“Thanks,” Kim Dokja ventured, catching the end in his palm. 

“It was slovenly.” Yoo Joonghyuk said curtly, as though the very sight had offended him, in particular, and stalked off-set. For the protagonist, it had been his last scene for the day and the sun was already sinking. 

The next scene, however, would feature Kim Kyungmo with the younger versions of the two leads and their fellow disciples.

Kim Dokja waited for the other actors to assemble, including the teenager from the other night. 

The boy still looked anxious, but his friends seemed to be cheering him on, so he walked forward and stiffly nodded to himself, seeming to forget his greetings. 

“Are you nervous?” Kim Dokja asked him, not unkindly, but the sound startled the newbie, making him slip on the half-frozen ground. 

“I’m fine!” Humiliation painted a faint flush on his cheeks as he hastened to get up. Unfortunately, he’d landed in a terrible spot, muddy slush streaked a corner of his white robes, along with a few leaves. 

Kim Dokja’s brows furrowed slightly, but seeing how uncomfortable he looked, he didn’t comment any further, looking out instead at where they were repositioning one of the cameras. “There’s still a little time. It’ll be fine to calm yourself, first.” 

One of the costumers noticed the trouble, soon enough. “Aigoo, Sungmo! You got your clothes dirty! Go get changed with one of the spares.” 

The boy nodded and quickly ran off. 

Kim Dokja didn’t think much of the incident. The scene eventually started once everyone was in place and he looked out impassively at the assembled teenagers. It was a peek into Yang Jitae’s past, an orphaned child grown into a lively youth. 

Under the widespread boughs of a zelkova tree, each boy’s head was currently bowed over a scroll of scripture, reading them out slowly. The two young actors sat at the back of the group, their shoulders touching as they pretended to push around a ball of leaves using spiritual energy. 

Yang Jitae tried to show off by bouncing the little ball around their classmates, barely brushing past the hem of Kim Kyungmo’s robes. Both teenagers froze in horror. Kim Kyungmo paused, right on cue. 

“Jitae,” Kim Kyungmo called out calmly. “Since you have the energy to spare, go run twenty laps around the mountain.” 

“Twenty?!” the young Yang Jitae yelped, more in principle than any real shock. 

Lee Jaesong hurriedly covered his friend’s mouth. “Yes, shizun, we’ll both go,” he murmured obediently, taking on the punishment with his friend despite not getting caught. 

Kim Kyungmo nodded once, but his gaze thawed slightly.

One of the boys who’d had their reading disrupted opened his mouth in annoyance. “Jitae, if you spent your time…” he paled as the pause stretched a moment too long, clearly having forgotten his lines. 

Kim Kyungmo frowned as he swept over, freezing the student in place. “Yoongsoo, would you like to join them?” 

“N-no, shishu,” he said weakly, bowing his head. 

The actors for young Yang Jitae and Lee Jaesong didn’t lack wit. Lee Jaesong knocked a shoulder into Yang Jitae’s and they bowed quickly, as though not daring to test their shizun’s temper. Without further delay, they made their exit, completing the scene. 

“Cut! Mm,” B.YOO nodded her head. “I don’t think it’s bad, we can use it.” 

Kim Dokja breathed out slowly. It had been a bit abrupt, but he was glad the director agreed. 

“I could’ve done it,” the actor playing Yoongsoo looked mullish. As an extra, his lines were already limited and not being able to deliver them all twisted his face with regret.  

Unfortunately, the production was already severely behind schedule. Otherwise, it was likely that B.YOO would have allowed a retake. 

“There are still more scenes,” Kim Dokja tried to soothe. He reached for his pocket for a sweet, only to realize that this costume didn’t have any, leaving him empty-handed. 

“Stop pretending you care! You’re just trying to squeeze everyone else out!” 

Kim Dokja blinked, stunned. 

But after the outburst, the young actor immediately left.

The others didn’t dare meet his eyes, quickly shuffling away, leaving him standing in the middle of the set. 

“Ahjussi,” Shin Yoosung called out, coming over now that the scene was done. “Let’s go back together?” 

She hadn’t heard anything, then. He let his shoulders drop a little lower, his posture easy.

“You didn’t have to wait. Didn’t I say to let the ahjumma take you?” 

Shin Yoosung nodded. “But I want to go back with you.”

Heart pricked, Kim Dokja smiled and took her offered hand.  “...Alright, then let’s go back.” 

=

“Wow, Dokja-ssi, I hear you’re really strict,” Jung Heewon told him, in lieu of a greeting. She walked across the floorboards in Kim Dokja and Lee Hyunsung’s shared room, having sprung by for a visit. 

“I am?” Kim Dokja blinked sleepily, not bothering to move from where he currently had his head pillowed against Lee Hyunsung’s firm thigh. He’d dozed off again while reading. 

“So strict that you make all the newbies cry,” Jung Heewon nodded. “You pushed some boy down into the mud and made him change his clothes. Then you stole a newbie’s solo line! Despicable!” 

The words made sense but they seemed jumbled around. “I don’t remember that?” 

“I just heard it, on the way here.” Jung Heewon’s brows were furrowed, proving that she wasn’t taking the matter quite as lightly as her tone suggested. 

“That doesn’t sound like Dokja-ssi,” Hyunsung agreed, setting down the hand weight he’d been using. “Did they mean his character?”

“Maybe,” Heewon allowed. “But it’s weird. People don’t usually notice you this much…” 

“Thanks, I think.” 

“Don’t you think it’s strange?” 

“A little, but it’s not like I can stop people from talking…” 

“You can, if you punch them,” Jung Heewon said cheerfully. 

“Violence is a last resort.” 

“Should I talk to them?” Lee Hyunsung wondered. “Who was it?”

“A couple of the girls from the smaller agencies: Chanmi and Aeri?”  

Neither of the names were familiar, but it wasn’t unexpected that Jung Heewon knew. 

“It’s a bit weird, though.” 

Kim Dokja looked up at her. “What makes you say that?”

Jung Heewon pursed her lips and blew at an errant forelock. “Well,I’m friendly with most of the girls and it’s not like they have a great opinion of Cheon Inho or his little band of frat brothers, either. You’d think they’d have a little more sense than to buy the crap they’re selling.” 

“It might not matter. To them, it’s just gossip.” He sat up, brushing his fringe out of his eyes. 

“That’s not fair to Dokja-ssi,” Lee Hyunsung protested. 

Kim Dokja patted his shoulder and changed the subject. “Since you came here, shouldn’t we be going for dinner? Where’s Yoosung-ah?” 

“She said she’d meet us there, I think she was in the middle of a game with Gilyoung...” 

=

The dining area was full by the time they arrived, but Lee Hyunsung managed to snag a table from a group that had eaten early, waving them over. 

Kim Dokja wasn’t normally picky, but this table… 

“...They’re talking a lot, huh…” Jung Heewon frowned, folding her arms. 

The table was coincidentally surrounded by people from other agencies, most of whom seemed to be darting glances their way and whispering. Kim Dokja could vaguely hear snippets about ‘bullying newbies’. 

“It has to be Inho,” Jung Heewon muttered darkly. “That weaselly bastard.” 

“...You seem unnecessarily invested.” 

“You’re just not invested enough ,” Jung Heewon said righteously.

“But it doesn’t make any sense- Dokja-ssi helps new people.” Lee Hyunsung looked wronged on Kim Dokja’s behalf. 

“It makes sense to them because they don’t know me,” Kim Dokja corrected. “It’ll blow over once they notice I’m not bullying them.” 

“But still!” 

As if on cue, a couple of the crew members glanced over at their table nervously as they went past. 

Kim Dokja calmly broke a mantou apart and ate half. “I’m really not that interesting. After they get over the initial shock, they’ll forget all about it.” 

“If you say so, Dokja-ssi,” Lee Hyunsung said. “For now, is it alright if I walk you to the set?” 

“That’ll just make me look more intimidating…”

“Just until you get there,” his friend insisted. 

“And if he’s busy, there’s still me,” Jung Heewon reminded. 

“...Thanks, but it’s really not as bad as you guys think…” Kim Dokja shook his head. 

“Then there’s nothing wrong with hanging out with friends, right?” Jung Heewon slung an arm around him companionably.

It was no surprise that Jung Heewon’s normal body temperature ran high, but her grin, just then, seemed warmer still, seeping into his bones like coffee, piping hot and bracing. 

“Can I stop you?” Kim Dokja laughed.  

“You can’t,” Jung Heewon said gravely. “So just get used to it!” 

It was tempting. Kim Dokja would give her that. 

=

Despite their best intentions, further delays in the filming forced the production team to push back other scenes and both Lee Hyunsung and Jung Heewon wound up having to take a trip back to the city to accommodate the new schedule with their ongoing projects. 

Shin Yoosung had also gone back to school, with most of her scenes done, leaving Kim Dokja to eat by himself.

Propping up his phone against his thermos as he spooned up some soup was slightly nostalgic, almost like he’d gone back to school, sitting on a campus bench with a cup of instant noodles and counting days like grains of sand. He opened the table of contents for one of Han Sooyoung’s older novels and swiped a chapter to read.

Quickly engrossed in the text, he almost didn’t notice when the door to the communal area opened. 

“What are you doing here?” Yoo Joonghyuk frowned. He had gym clothes on, a gray singlet and sweatpants that were probably as expensive as Kim Dokja’s phone. 

“Eating dinner.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes drifted towards the mess hall. 

“There weren’t any tables,” he added quickly. It was a waste to occupy a table by himself. Especially when the whispering ruined his appetite. 

Yoo Joonghyuk looked unconvinced. “Aren’t you the kind of fool that’s friendly with everyone?” 

“Not particularly?” Kim Dokja had a bite of mostly-cold soup. “I just try not to make any waves.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk’s snort told him what he thought of that. 

Unmoved, Kim Dokja drank the rest of the soup and stood up. If their lead actor was done with his exercise routine then dinner hour would be ending soon. 

“I’ll see you around, Joonghyuk-ssi,” he said calmly, and went to deposit his dishware in the kitchens. 

Yoo Joonghyuk watched him go, his eyes lingering on the soggy meat and vegetables that still filled Kim Dokja’s bowl. The clink of cutlery against the rim seemed particularly damning.

“Don’t waste food,” he said curtly. 

Kim Dokja pretended he didn’t hear him.

=

Retribution proved swift and ruthless when dinner the following day proved more difficult to procure. 

Kim Dokja stared at the empty dining area, wondering if he’d somehow mistaken the time. He looked at his phone, then checked the antique wall clock, but they both told him it was 7 PM. 

Nobody had been in the communal areas, either. A quick glance outside showed that the shuttles they used for short trips around the area or down the mountain were missing. 

Kim Dokja pondered the snow starting to fall outside and quietly resigned himself. 

An empty villa was slightly eerie, the wood creaking faintly in the still silence. A too-heavy footstep seemed to echo into ghostly whispers behind him and the cold seeped into his bones, knotting his growling stomach. 

Frowning, Kim Dokja turned away from the windows, one hand absently rubbing his arm. He quickly made his way back to his room, a plan in mind. It was the perfect opportunity to use the hot springs while nobody was around.

The covered baths had been fairly popular with the crew, particularly after a long day out in the cold. With temperatures dropping, the steam now covered most of the bathing pools like a thick fog, dampening Kim Dokja’s plan to read as he soaked. You could barely see the water beneath the steaming fog. With his luck, he’d drop his phone in and lose it among the crags in the rocks that bordered the wide open pool. 

After a quick shower, he settled at the edge of the pool, sinking cautiously into the hot water with a sigh. His skin reddened quickly and he winced before finally slipping down fully, back pressed against the edge. Steam billowed around him so thickly he could barely see his hand when he raised it, much less see the stars through the glass ceiling. 

It was too bad. It would’ve been nice to see a little starlight. 

Tipping his head back into the murky water, Kim Dokja let his mind wander aimlessly. Even the latest chapter update failed to capture his attention for long, in this mood. Left by himself, his thoughts seemed to bounce against white walls, the steady thump like the drag of footsteps on a long corridor.  

These past few days… really were nostalgic. 

It was easier to hide the tremor in his hands when he was squeezed in between Lee Hyunsung’s dependable bulk and Jung Heewon’s irrepressible valiance. 

The heavy sensation of people’s insincere gazes suffocated his lungs and flung him back nearly half a lifetime ago. That had been when he’d made a decision, looking at his mother’s wan face. 

A chance encounter had drastically changed the course of their lives. And they had paid for the privilege in unseen scars and shackled time. 

His lips curled wryly and he reached up, pretending he could see the stars through the spread of his fingers, and whispered a line from a time long past. “Dream like…”

Plop. Drip. 

Kim Dokja stopped. 

The water rippled around him gently in little waves, the pattern too uneven to be natural. 

Something was moving in the water, and it looked like it was moving towards the edge of the pool. 

Indistinctly, he could see a large, vague shape start to emerge from the vapor. 

Kim Dokja scrambled for the edge, aiming to haul himself up as soon as possible, but then the moving figure paused and started to move towards him, the burbling water rising up in an unmistakable wave.

Drip. Gurgle. Ripple. Closer and closer. 

Abandoning dignity, Kim Dokja crawled up onto the edge of the pool and got to his feet, but he was dripping wet and lightheaded from hunger. The moment his heel made contact with the tile, he slipped, flailing back into the bath. 

“Ah!” 

He braced himself for impact-- only to find that something warm and solid had interrupted his fall. 

Blinking quickly, Kim Dokja raised his eyes to Yoo Joonghyuk’s thunderous face. “So it was you.” 

“Yoo Joonghyuk?” Kim Dokja started. The last thing he had expected to see tonight was a naked Yoo Joonghyuk, his thick, wavy hair clinging in wild curls around his face and water sluicing off the perfect slope of his shoulders and down his sculpted chest. The back of Kim Dokja’s head was pressed against unmistakeable muscle and strong hands cupped his shoulders, the palms searing on his bare skin. 

“Why…” he trailed off indecisively, shocked, then closed his mouth.

Thinking about it clearly, it made sense for Yoo Joonghyuk to stay behind. The female staff often lamented how rarely they got to see their most famous actor outside of filming. Attending a spontaneous dinner outing would be completely out of character for him. 

Adjusting his mentality, Kim Dokja smiled up at him. “I didn’t think you’d be using the public bath.”

Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t reply, staring at him as the awkward silence stretched. Beneath the judgement in his brows, Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes were like patches of starless night sky. 

Under that gaze, Kim Dokja suddenly became aware that while he couldn’t see anything but Yoo Joonghyuk’s head and shoulders, he was currently half-sprawled on the edge of the bath and the towel he’d wrapped around his waist was loose, dangerously close to dropping into the water. 

He struggled a bit and pushed away from Yoo Joonghyuk, fingers scraping against hot, slick skin and hard muscle. Finally, he managed to right himself, closing his thighs so he could rewrap the towel properly. He couldn’t help being a bit self-conscious, his skin prickling with sharp awareness. It was hard not to compare yourself to a greek statue when it was right in front of you. Except, he supposed, for a critical part. 

Thankfully, Yoo Joonghyuk was also wearing a towel, long and thick, with the ends knotted at the side, preserving Kim Dokja’s masculine pride for another day. 

Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes dragged slowly down, flicking up after a pause. “You’re too thin.” 

“We’ve already had that discussion,” Kim Dokja replied. Ah, but this bastard probably forgot again, didn’t he? “On the set of ‘Solstice Moon’.” He named the movie where he’d played Jin Hajoon. 

“You didn’t feel this weak before,” Yoo Joonghyuk insisted. 

“I don’t really need to do a lot of stunts for Kim Kyungmo.” Carefully keeping his eyes averted, Kim Dokja started backing away. 

“...Where are you going?” 

“Just back to the lockers. I think I’ve had enough of the hot water.” 

“...Kim Dokja.” Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice was low. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re a liar.”

Kim Dokja smiled at that, the corners sly, and looked back to meet Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes. “After all, I’m an actor.”

He walked back towards the lockers without a second glance, leaving slender wet footprints on the pebbled floor.

=

Cheon Inho was absolutely doing it on purpose. 

Shivering, Kim Dokja watched the actor redo a scene for the umpteenth time. There wasn’t even any sincerity in his acting, anymore. Instead, he seemed to grow deliberately more obtuse with each ‘NG’ B.YOO gave him, balancing how many times he could flub a scene with the director’s fraying temper. 

B.YOO wasn’t happy, but they were already so far behind that she couldn’t simply skip all of Lee Jaesong’s scenes. Yoo Joonghyuk, acting opposite him, looked like he could murder him at any minute. Fortunately, that suited Yang Jitae’s sentiments perfectly.

Cheon Inho apologized and flattered the crew, but he hadn’t made any improvements in the past hour. 

Kim Dokja stood in the lightly falling snow, wrapped up in the plush fur cloak Shin Yoosung had once used. The garment had been made for a child and barely covered his shoulders, but it was better than nothing. 

He’d been waiting nearly five hours, his face and hands slowly starting to feel numb. It had been a chilly morning to begin with, but after completing one of his earlier scenes, he now had to wait until the leads finished this scene to complete his schedule for the day. 

On the other side of the set, several of the other minor character actors were in a similar position, but they had come by recently and still seemed to be in good spirits, chatting away over cups of hot chocolate from the villa. 

Finally, nearly another hour later, they were ready for the scene. 

Kim Dokja sighed out a breath of misty air and went to stand in position. 

“Action!” 

Yoo Joonghyuk sliced his sword up powerfully, forcing the other actors to flounder in front of him. His movements were sweeping and grand, emphasizing the drama of the scene. The wide sleeves on his overcoat fluttered like the pennants of a marching army. 

At the end of his path, Cheon Inho waited with his sword out, grimacing. Yoo Joonghyuk’s momentum was too strong to bear easily. He fought back, but his strikes were flimsy, even to the untrained eye. 

In the end, B.YOO had one of the stuntmen put on the costume and had him fight against Yoo Joonghyuk, eventually pressing him back. It made the camera angles trickier, but Kim Dokja was quietly grateful if it meant ending the scene a little sooner. 

Finally, it was time for Kim Kyungmo to intervene. 

Yang Jitae raised his sword, the gleaming edge sharp and spattered with blood. 

Kim Kyungmo blew a sharp, piercing note on his flute, forcing the combat to a standstill. In the chaos of the melee, he stood alone, as though descended from the heavens. “Yang Jitae, turn back.” 

Yang Jitae resisted, attempting to break out of the flute’s hold. “How can you say that now?! After all he’s done?” 

“Because of all he has done,” Kim Kyungmo said calmly. “Don’t forget that he was once your shidi, closer than a brother.” 

“I won’t claim any tie to a demon,” Yang Jitae spat. 

Kim Kyungmo gazed at him calmly. “There is more that you don’t know.” 

His movements were slow, as though reluctant. “Turn back. You’ve used too much qi and your allies are still trapped in the array. Only I am needed here.” 

“Shizun, you can’t fight!”

“Don’t interfere!” Cheon Inho barked, unwilling to let it end here.

“Enough! Don’t forget that I am the master!”

Kim Kyungmo raised his flute to his lips and blew. No sound came out- that would come later, with post-processing. Several seconds later, Cheon Inho would collapse to his knees and struggle against the overbearing spiritual energy of the artifact. 

At least, that was how it was supposed to go. 

“Cut! Inho-ssi, did you forget the cue?” B.YOO’s patience had clearly worn thin. 

“Ah, my bad, I wasn’t sure if Dokja-ssi was done playing, since I couldn’t hear anything.” 

“Please remember to watch the staff for the cue.” 

“Yes, B.YOO-nim.”

They filmed the scene again and Cheon Inho, sensing B.YOO’s mood, performed on time. 

Kim Kyungmo watched his disciple curl wretchedly into himself in pain and closed his eyes. On his impassive face, a faint crease of his brow seemed all the more striking. 

Seeing that his master had it well in hand, Yang Jitae reluctantly withdrew, leaving one Immortal and his former disciple.

“As expected of the Master,” Cheon Inho said spitefully. “How valiant of you to come before me with nothing but your jade flute. What will you do once you can no longer sustain it? With my Gu, it won’t be long.” And then Kim Kyungmo would truly be helpless. 

“Lee Jaesong,” Kim Kyungmo said gently, voice hushed by the cold wind. “Isn’t it enough?” 

Cheon Inho snarled, a goaded beast. “How can it? If you’re talking like this, can it be that you’ve finally opened your eyes to the truth? About your dear friends and precious disciple?” 

“Yang Jinho is dead. Jitae had no part in what happened to you. If you must blame someone, blame me, for being blind.” 

“Then you would die in his stead?” Cheon Inho asked viciously and laughed. “Will you bleed out for me?” 

Kim Kyungmo’s eyes were deep with pity. “If you wish.” 

Shaken by that sincere gaze, Cheon Inho paused, arrested by the sudden thought that the pity had been directed at him. After turning his eyes away, he recovered, sneering. “Your life is worthless to me.” 

Pale hands like translucent jade reached out, as though trying to calm a small child. But before Kim Kyungmo’s fingertips could skim that enraged face, the world spun. 

Swifter than any oncoming dusk, darkness swept his vision and he collapsed.

=

Yoo Joonghyuk was moving before the others were. Kim Dokja lay crumpled on the ground, stupefying everyone on set. One moment, Kim Kyungmo had been as powerful as a god, then the next, he had fallen. His robes blended perfectly in the snow, twisted around his slim silhouette and his long dark hair scattered around him.

“I didn’t touch him!” Cheon Inho blurted out, stepping back. “It wasn’t me!” 

