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Chapter Text

The panel of five producers displaying various stages of interest is not an unfamiliar sight to Mingyu. The producer at the far right end has her manicured nails drumming against the table in a way that is scarily on-beat to the erratic rhythm of his heart, and the producer at the end has his legs up on the table in a way that very much reads that he’s trying to seem impartial about the whole thing.

“That was an excellent read, Mr. Kim,” The center producer says, her eyes briefly making contact before flipping through the papers before her, “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions before we conclude?”

“Of course,” Mingyu smiles a well-practiced, winning smile, “I would be honored to spend this time with you, Producer.”

Behind the table, there is a camera set upon a tripod, the little red light blinking every other second (by Mingyu’s approximations). He tries not to fall into his usual habit of fidgeting with his fingernails or shuffling from foot to foot, and attempts to imagine himself as a tree with his roots spread firmly into the perfectly white laminated flooring of the studio. 

“Could you tell us why you, personally , want this role?”

The male producer at the end yawns, and the one next to him simply flicks through Mingyu’s portfolio. His own headshot on the front page stares back at him, and Mingyu has to force his eyes back forward to keep himself from overthinking such a simple action. 

This is the seventh audition he’s been to this month, and the second callback he’s been to in the last three. Why is he so nervous?

His arms feel like he’s been lifting all day, limply pinned to his sides like he’s got no further strength to move. The more he gets in his head about all of this, the more interesting the wall behind the panel table seems. 

This is the first audition that really feels like it matters in a long while. Mingyu doesn’t have much of a problem breezing his way through background actor scoutings or minor speaking role auditions. His agency, though, apparently tugged a few strings to get Mingyu into this audition. It’s high-profile, judging by the idols and better-known actors that Mingyu had seen in the green room, which Mingyu didn’t anticipate when he’d heard it’d be an adaptation of a soon-to-be finished webcomic. He hadn’t heard of it before, but he sure as hell binged it as soon as he was handed the monologue to rehearse with. 

The news of the greenlit production did trend #1 on Naver for a full day, though, which might be why he’s so nervous. 

Mingyu licks his lips– damn it –and takes a deep breath. His manager had prepared him for questions like this, so why’s he taking so long to answer —

He folds his large hands together in front of him to conceal the way they shake in a gentle lock of his fingers before mustering enough courage to respond. 

“Well... I think that I’m a rather inexperienced person. Just like Seo Woohyun, we both think romantic love is something that seems like a goal to accomplish later in life. Despite that, Woohyun is someone that sees love in everything. We feel it in the air on the way to work. We feel it in the clink of glasses as we throw back soju with friends. We see it in the gaze of our friends, without knowing fully well what it means…”

Unable to keep himself from shaking with such a loose grip, Mingyu brings his hands to his chest, resting them above his heart. 

“Woohyun has never uttered the word love before, not until the end of the story, but he is a person that loves so deeply. He loves everything he sees just like a little kid would, and I loved that. He thoughtlessly spreads his whole love to everyone around him, even if he isn’t really aware of his own love. I think that I can, even with all of my inexperience, love in just the same way. I haven’t had many relationships, haven’t had anyone I could ever really call a lover, but because of that, I think that I can love in a more whole, pure sense. Seo Woohyun is a very pure boy, just on the cusp of becoming a man, and I think…”

“I think you have conveyed your point well enough, Mr. Kim,” The producer smiles as she folds Mingyu’s portfolio pages shut, and Mingyu watches with horror as she pins her incredibly long notes on top of the packet.

“Thank you for your time. The board will deliberate; You’ll receive a call within a few days if you’re needed for another round of callbacks.”

Mingyu nods as he pins his hands to his sides and launches himself into a low bow, his entire upper-body coming with it.

“Thank you for your time, Producer! I’m honored to have made it this far.”

Mingyu flashes one last smile before the producer reaches up to stop the camera’s recording, and waits until she begins to withdraw her hand before turning on his heels. He tries not to inhale too shallow or too deeply as he makes his way from the room, not wanting to reveal just how he feels about how badly that went. His reading went fine, but they only asked one question.

That’s basically a death sentence. 

He waits until he’s made it out of the green room where the other handsome young aspiring “Woohyun” candidates wait to heave a sigh.

The biggest audition he’s had all year, and he’s most definitely fucked it up.

Contrary to popular belief, summer tends to be sort of a dead period for auditions. The lack of new work has given Mingyu more than enough time to mourn what could’ve been. For the first few days, Mingyu tried to be positive about the whole thing. He wistfully hoped that maybe his rush of words came across as silly and charming, and not incredibly rude and inexperienced. He wanted to relay somehow that he’d studied the character in some way, but idiot , everyone studies. It’s all a part of the job.

Surely, if he had made it into the next round of auditions, he’d have received a call already. He’s grown quite used to this feeling, of perpetually waiting on that call back, but knowing deep in his heart that he just won’t get one. It’s another role he’s fumbled and dropped, and it really shouldn’t bother him as much, but it does. It bothers him so much.

When the seventh day since the audition hits, he’s allowed himself to sink deep into the mourning period. Sure, there’s going to be more auditions, but Mingyu actually really wanted this. Call it impatience, but it’s been a minute since Mingyu’s felt like he’s actually getting somewhere in this town. In a city full of beautiful faces and captivating personalities, it’s difficult for an inexperienced kid from Anyang to get far fast, and it’s going to be hard to avoid the reality of rent spikes if he doesn’t start landing roles with better paychecks…

Mingyu’s gaze is turned away from the muted television screen when his phone vibrates on his chest. As if the universe wants to taunt him, the notification isn’t a text or from his social media, but it’s the update of the webcomic of As Seasons Go By , the webcomic of the role he apparently didn’t get. 

“Should unsubscribe,” he mumbles to himself, but doesn’t do anything about it, his phone flopping back onto his chest.

The comic is about a heroine who gets hired at her dream job in the fashion industry, only to be faced with a devilish (yet handsome) CEO that manipulates her every move. He rips off her designs, promotes her and demotes her at will, and even when she’s about to meet her wit’s end and quit her job, she can’t bring herself to, unable to betray her dream. Unsurprisingly, her CEO loves her, and only stole her designs so that she would see them on the runway. Despite his veiled affections, she already has given her heart to her childhood friend, who has supported her each and every move from the moment they had met. Yet, as brilliant and lovely as he is, he can’t seem to understand the difference between platonic love and romantic love. Of course, as the CEO and the heroine grew closer, despite the CEO’s manipulative tendencies, the childhood friend finally began to understand exactly what love is. It’s cliche, it’s cheesy, and some might even call it bad. 

Admittedly, he wasn’t the biggest fan of the story, but it’s surely a staple in the romance genre. It’s topped the charts for many years, even despite a relatively standard plotline. The success speaks for itself in order to become a long running series, and for all of its tropes and cliches, fans of the series have been waiting for it to end for nearly 11 years. The ending has been announced to run concurrently with a live-action production recapping the series and ending with the author’s official end. Fans of the series had exploded with uproarious glee, and most of the entertainment industry had started buzzing with typecast rumors from the moment it was announced. 

No use in lingering on it now, he supposes, and distracts himself by slinking off of the couch and over to the tiny kitchen in his studio apartment. The place is entirely too small for him, and had all but robbed him of his love of cooking with such depressing confines, which led him to a nasty habit of relying on snacks.

But a little bit of chips wouldn’t hurt. After all, he’s sad, and today’s his cheat day, so…

He stares down at the bottom of the bag, resolute.

Mingyu promptly falls into a spicy rice cake chip induced blackout.

The doorbell rings a while later, and Mingyu looks down at his bag of chips, two chips away from being entirely emptied. 

He hisses through his teeth and crumples up the bag, throwing away the evidence into the trash. The doorbell rings again, and he yells, “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

He does a quick rinse of his hands and stops at the mirror in the partial hallway before the door, fussing with his bangs for a brief second before learning over the door and pressing his eye against the peephole, finding a bouquet of flowers and a pair of legs blocking his view. He cracks an eyebrow at the sight, blinking himself in and out of reality, but the bouquet remains.

After another moment, a familiar, husky yet high-strung voice pipes, “Would you open the damn door already? It’s me!”

The voice of his manager is just as familiar to him as the voice of his mother at this point. Seungkwan is more of a personal assistant than a manager with everything he does for Mingyu, and even the definition of a personal assistant becomes foggy when taken into account of how many things they’ve done together outside of work. Mingyu was incredibly lucky to get assigned a manager the same age as him, and despite the professional relationship, he’s probably the best friend he’s made since he moved out to Seoul three years ago.

Mingyu doesn’t hesitate to open the door and stands aside, tilting his head to beckon Seungkwan inside.