He’d been the closest, when Kim Dokja had fallen, but it was true that he hadn’t touched a hair on the actor’s head. He was kneeling a good two feet away, on the ground. In this scene, he wasn’t meant to touch even the hem of Kim Kyungmo’s robes.  

“He just fell over on his own!” Cheon Inho continued. “You all saw, right? Back me up, Junho!” 

Yoo Joonghyuk ignored him and his barking sycophants. He slid a hand under Kim Dokja’s back, keeping his neck supported, and carefully turned him over. After confirming that there didn’t seem to be any external injuries, he checked his pulse. 

The moment his fingertips touched Kim Dokja’s scalding skin, he knew what the problem was. 

“He has a fever.” Yoo Joonghyuk frowned and propped the man up properly. He was light. Just like he’d noticed last night. His already pale face had a sickly pallor, the flush hidden by the layers of makeup that was part of his costume. Even in this cold weather, sweat matted his hair under the wig. 

“He needs to go back.” 

B.YOO had come over to check on Kim Dokja’s condition. She rested the back of her hand against the man’s forehead, solemn eyes taking in the weak puffs of breath next to her wrist. 

“He’s burning up! Call for a doctor!” B.YOO addressed the staff. 

Yoo Joonghyuk lifted Kim Dokja up into his arms in a bridal carry, ignoring the looks from the rest of the crew, and swiftly strode towards the van. He placed Kim Dokja’s thin, shivering form on the last row of seats, his white robes spilling over the gray leather. Instinctively, the man curled up, tucking his arms together in front of himself, loose fists under his chin. 

One of the staff members finished her call to the doctor and offered to drive them back. 

Yoo Joonghyuk had meant to go back to the shoot, but taking another glance at the backseat, he found himself unable to leave. 

Though unconscious, Kim Dokja slept fitfully, panting like a dog in summer and shivering like he was a bird in midwinter. Under the disheveled wig, his short, fine hair was stuck to his fever-pink cheeks and his lashes trembled faintly, caught in an unseen dream. It wouldn’t take much for him to tumble off the seat. Even though he took up the entire back row, he seemed… unexpectedly fragile. 

Yoo Joonghyuk looked back outside the van. 

The rest of the cast was peering over. Some of them looked like they were on their phones. No one else had gotten near the van except for B.YOO, talking to the driver through the window. 

Normally, if an actor had an accident, the manager would take care of it or the agency would send someone over-- but Kim Dokja’s manager, like the others’, obviously hadn’t come and it wouldn’t be easy for a replacement to come over to this remote location. The distance between them and the rest of the cast seemed to stretch, like a canyon; lines drawn on playground sand. 

He thought of Kim Dokja, sitting alone in the dim meeting hall and the thinness of his pale wrists. 

And then of endless days of another figure, seated alone at a 4-person table, childish hands slowly picking over his own burnt cooking. 

He glanced over at B.YOO. 

B.YOO’s brow furrowed. After a moment, she nodded once. “We’ve done your other scenes and Inho-ssi’s condition today isn’t good, we may as well reschedule.” 

Finally, the assistant director seemed to realize the issue and called one of the other staff members over to help, but Yoo Joonghyuk had already obtained approval and sat in the second row. 

“Start the van.”

Chapter Text

When Kim Dokja opened his eyes, it was to the wooden beams that criss-crossed the ceiling of his room. 

“You’re awake.” The deep, ponderous voice took a moment for him to identify. As soon as it registered, Kim Dokja’s head whipped around incredulously. 

Sure enough, that really was Yoo Joonghyuk standing at his bedside. There was a faint line at his temples and a smudge of darkness under each eye, hinting that he hadn’t slept well. But Kim Dokja, mind slowly starting, didn’t have the time to think about these details. His shoulders tensed automatically and he scanned the otherwise empty room with a glance.

“What happened?” 

“You collapsed from a 40-degree fever.”

“I was?” Kim Dokja asked dumbly. 

Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t answer. Instead, he slid a broad palm under Kim Dokja’s back, lifting him up and rearranging the pillows to support him. He then placed a bowl of congee and small pads of tablets before him. 

“Eat.” 

“Thank you,” Kim Dokja said, on autopilot. The whole sequence of movements had been done so effortlessly that he felt like he was still dreaming. Then, he realized what his collapse meant.  “What day is it?” 

“Monday.” 

That meant the others would be back tomorrow. 

Hesitating, Kim Dokja fiddled with the spoon. His fingers felt weak and his shoulders tired, slumped  but not particularly terrible. 

Whatever had caused him to faint, the worst was clearly over. A part of him couldn’t believe that he’d keeled over while acting. The rest of him was guilty and already ferreting away contingency plans if the others found out. 

Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand reached out, about to pull the porcelain spoon out of his loose grip. 

“Hey, I was using that,” Kim Dokja complained, his voice rasping slightly. He pinned the warm porcelain between his fingers before Yoo Joonghyuk could steal it. 

Really, what was this guy planning to do, let him eat with his hands? Or worse, like a dog? Wasn’t that a little too much? 

“Have some restraint,” he groused under his breath, unable to keep the comment from slipping out.  

Yoo Joonghyuk paused, then, seemingly chastised, took a step back, leaning against the bedside table, his hands wrapped around the edge. “...You weren’t eating.”

“I’m sick, not starving.” His appetite in the mornings, especially when he was sick, was extremely low. Still, he had a feeling that Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t going to leave until he saw him finish the bowl. 

Dipping his spoon into the light congee, he brought it to his lips and immediately perked up. Despite being light fare, suitable for a sick patient, the flavor was particularly full and the texture and consistency of the whole dish was silkily perfect. The salt was light, with the aromatic depth of soy sauce, effortlessly combining with the fragrant rice grains and the sharp, warming ginger. Tender, shredded white chicken was stirred in with thinly sliced shiitake mushrooms and fresh spring onions, just enough to be filling without being heavy.

“What is this? It’s good!” 

“Chicken and mushroom.” 

Kim Dokja swallowed another spoonful, nearly forgetting that Yoo Joonghyuk was still there. “From where?” 

“I made it.” 

Kim Dokja choked. “For me?” 

Yoo Joonghyuk looked broody. “The food they ordered isn’t suitable for a patient.” 

“Ah.” Kim Dokja paused awkwardly. But the congee really was too delicious not to eat. His misgivings crumbled immediately and he quickly resumed eating.

“I didn’t realize you were this good at cooking.” 

“I make it often for Mia. My little sister,” Yoo Joonghyuk explained.

Kim Dokja nodded agreeably. With food like this, he might even be convinced to listen to Yoo Joonghyuk brag. “You must take good care of her, then.” 

“Better than some people themselves.” 

Kim Dokja winced, contrite. “I’m sorry. Did they manage to finish the shoot?” 

“More or less. B.YOO thinks we can append it with a cut. Your succeeding scenes were rescheduled.” 

“And your scenes with Inho-ssi?”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s expression betrayed nothing. “Rescheduled.” 

Kim Dokja quickly polished off the congee as they chatted. If Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t been around, he might’ve been tempted to lick the bowl.

“Don’t forget the medicine.” 

Kim Dokja picked up the little pad of tablets, surprised to find two of them had already been punched out. He didn’t remember taking the medicine last night… A chill swept the back of his neck for a moment, thinking. 

A half dozen ridiculous cliches sprung to Kim Dokja’s mind, unbidden, and he silently cursed Lee Jihye for each one. He would’ve been delirious, with a fever that high, and likely disgusting. 

He touched his throat absently, chasing the phantom feeling of water.

“...What are you waiting for?” Yoo Joonghyuk rumbled.

Resolving to ignore it, for now, Kim Dokja popped out a tablet from each pad and swallowed it, taking a sip of water as an afterthought.  

His reluctant caretaker didn’t seem satisfied. “Why haven’t you been eating?” 

Kim Dokja set the glass down. “I’ve always had an inconsistent appetite. It’s normal for me to skip a few meals, but it was my oversight not to prepare for the weather appropriately.” His exhaustion and a naturally poor immune system hadn’t done him any favors, either. 

Still, it was no excuse. As an actor, his body was his job. Getting sick on a shoot was irresponsible at best.

Yoo Joonghyuk’s frown didn’t ease. 

“Then, the other night…” 

Kim Dokja waited for a beat, but it seemed like Yoo Joonghyuk had thought better of what he was going to ask. Thinking back, it was probably the incident at the bath.

“It’s true that I wasn’t feeling my best then, but it wasn’t so serious that I’d faint. I really did slip.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk gave him a flat look. “Your eyes were red,” he said, finally, and Kim Dokja’s heart gave an arrhythmic thump. He tamped down the urge to recoil. He’d let his guard down too much. 

“...I may have thought you were a ghost.” It wouldn’t even be the first time. Yoo Joonghyuk had an uncanny ability to approach silently, as though he’d materialized out of thin air. 

“Do you think I’d believe that?”  

“...Do you want an honest opinion?”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes narrowed at the transparent provocation. “That’s a petty trick.”

Kim Dokja smiled politely. “It often works.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk seemed to fume in silence for a minute, then he lifted Kim Dokja’s food tray off his lap and brushed the back of his hand against his forehead, pushing messy bangs up to bare it. His hand was slightly cool-- it seemed like the fever had broken, leaving him nothing but sleep-warm. After a moment, Yoo Joonghyuk pulled away, but he left a parting shot. 

“Don’t get out of bed.” 

“I wasn’t planning to?” Kim Dokja muttered after the man exited, taking the tray with him. 

He let out a breath of relief and looked outside the window. The snow was falling outside in intermittent spurts, the sky dreary and gray. Bad weather, then, but not enough to stop filming.

Apart from when a crew member came to drop off a simple lunch, Kim Dokja was left largely by himself- unsurprising, given the current mood on set and how harried B.YOO would’ve been. Nobody would have time to bother with him. 

He napped, mainly, and reread a story he hadn’t touched since he was sixteen. It was about a general’s son, abruptly losing his place in the world and eking out a way to live on the frontlines. He stopped halfway into the first arc. It wasn’t as good as he remembered, but the nostalgia made up for a lot. 

By the time late afternoon rolled around, Kim Dokja looked at his empty thermos and decided he felt well enough to refill it. He shuffled into a pair of cotton slippers and padded outside, one hand skimming on the wall for support.

He was on his way back to his room with it when he heard a familiar, clear, young voice.

Shin Yoosung shouldn’t have been back yet- but that had been according to the previous schedule. With Kim Kyungmo’s scenes delayed, who was to say the assistant director hadn’t moved others up? 

He didn’t have time to think about it for long. He rounded the corner just in time to see Shin Yoosung facing off against a couple of teenage boys in the entrance hall. There were a few others with them, including Cheon Inho’s group, loosely grouped behind the two boys. 

“Take that back. Ahjussi would never do such a thing!”  

The two boys were frowning, completely baffled. “What are you so upset about? It’s not like we were talking about you .” 

Shin Yoosung’s face scrunched up in distress. “Ahjussi took me in, once, of course it matters to me!” 

“Then you’re just like the other idiots that got fooled by him. Isn’t it weird that you’re so hung up when we weren’t even talking to you?” 

Shin Yoosung’s fists balled up. “I’m not stupid! Ahjussi is--” 

“Yoosung-ah,” Kim Dokja came up and gently clasped her shoulder.

She blinked up at him. “Ahjussi…” 

“It’s fine.” He squeezed her shoulder once and smiled warmly. 

When he raised his head to consider the two young actors, the warmth seeped away, leaving a perceptible chill. 

“Aren’t you both a little old to be picking on primary school students?” 

One of the boys flushed. “She started it! Besides, it was just…” His friend elbowed him in the side before he could continue, an awkward silence falling over them all. Despite the circumstances, it seemed like they still had the conscience not to speak about the rumors to his face. 

At that moment, however, Cheon Inho stepped in. “Just because she’s a child doesn’t mean she should be allowed to start a fight. Especially as she’s their senior in the industry,” he observed mildly. “After all, she’s under contract, the same as the rest of us.” It almost sounded reasonable. 

“Still, I’m sure Dokja-ssi knows better from experience. Thankfully, nothing happened, so it should be enough to stop here.” Cheon Inho smiled. His tone was faintly derisive, as though he were speaking from a seat above such petty squabbles, a level-headed adult. Maybe in Cheon Inho’s story, that was what he was.

Kim Doja stared at him quietly for a moment, taking in the small crowd of bystanders the commotion had attracted. 

“No, it isn’t.” Kim Dokja’s arms felt a bit weak even after bed rest, the thermos slung over an arm heavy on his hip. But important things didn’t wait. He lifted his chin, squaring his shoulders with the memory of army drills.

All things considered, he should have known better than to participate in this drama once Cheon Inho confronted him. He was the type of middling actor who constantly felt cheated of his due. While he wouldn’t dare provoke big names like Yoo Joonghyuk, Kim Dokja couldn’t be the first little-known actor to come under fire.

It was just unfortunate that while Kim Dokja would rather avoid any complications, that indifference didn’t extend to the people he cared about. 

“Shin Yoosung didn’t start a fight. She was provoked. Furthermore, she’s speaking in defense of others, not herself. Not unlike what Cheon Inho-ssi is doing. I don’t suppose Cheon Inho-ssi feels that what he’s doing is fighting with a ten year old?” 

Kim Dokja firmly covered Shin Yoosung’s ears. “You can say what you like about me, but don’t bring other people into it. Especially children. After twenty-seven years, Inho-ssi must be aware that there are limits to everything.”

“Cheon Inho’s limit is your aptitude,” he continued, the pleasant smile on his face unwavering. “With your aptitude, your career is on a downward slope. Hasn’t your ranking slipped recently? It must be difficult to compete with the fresh young faces year after year. Ah, and your plastic surgery is starting to age. Fortunately, the rest of us nobodies have other things to rely on.” 

A giggle broke out from somewhere behind Cheon Inho, a little hysterical. 

Kim Dokja’s voice was still calm and placid, as though he were discussing the morning news. Although he wore a pair of loose pajamas, his thin back was straight and unyielding. 

“Frankly speaking, your acting is trash and directly responsible for the schedule and cost overruns the production team is now facing. Your Lee Jaesong would be better served applying to be a death metal singer than a demon lord. Is facing Yoo Joonghyuk so scary that you can’t help but sound like you’re being castrated?” 

Cheon Inho’s face reddened and paled with anger, his fists clenching as he took a threatening step forward. “You-- you ugly, stuck-up bastard!” 

“What’s going on here?” B.YOO entered the villa, her sunglasses still perched on her nose and snow melting on her shoulders. Her mouth was fixed in an unhappy line; her glare unimpressed. “I thought I asked everyone to convene in the meeting room thirty minutes ago? Did you all get lost?” 

Cheon Inho paused, then visibly composed himself, giving Kim Dokja the stink eye. “We were just going in.” 

He shoved past Kim Dokja, shoulder ramming unsubtly into his. His little clique seemed to consider doing the same, but a raised eyebrow from an impatient director sent them scattering with their tails between their legs. 

After they’d gone, Kim Dokja inclined his head towards B.YOO and let Shin Yoosung’s ears go. “My apologies, it was unprofessional. I’ll--”

B.YOO waved a hand at him, interrupting. “I may not have grown up here but it’s not my first time around the block. More importantly, how are you feeling, Dokja-ssi?”

“Ah,” Kim Dokja blinked at the sudden topic change. “Good, thank you. I should be well enough by tomorrow to shoot again.” 

She nodded and patted his shoulder. “That’s good. Everyone got a bit excited when you fainted on set! Yoo Joonghyuk carried you off like a damsel in distress. He even spent the whole night nursing you. I didn’t realize the two of you were so close.” 

“We’re not,” Kim Dokja said, appalled. 

“No? He’s not the kind of man who’d do it on a whim.” 

“That’s…” He had nothing to refute her with. 

“Ahjussi… you got sick?” Shin Yoosung asked quietly, in the ensuing uneasy pause. 

Kim Dokja flinched, ice brushing the back of his neck. “Yoosung-ah…I’m fine, as you can see.”

Shin Yoosung took her phone out resolutely. “I’m telling.” 

=

“So, it looks like Kim Dokja is up and about!” B.YOO told Yoo Joonghyuk cheerfully. “If you ever decide to retire, then you might have a future as a private nurse. I know a few people who’d pay millions for the privilege.” 

She walked into Yoo Joonghyuk’s private suite carelessly and sat on his sofa, helping herself to some chocolate from the small glass bowl in the middle. “The results speak for themselves. You must have been a very attentive caretaker.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk looked up from the drink he was making, knife paused over a lime, and frowned. He hadn’t meant to spend the night. At first, he had meant to leave the fool in his room. 

But nobody else had been around except for him, so the doctor, well meaning, had given him the medicine prescription and a few brief instructions.

In the end, Yoo Joonghyuk had Bi-hyung send the medicine and since B.YOO had released him from filming, resolved to ensure Kim Dokja lived through the night without any further mishaps. 

“I noticed that someone changed Dokja-ssi’s clothes. Did you do that?” she asked curiously. 

Yoo Joonghyuk considered not telling her, but it was inconsequential, in the end. “Who else?”  

Seeing her expression, he quickly added: “we’re both men, there was nothing strange.” 

“I see.” B.YOO’s eyebrows rose, amused. 

Having endured Lee Seolhwa’s commentary before, Yoo Joonghyuk regarded her with the deep suspicion he often used in detective dramas. “Don’t think too much,” he said, finally. 

“Not at all. I just find it interesting that Kim Dokja has succeeded where dozens of ambitious starlets have not and spent the night with Yoo Joonghyuk.” She leaned her elbow on the sofa’s armrest. “Did something happen?” 

“Nothing happened.” 

“Did you know your left cheek moves when you lie?” 

For a moment, Yoo Joonghyuk’s pupils dilated slightly. “...It doesn’t.” 

“No, it doesn’t,” B.YOO agreed, popping candy into her mouth. “But that reaction just now gave you away.” 

She sighed, the cheap sugary treat cloyingly sweet on her tongue. “Speaking of terrible liars, I’m disappointed in Cheon Inho?” 

Yoo Joonghyuk was slightly miffed at the comparison. “And?” There was a lot to be disappointed about.

“It’s not unusual for little powerplays to happen on set. I had hoped Inho-ssi would be more prudent, considering the scale of the project. Unfortunately, it seems just like you, he can’t leave Kim Dokja alone.” 

“I have a professional interest.” 

“Then it might interest you to know that Kim Dokja has decided to smash the pot.” 

“What?” 

“They were having a verbal showdown in the entrance hall. If they weren’t enemies before, they certainly are now and everyone knows it. From what I understand, Cheon Inho lost that fight. After all, he’s always had more to lose.” 

“...That guy, he lost his temper?” 

B.YOO smiled. “Interesting, isn’t it? I never saw that look on his face, even when he was Kim Kyungmo.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk wondered: was that the ‘true’ Kim Dokja, then? 

In the entertainment industry, honesty was a privilege afforded to few. It wasn’t hard to imagine why an actor who squandered his career in minor roles would cultivate a blandly pleasant persona. But he couldn’t picture that man showing even a sliver of himself to someone like Cheon Inho. 

The thought bothered him, a bit, for a reason he couldn’t name.

“Why now?” 

“Probably because of Shin Yoosoung?” B.YOO speculated. “She was trying to defend him from some rumors. Sweet kid.”

Yoo Joonghyuk considered it. The people around Kim Dokja were… unusually protective. They closed around the man like dragons protecting a singular hoard. It would make sense if the man himself reciprocated. 

“Are you planning to do something about it?” 

B.YOO raised her eyebrows, but the uptick at the corner of her mouth was bitter. “Nothing’s changed. Cheon Inho’s backers won’t be happy if he gets kicked out. If it comes down to it, then Dokja-ssi can only take a bow.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk shook his head. “If we keep him, the drama won’t air before summer.” Others might wait, but Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t in the mood and his schedule usually didn’t leave much downtime between projects, much less the months-long headache Cheon Inho was trending towards. That they had as much time as they had was already leeway granted by the Sponsors in light of his and B.YOO’s participation, a slight reprieve from the usual liveshoot setup. 

“Holding another audition won’t necessarily go any faster,” B.YOO sighed deeply. “What a mess. King-ssi will owe me a few favors after this.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk looked outside the window, quietly contemplating the dusk. “Fishing for sympathy doesn’t suit you.” 

B.YOO laughed lightly. “I can’t act at all.” She stood, dropping wrappers in the wastebasket next to the sink. “But I can tell when my actors are scheming.”

“I’m not--”

“I wasn’t talking about you,” B.YOO interrupted. “You couldn’t scheme your way out of a mousetrap.”

“Then…” 

B.YOO grinned, and pressed a slender, french-tipped finger to her lips. “No spoilers. You’re going to have to figure it out for yourself.”  

“...Why did you even come here?” 

“Naturally because everyone should know the scenario.” She winked and let herself out. 

Yoo Joonghyuk locked the door and returned to fixing a drink from the minibar. The schedule on his phone told him that Kim Dokja would resume filming the day after tomorrow. The day after that was a group shoot for a key scene, including a scene with Lee Jaesong. One way or another, things would be coming to a head. 

So, then, how would Kim Dokja manage this? 

=

Kim Dokja, currently cornered inside his room, wasn’t managing well.

“We were gone for three days!” Jung Heewon propped a fist on her hip, her voice notching an octave higher. 

“I’m fine, as you can see…” Kim Dokja shrank a little in the face of her righteous fury. “It was just a fever. Maybe a little hypothermia. I was careless.” 