“You missed my birthday by a long shot. It’s July,” Mingyu taunts, a snarky little grin on his lips.

“I know when your birthday is, stupid,” Seungkwan huffs, waddling over to Mingyu’s well-organized kitchen and sets the rather large floral arrangement down. Mingyu follows close behind and reaches out to touch the arrangement of white daisies, blue morning glories, and yellow carnations. 

“Mm, then what’d I do?”

Seungkwan gives a rather long look-over of Mingyu’s general appearance, wearing a relatively ordinary outfit of a plain black polo and jeans as he’d initially planned to go to the grocery store later, before silently digging into the navy sling-bag across his chest. Seungkwan’s tuft of bright blond hair bobs around a bit as he takes out an incredibly thick packet, but stuffs it into his chest.

“Give me your phone. The producers told me to record this and send it over. They want to put it up as an announcement, so be cute.”

“What?” Mingyu belatedly gapes, but is quick to move into action. He’s at his couch and back before Seungkwan can blink twice. “Wait, be cute? Do I need to fix my face, or..”

“No, natural’s probably better,” Seungkwan says, holding his hand out for Mingyu’s phone. Mingyu gives it without complaint, and Seungkwan assuredly unlocks it. 

“Did I land a role? Which one? I’ve been to a few callbacks this month, so…’

“Shh. I’m gonna record. 3, 2, 1…”

The familiar ping of the camera app lets him know that Seungkwan is recording. Mingyu does a little hop-step in place, a giddy smile forming on his lips. Behind the phone, Seungkwan makes a charade of blinking as big as he can, so Mingyu takes the hint and closes his eyes. He nervously reaches up, smoothing down his bangs. Something nudges into his chest, and Mingyu’s hands fall over it, caressing the surface. It’s smooth, thick, and, oh wait, he already knows it’s a packet. It’s rather thick, though. More of a book.

“Can I open my eyes?” Mingyu says, punctuated with a nervous giggle. There is a lack of response, but Mingyu figures that it’s fine. 

Mingyu faces downward at the packet and looks down at the laminate cover of the packet. It’s a script, thick-bound, the cover a mixture of pastel pink and yellow, an image of a thinly drawn heroine in fashionable clothing, holding up an empty hanger. Written in big, bold letters, the webcomic’s author has signed her name. YEUN-HI. The name makes fireworks explode in Mingyu’s chest, and the hot embers tingle at the ends of his fingertips. His eyes scan lower to a hand-written message, which Mingyu reads aloud, “Congratulations, Kim Mingyu. I loved every single one of your tapes. I could not have chosen a better young man to be my Seo Woohyun.”

Mingyu looks up slowly at the camera, his mouth agape. He looks at Seungkwan behind the camera, a smile so genuine on his face and reflecting so brightly in his eyes that it gets Mingyu tearing up instantly. Seungkwan nods, the camera moving along with it, and Mingyu makes an airy sound as his vision goes blurry and wet.

He did it.

It was terribly odd for Mingyu to see his own name trending, especially because he had been so relatively unknown. He had taken a photo of it, received a few texts from high school classmates asking if it was really him who’d landed the role, and a rather tearful call from his mother. What was most startling about the whole thing was the sudden wave of followers and activity across his accounts. Going from around a hundred thousand followers to half a million the morning of the announcement was jarring, and though Mingyu had always been pretty math-savvy, he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the whole thing.

If a million eyes were going to see what he could do, he was going to make damn sure he was going to do things right.

Once he had signed the preliminary contract, he received several pages of guidelines of things he could and couldn’t do until a year after the drama’s airing concluded. A majority of it was pretty standard, like posting unauthorized spoilers, leaking crucial information, and other things that might hinder production efforts, but it was the first time he’d been told to keep a strict watch over himself. He was given a particular weight to stay at, with no more or less muscular change than given, a shade of color to dye his hair before the start of production, and a code of conduct. 

No scandals. No nightlife. No changes of marital status. No sudden cosmetic procedures. 

Not like Mingyu had much to worry himself with, though. He kept himself under a pretty strict schedule to begin with, and spent a long time perfecting his own outer-appearance to his own liking. He wasn’t going to blow this one shot he’d been given, and that was all to say on the matter.

He did worry a bit about if that caramelized chestnut brown hair would suit his complexion, though. 