“I knew we should’ve asked Sangah-ssi to send someone here…” 

“I can take care of myself.” 

Jung Heewon snorted in disbelief. “Don’t think we didn’t notice your face looks thinner. Did you hide out in your room reading something and forget to eat again?” 

Kim Dokja paused and nodded timidly, as though confessing his sin. It was better for everyone that Jung Heewon thought so. 

“You should at least take some food to your room if you want to read…” She pinched her temples gently and shook her head. 

“Speaking of which, you’re lucky someone actually took you back…” 

Nothing Yoo Joonghyuk did could ever be a secret, particularly on a large project like this. And especially when the gossip was this juicy. His friends had heard the news within hours of arriving. 

“Why did he, though?” Lee Hyunsung wondered, frowning. “I’ve worked with Joonghyuk-ssi before, but he’s never been close to people.” 

“That... “ Kim Dokja hadn’t been able to ask. Even if he’d collapsed, it wasn’t like Yoo Joonghyuk was the only one who could carry him. It pained him to admit it but Jung Heewon could probably lift him one-handed. 

That was, of course, unless he had been the only one willing. When he’d fainted, what had happened, exactly? 

But those were thoughts he couldn’t divulge to Jung Heewon, pacing the room like a disappointed parent, nor Lee Hyunsung, who was attempting to melt his defenses with his puppydog eyes as he peeled an apple. The whistleblower, Shin Yoosong, was asleep on Kim Dokja’s lap, having claimed it as compensation for the broken promise. 

“Maybe he just wanted to get away from Cheon Inho,” Kim Dokja suggested, smoothly changing the subject. “His performance has been getting worse.” As the filming started to explore the emotional depth of the relationship between the two once-friends, the lack of nuance in Cheon Inho’s acting had become all the more apparent. 

He’d known that, of course, when he’d picked the words to cut him with.  

“Ah, that guy?” Jung Heewon made a face, then smoothed it out. “Actually, Dokja-ssi, I heard something a bit interesting. It seems that after you two had your fight, he hasn’t been out of his room. People still come and go, but he hasn’t been mingling like usual.” 

“Hm?” Kim Dokja considered it. That didn’t seem like Cheon Inho’s usual modus operandi. He would’ve thought the man would take the opportunity to further blacken his name in the breakrooms. 

“It seems that there’s been a slight shift in opinion,” Jung Heewon said, sitting down in front of him, her face serious. “You really got him this time.” 

Kim Dokja quietly stroked Shin Yoosong’s hair, tucking a lock behind her small ear. “It doesn’t matter. He went too far.” 

Jung Heewon nodded briskly. “Then, what should we do?” 

“...You’re not thinking about something violent again, are you?” 

“No, of course not,” Jung Heewon said innocently. “But if you needed anyone’s head punched…” she trailed off hopefully. 

“I- I can do that,” Lee Hyunsung volunteered directly. He looked anxious as he offered a perfectly skinned apple slice. It even had bunny ears. 

Kim Dokja silently mourned how Jung Heewon had corrupted an otherwise upstanding member of society. He took the fruit and bit into it, chewing. “Thank you, but that’s unnecessary.” 

“Besides, it would get you both into trouble, that’s not a fair exchange for Cheon Inho.” If you were going to calculate, then it should be exact. 

“Just wait and see. Maybe Inho-ssi will realize that he won’t stand to gain much even if he kicks me out.” 

“You don’t really think that,” Jung Heewon said flatly. 

Kim Dokja shrugged and swallowed, the crisp sweetness of the apple lingering in his mouth. “It’s still early. If I don’t break my contract, what can he do? It’s not like I’ll withdraw because he tells me to.” 

=

Despite his friends’ doubts, filming for Kim Dokja resumed the next day with no mishaps. Most of his remaining scenes were with the younger actors and although they looked a bit wary, nobody caused any trouble. 

Kim Dokja could live with that. 

Today’s scene was shot indoors, taking advantage of the traditional architecture. He suspected B.YOO had nudged the assistant director in consideration for his recovery. Given the film site tomorrow, it was a brief reprieve. 

He got into position carefully, waiting for the cue.

“Action!” 

Kim Kyungmo lay on a wooden bed, a deathly pallor on his face, brows furrowed in pain and unconscious. Blood had seeped through a gash at the front of his white robes, where Lee Jaesong had stabbed a cursed dagger. A single, snowy hand lay on top of the wound and dark, hazy smoke seemed to grow beneath it. The smoke solidified into a small, snake-like Gu, the spindly tail writhing under the elegant fingers and burrowing deep inside his core. 

Kim Kyungmo’s shoulders jerked and he groaned lowly, twisting aside. His robes wrapped around his slender figure. The diaphanous cloth draped messily around him, pulled taut on his anguished form, as though a wailing spirit had descended on the once-pristine immortal.

The door to the room slid open, revealing Yang Jitae with a washcloth and a tub of warm water, a jar of medicine balanced precariously on the rim.

The moment his eyes landed on the warped figure on the bed, he rushed forward in shock, water splashing over his hands. 

“Shizun!” Yang Jitae’s face creased with worry. Gently, he pried the hand from the wound, sharp eyes contracting in anger when he noticed the trace of malice left behind by the Gu. 

“Lee Jaesong! How could he do such a thing?” he cursed. For him to curse his own master revealed how withered his demonic heart had become. Perhaps he had never put any of them in his eyes. 

He knelt and reached for Kim Kyungmo, then hesitated. 

“Please excuse me, shizun.” He said lowly and carefully helped him sit up. He loosened Kim Kyungmo’s robes clinically, brisk movements baring just enough to see the condition of the wound. 

The pale skin under the candlelight was like the first snowfall, gracefully sloping from neck to lean torso. It made the stab wound all the more grotesque, a mess of drying blood and bruised contusion. 

Under the blood, a faint seal could be made out in purple ink, tied to the Gu.  

Jaw clenched, Yang Jitae cleaned the area and examined the seal. He dipped two fingers in the medicine jar and smeared it gently over the wound, applying a poultice. There was nothing he could do about the curse- no human medicine could remove the demon world’s Gu. Only Lee Jaesong himself could take it out. 

He placed a hand on his master’s shoulder and wordlessly began to help him circulate his qi, helping to suppress the Gu. Yang Jitae’s spiritual energy was fire-aspected, particularly suited for subduing Lee Jaesong’s.

After a moment, Kim Kyungmo came to, blurred eyes squinting open. “...Jitae-ya?” 

Yang Jitae startled. It had been a long time since his master had called him so. 

“Yes, shizun,” he intoned respectfully and removed his hand. 

“The demon left a Gu in you. I’ve helped contain it, for now, but shizun will have to continue the cleansing before it spreads.” 

Kim Kyungmo nodded weakly, closing his eyes as his face started to bead with sweat, clearly struggling. 

“This should help...” Yang Jitae took a pill sealed in wax from a jade bottle and cracked it between his teeth, stripping the wax with a tug. He crushed the resulting pill into a wooden ladle of water and raised it to his shizun’s pale lips.

The first sip spilled, water trailing down Kim Kyungmo’s jaw to soak in his hair. Almost absently, Yoo Joonghyuk caught it with a brush of his knuckles. The motion was smoothly integrated into the turn of the ladle and Kim Dokja flinched involuntarily with an unsettling sense of deja vu, coughing.

Yoo Joonghyuk paused, then set the ladle aside, giving Kim Dokja time. 

“Shizun, is it still painful?”

“No,” his teacher said faintly. 

Yang Jitae’s face darkened. “Once I kill him, then the Gu should resolve.”

Kim Kyungmo sighed. “Don’t hate him so much.” 

Yang Jitae gripped the bedframe in anger, the wood creaking. “He’s done this much to you, and you’d forgive him? Just because he was once your favorite, would you give him your life?” 

“He’s not my favorite,” Kim Kyungmo corrected. 

Yang Jitae laughed bitterly, the sound short. “Was it not Lee Jaesong whom you took down the mountain that year? Wasn’t it Lee Jaesong who got an extra share of candied plum from the market? He pretended to be obedient and meek for so long that shizun’s eyes have rotted, unable to see the truth.”

Though Kim Kyungmo said nothing, Yang Jitae’s fury rushed on, unabated. “Even though shizun was the one who found him in the rubble and raised him himself, he returned your good deeds with harm!” 

Kim Kyungmo fell quiet, a faint sheen of sweat the only indication that he was still battling the Gu. “If he does then it’s only because he himself is in pain.” 

Yang Jitae got up, face cold. “Lee Jaesong got one thing right. Shizun is a fool. No matter what, Lee Jaesong is a demon and he has not shown mercy to a single soul since he ascended his throne.” 

He stormed out of the room with a sweep of his robes, the doors rattling as he went past. 

Kim Kyungmo didn’t watch him go, his gaze trained on the dark canopy above him. He coughed, and a drop of ink-stained blood dotted his ivory palm. He glanced at it, then curled his hand in. 

“Was it you, after all…?” He whispered softly, wondering. 

The camera rolled another handful of seconds, panning out, before the director called “cut!”

Kim Dokja sat up carefully. The bed was hard and the block pillow had dug uncomfortably into his neck. He rubbed at the area, wondering how anyone could possibly sleep on one of them. Then again, maybe that was the point.  

Jung Heewon pressed a cup of hot water into his hands. “Good work. I didn’t think Kim Kyungmo would have a scene like this.” 

“Like what?” Kim Dokja asked absently. He stood carefully, hair draping messily over his shoulders as they walked. 

“Erotic.” 

Kim Dokja stepped on the hem of his robe, stumbling. Jung Heewon caught him.

“He’s ill. In pain ,” Kim Dokja emphasized. While he’d never had a demonic spirit  implanted in his body, he was fairly sure that it wasn’t a pleasant experience. 

“Of course. But the contrast with his usual self is a bit...” Jung Heewon gestured at the bed and the robes that were still rumpled, Kim Dokja’s slender neck and thin shoulder still visible. It was warm, inside, but she pulled the lapel up, straightening his clothes. 

“Did you know Jihye’s read the original novel? She was curious after the auditions.” 

“I didn’t…” But if it was Jihye, he doubted she read it quite the same way.  

“She said Kim Kyungmo is the crying beauty type.” 

“...Jihye thinks too much.” 

Jung Heewon laughed. “Weren’t you the one who told me? There’s nothing wrong with a little sex appeal.” She winked, one hand on her hip. The pose drew attention to her legs, clearly visible beneath the layered light silks of her costume. Pale skin peeked in slashes from the cloth wrappings around her thighs. 

While Demon Spring technically didn’t have any romance, Jung Heewon’s Cha Min was the nominal female lead. A valiant beauty, she had been raised by a wandering cultivator and owed her life to Yang Jitae. Her robes were red and cut short in front, gold rings weighted the colorful scarves from her time as a street performer. 

In the room across from where Kim Kyungmo had been, Yoo Joonghyuk was getting ready to shoot. He was leaning against the threshold, arms folded and looking their way. 

They stared back, forming a three-person stalemate. 

“...Is it your scene next?” Kim Dokja asked her. 

“The one after,” Jung Heewon shook her head. She frowned and looked back at Yoo Joonghyuk, meeting his eyes easily. 

To her surprise, Kim Dokja started walking towards Yoo Joonghyuk. 

“Dokja-ssi?” 

“It might be about the scene,” Kim Dokja reasoned. While the lines had been the same, the pause had been an improvisation. He didn’t think Yoo Joonghyuk had meant to touch him, either, but accidents happened. He was just a bit surprised, that was all. It was a bit embarrassing, in retrospect. He must be more tired than he thought.

Besides, it would be rude to ignore him after he’d been so helpful. 

Jung Heewon quickly followed.

The other man only looked away once Kim Dokja stopped beside him, a polite distance away. Jung Heewon took one step closer, like she was prepared to throw the lead actor over her hip if he tried anything.

Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t impressed. “What?” 

“Just checking in on my favorite disciple,” Kim Dokja said cheerily. “I only have two, after all, and the other one hurts my ears.” 

Kim Dokja checked him over, noting the clenched fists. “You seem tense.”

“If you’re idle, the break room is warmer.” 

Did he not want to talk about it, then? “...I’m not tired at all.”

“Your scene later will be with Lee Jaesong,” Yoo Joonghyuk reminded. 

Was that a comment on how long the scene would take? Or a warning? Kim Dokja considered Yoo Joonghyuk’s face and the way he was scowling at the opposite wall.

It could be either, he decided. But Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t seem to like Cheon Inho any more than the other man did him.  

“I know.” He smiled thinly, surveying the hardwood floor. Cheon Inho wasn’t so stupid as to do something, now, with the memory of their argument still fresh in everyone’s minds. Particularly at an indoor shoot like this. The risk didn’t match the gain. 

And if there was something he could trust, it was human nature. He reviewed tomorrow’s schedule in his mind. 

“Joonghyuk-ssi! It’s time!” The assistant director waved him over. 

Without bothering to say goodbye, Yoo Joonghyuk turned and left.

Jung Heewon watched him walk away. “...You’re pretty friendly to him, Dokja-ssi.” 

“Not really?” Kim Dokja shrugged. “But he’s an alright guy.” After all, he’d taken care of a cast member he barely knew and didn’t seem to particularly like. “I owe him one,” he said lightly.

“That’s true. We’ll send him a giftbasket.” 

“Wouldn’t it just get routed to his fan mail?”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Jung Heewon said breezily. “Come on, you can sit down in the break room.” 

“I feel fine,”  Kim Dokja frowned, thinking of watching the next scene. 

Jung Heewon’s grip, however, brooked no argument. “No use taking chances!” 

Chapter Text

Kim Dokja stood just outside the trailer designated as their dressing room, bundled up twice and all but drowning in Lee Hyunsung’s overcoat. 

They were both on standby on top of one of the mid-sized cliffs that broke up the mountain landscape. Equipment and staff bustled around, but the main filmsite was on the plateau below them, where the directors and the bulk of the camera crew were shooting a battle scene. 

His brawny friend was going through a series of light warm-up exercises a few steps away from him, his well-defined biceps bulging slightly even under the embroidered dark green tunic he wore. Simple and honest Lin Minho wore far less than the rest of the flamboyant cast. In fact, a good third of his scenes featured him shirtless due to his martial style. His dark boots and trousers echoed Yang Jitae’s, and his hair was gathered into a simple topknot held by an iron crown. 

Further away, the crew was busy adjusting the machinery, the cranes and cables scattered just out of camera view. 

Under the camera lens below, Yoo Joonghyuk was currently engulfed in a chaotic battle, his curved sword flashing in and out. There wasn’t much blood. Most of the fight would be processed with special effects afterwards, but it was unlikely they’d add much even then for a drama intended for TV. It didn't seem to take away anything from Yoo Joonghyuk’s momentum. With the help of the cables, he flew across the set, darting across the battlescape. 

In her element, Jung Heewon fought at his side, sliding seamlessly into the gaps in his defense and protecting his back. Cha Min’s blade was slender but sharp, each movement brimming with valor. When she spun to face another enemy, her gorgeous robes fanned out behind her. Each attack was a step in a deadly dance, fluid and devastating. 

Lee Hyunsung watched, losing count of his warm ups and a silly, lovestruck look on his face that made Kim Dokja want to tease him.

“Easy there, I hear she’s spoken for.”

Lee Hyunsung turned towards him with an absolutely devastated look on his face. “What?” 

He looked so crestfallen that Kim Dokja could hardly bear it. “It’s you. You’re the one who took her.” 

‘Oh!” Lee Hyunsung’s shoulders sagged in comical relief. Kim Dokja made a mental note to suggest he try for a comedy routine, sometime. 

For better or worse, however, Lee Hyunsung seemed to remember that Jung Heewon had turned over babysitting duty to him. 

“By the way, Dokja-ssi, where did you get that?” Lee Hyunsung pointed at the small, silver-black device in Kim Dokja’s hand. 

“This? It’s a camcorder. One of the staff members left it with me for safekeeping.” Kim Dokja raised the camera up, his fingers a bit clumsy from the woolen mittens he’d been forced to wear. 

“They asked Dokja-ssi?” 

“Whose fault do you think it is that I’m wrapped up in so many layers nobody can even see my costume?” Not that this was the first time someone had mistaken Kim Dokja as part of the staff instead of the cast. 

Lee Hyunsung had the grace to be abashed. “It’s just that it hasn’t been that long since Dokja-ssi got better, it would be bad if you caught another cold...” 

“Hyunsung-ssi!” The assistant director called. 

“Ah, it’s my turn next, Dokja-ssi,” Lee Hyunsung said. “Will you be alright?” 

“Mm.” Kim Dokja waved a hand at him, doing his best to look like a properly wrapped burrito who wouldn’t get sick. 

Lee Hyunsung carefully checked the surrounding area, as though worried he’d fall on something sharp. 

“I’ll be right back,” he promised, before finally leaving to shoot his scene. 

He ran up towards the cameras with long, quick strides, standing in position to enter the battle. One of the crew members locked the cables to the harness under his costume and did a quick safety check. Once Lee Hyunsung confirmed, he ducked out of view.

The camera slowly panned out from Lee Hyunsung’s wide back, showing the chaotic vista below. In Lee Hyunsung’s hand was a precious artifact that the hero needed, one his character had been sent to retrieve. At this desperate hour where even Yang Jitae had to fall back, he somersaulted down from a short cliff. It was a tricky maneuver, even with the cables, but with Lee Hyunsung’s athleticism, it was nothing. Lin Minho crashed in the middle of the fight, instantly creating space between Yang Jitae’s allies and his assailants. 

Kim Dokja fiddled with the camcorder. The data storage card seemed to have been recently emptied. The only clips on it were a few short segments where they were panning around the location. He checked the battery and raised the lens, aimlessly wandering over the film crew’s serious faces and quick movements to adjust. 

A burst of warm air a few feet away signalled one of the nearby trailer doors opening. Cheon Inho walked out in full costume, his long red robes dragging across the snow. 

Surprisingly, he was alone. 

Cheon Inho’s face was done up aggressively in scarlet and black, fully showcasing the fierceness of his Lee Jaesong. An ugly scar had been painstakingly recreated on his face, bisecting his temple and digging into one cheek. His long white wig was gathered into a ponytail at his nape, the end whipping behind him when he turned. 

“Inho-ssi,” Kim Dokja greeted indifferently. 

“What are you doing there?” Cheon Inho had no intention of keeping up the pretense. 

“Waiting,” Kim Dokja said honestly. He turned the camcorder off, folding his hands neatly around it. 

“Thinking of a career behind the camera instead of in front of it?” Cheon Inho sneered, seeing it.

Kim Dokja smiled. “I thought I could share with you how you look like a toddler throwing a tantrum when you perform.” 

Cheon Inho bristled. “I’d worry about yourself- with a weak body like yours, can you really manage an action scene?” 

“Thank you for your concern. At the very least, I have confidence that I can deliver the scene faster than Inho-ssi.”

Cheon Inho’s hands balled into fists, but he knew better than to do anything in plain sight. Shooting Kim Dokja a dark look, he stormed away towards the set. It was his turn, next, and he couldn’t tarry with a mere Kim Dokja, no matter how irritating his face. 

Kim Dokja watched him get in position, getting hooked up by one of the staff. He seemed irate, sending the staff scurrying away as soon as they were done. 

One eye on him, Kim Dokja checked the call sheet for today’s film schedule, the camcorder whirring quietly in his hands.

A while after Cheon Inho descended, Lee Hyunsung was jogging back up to him, having completed his scenes. His outer robe flapped loosely from his shoulders, showing off his bare, muscled torso and impeccable mermaid line. 

“You didn’t have to come back up.” 

“I wanted to see if you were keeping warm,” Lee Hyunsung said earnestly, not seeming to mind the cold air on his chest. Maybe the muscle kept his blood hot. Kim Dokja really wouldn’t know.

“Shouldn’t you be more worried about yourself?” He pulled a scarf from his neck, the heat still lingering, and hung it around Lee Hyunsung’s shoulders. The overall effect was more comedic than serviceable, but Lee Hyunsung seemed happy, even as he tried to force his own overrobe on Kim Dokja. 

“By the way, it should be your turn soon, Dokja-ssi! They’re preparing for it now.”

“They are?”

Sure enough, he could see the cables being wound back up, ready for the next actor who needed to be strapped in.

That was almost ridiculously quick, for Cheon Inho. Did getting angry actually light a fire under him, this time? 

“Yes, it seems that they’re in a hurry, today-- someone mentioned there might be a storm?” 

Kim Dokja winced. That would be terrible news for their shoot schedule. 

Right on cue, his name was called and he stood up. It was time for Kim Kyungmo to join the climax-- and ultimately sacrifice himself.

Lee Hyunsung took the camcorder from him at his request, allowing Kim Dokja a few minutes  to return his coat.

The crew member who came to assist him with the cables seemed to be an intern. Her ID read ‘Myungok’, pinned neatly to her chest, and her short hair was bundled under a woolen cap. “Please excuse me, Dokja-ssi,” she said politely, and started checking that his harness was on securely under his costume. 

“Is this too tight? Please raise your arms like so…” Kim Dokja lifted his arms obediently, the pristine white sleeves of his robe swaying gently in the wind. 

She seemed a bit nervous so Kim Dokja smiled pleasantly. “Thank you.” 

“Ah. Uhm… I hope… Dokja-ssi won’t push himself too hard. After all, when you collapsed…” She flushed a bit. “It was wrong for Cheon Inho-ssi to say so much especially when you were sick.” 