The beginning of August came quicker than Mingyu had expected it to, thanks to the various production meetings and script readings he had attended. More than anything, he was thankful that everyone on the cast and crew seemed to be pretty nice. Yoon Chae, in particular, was notably wonderful. The role of the heroine, Kang Ye-rim, was set to be her big comeback after her marriage and pregnancy, she seemed determined to make production move as smoothly as possible. She never hesitated to sit by Mingyu at script meetings, and gave Mingyu relatively constructive feedback if they had a moment to themselves. Off the bat, Mingyu respected her, and felt as if he got along rather well with her. 

The only thing that had Mingyu worried was the empty seat at the end of every script reading.

Jeon Wonwoo was announced to be attached to the project not too long after Mingyu had been. Without a second after seeing his name, Mingyu knew what role he would be playing, and he knew it would be perfect. There probably wouldn’t be a single actor in the industry that wouldn’t feel a bit of excitement upon seeing the Jeon Wonwoo’s name beside their own. Being able to branch out from the Korean acting industry and being able to have a successful film career in Hollywood was not something many people could boast about.

This role was meant to be his big Korean comeback, similar to Chae. Having remained in America for the last 4 years to focus on film productions and brief stints on broadway, fans of his in South Korea held little hope that he would someday return. Though his filmography was extensive, ranging from an early childhood career starting pre-adolescence to his mid-twenties, the 36 year old actor would again return to the bustling Korean industry.

Mingyu couldn’t be more excited about working with such a respected senior. It’s most definitely not because he, like, thought he was cute when he was 14 or something. That’s just his mom’s hypothesis. 

Of course, he understood why Wonwoo couldn’t show up. He was probably busy, and especially with living in Los Angeles and all, simple script reads probably just didn’t warrant enough importance to take his time. Still, at the end of each reading, Mingyu would glance over to that empty chair. Amongst the entirety of the cast and crew, it felt as if that chair, set off to the side, was what kept Mingyu anticipating the start of filming the most. 

“Mingyu,” Chae smiles, stepping into the open door of Mingyu’s dressing room, “Are you ready yet? Can I see?”

Surrounded by hairstylists and makeup artists, Mingyu preened, buzzing with the same excitement that one would expect from a child going to kindergarten for the first time. 

“Almost,” Mingyu responds, raising his hand and twisting his wrist a little uncomfortably to give her a little wave, “Did you want to take a picture?”

“Yes,” Chae says, holding up her phone to eye-level, “It’s an important day for you.”

“It’s not my first day on set ever, you know,” Mingyu rolls his eyes, but is promptly instructed to shut them when a makeup artist jabs her brush at him, needing to clean a bit of powder from beneath his eyes, “I’ve been in front of a camera before.”

“Let me be proud of you,” Chae whines, playful and youthful.

It’s a little odd for Mingyu when he receives a reminder that the two of them are the same age. He couldn’t imagine being married with a kid at 23, much less being able to balance a career and a human being. The best structure in his life is his skincare regimen and his strongest point is impeccable foresight when it comes to meal-prepping. Everything else kind of just happens to him, whether he wants it to or not.

“Whatever you want, noona,” He snorts, trying to shake the feeling away, “I’ll pose as soon as I’m done.”

“I’m finished, don’t worry,” The makeup artist teases, her sleek, platinum dyed hair pulled into a stylishly tight ponytail, “I’ll just be packing up. Tell me if you need me out of the way.”

“Thank you,” Mingyu nods his head in a slight bow, earning a little grin from the makeup artist. She is quick to turn away, sorting her brushes and palettes, and Mingyu’s attention is immediately drawn to Chae as she bends over his shoulder.

Mingyu raises two fingers to throw a little peace sign at the camera, readying a beaming smile as Chae rests her cheek by his temple, throwing her own peace sign over Mingyu’s shoulder. The picture is quickly taken, with Chae standing up just as quickly as she’d bent over. 

“Ah, cute,” Chae smiles, stretching and zooming into the picture with her fingers with a precision of someone who’s taken a few hundred-thousand selfies. Mingyu can relate, honestly. 

“Mr. Kim? Mrs. Yoon?” A voice calls, and when Mingyu glances over his shoulder to look, he finds the Assistant Director standing there, glimpsing up from the tablet in her hands up at her, “I’m told you two are ready for set?”