Kim Dokja regarded her carefully for a moment. He could guess the kinds of things Cheon Inho might’ve said. In the end, it was easier for most people to simply follow his lead. Keeping their own counsel and bowing their head to a tyrant. 

“It’s not like you were the one who said them,” he told her neutrally, some of Kim Kyungmo’s ice weighing his head. 

The intern was caught off guard, but she shook her head as she clipped the cables onto his harness. “Yes. But it’s also my, no, our fault for not helping.” 

Did Cheon Inho’s one-man kingdom collapse so quickly? That was strange. But then again, B.YOO hadn’t made any secret of how short her temper was running with him, recently. For someone working offstage, a famous director might be a stronger lure than a mercurial lead actor. Not to mention it was obvious that Yoo Joonghyuk was on bad terms with him. 

But if he were Cheon Inho...

“I understand.” Kim Dokja didn’t say anything more, falling silent. The intern took it as her cue to leave. 

In another minute, Kim Kyungmo would descend into the valley. The cliff he stood on was hedged by other, taller cliffs, shrubbery growing sparsely over it. It was significantly shorter than the one Lee Hyunsung had somersaulted from, but even this height was a bit intimidating. A small, but burbling stream from the springs fed a small lake below, the steaming, geothermally heated water just enough to keep it from freezing. 

Lifting his head, Kim Dokja was startled to see Yoo Joonghyuk looking over, his sword thrust into the ground before him. Cheon Inho stood barely a yard away, but the look on his face was strangely serene. Jung Heewon noticed him and waved cheerfully, prompting Kim Dokja to raise a hand back. 

“Action!” 

Kim Dokja stepped forward, Kim Kyungmo’s sleeves flapping in the wind. He bent a knee and made a running leap to get into the air. 

The moment his feet left the ground, he knew something was wrong. 

He was free-falling, the cable giving too readily under his weight. Then, the harness jerked, yanking hard on one side and knocking the breath out of his lungs. 

So it was here. 

His mind flashed back to Cheon Inho’s face, wondering, briefly, what kind of expression he was making now, but soon the world was spinning and he could barely see anything at all. 

The crane that held his cables creaked ominously and there were shouts from below- he could vaguely hear Lee Hyunsung yelling, and what might be Jung Heewon’s shriek. 

But there wasn’t time to think about that, either. 

The loosened cable pulled longer on one side, tilting him horizontal and sending him careening towards the side of the taller cliff on the left. He tried to land feet-first to stop the swing, only to wind up kicking against the stone face, sending him into another spiral. 

The landscape twisted dizzyingly below him and one of the cable links snapped open from the violent force, lashing open. Kim Dokja made a desperate bid to grab it, ignoring the clamor from below as he hung lopsided, three stories up, like a disjointed puppet. 

Luckily, that stopped his body from smashing into the cliffside. Kim Dokja tensed his body, winding the loose cable around his sleeved wrist and struggling to right himself. 

His grip slowly slipped with each wild swing of the cables and he could faintly hear some people calling for him to stop moving. The force of his own inertia kept him swinging like a demented pendulum, his legs kicking out frantically to keep himself from smashing into rock.

Without a breath of warning, the other cable gave, slipping out of its catch. Kim Dokja’s underwhelming grip strength was nowhere near able to support himself and he fell down like a struck bird, pale robes streaming. He took a breath, as if to scream, and catapulted into the lake with an ungainly splash. 

His body sunk under the water, the surface sealing over like a tomb.

“Dokja-ssi?! Kim Dokja-ssi!” 

For several long seconds, the water was still, without even a ripple. Had the shock of the cold locked Kim Dokja’s limbs?  

Lee Hyunsung directly launched himself off the cliff, grabbing a freed cable to rappel down. The moment he was close enough, he dove.  

The lake wasn’t particularly broad, but it was fairly deep, like a well. Lee Hyunsung groped in the murky water, blindly reaching. He came back up for air once, searching, and dove back in. 

Each time he came up, the tension on shore ratcheted up, a morbid countdown quietly starting. 

After a few more tries, Lee Hyunsung finally felt cloth at his fingertips, the white a faint beacon, and he yanked hard. 

Grabbing under Kim Dokja’s armpits, he kicked up and broke the surface, snatching a lungful of air as he lifted his friend’s bloodless face out of the water. Kim Dokja’s lips were pale and faintly blue. 

“Over here!” Jung Heewon was thigh deep in the lake, anxious. She helped Lee Hyunsung drag Kim Dokja back to shore and lay him out on the bank. Supporting his head, she brought a hand up to his mouth, testing his breath.

Kim Dokja turned weakly to the side and coughed out lake water, prompting Lee Hyunsung to help him sit up so he could expel the water in his lungs. 

When he looked up again, the director had come over, her face thunderous and already on the line with a doctor. She ended the call and turned to the crew. “Check those cables!” 

“Y-yes, B.YOO-nim!” 

“It looks like it’s missing a part...” 

“That can’t be, we checked it this morning! Who checked Dokja-ssi’s harness?” 

Kim Dokja rested against Lee Hyunsung’s broad shoulder, a blanket tossed on top of his wet clothes, but his eyes were open, staring at a particular spot. More specifically, it was a particular person. After a moment, everyone followed his gaze.

“You, why are you looking at me?” Cheon Inho hissed. His face was pallid and he looked clammy, as though he’d been the one nearly thrown off a cliff.

“Why else?!” Jung Heewon barked out. “You--” 

“Cheon Inho-ssi,” Kim Dokja whispered, interrupting her tirade. His voice was hoarse, teeth chattering, but right now, he had everyone’s attention. “What did you throw, just now?” 

“What are you talking about?” Cheon Inho snapped, but all the indignation in the world couldn’t cover up the fear in his voice.

Cheon Inho had been the last one to use the harness. 

B.YOO’s mouth firmed into a line. “Search the area.” 

In the end, they found the missing piece amongst the rubble of the battle scene, farther than it could’ve gone normally. 

Cheon Inho swore up and down he hadn’t thrown anything- after all, it was circumstantial evidence at best. “Besides, shouldn't you be asking that girl over there? Isnt it her job to make sure all the actors are safe?”

The intern trembled. “No, I didn't…” 

“She’s lying!” Cheon Inho insisted. “Isn’t checking the equipment her job? She should’ve known something was missing!” 

“No, that’s…” 

“Certainly, she might have neglected to check something,” Kim Dokja said slowly. “But isn’t the one who maliciously removed the piece still more at fault?” 

Cheon Inho’s face twisted and he grit his teeth. “Who would know when it went missing?” 

“That’s right, so it should just be a matter of when it happened.” Kim Dokja said agreeably. 

“Hyunsung-ssi, do you still have the camcorder I left with you?” 

“Ah, that…” Lee Hyunsung looked embarrassed. “It should be...at the top of the cliff.” 

Someone was sent to fetch the camcorder. Cheon Inho’s face gradually grew stiffer from each passing minute, growing more and more agitated. 

Finally, a camera man came back with the device and handed it to B.YOO. 

“I was just messing around with it, but there are some backstage shots,” Kim Dokja explained. “When Myungok-ssi was going over the checks, she didn’t detach anything from the links, or I would have noticed. Hyunsung-ssi would also have seen it if she had. More importantly, the missing piece was discarded on-set.” With the lake in between, it was nearly impossible for it to have come from above.

B.YOO took the camcorder with a raised eyebrow, sifting through the contents, but her face darkened as she went through the videos. The camera was meant for professional use and the high-resolution images captured were crisp and clear. B.YOO zoomed in and confirmed that the harness was perfectly fine while Cheon Inho was using it- and nobody had approached the area afterwards until Kim Dokja did. 

The quiet that descended was particularly awkward. It wasn’t a secret that Cheon Inho had targeted Kim Dokja since the first day on set. But gossip was gossip. It was an entirely different matter to hurt someone. Filing a lawsuit for slander and libel was an entirely different matter from criminal sabotage. If only Cheon Inho had the opportunity and the motive was established, it was hard not to think he had done it. 

“So what?” Cheon Inho said roughly. “Is it me just because I was the last one to use it? You can’t prove that it was me with just that. What if someone else on set touched that harness before it was hauled back up?” 

It was true. Cheon Inho hadn’t been caught. The camera angle couldn’t capture what had happened on the ground below. 

But that didn’t mean Kim Dokja couldn’t make a report to the police or have his agency request a proper investigation. It would be a terrible thing for an ambitious person like Cheon Inho to make headlines as a criminal suspect. Of course, his agency could always cover it up, but the Sponsors weren’t likely to be pleased. 

All that, however, would have to wait until after. 

Finally finding a foothold, Cheon Inho calmed down immediately. “Besides, isn’t he fine? Wasn’t it just a little accident? I don’t see why we have to stop filming for this.” 

The mood on set darkened considerably. Cheon Inho, sensitive as he was to the audience, couldn’t not have noticed. However, between a bit of discomfort and a setback to his career, it was obvious which one he’d choose. 

Lee Hyunsung and Kim Dokja both got sent back to the dressing room to get changed and after a brief discussion, the team decided to set the evidence aside first for safekeeping and resume the shoot. 

=

Jung Heewon was livid. 

Only Kim Dokja’s meaningful look as he was ushered away restrained her fist, but the urge only got stronger the longer she looked at Cheon Inho’s disagreeable face. 

“Bastard, you really think we wouldn’t find out that it’s you?” 

“If you’re so sure, then where’s your evidence?” Cheon Inho sneered. 

“You-!” 

A heavy hand clamped down on Jung Heewon’s elbow, preventing her from punching the bastard in front of her. 

Surprised, Jung Heewon looked up into Yoo Joonghyuk’s stormy gaze. “Enough.” 

She tugged her arm away from the man’s grip scowling. “It’s not ‘enough’! Kim Dokja could have drowned in that cold water! He was bedridden two days ago because of this scum! Don’t tell me we live in a country where people get away with murder!” All of her thoughts seemed to boil over in her mouth, her rage incandescent. 

Cheon Inho seemed to compose himself. “Like a little fall would kill him. How is it my fault if he fell sick? That bastard’s so weak he even loses out to girls. If you want to pick a fight then maybe I’ll consider it if you asked me on your knees,” He smirked. His voice wasn’t loud but his tone dripped with meaning. 

“Shut up, you disgusting prick!” 

“Did I say something wrong? How else could a coarse, unladylike woman like you get any roles? The only thing you’ve got going for you is a nice body.” 

Jung Heewon surged forward, but Yoo Joonghyuk held her back, grunting faintly when her kick landed on his knee. 

“Calm down.” 

“I won’t calm down!” Jung Heewon declared, incensed. 

“You signed a contract,” Yoo Joonghyuk reminded grimly. “If you’re friends with that fool, getting kicked out of the project won’t do him any good.” 

Jung Heewon stilled. As much as she hated it, Yoo Joonghyuk was right. She shoved him away with both palms. 

“Watch your back,” she warned Cheon Inho, before stalking off set, still seething. 

Behind her, Cheon Inho opened his mouth to make a comment, but the man only gave him a look, the naked disgust stopping him cold. “Get in position.” 

The cameras started rolling almost as soon as the two faced eachother. It took a moment for Jung Heewon to realize she’d been in the middle of the set, causing trouble, but nobody had said anything. Only Yoo Joonghyuk had come forward. 

Jung Heewon frowned. Her opinion on Yoo Joonghyuk was slightly better after hearing he’d helped Kim Dokja while he was sick, but it was still far from flattering. 

On set, Yoo Joonghyuk settled into a battle stance. His body leaned forward, aggressive, and the air around him abruptly thickened, dark and murderous. For a moment, Jung Heewon felt suffocated, like she’d been trapped in a windowless room. 

It was almost as if, in the middle of the set, unheeding of the bright noon sun, an abyss had appeared, dark and roiling. Cold sweat ran down her back and her fingers stiffened, heart thumping with fear. 

“Lee Jaesong. Your eternity ends here!” Yoo Joonghyuk charged forward and slashed his sword up, towards Cheon Inho’s face. 

Cheon Inho paled and raised his sword hastily. If he hadn’t the sword would’ve lodged in his throat. Given enough force, even a blunt object could crush a man’s trachea and Cheon Inho’s arm buckled pathetically under the weight of Yoo Joonghyuk’s sword. He fought the taller man off with an ungainly heave, trying to recover. 

Yoo Joonghyuk barely rocked on his feet, starting a flurry of attacks that pushed Cheon Inho back. Each blow made his arm tremble. A kick to his solar plexus knocked the wind out of his lungs before he could scream. His eyes started to bulge, as though he’d abruptly realized the danger he was in. He fell down without dignity, crawling away from a stab that buried Yoo Joonghyuk’s sword into the ground. 

“Cut! Cut!” Cheon Inho gasped, waving his arms around. “What the hell’s up with him?? Is he trying to actually kill me?!” 

B.YOO looked at him and widened her eyes. “Isn’t he just in character? You must have heard of Joonghyuk-ssi’s methods. There’s nothing wrong with him overpowering the villain. Rather, Cheon Inho-ssi, please try to look a little less cowardly.” B.YOO smiled pleasantly. 

“Let’s do another take.”

“What? No, I’m not ready--” 

“Please try your best. We’ve already given Cheon Inho-ssi two weeks.” 

Jung Heewon watched in rapt fascination as Yoo Joonghyuk forced Cheon Inho into another fight scene, initiating another one-sided beatdown. Cheon Inho tried to run, but there was nothing but a cliff at his back and Yoo Joonghyuk smoothly cut off all paths of retreat. He herded Cheon Inho into a corner and raised his sword, an executioner at the gallows. 

Cheon Inho ran, scrambling around the small space as Yoo Joonghyuk chased him down. His costume was a mess, the heavy clothes and headdress hindering him. 

Finally, after narrowly evading a chop that skimmed his thigh, Cheon Inho raised his arms, frightened out of his wits. “Stop! You’re all crazy! I’m not doing this anymore-- I quit!” 

B.YOO laughed, the sound so deliberate it was mocking. “Surely Inho-ssi is joking, you’re under contract!”

“I don’t care, I’m not going to do this scene!” 

“Ah, what a shame,” B.YOO clicked her tongue. “Just when Yoo Joonghyuk finally got into the right mood.” 

“Stop him!” Cheon Inho was still struggling like a landed fish. 

“Ahh, yes, of course, Joonghyuk-ssi… you may stop.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk’s sword stopped several inches from the crown of Cheon Inho’s head, a hair short of the horns that made up his costume, with perfect control.

Cheon Inho scrambled up, his lips drawn tight and trembling. His hair and clothes were a mess and he’d cut his lip landing badly, a bruise already forming on his cheekbone. “What the fuck are you all playing at?!” 

B.YOO tilted her head. “Didn’t you refuse to do the scene? Otherwise, well, I’m sure Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi would like to clear it.” 

“Fuck you, I’m going to sue-- this psychopath just bruised me black and blue!” 

“Ah, please don’t get so worked up, Inho-ssi-- Aren’t you fine? Isn’t it just a little accident?” B.YOO smiled. “We can keep filming, if you want.” 

Cheon Inho stared at her, the angry flush draining from his face to be replaced by fear. 

In the end, Cheon Inho left. Jung Heewon would have preferred to punch him, herself, but seeing him get beaten up wasn’t a terrible consolation prize. 

Yoo Joonghyuk sat down and carefully wiped his sword like it was real. He looked ridiculously pompous, but just now, it was almost a little bit cool.

“...Were you planning that from the start?” She asked, finally. 

Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t reply. 

Once a bastard, always a bastard. 

=

In an unprecedented turn of events, Cheon Inho turned in his resignation immediately. 

B.YOO swiftly stripped the remainder of his underlings from their roles- all minor and mostly complete, but none she couldn’t easily replace with others. 

“Cleaning house?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked, eyeing the piles of paper and three phones that littered B.YOO’s desk.

“You could leave it to someone else on staff.” 

“No, it’s fine.” B.YOO shook her head, tapping her pen. “I didn’t want to be too picky, in consideration for the agencies, but I should have done it long ago.” 

She stretched her arms out over her head, joints popping gently in ways they hadn’t a decade or two ago. “I owe this much to Dokja-ssi and the rest. Some girls made a few reports after Cheon Inho left.”

Yoo Joonghyuk frowned. 

“Nothing extreme, thankfully, but vile, all the same. Turns out he was already giving me his best behavior, oily as it was.” 

“...You really shouldn’t have stopped me.” 

B.YOO chuckled. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re right. He’s a petty brat and his tricks are the same-- I doubt he even really intended much by stealing those cable grips. He doesn’t seem the type to consider the aftereffects. Incompetent as he is, the next ‘prank’ he thought of might have ended up worse.”

It was a dark thought. Fortunately, Kim Dokja had had the lake to cushion his fall. His friends had been nearby. There was no telling if he’d get lucky again. 

Looking at the strewn mess on her table and the headache that threatened to blind her, however, it seemed like Demon Spring would be needing more than a little luck, itself. 

Chapter Text

Three days after Cheon Inho resigned, the promised snowstorm arrived and the power went out. 

Fortunately, the villa was well equipped with gas heating and wood was fed into hearths underneath the floors. However, without a proper generator, no filming could be done. After a simple meal and sending the kids to bed, the adults found themselves huddling in the communal living room, passing around bottles of soju. Even Yoo Joonghyuk was hanging around the periphery, eyes closed and long body stretched out on one of the couches. 

“Since we have the opportunity, why don’t we get to know eachother a little better?” B.YOO announced, putting down a large bottle of alcohol on the coffee table. 

“Didn’t we already introduce ourselves to eachother?” One of the new actors asked tentatively. 

“Yes, but that wasn’t really getting to know eachother. I’ve prepared a simple game so that we can all bond over the things we have in common,” she said pleasantly. 

Yoo Joonghyuk seemed to sense something was amiss. He directly got up from the couch and started to leave the room, only to be stopped by B.YOO’s hand on his shoulder. “Sit back down, you.”

“...This is childish.”

“This is traditional,” B.YOO smirked. “We’ll be playing a game called ‘I never’,” she explained to the rest of the room. “Some of you may have heard of it.” She explained the rules briefly, and indicated the bottle on the table. 

“There will be a ‘dare’ penalty for those who are caught lying. To help you all along, I’m sharing a gift from a friend- it’s called ‘Everclear’.” She patted it cheerfully. “I’m told a shot of this will guarantee you won’t remember whatever we have you do next. Naturally, the penalty will be commensurate with the lie.” 

“As for rewards… for the most honest child, hmm, how about this portable battery charger?” She held up a slim white brick. 

Kim Dokja sat up. His phone had woefully run out of battery a few hours ago. He wasn’t the only one, either. Other members of the cast and crew who had been initially reluctant were now starting to show signs of life.

B.YOO seemed satisfied as she had everyone refill their glasses with their beverage of choice. 

“Director-nim!” One of the girls raised her hand. “How will you determine who is the most honest?” 

B.YOO laughed. “You’ll just have to guess! But I have a good eye, I’ll know if you cheat!” 

“Now, I’ll start easy, shall I? Never have I ever gotten a piercing. I’ll let the ladies get away with anything on their earlobes, to be fair.” 

A few people around the room lifted their glasses. Kim Dokja took a sip, prompting a quick nudge from Jung Heewon. 

“Really, Dokja-ssi?” 

“There was a certain role…” Kim Dokja shrugged. He hadn’t really thought about it since then. 

“Where is it? I’ve never seen you wear any?” 

Kim Dokja chose the safest option and stretched his neck over so she could see, two fingers lifted gently under the shell of his ear where the indents left behind by old helix piercings could be seen.

“There really is one!” Jung Heewon sounded a bit impressed.

Around the room, other people were being grilled by their friends or acquaintances, and one boy even lifted his shirt to show a belly button ring. 

The next person to go was one of the camera men. “Never have I ever kissed my best friend.” 

“But did you want to?” his neighbor called him out, laughing. 

“Shut up!” 

Kim Dokja hesitated a moment, then quietly took a sip. 

Both Jung Heewon and Lee Hyunsung seemed shocked. “No, wait, was it Sangah-ssi?” 

“That’s not part of the game,” Kim Dokja insisted. When he looked across the room, trying to find something to distract them with, his eyes met Yoo Joonghyuk’s still glowering from the couch, the dim light from the lamp flickering in them. 

Why was he looking over here?

“Did you date for a while?” Jung Heewon seemed insistent on this point. “Sangah-ssi seems like the type who’d keep it quiet…” 

“Wait, did you just decide already that it was Sangah-ssi?” 

“Well you definitely haven’t kissed either of us, so…” 

Kim Dokja shook his head. “Stop it, the next one’s starting.” 

“Never have I ever slept with a coworker!” 

A couple of people drank. One of them declared “technically, she’s already my wife!” to a round of laughter.

Jung Heewon seemed even more puzzled when Kim Dokja didn’t move his glass. 

“Never have I ever gotten slapped. I’ve slapped people before, though!” 

Kim Dokja sighed as he took a drink, alcohol burning his throat. He was already halfway through his second bottle and if this kept going he’d probably have drained it by the time it got to his turn. He was already feeling lightheaded even with just soju. 

“Never have I ever been arrested… What, nobody, really?”

“Never have I ever had a one night stand!” 

“...Why are you looking at me like that, Heewon-ssi?” 

“I was wondering what Dokja-ssi would look like if he were lying.” 

“Don’t I lie all the time?” Kim Dokja smirked.

“That’s why it’s so hard!” 

Kim Dokja laughed lightly, consoling her with a pat to the shoulder. A few others had their turn, successfully emptying his second bottle.

“Never have I ever… worn a bikini! Or a speedo,” the next crew member added thoughtfully. 

Quite a lot of people drank this time, but Kim Dokja was glad to take the break. 

“Hyunsung-ssi, didn’t you model for that one athletic brand?” Kim Dokja recalled it was quite the bold spread for someone as modest as Lee Hyunsung. Then again, Lee Hyunsung was the air headed type who would wear anything he was given. 

“Oh, I guess I did,” Lee Hyunsung blinked in surprise. 

Jung Heewon toasted their glasses together and they both drank. Jung Heewon had featured recently in a commercial for summer sports and had worn black bikini bottoms for it. “It’s more amazing that you haven’t, Dokja-ssi.”

“I don’t have the body for it,” Kim Dokja said drily, tilting his head towards Lee Hyunsung’s stomach. Not even the shirt he wore could hide the shadow of rock-hard abs. 

Jung Heewon considered Kim Dokja’s flat stomach. “I think it’s cute, though? And you have nice legs. Right, Hyunsung?”

“I also think Dokja-ssi could do it,” Lee Hyunsung said loyally. 

“...No, I don’t really need that kind of moral support...”

Around the room, others were heckling, asking for photos or sharing stories of beach vacations and swimsuit shoots. Yoo Joonghyuk had taken a sip, of course, seemingly resigned to going along with the director, for now. 

If it were Yoo Joonghyuk, he probably had several… It was, after all, the body touted as the most perfectly-proportioned male torso in the country. But no matter what he wore, he always gave off a sense of oppression. 

At least up until the next one. “Never have I ever crossdressed!” 

“Aigoo, who said it! Who’s targeting me??” A young man from the other side of the room howled, but he knocked back his drink. 

The others around him laughed, teasing him, but he seemed to take it in good stride, despite the dramatics. 

Kim Dokja was grateful for the commotion- it distracted his friends. 

On the other side, Yoo Joonghyuk simmered with annoyance, his eyes trained on B.YOO who was refilling his glass innocently. He took a sip. One could almost hear him swallow in the ensuing silence.

“What- no way! When was that?” 

“There wasn’t any mention of this online!”

“No, wait, whose phone still has power, let’s look it up?”  

“Mine’s all gone…” 

Disappointed, they could only turn to the next person in line, too afraid to ask Yoo Joonghyuk directly.

“Oh, uhm, never have I ever kissed someone of the same sex.” 

Kim Dokja stared at his glass contemplatively, swirling the soju around like it was wine. To his surprise, however, both Jung Heewon and Lee Hyunsung drank.

He could understand Jung Heewon, a bit, but Lee Hyunsung too? 

Some of the shock must have shown on his face. Lee Hyunsung looked a bit shy. “There was someone back in my highschool sports club...” 

“I went to an all-girls school,” Jung Heewon said, as though that explained everything. 

“Is that actually a thing…?” Kim Dokja couldn’t help asking.

“Not really? But I was really popular, you know. I used to get lots of confessions.” 

That did sound like Jung Heewon.

“So you’ve never tried kissing a guy, Dokja-ssi?” Jung Heewon patted her boyfriend’s shoulder. “Would you like to try?” 

“...Did you just hit on me for your boyfriend?” 

“Is it working?” 

“I think you’ve been spending too much time with Jihye and Uriel…” 

“A little bit,” Jung Heewon laughed. “But only since it’s you.” 

“Why would it matter if it’s me…?” 

Similar conversations were panning out around the circle, a couple of girls even asked Jung Heewon if she’d kiss them , but it was mostly good-natured teasing. 

“Never have I ever lied to my friends,” the next one exclaimed, forcing Kim Dokja to take another sip. 

“Never have I ever gotten or received a lapdance.” 

Kim Dokja paused, then stalwartly took another sip. Lee Hyunsung did, too, face a little pink.

“Never have I ever poledanced!”

Kim Dokja turned slightly green as he finished his glass. He hadn’t been familiar with this particular brand of soju, but the light, giddy warmth in his stomach suggested he’d drunk a little too fast. 

“Never have I ever… had plastic surgery!” 

Almost subconsciously, everyone looked towards Yoo Joonghyuk. 

He put his glass down resolutely, staring out at the crowd in challenge. 

B.YOO laughed. “Is that really what you all think? Hm, then shall we get someone to prove it?” 

Yoo Joonghyuk glared at nothing in particular. “I don’t care if they believe it.” 

“Now, now, we have to call out people who might be bluffing- why don’t you set an example? Let’s see… can someone come up and check Yoo Joonghyuk’s face and ears?” 

Nobody moved. 

Yoo Joonghyuk leveled B.YOO with an intensely unimpressed look.

“Fine, fine, yes, I can confirm, when Namgoung Mingyoung-nim found him, he already had a permanent scowl. Who’s going next?”

Jung Heewon raised her hand and stood up. “It’s me. Hmm, this is pretty tough. Never have I ever… stood by while someone got bullied.”  She smiled but her eyes were sharp as she looked around the room.

Kim Dokja flinched as the room plunged into an uncomfortable silence. “Heewon-ssi…”

But to his surprise, Jung Heewon raised her glass and took a drink. 

“That I let Dokja-ssi convince me not to take any action is also my fault. I respect him a lot and I’ve always been grateful for his guidance since I first started. If not for him, I would still be bussing tables and fending off drunk patrons.” 

Kim Dokja leaned back a little in his seat, only to encounter Lee Hyunsung’s reassuring bulk at his side. The action star sat up a bit straighter, bolstering Kim Dokja with a hand on his shoulder. He looked distressingly determined, his eyes serious and dark. 

“Dokja-ssi has also been my mentor. I’m not that smart,” he said a tad bashfully, “but he’s always been very patient and encouraging. You see, I’ve never been able to do things well on my own. I’m big and a bit clumsy. I relied a lot on manuals to decide things for me. He was my sergeant in military service and he told me I could be more than a soldier.” 

Both Lee Hyunsung and Jung Heewon were now more famous than Kim Dokja was- and he had never begrudged them the fact. Now that they were talking-- it meant something to the crew. 

In fact, the intern hadn’t been the only one to apologize- there were a handful of others, too, particularly the young ones. But most had simply looked away when they met Kim Dokja’s eyes, ashamed and a little fearful or indifferent and wary. Kim Dokja didn’t really mind, anymore. That was simply human nature. 

But Jung Heewon had never believed that was an excuse. 

“Sorry, I’m not really good at playing games like this one. But Kim Dokja is a good man and a better actor. I hope that everyone can give him a chance to show you none of those rumors were true.” Her shoulders relaxed and she gave everyone a friendlier smile. “After all, he’s the kind of guy who’s got this really stupid look on his face now just because his friends praised him a little bit.” 

There were a few scattered chuckles around the room and it seemed to be a little warmer than when Jung Heewon had first stood up.

Kim Dokja felt like his ears were burning up and he was pretty sure it wasn’t the alcohol. 

Jung Heewon patted his arm, friendly, and knocked back the rest of her glass. “Ahh, that felt nice. Been bottling that up too long.”

“Heewon-ssi…” 

“It was for me, and Hyunsung, so don’t mind us,” she told him. “More importantly, isn’t it your turn next?” 

It was probably a good thing that Shin Yoosong was in bed or this would have been even more embarrassing. 

He refilled his glass and raised it a bit weakly. “Never have I ever… been so thankful for my friends,” he said finally, truthfully. He hid his face with the rim of the glass, turning it into a toast. “Even if they put me on the spot from time to time.” 

The laughter was a bit more relaxed, now, and some of the others raised their glasses, too. 

“We love you, too, Dokja-ssi,” Jung Heewon laughed, flinging an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into a crushing group hug with Lee Hyunsung. 

“Very sweet, but we are still playing a game,” B.YOO noted, without any heat. “But I’ll give you two a pass. Hyunsung-ssi?” 

Lee Hyunsung started, a bit caught off guard. “Uhm. Never have I ever…” he cast a glance around the room, lingering over his friends in a brief plea, but Jung Heewon merely grinned and Kim Dokja carefully avoided.  

“Never have I ever… gotten a cold?” His voice lilted at the end, uncertain. 

Jung Heewon laughed. “No fair, Hyunsung!” 

“Hyunsung-ssi’s body is too robust,” Kim Dokja groused with her 

Lee Hyunsung smiled as the groans echoed around the room and everyone took a sip. 

The rounds after that got rowdier and racier both and, as the next round started, Kim Dokja started to feel a need to leave the increasingly noisy room. Making an excuse to take a trip to the bathroom, he staggered outside, mostly upright. 

He made it about halfway to the toilets before he slipped on the polished wood floor and found himself sitting on it. It seemed like too much trouble to get up, after that. 

After a few minutes, he heard someone approach and had a vague idea Lee Hyunsung might have gotten worried. He raised a hand and shook it around a bit. “I’m fine.” 

There was a pause and a distinct, broad-shouldered form came over to look at him. “Kim Dokja.” 

Ah. Not Lee Hyunsung, then. But it was nearly too dark to tell. The dim lamp in the hallway barely outlined a silhouette. 

Kim Dokja hummed in response, too comfortable in his spot to care if he was obstructing the way.

To his absent-minded surprise, Yoo Joonghyuk sat beside him. 

“Are you drunk?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked, with far too much judgement in his voice, all things considered. 

“Maybe,” Kim Dokja considered. “I’ll let you know when I pass out.” 

“...Your speech seems fine.” 

“Diction is important.” Kim Dokja laughed, an exuberant sound he normally wasn’t really capable of. “I’ve acted when I had a cold, before,” he said, a bit proudly.  

“Why’re you out here, anyway?” 

“...I refused the penalty.” 

“So you’ve been kicked out?” 

Yoo Joonghyuk’s expression wasn’t visible in the darkness, but he seemed more pensive than offended. Kim Dokja was content to let him brood, leaning against the heated corridor wall. The wind drummed at the walls and windows, nearly lulling him into sleep. 

Surprisingly, it was Yoo Joonghyuk who broke the silence first. “You were very calm, when Cheon Inho left.” 

“I didn’t expect he’d leave on his own. Thank you, for that, by the way.” Kim Dokja meant it sincerely, but Yoo Joonghyuk seemed to look at him askance. Mildly offensive, but the cozy warmth of the soju and good friends made him feel particularly charitable- positively friendly, even. Besides, if Jung Heewon was to be believed, and she usually was, Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t needed to do any of those things. 

“What would you have done if he hadn’t?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked. 

“Who knows? Made a police report? He cares a lot, you know? He’s-- got plans. He couldn’t not care. Didn’t you see how scared he got?” Kim Dokja hummed, words slow, but crisp and clear. “It’s hard, when things get out of hand.”

“...Was it deliberate?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked, finally.

“Which part?” 

“The sabotage?”

“Him.” 

“Then, the camera?”

“Useful.” 

“When you fell.” 

“Who knows.” 

The frustrated silence made Kim Dokja laugh. 

“Why should I tell you?” 

“...I helped.” 

“I guess you did.” Kim Dokja chuckled, low and inscrutable. “But I don’t trust you.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk ground his teeth. “I won’t tell.” 

“Promise?” 

“Yes.” 

Kim Dokja motioned for Yoo Joonghyuk to come closer, intending to confide conspiratorially into his ear. But he’d forgotten it was too dark to see. Frowning, he groped for Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder and half-stumbled, half-leaned against it, pressing his face close. 

“It looked worse than it was,” he whispered, his breath a gust of soju-infused heat in the darkness. 

Yoo Joonghyuk stiffened. 

“Did you plan it?” He demanded. “How did you know he’d make a move?” 

Kim Dokja rested his chin on top of the hand cupping Yoo Joonghyuk’s bicep. 

“Didn’t. He’s proud. It’d be stupid if he didn’t try.” Kim Dokja had seen dozens like him. “I wouldn’t have done anything if he’d stuck to namecalling. But he was stupid, in the end.” 

Cheon Inho was trash, but he didn’t have the guts for murder. He’d tried to scare a little nobody and it had been a simple matter of exaggerating the incident dramatically. An extra kick to send him spinning; shifting his weight with the swing of the rope. He’d gulped a lungful of cold air right before he hit the water and stayed underneath as long as he could. There had been risk, certainly, but only to himself. 

Nobody had suspected unathletic Kim Dokja would careen 20 feet in the air on purpose for over five minutes. Nor had they suspected he could hold his breath for three. He had improvised and played the tension of each bowstring in the crowd by ear. Even knowing Jung Heewon’s temper, he hadn’t spared her. Unexpectedly, it hadn’t been Jung Heewon who moved. 

“You could’ve died.” 

Kim Dokja shrugged brazenly. “Didn’t.” After all, Lee Hyunsung had been close by and his faith hadn’t been misplaced. Some opportunities didn’t wait.

“Was outing him more important than your life?” 

Kim Dokja was annoyed. He reached up and pressed a finger clumsily towards Yoo Joonghyuk’s face, prodding his cheek admonishingly. 

“I can do stunts,” he said indignantly. While nowhere near what his friends might be capable of, he’d still been trained. Specifically, on how not to die. “Kyrgios Rodgraim taught me.” 

“And Inho wouldn’t have stopped. He was trash,” he emphasized, skipping back on topic and conveniently forgetting he hadn’t verbalized any of his earlier thoughts. “His acting, too.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk was so baffled he didn’t even seem to notice the finger. “And that’s more important?” 

“Find a new one.” After all, with that level of unprofessionalism, he might’ve brought the whole production down. “His Lee Jaesong had no soul.” 

“Does it matter?” 

“Yes.” Kim Dokja couldn’t understand why Yoo Joonghyuk would ask such a question. “You lose half the story.” 

“...What are you going to do if you don’t like the next one?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked. 

“Get Roksoo. Isn’t he free?” 

“You think they’ll listen to your casting decisions?” 

Kim Dokja curled his shoulders once, too lazy to reply. His finger was still on Yoo Joonghyuk’s surprisingly supple cheek. Absently, he reached up with both hands to cup his face-- before squishing his cheeks together. He pinched and pulled at Yoo Joonghyuk’s cheeks, fearless in his drunkenness. “So it’s not plastic surgery?” he muttered to himself.

Yoo Joonghyuk was so startled he pulled back violently, Kim Dokja toppling against him. But of course, the inebriated fool promptly lost interest and fell asleep.

Yoo Joonghyuk looked down at the dim silhouette of his sleeping face, Kim Dokja's breathing warm and gentle through his shirt and unable to name the feeling in his chest. He simultaneously wanted to dump the man onto the ground and shake him awake, demanding answers. But then, he always wanted answers, around him. 

Disgruntled, Yoo Joonghyuk looked back at the rowdy room they’d come from, raucous laughter audible beyond the thin walls, and made a decision. 

=

Kim Dokja’s pale fingertips kneaded at his temples, the hangover beating against the back of his eyes. 

The ringtone currently blasting in his ear didn’t really help. 

But he could tell from the light, frolicking notes and the soaring crescendo of the waltz that it was Yoo Sangah. 

She’d called before, the moment that she'd heard about the incident. Incidents . But Kim Dokja had been suffering from a fever, then, and soft-hearted, she’d let him have a stay of execution.

The grace period, apparently, was up.  

It was truthfully a conversation that he’d best have when he wasn’t nursing a hangover. Unfortunately, that wasn’t in the cards for today. 

Answering the call, Kim Dokja shoved himself up with some difficulty. “I can explain…” 

“Then Dokja-ssi can come to the lounge and tell me personally,” she said peacefully.

Kim Dokja must have misheard. “Sorry?” 

“You always say that,” Yoo Sangah lamented, heaving a sigh. 

“Wait, you’re here?” Kim Dokja rephrased quickly, trying to think through his migraine. 

“Yes, I arrived with the crew-- they were kind enough to let me hitch a ride.” 

Only Yoo Sangah would find a way to cross a snowed-in mountain path to scold him in person.

“I informed Sookyung-nim, as well, by the way,” she said cheerfully. “You should call her.” 

Great. That meant a retreat to his home might not necessarily be any better. 

“It really wasn’t that dangerous,” he tried to defend, but his voice sounded weak, even to his own ears. 

The line went silent. Then, Yoo Sangah’s soft, breathy sigh fizzed through. “If Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t told his manager to contact me, would you have said anything? If Yoosoong-ie didn’t tell everyone, would you have mentioned falling sick?” 

Kim Dokja hesitated to reply. “It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.” 

“...Dokja-ssi,” Yoo Sangah said crisply. “Please stay where you are.” 

“Mmh?” 

“I’m heading over.” The call ended.

Kim Dokja scrambled out of bed to lock himself in the bathroom. 

Thirty minutes later, he opened the door to Yoo Sangah seated on his bed, her hair tucked behind an ear as she went over some paperwork. 

“Ah, Dokja-ssi. Done hiding?” 

Kim Dokja coughed, his freshly-washed face pinking. “I was just cleaning up. Have you seen the others?” 

“Hyunsung-ssi and Heewon-ssi were asleep in the lounge… along with most of the cast.” 

Ah, the game must have gone on for longer than he’d stayed conscious for. But if Lee Hyunsung was still outside, who had brought him to his room?

A faint, slightly perturbing notion formed in his mind, along with a snatch of conversation and a deep, unimpressed baritone.

He could just barely remember that the last person he’d talked to last night had been Yoo Joonghyuk... Last night… what exactly had happened? 

“How did you find my room?” he asked distractedly. 

“Someone showed me.” 

Yoo Sangah straightened her papers with a couple of light taps, tucking them away into a sleek calfskin briefcase. She stood and came to rest the back of her delicate hand against Kim Dokja’s forehead, testing his temperature. “It’s a little hot. Come lie down.”

“It really was just a cold,” Kim Dokja protested even as Yoo Sangah led him back to the bed.

“A fever you’d barely recovered from before being dunked into a freezing lake and having a relapse . It’s a good thing they managed to keep you warm...” 

“Yes... “ Fortunately, there hadn’t been a lot of scenes left that Kim Kyungmo could do without a Lee Jaesong. 

“...Does Dokja-ssi know what he’s done wrong?” 

“I… didn’t tell you?” he tried. 

“About what?”

“Getting sick. And having an accident on set,” he said obediently.

Yoo Sangah frowned. It was terrible how much he wanted to confess things when she frowned. 

“And about how you were being bullied? Or that you were reckless?” 

Kim Dokja’s heart thudded in his chest. “...Who told you that?” 

Yoo Sangah reached out, her tapered fingertips cool on his cheek. “Am I that untrustworthy?” She asked quietly. “Does it mean so little that I’ve stayed with you all this time?”

Guilt and shame assaulted him immediately, wrenched in his gut like knives. “No, that’s not it…” 

“Dokja-ssi,” Yoo Sangah said firmly, her tea-colored eyes fixed firmly on his. “You’re not alone anymore.” 

“In fact, you haven’t been alone for a long time now. It was difficult, but we managed to come this far… These days, I don’t have to look too hard for work because everyone thinks Dokja-ssi is reliable. You have friends who support you and kids who look up to you. Uriel would kill for you if you asked. Heewon-ssi would even if you didn’t.”

“...And you’d help them hide the body?” Kim Dokja asked, trying for levity.

Yoo Sangah laughed gently. “That goes without question.” 

“You didn’t have to face Cheon Inho alone,” she told him bluntly and reached out, resting her hand on Kim Dokja’s. “I… don’t want Dokja-ssi to be alone anymore.”

“...It’s not like I’m trying,” Kim Dokja said weakly. It had just… never been an option to drag his friends into a dubious enterprise. He liked his friends. They had careers to think of, too. 

Yoo Sangah looked at him quietly, seeming to read everything on his face. “Even if we had to go to hell, we’d rather go there with you than be in heaven without.”

“And after all, if Dokja-ssi won’t tell us, then we’d have to come up with things on our own.” 

That sounded like a threat.

Kim Dokja’s throat felt dry. “...I understand.” 

“You don’t.” Yoo Sangah patted his hand. “But if I don’t remind you, then who will?” 

“It’s a long way to go for a pep talk.”

“As it happens, it’s not the only thing I came here for…” 

“...It’s not?” Kim Dokja asked, half-fearing the answer.

“Yes, there’s one more thing.” Yoo Sangah smiled in a way that made his blood run cold. “But I think it’s better if you hear it from them.” 

“‘Them’?” Kim Dokja repeated, not liking where this was going at all. 

There was a knock and the door creaked open, Yoo Joonghyuk stepping through. “It’s time.” 

Kim Dokja shot Yoo Sangah an inquiring look.

“I did say someone showed me the way to your room.”

Chapter Text

Kim Dokja really should have trusted his gut. 

Maybe then he wouldn’t have to contend with Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand locked around his arm, practically marching him through the villa’s corridors.

Halfway through, Kim Dokja had given up on his lukewarm struggle and did his best to follow along, to ensure the minimum bruising. Yoo Joonghyuk’s grip wasn’t tight enough to cause any harm but the skin inside his elbow felt inexplicably sensitive, chafing under the man’s hard fingers. 

Yoo Sangah walked a step behind them, seeming not to notice. 

“Sangah-ssi…” Kim Dokja attempted. 

“Don’t worry, I brought medicine with me,” she told him. “It won’t bruise.”

Ah, she was really angry this time. 

Evidently hearing their little exchange, Yoo Joonghyuk paused, then awkwardly transferred his hold to his shoulder, pasting him to his side. Kim Dokja’s back pressed against his forearm, his narrow shoulders dwarfed. 

“...No, this is worse. I’ll walk by myself.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk ignored him, steering him bodily towards another hall. “You tried to run.” 

“It was an impulse. Neither of you have told me why we’re going to see the director.” It wasn’t that he didn’t have any guesses. Just, none of them were good. The lack of police presence only seemed like a good sign until he realized another high profile incident was the last thing this production needed right now.

“You’ve guessed,” Yoo Joonghyuk said briefly.

“...Anything I said while under the influence isn’t permissible evidence in court,” Kim Dokja said lightly, darting a glance towards Yoo Joonghyuk to probe his expression.

Yoo Joonghyuk’s step faltered, then his grip tightened. “I don’t break promises.”

Kim Dokja wanted to ask what that meant-- but they’d already arrived in front of the meeting room.

It struck him, suddenly, that there was really no reason for Yoo Joonghyuk to act like hired muscle. While he might boast an impressive physique, there were one or two stunt doubles on set who could easily do the same. 

Somehow, the combination of Yoo Sangah’s surprise and seeing Yoo Joonghyuk had sent his mind into disarray. He hadn’t been given time to think since he woke up. The emotional sucker punch from earlier now seemed almost devious, designed to send him off-kilter. 

“Ah, thanks for showing them the way, Joonghyuk-ssi,” B.YOO smiled. She had a set of papers laid out on the table and only one chair had been prepared, directly opposite of herself. 

Yoo Joonghyuk leaned against a wall to the side and Yoo Sangah came to stand beside the single chair, waiting with her hands folded primly before her. Nothing in her expression betrayed anything about the situation. 

Kim Dokja sat uneasily, his tense fingers picking up the folder on the table. The contents held a contract, for which the salient points had been highlighted in neon green. 

“I’m sorry for the short notice. It hasn’t been easy moving things around. As you know, it’s been a few days since we lost one of our leads and management’s still dealing with the fallout from that. It hasn’t been pretty.” 

She sighed and smoothed her expression out into a professional calm. “But I’m responsible for ensuring this drama is delivered on schedule, and so I have a proposal for you.” 

She smiled and held out a sleek white-gold pen. “Please be our Lee Jaesong.” 

Kim Dokja didn’t bother browsing the revised contract. “I respectfully decline.”

B.YOO tipped her head to one side, brows drawn together in confusion. “Is there some issue with the terms?” 

He felt a pang of guilt at her obvious confusion. It was rare for the discussion to reach a point where contracts had to be involved. He or Yoo Sangah would have maneuvered the conversation in a different direction long before it could happen. 

“No. I’m sure they’re incredibly generous. I just don’t play leading roles?”

“Why not?” 

“It’s a personal matter,”  Kim Dokja said, his expression blandly polite.

The producer tapped the pen on her lip once, glancing at Yoo Sangah questioningly. 

“I did say,” Yoo Sangah shrugged helplessly. 

“At any rate, isn’t there anyone else you can consider? Having me replace Inho-ssi would mean discarding all of my previous scenes as Kim Kyungmo.” Given the current delays to their schedule, replacing the current problem with another one seemed unwise. 

“That is a dilemma, but fortunately, Kim Kyungmo is a far shorter role, it wouldn’t be impossible to leave it for last. Lee Jaesong’s role is far more urgent. Each day we can’t film hits us pretty badly.” She paused, tapping a finger. “Besides, we do have another option.” 

“Another option?” Kim Dokja asked, curious in spite of himself. 

“Yes, I was reviewing the scenes with the assistant director. There are only twelve scenes where Kim Kyungmo and the adult Lee Jaesong interact directly.” 

“...What are you saying?” 

B.YOO smiled, her eyes dancing. “Have you heard of the words ‘ movie magic ’, Dokja-ssi? Or perhaps you’ve watched a drama with twins played by the same person?” 

“...That’s. Needlessly complex.” 

“With the right camera angling, a body double, and a mask, it’s not impossible. As Dokja-ssi has pointed out, it would save us some time looking for another actor and reshooting, overall.” 

This… didn’t sound like something they’d decided on the spur of the moment. 

The director seemed to read the doubt in his eyes and her expression revealed a trace of chagrin. “Truthfully, Dokja-ssi, Cheon Inho had to be dropped from the production, one way or another. He was delaying our entire timeline. We were seeking alternatives long before the incident happened.”

“However, all the other actors we’ve considered have already signed other contracts- or declined, once they realized Yoo Joonghyuk would be the main lead.” She nodded her head towards the man by the wall. 

B.YOO’s beautiful face was solemn, and he was reminded, suddenly, that she was an award-winning director. “As you know, Yoo Joonghyuk’s presence isn’t anything just anyone can match. And currently, you are the best option. Perhaps our only option, if this production is to succeed.” 

“...I don’t fit the requirements for the role, either. My physical fitness and fighting sense is lacking.” Cheon Inho, at least, had starred in action roles before, which had made him the Sponsors’ natural choice. 

“There isn’t any issue with that. Cheon Inho was already using a stunt double for the more complex stunts. We’ll find one for you.”

“Jihye,” Yoo Joonghyuk said. “She has a similar enough build.” 

“...” Did he measure him while he was being escorted? Kim Dokja felt like he’d taken a psychological hit. No, but he was still a man, it couldn’t be that he had the figure of a girl barely out of highschool? 

Yoo Sangah coughed lightly behind him, not bothering to hide her smile. 

“...Jihye’s too short,” he felt compelled to point out.

“The robes are long. Lifts and angling won’t be an issue,” Yoo Joonghyuk said tonelessly. 

This bastard…

“Regardless, I’m sorry, please find someone else.” Kim Dokja stood up, shaking his head. He could see Yoo Sangah’s shoulders slump faintly, out of the corner of his eye.

B.YOO didn’t say anything for a long moment, then sighed. “I understand, we can’t force you.” 

“I appreciate your understanding.” 

“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk said. “A word.” 

Kim Dokja smiled at him. “No.” 

“Kim Dokja!” 

“Sangah-ssi, I’m going to be taking a walk, shall we continue our conversation later?” 

“Of course,” Yoo Sangah said placidly. She looked over towards where Yoo Joonghyuk was stalking over and her lips pursed slightly. “Will you be alright?” 

“Perfectly.” Kim Dokja said, though it was kind of her to check. Just, if Yoo Joonghyuk wanted words, that would have to be between them. “I’d appreciate a headstart, though.” 

“Understood,” Yoo Sangah acknowledged ruefully. 

Yoo Joonghyuk was barely two steps away but Kim Dokja ducked to the side and squeezed past into the hallway. 

By the time Yoo Joonghyuk made it past Yoo Sangah, he’d managed to get all the way down the hall and out into the main hall. 

Kim Dokja thought about his options. There were people starting to wake up with hangovers in the lounge and the other common areas were too near. It’d have to be outside, then. Far enough that nobody would hear raised voices. 

He grabbed a coat someone had left on top of a couch, wrapping it around himself as he changed into his shoes and stepped outside. 

The blizzard had left most of their surroundings covered in knee-deep snow but someone had brought a snowplow from the town below and the driveway was clear. They even seemed to have made inroads in the garden, clearing paths to the generator and the outdoor water tank. The snow had been piled on either side, nearly eight feet at its peak. 

Kim Dokja picked a path at random. The sky still looked overcast and gloomy and the wind still came in fits, tearing at his borrowed coat. The path offered shelter from the wind, at least. 

“Kim Dokja, where are you going?!” Someone tugged at his coat, pulling him to a stop. 

He glanced back. “Finding somewhere to have this conversation.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk’s hair looked disheveled, tossed by the wind. He hadn’t bothered to wear anything at all, standing in the freezing weather in his gray cashmere sweater and signature combat boots. 

“Then why did you run?” 

“Anyone could hear us inside the villa, you realize. The power’s back on and they’re waking up.” 

“My room--”

“Will cause misunderstandings,” Kim Dokja interrupted. “Come on, there’s a small building out where the peach trees were. If we hurry, we’ll make it back in time for a late lunch.” 

=

The hanok he’d chosen was a tiny, squat little cabin with shuttered windows, snow already piled halfway up the walls, and a single door.  It was a bit dark, but if they left the door open, there was enough to see by. Kim Dokja ducked inside, grateful for the walls that blocked the wind. 

Even bent, Yoo Joonghyuk’s head scraped the threshold, but he managed to fit, following him inside. 

“...This is stupid.” 

“Better get this over with, then.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk turned to face him, his stormy expression distinct, even in the low light. “You should take the role.” 

“I already refused.” Kim Dokja shook his head. “Get to the next part.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes narrowed. “Last night…” 

“Yes. I wasn’t at my best.” 

“You need to take responsibility.” 

Kim Dokja choked. “Excuse me?” He didn’t think he’d forgotten that much while drunk. Even if he had, he preferred to think he had enough self preservation not to hit on Yoo Joonghyuk. Or worse.

“Did I... do something to you?” Kim Dokja asked cautiously.

Yoo Joonghyuk hesitated, but it didn’t seem like he was thinking of a lie. The uncharacteristic skitter of his eyes to the side was almost… embarrassed. 

...It couldn’t be.

“...Yes,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, damning him. 

No, he refused to believe it! 

“I woke up in my own bed. That wasn’t you, was it?” 

“Of course it was me,” Yoo Joonghyuk said impatiently. “You fell asleep on top of me.” 

Kim Dokja blanched. “I did?” 

“Do you really not remember?” 

“No, all I remember is that we were talking.” That part, at least, his drink-addled mind had seen fit to retain.

Yoo Joonghyuk frowned. “Nothing… else?” 

“Yes.”

The lead actor’s face darkened. “How convenient.” 

Kim Dokja’s skin prickled. Yoo Joonghyuk had no right to sound like a maiden who’d been tricked into some slick-tongued playboy’s bed. Assuming any mortal being would even dare. Aside from the usual rumors about goddesses like Lee Seolhwa, Yoo Joonghyuk’s reputation was shockingly pristine. The man lived like a monk and seemed to refuse all contact. 

He did his best to calm down. “I don’t usually get drunk,” he said bleakly. “But I really don’t remember doing anything.”

Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t even his type, really. After all, he had to have a type, first. 

And if he had done something so earth-shattering, how was he still in one piece? No matter what the scenario might have been, he couldn’t imagine Yoo Joonghyuk suffering it quietly. Logically speaking, any attempt Kim Dokja might have made would have been laughably easy to fend off. 

“Did I…” Kim Dokja’s throat felt dry. “Did I, uhm, touch you?” 

“Yes.” Yoo Joonghyuk’s brows knit together, clearly recalling something unpleasant. 

Disbelief muddled his mind, stuffing cotton between his ears. But tiptoeing around this wasn’t going to work. “Where?” 

Yoo Joonghyuk considered it. Then, he raised a hand and pinched Kim Dokja’s cheek, tugging it harshly to the side. “Here.”

“O-ow, let go!” Kim Dokja pulled away, staggering to fall back against the walls. His fair skin had been pinched red in the shape of Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers, vivid. 

But relief started to unknot the tension in his stomach. “That’s all?” 

Yoo Joonghyuk frowned, his voice dropped low. “What do you mean?” 

Kim Dokja froze. “Nothing,” he said, keeping his voice as even as possible. The steadiness of his voice belied the clamminess of his hands, tucked into his pockets. “I just wanted to confirm the account.” 

“Then do you really not remember what you told me?” 

Half a minute ago, Kim Dokja hadn’t thought the truth about last night’s drunken episode could get any worse. He should have known better. 

“...I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“You confessed to sabotaging yourself. And Cheon Inho.” 

Kim Dokja was stunned. He hadn’t even told any of his friends. 

“I didn’t tell the director,” Yoo Joonghyuk continued moodily. “But you should take responsibility.” 

So this was what he’d meant by keeping his promise. Kim Dokja touched a knuckle to his bottom lip thoughtfully, fingers curled against his chin. 

“...By taking the role, you mean?” 

“What else?” 

“That…”

A sudden rumble caught their attention and Kim Dokja turned towards the open door just in time to see a thick wave of snow and slush gush inside like a tidal wave, splattering them both. 

Kim Dokja spluttered for a moment, bowled into Yoo Joonghyuk. The inside of the hanok was in near-complete darkness. 

“Hello!? Is anyone there?” Kim Dokja called out. Had the workers resumed clearing the snow? But surely they would have seen the footprints… Then he remembered the wind. The snow hadn’t been packed in yet- it was possible that the wind had toppled over a pile, sealing them inside the tiny hut. He could even hear a faint sound, likely the gale hitting the roof, and the quiet weight of snow. 

He fumbled for the door, his hand meeting a wall of ice. Gritting his teeth, he tried to dig through it-- but it was too cold and he quickly stopped after confirming his fears. The snow was too thick to break through, as though they’d been covered by an avalanche.

A hand groped at his back, startling him. “Calm down,” Yoo Joonghyuk ordered. “I didn’t bring my phone. Did you?” 

Kim Dokja pulled his out, the screen momentarily blinding him as he turned it on. He quickly dialed Yoo Sangah’s number, but the call didn’t connect. The signal was impeded by the thick walls and the drifts outside, the lone bar pulsing weakly. 

“...I can’t connect.” 

“Try a message.” 

Kim Dokja was already in the app. For a moment, he wasn’t quite sure what to write. But then he remembered he was currently standing next to a multi-million asset. His teeth chattered faintly as his cold fingers slowly typed out their situation. He sent it to his friends and B.YOO, unsurprised when the message turned red in failure. 

“They’ll start looking soon,” Kim Dokja murmured, half to himself. It was one thing if ‘Kim Dokja’ disappeared and another entirely if ‘Yoo Joonghyuk’ did. 

“They won’t be filming, with this weather.” 

“...You’re a bit hard to miss.” 

“I don’t eat with the others.” 

“I do,” Kim Dokja said, tiredly. But who would know where they had gone? Twenty feet might as well be twenty miles. 

He tapped the auto-resend on the messages and set the phone carefully on a stone table, letting its weak light illuminate the cramped room. 

The inside of the little single-room cabin was barely furnished- obviously intended to be decorative rather than functional. Apart from the table, there was a large, brittle grass mat, crunching faintly under their shoes, and a tall wooden cabinet against one wall.

Kim Dokja shivered. It was a terrible time to remember the emergency kit in their rooms.

“...Take your clothes off.”

“What?” 

“You’re wet. Take your clothes off,” Yoo Joonghyuk repeated. 

Kim Dokja had been closer to the door and had taken the brunt of the slush. The heat trapped in the room from their extended stay was slowly melting the remaining snow, seeping into his coat.

Yoo Joonghyuk reached for his coat and yanked it open. “Are you an idiot? How often do you need to freeze to death before it sticks?”

“It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose!” Kim Dokja protested. At least, two out of three times it hadn’t been. “I don’t actually enjoy getting sick.” 

“Your track record is pathetic.” Yoo Joonghyuk flung the wet garment onto the table and patted him down. “And you were bedridden barely last week.” 

“I’m not trying to undermine your work on purpose-- hey!” 

“Your pants are wet, too.” 

“Don’t take them off for me!” Kim Dokja hissed. 

He stepped back, putting some distance between them, and under the weight of Yoo Joonghyuk’s stare, carefully let his pants drop. His shirt was just long enough to cover the tops of his thighs. Luckily, his underwear seemed dry or he didn’t know what outrageous demand Yoo Joonghyuk might have next. 

Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t even have the decency to look away, leaving his nerves taut and his mood snappish. It wasn’t like the man hadn’t seen more, but being half-undressed in a tiny closed room without any exits wasn’t quite the same. Every inch of skin exposed to the cold felt raked. The misunderstanding earlier was still fresh on his mind and he was keenly aware of the bed not a few feet away. 

“Hey, didn’t you get splashed, too?” 

Not bothering to protest, Yoo Joonghyuk curled his fingers around the hem of his sweater and pulled it off deftly. Even in the pallid light of the phone screen, his muscles flexed impressively in motion, the shadows deeper in the groove of his hips. 

Kim Dokja folded his arms around himself, trying not to shake like a drenched kitten. 

Yoo Joonghyuk was searching for something in a wooden cabinet, eventually emerging with a box of matches and an oil lamp, which he lit. 

The faint smoke trailed off into the air. “There’s ventilation,” Yoo Joonghyuk noted, staring at the way the smoke drifted. 

“Shouldn’t you have checked before lighting up?”  Kim Dokja checked his phone and saw the messages were still red. He turned the screen off to conserve battery. 

Yoo Joonghyuk ignored the comment. “There’s a blanket. It’s old but they must have used it to cover the table, once.” 

Kim Dokja nodded vaguely, but he was surprised when Yoo Joonghyuk draped the blanket around him. It smelled like dust, but it was surprisingly dry. 

“Ah, you don’t have to--” 

“You need it more than I do,” he said shortly. 

“...You seem to be adapting extremely well.” 

“It was part of my training.” 

“For martial arts?” 

Yoo Joonghyuk looked almost reluctant. “Similar. She liked camping in the wilderness. She said it helped you get back to basics.” 

“I see…” 

“More importantly, you haven’t given me an answer.” 

It took him a moment to remember which question Yoo Joonghyuk had asked. 

“Honestly, I’m still trying to understand why I’d tell you.” But if Yoo Joonghyuk was this certain, then he could only suppose he had.

“Let me think about it,” he said, finally.

“You have until they get us out.”

“Assuming they even find us, you mean.”

“Then I’ll find a way.” Yoo Joonghyuk seemed remarkably calm, considering the situation. 

“...Can’t you find a way now?” Kim Dokja couldn’t help but ask.

“Do you have my answer?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked, raising one perfect brow.

“...You almost sound like you want to be stuck here.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk looked away. “It’s a bit useful.” 

Kim Dokja swore at him under his breath and wrapped the blanket a little more tightly about his shoulders, sitting down petulantly. 

There was something a little surreal about being trapped in a tiny dark room with Yoo Joonghyuk, buried in over six feet of snow. 

The chain of events was almost hysterical. If anyone had told him he’d get trapped in a cabin with Yoo Joonghyuk he would have laughed himself hoarse. Worse, the man was set on learning his secrets, like a dog with a bone. His luck had always been terrible, but rarely so catastrophic. Not even his mother could have foreseen this, surely. 

“I don’t know how I could get so drunk as to tell you secrets. Even my friends…” He trailed off, and quietly tapped to resend the messages once more.

“...You didn’t tell them?” Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice seemed closer, like he was barely a step away instead of on othe other side of an admittedly small room. He wondered if it had been like that last night, too. 

It had been darker than this, he remembered, the man’s silhouette a scrawl of ink drawn on charcoal. Had the deep shadows softened Yoo Joonghyuk’s scowl, casting an illusion of warmth? 

He must have been out of his mind. Kim Dokja cast his eyes towards the lamp, tracking the narrow flame. “I wasn’t planning on it.”  

“A poor choice,” Yoo Joonghyuk scoffed. 

“...I didn't think they’d be that angry,” Kim Dokja said softly, like a confession. 

“Aren’t they your friends?”

“Yes.” Kim Dokja looked down. “I think so.” 

“Either they are or they aren’t.” Yoo Joonghyuk sat against the low bed frame, the grass mat crunching under his boots.  

“It’s because they are,” Kim Dokja said, sighing. “I didn’t want to get them involved.”  

There was no telling what his friends would have done, if they had gotten involved. It was one thing to be an action star and another to be an action star with a criminal record.

Jung Heewon had always been emotional and Lee Hyunsung couldn’t lie to save his life. While they were loyal, he didn’t want them to lie for him. Neither of his friends would have dealt with the situation well. 

But those were also excuses. It hadn’t been until he was facing Yoo Sangah’s frown that he had realized he wouldn’t tell her, either. Had never planned on it.

He had been scared of what she would think of him-- what any of his friends would--  if he had told them, in a way that made his stomach wring itself into a knot.

His bitter sixteen year old self flinched at the thought, muttering from beyond the wall about rumors and fair weather friends. Another voice, slightly older, spoke about burdens.

But today’s visit had proven that it had been shortsighted to think he could get anything past her. Without him really knowing, Yoo Sangah had been quietly reading him all along. 

“...Did you tell her what I told you?”

“No,” Yoo Joonghyuk grunted.

“...You’re pretty uncompromising, aren’t you?” 

“I don’t like broken promises.” 

That was actually a little… cute. He thought he could see, just a little, why he might have chosen to tell him. “Did a girl break your heart when you were young?” 

Yoo Joonghyuk glowered at him. “No.” Then, he closed his eyes, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. “It was my parents.”

Kim Dokja… didn’t know what to do with that information. He’d never heard an answer he’d liked. The curve of Yoo Joonghyuk’s broad shoulders suddenly seemed a little fragile. 

“I can understand that...” 

“They’re dead,” Yoo Joonghyuk said flatly. “But they were useless before then.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“...You don’t mean it.” But Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t seem offended, only a bit… curious.

“...No, not really,” Kim Dokja admitted. “Some people are better off dead.”

He cracked a faint, creaky little smile. “I’m not such a good person that I can forgive someone just because we have the same last name.” 

“There’s a scar on your hip,” Yoo Joonghyuk said quietly, almost a non sequitur. “It’s jagged. Like the end of a broken bottle.” 

“...You noticed that, huh.” It was a bit surprising. The scar had faded, now, painted over by a decade and a half of time. He almost forgot about it, sometimes, until it pulled tight against his side when he stretched a little too far. 

The scar was the second reason why he didn’t take swimwear jobs. 

“It’s from my father,” he admitted calmly. 

“You hate him.” 

Kim Dokja stared at the flickering shadows on the far wall, thinking about Yoo Sangah’s outburst earlier and the implacable man barely a foot away. To Yoo Joonghyuk, this story wouldn’t mean much. Certainly not enough to repeat. He wasn’t gentle, but he knew right from wrong. 

Perhaps, a little voice said, if Kim Dokja told him enough, then he’d give up. 

He wouldn’t care enough to pass it on. Nor would he, sitting upon his throne, deign to interfere. 

To Yoo Joonghyuk, perhaps, it would only be a story. 

But it was a story he had never put into words. The meaning and the facts tangled uselessly in his mouth. It wasn’t easy to explain your own past-- to pick and sort what had been feeling into thought. 

Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t seem to be in a hurry, but he was looking straight at Kim Dokja, as though nothing else, right now, could possibly take his attention away. 

As the silence stretched into minutes, he decided to talk about his mother. 

“My mother doesn’t have any photos of herself after she got married,” he said slowly, almost conversational. 

“She didn't own anything that wouldn’t cover her wrists. But her hands were beautiful. She used to paint picture books for me. But she can’t pick up a brush anymore. She couldn’t, even before he broke her hands.”

“12 fractures. A broken ankle. 7 contusions. That’s what it took to get him reported. He walked free in a month.” 

His laugh was a hollow sound. “You asked why I can’t take ‘Lee Jaesong’. It’s him.” 

A pit that had been settled in Kim Dokja’s heart came free. For a moment, it was actually a bit refreshing. None of his friends had Yoo Joonghyuk’s bad manners. They had sensed the sting of an open wound and tiptoed around it. It was better not to tell them. Yoo Joonghyuk, at least, wouldn’t care and he didn’t talk. 

Yoo Joonghyuk, in typical callous fashion, didn’t bother comforting him. “I don’t understand… is it the name? That can be changed.” 

“My mother gave me this name,” Kim Dokja told him. “And it wouldn’t matter.”

 “Yoo Joonghyuk… What’s the first thing that happens when you get famous?”

“...”

“Everything about your past will be exposed. Your real name or your old one. Where you’re from. The school you went to. All of those are on government documents.”

Kim Dokja closed his eyes.

“The next thing you lose is your right to be human.” When someone became a ‘figure’, judgement was swift. Every mistake was amplified and every detail was torn apart. 

“I saw my mother break down slowly, from the tremble in her mouth to the quake of her knees losing strength. Watched her wheeled to an ambulance while the neighbors mutter that it must’ve been her own fault. That she…” Kim Dokja’s voice hitched. “That she should have tried harder to keep our family together.”

Court proceedings hadn’t been any better. 

“My father broke her hands but strangers broke her spirit.” 

“For a long time, she couldn’t come close to the front door of her room. Loud sounds and voices frightened her. She’d sleep in the bathroom and spend waking hours locked in nightmares.” 

“That wasn’t your fault.”

Kim Dokja stared at the grass mat, his voice bleak. “If I had been there, she wouldn’t have taken it alone.” 

If he hadn’t become an actor when he was ten, perhaps, the one in the hospital would have been him.

He’d just started getting bigger jobs, back then. The hospitalization had made local news. There had been attention and no small amount of envy, enough to send tongues wagging in wicked delight at the slightest misfortune. Snide remarks, like pebbles, had accumulated, bit by bit, into a towering mountain with a monstrous shadow.

If he’d had any other way of reliably paying the bills, Kim Dokja would have quit acting altogether. He’d grown perilously close to hating it, wishing he could carve it out of his heart. 

In the dazed years afterwards, he had shrunk his existence as much as possible, until it became a habit. And it seemed that he only lived when he was someone else, anyone else. Acting had been the rope thrown to him at sea and it had been the noose drawn tight against his throat. 

“I don’t need fame, Yoo Joonghyuk. It’s done enough. All we want is to live quietly.” 

In the cramped space, time seemed both infinite and shrunken. Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes held neither distress nor scorn, his thick lashes concealing his expression. His breath was so shallow he couldn’t hear it.

Then, he spoke, a hushed rumble. 

“If you truly wanted that, then you would have stopped.” 

“Bastard, what are you saying?” 

“If all you wanted was your craft, then you could have gone to teach at an academy. Or a local theatre group.” 

“If all you wanted was the story, then you don’t need an audience. It’s nothing more than your conceit.” 

Kim Dokja felt like he’d been slapped. “No, that’s--”

“In the end, you’re just running away,” Yoo Joonghyuk observed clinically. “After all, there are options.”

“What options?” Kim Dokja’s lips thinned. 

“Nobody said you had to be named for Lee Jaesong’s role.” 

“What..? That’s ridiculous, the media tours alone--” 

“And it’s ridiculous of you to believe that you will be the focus of this drama while I am here.” 

This arrogant jumped-up junior... 

“Are you saying you can suppress my Lee Jaesong?” 

“Naturally,” Yoo Joonghyuk said cooly, before continuing. “You said you didn’t want to hurt your friends’ careers, but without a suitable Lee Jaesong, the board will cancel this production in a week’s time.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I didn’t take you for a coward.” 

Kim Dokja grit his teeth. Yoo Joonghyuk’s point was well-made. While his friends likely wouldn’t take it against him even if they knew, being part of the main cast of a big production was no small matter, even at this point in their careers. He mulled over Yoo Joonghyuk’s words. Was it possible? He could be anonymous, just like in Land of Gold, but for a major production like this? 

An omitted byline wouldn’t be enough. He would need to be unrecognizable. Completely different from Kim Kyungmo and Kim Dokja both. A spark of temptation beckoned faintly at the challenge. 

“Fine. I’ll do it,” he said. “Provided Joonghyuk-ssi can live up to those conditions.”

“I’ll handle it.” 

Kim Dokja huffed, his breath misting into a white puff. The decision felt rash, but Yoo Joonghyuk had a bite that wouldn’t let go. His personality seemed undeterred by anything short of an apocalypse grinding society to a halt.  

The finality of their discussion left an awkward gap in the air, the conversation stalling. 

“Why do you care so much, anyway?” 

“...I don’t like working with trash.”

“There must be other projects.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk looked pensive. “They’re all the same.” 

Kim Dokja thought about it for a moment longer and understood. Yoo Joonghyuk’s career was at its peak, but he was already starting to tread the same roles and the same paths. What he needed was a breakthrough. Yang Jitae wasn’t too far from his usual fare, but it was more emotionally complex than the others. 

“Will you really be okay?” Kim Dokja mocked gently, his mood brightening.

Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t speak, but his eyes narrowed. 

Ignoring the unspoken threat, Kim Dokja reached up to check his phone. The message stared back, unsent. 

A short while later, the oil lamp went out, taking the last trace of warmth with it. 

Slowly, the cold started to creep back into the room.

Within an hour, Kim Dokja’s teeth started to chatter. He grit them tightly, curling up under the blanket. His phone screen blinked out, idled.  

“...Come here,” Yoo Joonghyuk called out. 

Kim Dokja didn’t. “I don’t want to,” he enunciated slowly through the tremor of his teeth. Moving would disperse the miniscule amount of heat he’d managed to huddle underneath his blanket. 

As a result, Yoo Joonghyuk came to him. 

A cautious hand reached over, then Yoo Joonghyuk lifted a corner of the blanket and ducked inside.

“What are you doing?!” Kim Dokja squawked, recoiling and bumping his head against the table.

“Holding you,” Yoo Joonghyuk said shortly.  His arms closed around Kim Dokja, pulling him flush against his bare chest. 

Stunned, Kim Dokja could only let himself be pulled in obediently. Up until he felt that broad, firm torso against his back, a wrist brushing against his throat. One broad hand cupped the side of his slender neck, almost as though to check his temperature. 

“You’re just as cold as I am,” Kim Dokja complained. 

“Take your shirt off and wait.”

“Are you crazy?” Kim Dokja couldn’t help but ask.  

“Do I need to do it for you?”

“I’d rather freeze.”

“Stop wasting my time.” 

Kim Dokja resisted the urge to clutch his shirt together. It wasn’t like they hadn’t had skin contact before. Far more than they should ever have had, really. After several more seconds of mental resistance, he carefully shucked his shirt and leaned back against Yoo Joonghyuk. 

The contact was shockingly warm without the clothes in the way and Yoo Joonghyuk’s chest was as smooth and firm as he remembered. Two small points were pebbled from the cold, like brands against his shoulder blades, prompting him to pull back, hovering without touching. 

Dissatisfied, Yoo Joonghyuk pressed him back, locking him into place with a chin settled on top of his head. 

Kim Dokja’s mind blanked out. 

“...This position…” Surely there were other methods of survival that didn’t require spooning?

“Would you rather be facing me?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked.

Kim Dokja shut up. 

It was too cold to talk, anyway. 

Every inch of skin on his back was currently plastered to Yoo Joonghyuk’s front, from the nape of his neck to the small of his back. It was already starting to warm, heat slowly seeping. Yoo Joonghyuk’s forearms were crossed over his clavicle, as though he’d simply gotten in the way of Yoo Joonghyuk folding his arms. The man’s thighs cradled Kim Dokja’s hips and he had, it seemed, taken off his own pants in the darkness. There was so much warmth he almost felt enveloped. 

He felt strangely small, for a moment, like he was a child again. His heartbeat thumped in his ears, like a rabbit’s. 

Yoo Joonghyuk’s breath stirred the fine hair at the top of his head and his breathing was deep and even. Don’t tell him this lunatic actually intended to sleep??

Kim Dokja thought about slipping out. Then he looked at the clock on his phone, slowly counting minutes. 

With both of them under the blanket, it really was startlingly cozy. Trust a survivalist to know.

Lulled by Yoo Joonghyuk’s rhythmic breathing, Kim Dokja drifted off to sleep. 

In his hand, the bright screen of his phone dimmed and switched off, plunging the room back into darkness. 

=

Yoo Joonghyuk stirred to the sound of people shouting outside. A thump of shovels against snow outside the hut door jolted his mind into complete wakefulness. Under the blanket, he was warm and unexpectedly comfortable. He’d certainly slept in more challenging conditions while he’d been following his master. 

Kim Dokja was still asleep, obviously not as well as he had pretended to be. A brush of his knuckles against a surprisingly soft cheek confirmed the lingering heat. 

Yoo Joonghyuk’s shifting roused the other man and he blinked blearily, pulling away mulishly from his hand and inadvertently pushing back against his chest. 

It was hard to believe this was the same man who’d been baring his teeth every time Yoo Joonghyuk got too close. An unguarded Kim Dokja felt like an entirely different order of being, soft and warm in a way difficult to reconcile with the sharp wit and a cutting smile. 

But the shoveling was urgent. He pulled away from Kim Dokja mercilessly, though he tugged the blanket back towards him, searching in the dark for his own clothes. 

The bitterness of the cold air finally woke Kim Dokja up. Noticing the noise outside, he quickly turned the flashlight on his phone on, illuminating the small space so he could find his own clothes. Struggling into them, he started calling out. “We’re here!” 

Yoo Joonghyuk looked at his flushed face and sleep-warm skin, thinking absently of the feel of Kim Dokja’s fine hair tousled against his palm as he helped him swallow a pill. The man’s throat was surprisingly graceful and very fair, the adam’s apple elegantly curved and drops of water had spilled from the corners of his lips. 

“Don’t forget,” he said, his fingers curling unconsciously as he watched Kim Dokja dress out of the corner of his eye. 

Kim Dokja gave him a flat look, a familiar edge like cut glass resurfacing in his gaze as the first shovel broke through the entrance. “You first.” 

Chapter Text

It was a classy little place. Yoo Sangah’s roots tended to show like that.

Han Sooyoung slunk inside the cafe and slumped into a seat in disgust. 

The store was located just off the main street of Seoul’s most expensive commercial district, tucked just enough out of the way that Han Sooyoung had to walk after parking her car. She wouldn’t have put it past Yoo Sangah to have chosen it deliberately for that purpose. The woman was always concoctng some dastardly plot to get her to exercise more. 

The interior was covered in pale wood and muted golds; ash-silver wallpaper and chandelier lighting. There was enough natural light coming through the tall, white-draped windows to dapple the hardwood floor. Plush leather and velvet seats, deep enough to sink into, cozied underneath the drapes.

On each table, jewel-toned crystal goblets were neatly arranged on linen napkins, set off by a tea light carved to look like a flower. There was even a bookshelf stocked with a selection of hardcover classics, all of them boring, tired, and unmistakably unopened. 

A drink here would cost thrice as much as it would anywhere else, but the place was quiet and there wasn’t anyone around at this hour. 

Han Sooyoung ordered a late lunch and a tall glass of something pretentious from a menu that looked like a wedding invitation. Then, utterly bored, started typing on her phone. 

Not long after her food arrived, her phone started to ring, the notification interrupting a 500-word description of a luxury cruise cabin. A small square photo of a cartoon squid was splashed across the middle of her vibrating phone.

Han Sooyoung pressed ‘accept’. “Hey, asshole.” 

“This is why people don’t call you,” Kim Dokja told her. 

“Good, I get too many calls as it is.” Han Sooyoung picked up a heavy fork that looked as though it had been dipped in gold foil and stabbed it into her perfectly-cooked lemon-and-herb-infused salmon. 

“So how was your cabin date with Yoo Joonghyuk?” She asked blandly. 

“It wasn’t a date!” the static-y voice sounded tired. “We were just looking for a place to talk.” 

“Because Yoo Joonghyuk is known for his scintillating conversation skills,” Han Sooyoung scoffed. “Was the lounge too convenient for you two?” 

“Yoo Sangah already gave me an earful, thanks.” 

“Surprised your body men haven’t shanked Yoo Joonghyuk yet.” 

“Body-- are you talking about Jung Heewon?” 

Han Sooyoung made a noise of agreement as she chewed. “And the big one.” 

“...Hyunsung wouldn’t hurt anyone.” 

“You should sound a little more confident if you want to sell that to the police someday.” 

Kim Dokja laughed. “I could even sell you to the police, if I have to.”

“Besides, Yoo Joonghyuk has been…” Kim Dokja trailed off. “Helpful.” 

Han Sooyoung’s eyebrows shot up. “...That’s new. Is Stockholm syndrome kicking in?” On any other day, Kim Dokja was usually perfectly content to blast big name celebrities with her, especially Yoo Joonghyuk. Granted, he was poor fodder, these days. The man was so boring he was nearly cardboard. 

“He’s still a bastard,” Kim Dokja protested. “But going to the garden was my idea. Didn’t want his hangers-on listening in.” 

“You always find new and exciting ways to showcase your moronic decision-making skills. So?” 

“So?” Kim Dokja repeated. 

No way was Han Sooyoung buying that oblivious act. 

“What did Yoo Joonghyuk do in 6 hours that overturned the answer you’ve been giving everyone else for the past 6 years?” 

Kim Dokja didn’t speak. She couldn’t even hear his huffed breaths, anymore.

For a second, she wondered if she’d pushed too far, and that perhaps she would be hearing another thoughtless Kim Dokja non-answer.

It didn’t seem like any of the others had gotten anything, either, but she wouldn’t be where she was if she didn’t push her luck.

Unexpectedly, Kim Dokja replied quietly. “Just that I have responsibilities.” 

Han Sooyoung rolled that response over in her mind, thinking about the various ways it could be taken. 

But if Yoo Joonghyuk had leaned on Kim Dokja’s guilt, he could have chosen worse knives to twist. If anything, the fact that someone had beat her to it was a little galling. But that was never her card to play. 

Truth be told, she wasn’t too heavily involved with Kim Dokja’s career in the entertainment industry. 

To the world, Kim Dokja might only exist as a character on the screen. To his friends, he was their mentor and their colleague. But to her, Kim Dokja was her Reader. He existed in the space when she lifted her hands from the keys, like a tether to a world outside. 

She knew she was possibly the one friend he had outside of his job, too. They might even, she supposed, be best friends. It was the least objectionable label she could think of, anyway.

“You mean for the production?” she probed gently, giving him an out if he wanted. “I heard you’re subbing for some no-talent lowlife.”

Kim Dokja paused, but the tension slowly seeped from his voice. “...More or less. They said they’d keep my name off the credits.” 

“Like a mystery actor gimmick? Cheap.” 

“It’s the only way this will work.” 

“You mean the only way you will work.”

Kim Dokja didn’t refute her. 

“So it’s the antagonist, right? Did you figure him out yet?” She dipped a chunk of salmon in garlic butter and ate it in neat bites. 

“I think so,” Kim Dokja said. There was a faint sound on the line: rustling paper. She pictured Kim Dokja’s slender fingers ruffling through the script, like a pianist on keys. 

“How many times have you read it, so far?” 

“Six, since we signed.” 

“Tell me what you’ve got.” 

“Lee Jaesong makes for a terrible Demon King,” Kim Dokja sighed. “Most of what he actually does doesn’t seem to match his state of mind.” 

“Pretty good for a rank 7 novel.” She cut another chunk of salmon. “You can be a victim and a villain.” 

“...It’s the ‘villain’ part that’s a bit difficult to balance.”

“Why should it be?” 

“The reaction feels too extreme. Going after his former friend and mentor so one-sidedly... His lines and his actions don’t show any of his compassion at all.” 

Han Sooyoung speared a scalloped potato on the tines of her fork. “Are you sure about that?” 

“...Huh?” 

“Haven’t you ever been that angry before? Like you can’t breathe from how unfair it is?” 

The rustling stopped. 

“People get mad because events don’t follow what we want them to.” She swung the fork between her fingers. “Because we feel wronged.” 

“...That’s how life works. An ancient demon should know that much.” 

Han Sooyoung tsked. “Everyone gets mad. People who don’t are liars and sociopaths.” She even knew which one Kim Dokja was. 

“Did you read it?” 

“Hm, no?” Han Sooyoung pretended to think about it. “Do I look like I have that kind of free time? There’s a hundred cultivation revenge plots updating daily if you go online.” 

Kim Dokja still seemed doubtful. “Then…”

“I don’t need to,” Han Sooyoung explained patiently. “The only one I know who’s angrier than me is you.”

“...What?” 

Han Sooyoung stabbed her fork through another piece of salmon. “You heard me.” 

“I don’t really get mad a lot?”

“That’s because you’re repressed. You should get mad more often.” 

“...Sometimes I don’t know why I call you.”

“Wasn’t it for my amazing advice?” 

Kim Dokja huffed a laugh. “I guess so.” 

“While you’re in a calling mood: have you called your mother?” 

“...Not yet,” Kim Dokja said, his voice faint. 

“Need me to?”

“...No, I’ll do it.” 

Han Sooyoung stared out into the afternoon sidewalk, watching women in expensive dresses go by and twirling her fork. Kim Dokja had never offered and she had never asked. But she would be much less of a genius if she couldn’t put that story together. 

Her eyes fell on one particular woman striding up the street and she quickly ended the call with Kim Dokja. “Later.” 

“Wha--”

Not a few seconds after that, Yoo Sangah entered the cafe, wearing a cream jacket over her fawn dress. Neutral colors, an elegant silhouette, and without a hair out of place. She fit the cafe decor like a doll in a dollhouse. Certainly more than Han Sooyoung did in bleached jeans from highschool and a Burberry coat worth three million won.

“Ah, Sooyoung, you’re early!” Yoo Sangah slid into the chair opposite of Han Sooyoung’s, placing her bag in the box underneath it. 

“Don’t call me so casually.” 

“You should have told me you hadn’t eaten yet, I would have joined you,” Yoo Sangah continued, as though she hadn’t heard, when Han Sooyoung knew for fact that the woman had the ears of a dog. 

“I’m not sharing,” Han Sooyoung declared, hoarding her plate closer. 

Yoo Sangah didn’t seem to mind, signalling the waitress to order tea and a creampuff. 

“Do you want dessert?” she asked. “No, you’d be too full.” 

“Don’t ask if you already know.” 

“It’s a shame, they make lovely lemon macarons.”

Han Sooyoung paused. 

Yoo Sangah beamed. “Shall I have some boxed for you?” 

“Don’t bother,” Han Sooyoung said, and ordered it herself, just to be contrary. 

Yoo Sangah seemed satisfied, the meddler. “I thought you’d like them.”

“Don’t think this means you’re forgiven for making me walk here.” Han Sooyoung scoffed, then blinked as she noticed a cherry tomato between Yoo Sangah’s pristine fingers. The woman was quick, as usual. 

“Isn’t it fine? Everyone needs a little sunshine. It’s good for your health.” 

“I’ve lived this long without it.” 

“I’d appreciate it if Sooyoung-ssi also took care of herself a little more.” 

Han Sooyoung eyed her over her plate, wondering at the meaning underneath. She stabbed her fork down viciously into the remaining tomato. 

While she could begrudgingly admit Kim Dokja might be her closest friend, she had no idea what to make of Yoo Sangah. 

When they’d first met, it had been at a party her parents had dragged her into. Han Sooyoung had been smoking on the veranda, dark-eyed and soulless, and then Yoo Sangah stepped onto the balcony. She’d been twenty, then, to Han Sooyoung’s eighteen, dressed in something pastel and neat, her hair caught in a pearl net and an ivory rose on her lapel. She’d met Han Sooyoung’s eyes and smiled, asking for a cigarette. 

“I don’t think you could take it.” 

“Try me.” 

Yoo Sangah had slipped the cigarette from her fingers and placed it between hers, breathing in. The movement was so smooth and practiced, Han Sooyoung had nearly believed her-- up until she coughed. 

Han Sooyoung had quit smoking after dropping out of college to write full-time and disowning herself. She hadn’t had a single thought about the older woman until she’d shown up on her apartment doorstep with a proposal.

“I’m not an idiot,” she said, finally. “And you don’t need to mind me.” 

“Isn’t it normal to want my friends to be well?” 

“We aren’t friends, either.” 

“Aren’t we?” 

Han Sooyoung looked at Yoo Sangah’s manicured fingernails and the scrawls of ink that crossed the lines of her own palm, remnants of the notes she’d written in a half-asleep fugue. 

“Not at all,” she said, ignoring the way Yoo Sangah carefully folded her napkin into tiny pleats. 

“You did say it was something important, right?” Han Sooyoung sipped her drink. It was something fruity, with a shot of vodka that scalded her tongue. She admired her own foresight as it raked down her throat. 

Yoo Sangah collected herself calmly, pulling out a folder. “Please have a look.” 

“They should stop sending you for this shit.” 

“I don’t mind,” Yoo Sangah said, her smile as gentle and bright as ever. Like every bit of darkness was oil, sliding off a swan’s back. 

Han Sooyoung accepted the folder and flipped through it solemnly. The important parts were marked with Yoo Sangah’s deft and sure hand. Her eyes narrowed and she looked back up at Yoo Sangah suspiciously. “Are you sure?” 

“As you said, they really should stop sending me.” Yoo Sangah accepted her tea from the waitress and swirled the spoon gently. Flower petals whirled in her cup, as though in premonition. The peaceful look on her face almost made one doubt the contract she’d drafted. 

Han Sooyoung thought hard. Then, she took out a pen from her coat and uncapped it, marking several areas. She quickly scrawled out a few clauses after that, before pushing the marked-up papers back to Yoo Sangah’s side of the table. 

Yoo Sangah looked over the revisions and blinked. “Isn’t this a little mean?”

“Take it or leave it.” 

“Alright, I understand.” 

Han Sooyoung knocked back her drink. “If that’s it, I’m heading out first.” 

“So soon?” 

“Don’t you have a lot to do?” 

“This and that.” She shrugged gracefully, sipping at her drink with an impenetrable, gentle smile. Unsettling. But at least it wasn’t her problem. 

“That trash--” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Yoo Sangah hummed. 

Han Sooyoung wasn’t worried at all. Really, if Kim Dokja had told her first, she would have told him never to get involved with Yoo Sangah.

She paid at the counter and picked up her macarons, then, before she could think better of it, ordered another set, rose-flavored, in a box rimmed in tiny silver sugar pearls. 

“You can give that one to her when she leaves,” she told the clerk and exited the store. 

=

Kim Dokja stretched sluggishly, laid out on the floor on his side, a worn copy of the script folded in one hand.

It had been a long time since he had done a major role. Even Land of Gold barely had any speaking lines. 

The difference in the sheer quantity of lines between Kim Kyungmo and Lee Jaesong was enormous, like comparing a pamphlet to a phone directory. Even with B.YOO’s revisions and the careful cuts, they’d be filming nonstop until spring. 

Fortunately, Kim Dokja’s memory was exceptional. Memorizing the lines wasn’t the problem.

The issue was consolidating a character as complex as Lee Jaesong into something that made sense. 

But Han Sooyoung was right, in the end. He hadn’t been able to fully understand Lee Jaesong’s anger.

He couldn’t help but shy away from the idea, at first. Cheon Inho had latched onto that anger and inflated it into comically inept proportions. But it wasn’t as though he’d been completely wrong. 

It was just that the core of Lee Jaesong was more than his anger. Two halves that seemed completely at odds. An amnesiac boy who grew up gently with the protagonist, and the demon who tore Yang Jitae’s parents apart- they were both the same person, in the end. 

“‘Because we feel wronged’…” Kim Dokja repeated softly, and smiled wryly to himself. Trust Han Sooyoung to understand people more than she ever wanted them to know.

He had always been careful. Careful not to be a burden. Careful to consider others before himself. What did it matter if Kim Dokja was angry or sad; tired or happy? It was perhaps better if ‘Kim Dokja’ didn’t exist. Then, perhaps his father wouldn’t have turned on his mother. Perhaps his mother’s hands would still be whole. 

He had always thought he’d been doing the right thing. That the things ‘Kim Dokja’ felt wasn’t necessary for ‘Kim Dokja’ to continue to exist. Quite the opposite, actually. 

But he knew more than anyone that he’d been running away from his own thoughts, careful to keep them under lock and key. 

Lee Jaesong didn’t have those shackles. He was a demon, after all, or maybe truly human, in the end. He’d lashed out against his teacher and given him a plausible excuse in the same breath. He’d given Yang Jitae a chance, and was ruthless in retribution. 

In order to portray Lee Jaesong, Kim Dokja would have to pry open those locks and break open the wall. He’d have to drag each raw, shapeless scream into his hands and let it fill the hollows in his bones. He’d have to let it tell, without words, his story. 

He should never have talked to Yoo Joonghyuk. 

Sitting up, he thought about a small apartment with an overturned bookcase and started to recite his lines. 

The story filled in the outline of Lee Jaesong in his mind, like the pass of a shuttle over a loom. Slowly, he spun from it a demon’s beast-like heart, pinned with a thorn and wrapped in barbed iron. He teased out a low, lilting voice, deceptively gentle, simmered in a frustrated rage. 

And where the weave was loose, he stitched Lee Jaesong together from pieces. He chose Sun Wukong’s wildness and Yoo Sangah’s silk-and-iron heart; Han Sooyoung’s bitter-edged tongue and just a pinch of Jin Hajoon’s languidness. Then, he filled his pockets with the broken pieces of his past, like shards of glass. They bit into Lee Jaesong’s palms, the cold edge soothing the heat of his rage, ready to be drawn like a weapon. 

By the time he was done, he could almost taste the mortar on the back of his tongue, brick dust under his fingernails.

=

Demon Spring resumed filming with Lee Jaesong on a cloudy afternoon. 

It had taken a few days to pull things together, but Jihye had arrived yesterday and had been briefed. Kim Dokja had disappeared mysteriously since he’d signed the contract, citing closed door cultivation. 

Yoo Joonghyuk might have believed it, if he’d bothered moving out of his shared room with Lee Hyunsung. 

All attempts to drag him out had resulted in being gently turned away at the door. Except for one notable time Jung Heewon had apparently been on duty. 

B.YOO had seen him nursing his hand afterwards, but he hadn’t deigned to give her raised eyebrows a reply. 

The last time he’d actually seen his soon-to-be costar was yesterday, when he’d been in deep discussion with B.YOO and several members of the crew, preparing for today’s shoot. 

He hadn’t managed to talk to Kim Dokja then, either. It was almost like the man was avoiding him again. 

The thought was slightly unpleasant. 

“Ah, he’s here!” B.YOO clapped her hands, dragging Yoo Joonghyuk from his thoughts. Even the staff, busy with the equipment, stopped at her bright voice, a few nudging their fellows and whispering. 

“Who is it?” 

“I heard that…” 

He felt the presence, first, a palpable shift in the air, just like the first time he saw Kim Dokja play Jin Hajoon.

Yoo Joonghyuk turned. 

A tall figure strode onto the set, tugging at the long sleeves of his robe. Even with his head slightly bowed, he demanded your attention. Two slender red demon horns split through the long pale hair that fell freely down his back, braided with tiny faceted beads like gems. 

Abruptly, the set quieted, hushed, then just as suddenly erupting in murmurs. 

“Is that--” Someone asked, voice a little loud in the quiet. 

The demon’s gaze swept across the watching crowd and the man who spoke flinched, shoulders shrinking. 

A bone white mask exquisitely sculpted to look like a fox was settled over the demon’s face, fitted perfectly to reveal nothing but his lower lip and chin. The fox’s mouth hinted at a snarl but the scarlet paint that swirled patterns onto its face gave it a menacing beauty. His robes were pale silver under dark mauve, fading into byzantium. The lapels were pulled sloppily open at the throat and a thick white fur stole draped loosely from his shoulders, secured by a braided red cord.

Slowly, an elegant hand tipped in silver claws lifted the mask and turned to face them, a hint of Kim Dokja’s wry smile on his lips. “It took a bit longer than expected to set it.” 

For a moment, nobody spoke. 

Then, someone broke it. 

“Ahh, you look so pretty, Ahjussi!” Lee Jihye laughed, emerging from a separate trailer. A dab of clay altered her jawline, and she was dressed in Kim Kyungmo’s ice-white robes. “Is this CG? This is a scam, right?”

The makeup artist had worked with Kim Dokja’s unnaturally pale skin and made his eyes darker and larger, the tails long and sweeping up, shaped with dramatic eyeliner and accented with red eyeshadow. There were three painted dots under his left eye. His lashes seemed even longer than usual; his lips defined by a faint gloss of pink in the middle. The whole thing was yanked back from the brink of femininity by a long jagged scar that streaked across his temple to a corner of his mouth. 

Despite that, he was undeniably beautiful. And when he looked up, his gaze sweeping around the room, he was captivating: a fox spirit emerged from the woods. And suddenly you would do anything to make them look your way. Even if you bled for the privilege.

The thought made Yoo Joonghyuk pause.

He turned towards B.YOO, frowning. “This…”

B.YOO smiled and patted his shoulder as she moved towards the set. “Isn’t it good? I think the fans will be pleased with an enchanting demon lord. If you think about it, he was a hero, once. Just like fallen angels.”

“It’s excessive.” 

“Don’t worry, you’re still pretty, too.”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s scowl deepened.

Lee Jihye had her phone out, the rapidfire sound of the camera shutter blatant as she circled the demon king. 

“You know you can’t share those, right?” Kim Dokja told her, looking resigned. 

“Photographic evidence,” Lee Jihye chirped, leaning forward to take a closeup.

Kim Dokja stepped back instinctively, beads flashing gently like distant stars in his hair. “Of what?”

“That I was right and you should wear makeup more often. Look! Your skin is so pretty? What do you need such nice skin for?” 

“...Adverts?” Kim Dokja answered seriously. 

Lee Jihye tutted at him in disappointment. “You’re so old, ahjussi, you wasted my setup!” 

“Still, it’s amazing, you really look like a demon lord! Did your eyes always look this big and clear?”  

“They’re normal,” Kim Dokja said. 

“And your lips look really good! Super kissable! Unni’s doing a lipstick commercial, maybe you should join her?” 

“Uriel?” Kim Dokja hazarded a guess. 

“Yeah! Hasn’t it been a while since you worked together?” 

“That’s because I can’t really sing or dance.” 

Lee Jihye pointed a finger at him. “Don’t make excuses, ahjussi!” 

Then she raised her hand, measuring their heights. “Wow, we really are almost the same height, now!” She grinned. “I guess you aren’t as tall as I thought!” 

“...It’s the inserts,” Kim Dokja managed. 

She laughed and leaned an arm on his shoulder companionably. taking a few selfies before finally putting her phone away under the robes of her costume. “I’m so glad Master suggested me for this!” 

After witnessing the whole bizarre sequence of events, Yoo Joonghyuk was starting to wonder if he’d picked wrong, after all. Unease prickled at him. It was strange to realize your unofficial protege was friendlier with the man who’d been occupying your thoughts than you were. 

“You know eachother,” he observed.

Lee Jihye snapped to attention at her master’s voice. “Yes, sir!” She saluted. “He helped me find a charm I’d lost.” 

“A charm?” 

“Yeah! The one Master gave me.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk couldn’t remember anything like that. 

But Lee Jihye was already rummaging in her pockets, producing a glass marble. The inside had a tiny swirl of blue, like a cresting wave from the sea. “It’s from the drink you got me.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk could vaguely remember something like that happening… he’d gotten the wrong drink from the vending machine. But why take the marble? “...I’ll get you something better.” 

Lee Jihye’s fingers curled over the marble, tucking it back carefully. “Really? Then I want a sword!” 

“...Alright. You don’t need to keep that one.” 

“Eh? It’s fine, though, isn’t it?” She grinned. “It’s still the first thing Master gave me.”

“Jihye, can you come over here? We want to test your back profile.” The Assistant Director called. 

“Coming!” Jihye called back, waving, before doing a little cupped-hand bow towards Yoo Joonghyuk to take her leave.

Yoo Joonghyuk watched her go, feeling a bit complicated. 

“I didn’t think you played along with it,” Kim Dokja remarked, glancing up at him. In this outfit, it made Yoo Joonghyuk’s heart thump, like an electric shock. 

Even close up, it was hard to believe it was the same man. Kim Dokja’s Lee Jaesong commanded your attention simply standing, irresistibly drawing the eye with color and gorgeous details as much as his temperament. This Lee Jaesong wore everyone’s stares as though it were only his due. 

Yoo Joonghyuk spent an overlong moment distracted by the way a lock of hair caressed Kim Dokja’s cheek, tossed by the wind, then found himself wanting to see the gleam of his eyes under his lashes.

He’d seen more than his fair share of beautiful people. It shouldn’t have been so discomfiting. It was the disparity, he told himself, like the moment he’d realized Kim Dokja’s carefully constructed facade of ‘average’ hid the keen edge of his talent.

“...What?” Yoo Joonghyuk blinked, remembering that Kim Dokja had asked something. 

Kim Dokja didn’t seem to mind. “Her master-disciple thing.” 

“...She decided that on her own.” He pulled his gaze away, glad for the distraction. 

Lee Jihye had shown up at G-Pro’s front office and demanded to join the agency. She wouldn’t have been the first young girl to do so, but most left after three days. On the seventh, Yoo Joonghyuk passed by, and on a whim, tested her reflexes. 

She was admitted into the trainee program not long after. Looking back, it wouldn’t be surprising if her batchmates had resented her. He hadn’t seen her again until months after, when she was yelling at him from across a hall.

“It’s just a bit surprising,” Kim Dokja said. “You don’t seem to get along with people that much. But I guess she just decided to adopt you, anyway.” His rueful smile looked a little out of place on Lee Jaesong, but it was entirely Kim Dokja. 

“She got me that way, too.”

“...She’s better at fighting than you. I trained her.” 

Kim Dokja blinked, his glossy lips pursing slightly. “What are you trying to say?” 

“Stop hiding out in your room. We’ll get a proper teacher soon, but you can start learning now.” 

“...I already told you it’s not an issue from lack of training, right?” 

“I know,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, thinking of Jin Hajoon’s waist and a puff of soju against his cheek in a dim corridor. “But this time you’ll be sparring with me.” 

Kim Dokja backed up a bit warily. “This scene won’t call for that.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk flashed him an impatient glare. It was easier, when he wasn’t looking directly at him. “Later. Meet me at the gym.” 

“Why--” his co-star began. 

“You did your part,” Yoo Joonghyuk interrupted. “I’m taking responsibility for mine.” 

After a pause, Kim Dokja nodded. 

“Alright, we’re ready-- let’s do Scene 41!” The Assistant Director called them over, next. 

In Kim Kyungmo’s clothes, Lee Jihye had her back turned to the camera, her face further obscured by the small crowd of cultivators around her. 

Yoo Joonghyuk got into position, looking over at where Kim Dokja quietly waited. 

A Lee Jaesong like this-- what would Yang Jitae see? 

The hollow shell of an old friend? A demon incarnate where a friendly face had been? 

One thing was clear, however. Yang Jitae could not forgive him. 

“Action!” 

Yang Jitae stepped forward. The others around him retreated from his momentum, leaving a circle of cleared space. “Tell me they’re lying,” he growled, voice low like the promise of lightning. 

Lee Jaesong’s mouth twisted. His head tipped down and one hand clenched on the hilt of his sword. Then, he lifted his head and one hand reached up to pull his mask away, baring the livid scar that marred his face, an angry wound, still fresh. His face was like a torn painting, beautiful and destroyed.

“Why ask me this?” he asked Yang Jitae gently, his voice unhurried and his lip curled back to bare his fangs. “Haven’t you already given your answer?” 

Yang Jitae’s eyes flashed, but it was grief that came tumbling from his throat. “Then it was you who killed my parents. Were their deaths not enough that you had to pin your misdeeds on my name?” 

“I was a fool for trusting you. Was it fun, spending so many years with humans, learning our secrets and playacting to deceive us?” 

Lee Jaesong stilled, his lips pressed tight. Then, he smirked humorlessly.

“...That’s right,” Lee Jaesong said slowly. “I was too weak, then, to reclaim my territory. How fortunate that the Righteous Sect can always be counted on to cover up their messes.” 

“Cut!” The Assistant Director called out as the cue for Kim Kyungmo’s line came. Then, after a pause to check the film, they signalled to resume. 

Lee Jaesong stood quietly in place, without looking at either of them. Then, he met Kim Kyungmo’s gaze, deliberately ignoring Yang Jitae. Irritation bubbled in Yang Jitae’s ribs.

 “I have nothing to say to either of you,” the demon said quietly.

“You called yourself my Shizun but you were just a hypocritical fool all along,” Lee Jaesong did not look at his former master, his disdain fixed on the wary crowd. “You fear me because I am a demon-- then,” he paused, and swept forward, graceful and deadly. “Let me realize your fears!” 

“Stop him!” A cultivator shouted in panic. “He’s going to escape!” 

“Cut!”

A dagger materialized in Lee Jaesong’s hand, compacted from his qi. In another moment, he was running, low to the ground, heading straight for Kim Kyungmo. 

His laugh as his newly-formed dagger found its mark was low and hollow. The knife slid under his master’s rib, vicious but shallow. “Then,” he whispered in Kim Kyungmo’s ear, the ghost of a ‘shizun’ in the pause he’d left. “I’ll go first.” 

He yanked the dagger out as Kim Kyungmo stumbled and collapsed to the ground, turning with a swirl of his robes.

Yang Jitae arrived with a chop of his sword, catching only the end of his sleeve. “Don’t run!” He called. 

“You have more important things to worry about, first,” Lee Jaesong told him, 

“Cut!” B.YOO called it, this time. “Good work!” She clapped her hands twice, enthused. 

“This will work. This will work very well,” she smiled. “You were right, Dokja-ssi, the adjustment was seamless.”

“It’s good if it works out.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk stood staring at them both. For a second, Yang Jitae was too tight in his skin. 

So this was Kim Dokja’s answer to ‘Lee Jaesong’. A mysterious beauty, tainted by the festering wound of betrayal. Bitter and angry, but unwilling to show vulnerability, lest he show the deepness of the cut. Cherishing memories of his master and best friend and knowing that he could no longer be at their side.

“It works,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, nearly surprising himself. 

Kim Dokja looked over and then smiled. From this angle, the scar out of view, Lee Jaesong’s face looked carefree. A simple shift in expression revealed a beautiful young man in the prime of his life.

For the first time since the production had started, Yoo Joonghyuk felt as though he grasped the reason for Yang Jitae’s conflict. 

Chapter Text

It would be a lot more productive, Yoo Joonghyuk felt, to train a dog than Kim Dokja. 

There wasn’t anything wrong with what he was doing- he had a decent grasp of the basics- but rather than fighting another human being, he felt like he was chasing down a rat. 

“Stop running!” 

Kim Dokja ducked under the swing of Yoo Joonghyuk’s bokken, stumbling back. “I don’t want to get hit!” 

It had been an hour since they’d first started the session. The facilities had come equipped with a workout room, the floor padded with a foam mat, and lined with mirrors on one side to help you correct your form. Yoo Joonghyuk had preferred the isolation of his own room for his image training, but there was hardly enough space for two, there. 

He was heartily starting to regret giving Kim Dokja space. 

In fact, he had started to wonder, sourly, if the man ever did anything without being cornered into it. 

From what he could gather, Kim Dokja’s skills weren't irredeemable. His athleticism was abysmal but his reflexes were barely passable. Unfortunately, he had a frustrating tendency to evade rather than meet a blow.  Practical, but untheatrical, as the man himself surely knew. Thinking of the scar on the man’s hip, he’d opted not to comment at first, but his patience had quickly worn thin. 

They were working on Kim Dokja’s sword fighting and combat instincts. What was technically a viable strategy wasn’t going to help Kim Dokja get the proper sense of the sword he sorely needed to play Lee Jaesong properly. 

“Training under the White Storm only got you this far?” Yoo Joonghyuk frowned. 

“It was two semesters, I didn’t exactly vow to live by the sword.” 

Kim Dokja paused, considering. “How do you know that?” 

Yoo Joonghyuk stopped, sword mid-swing, his face darkening. “You told me.”

“I did?” 

“When you were drunk.” 

Kim Dokja’s face contorted briefly, embarrassed. Yoo Joonghyuk had a vague idea that something about their forced stint in the cabin or the night before made Kim Dokja decidedly uncomfortable. The man had been careful not to bring it up in anything but oblique references to their agreement. 

Yoo Joonghyuk had no such qualms. After all, there was no use regretting it now. 

After a split-second struggle, Kim Dokja regained his calm. 

“There is something he taught me,” Kim Dokja admitted. He lurched forward, unsteady, his straw sword arcing up in an underhand swing. 

“To keep trying until it sticks.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk stepped back, a half-beat slow from the strange timing, hardly an opening, but Kim Dokja was prepared. A slender hand grabbed at his shirt, pulling him off-balance with his own momentum. 

His mouth twisted in a feral grin, Kim Dokja flipped his sword, catching it in a backhanded grip, and stabbing down. 

If it were any other man, then it might have been dangerous. But he was Yoo Joonghyuk. 

His knees never hit the mat. Instead, his sword sliced up, knocking Kim Dokja’s away.