Mingyu stands up, giving a cursory bow to the A.D, parroting out a quick response as Chae simply breezes forward with the gentle smile that seems to permanently grace her features. Before stepping forward, he turns toward his personal bag to briefly shut off his phone and check his belongings one last time. He shuffles his phone and his palm-sized notepad into the inside of his hoodie, folding the fabric over until satisfied. He turns to jog after the two, following them toward the open-street set outdoors. 

It’s a closed set, and although occasional scenes are set on real, open street locations, today’s filming blocks are set within the studio’s prebuilds. The rush of staff immediately fills Mingyu’s lungs with excitement and a certain brand of vigor that makes him feel like the tips of his fingers are going to start shaking. His head repeatedly bobs, nodding toward anyone who even glances his way. The set is warm in comparison to the backrooms, hundreds of lights simulating the natural glow of a sunny afternoon lighting, and Mingyu feels his skin itching beneath the black costume cardigan he’s wearing. 

“You two,” The Director waves from where she stands behind her monitor, “We’ll go over blockings real quick and get everything rolling quick!” 

Mingyu smiles as the instant recognition hits him. From his callbacks to every script reading, Jeong Jisoo is quite the kind woman, and Mingyu has found himself grateful that someone as kind as her is at the forefront of the project. He hasn’t been on many, but man, he’s seen some real pieces of work at the helm of some projects.

It isn’t a hard scene to film, and aside from the cursory repeat takes just to get a few different angles, there’s little need to reshoot. Quick, easy, and painless. A majority of the day is. 

Mingyu’s portrayal of Woohyun is bouncy, sweet, always touching something and almost always smiling. In the comic, he’s often drawn as quite puppyish, with ears and a tail sprouting from his figure at times, so he attempts to relay just that. A guy that’s constantly distracted, easily surprised, and quite sunny. The only time that Woohyun seems to focus on anything at all is when Ye-rim is with him.

Ye-rim sighs, and Woohyun glances away from the storefront they sit in front of in order to stare properly at her. Acutely aware of her little sounds, her facial expressions, and her minute shifts of her, Woohyun doesn’t need to stare long in order to know she’s bothered.

“Stop thinking so much about it,” Woohyun says, a little whiny, “The more you think about him, he’s just going to get the better of you.”

“That was my boss , though,” Ye-rim groans, placing her hands over her face, “He looked at me like I was nothing during the pitch meeting. Everyone I looked at stared at me the same way.”

“You wouldn’t have been hired if you didn’t have potential,” Woohyun says, and Mingyu pauses for the shot change before bending over to match Ye-rim’s defeated position. Ye-rim simply shakes her head, as if childishly refusing to look. 

Just that interaction is enough to define them. Childish.

“Hey,” Woohyun speaks, openly whining a bit more, “Hey, don’t be like that.”

Ye-rim whines. 

“I can get a job there if you want. I’d smile at you all day.” Woohyun says, which prompts Ye-rim to chuckle in a way that’s just the slightest bit ugly. She turns her head, and Mingyu shimmies his shoulders playfully, unbothered by their silly position.

Ye-rim stands abruptly, stretching her arms over her head and breathing a little sigh through her grinning lips. Woohyun watches her from behind, eyes somewhat clearer than before.

“I’m over it now,” Ye-rim sighs, wrists twisting before bringing her arms back down, “Let’s go eat, yeah?”

Woohyun just nods, watching as Ye-rim walks out of frame, before smiling a little wider and hopping up to follow. 

“Cut! Standby,” The director calls, and the typical playback stillness ensues.

Mingyu’s eyes drift around the set until he inevitably gazes toward his director, only to find a tall, striking man standing behind her.

It takes no more than a second for the recognition to hit him, heavy, like the steel beams holding up all of these lights came down to crush him at once. 

There he is, in something less than all of his glory. He moves like an oncoming storm, like slow, low-hanging grey clouds drift across a sky. He’s not in costume, not yet, but the little hints of makeup that smooth out his complexion and sharpen his brows, a slight smoking of brown liner beneath his lower lid. Jeon Wonwoo is absurdly gorgeous, his jawline perfectly squared as if carefully carved that way, bangs just barely hanging over his cool, inspecting eyes. He’s thicker than he looks in person, less slender than he seems in his films, but just as lithe: befitting of someone who’d once been on Broadway. 

Maybe it’s just because Mingyu is seeing him now, as a real human being rather than someone on a screen, but he can’t help but be utterly dumbstruck at how a person that absurdly gorgeous can be real. His presence itself feels like rolling thunder, rumbling somewhere deep in Mingyu’s stomach.

Wonwoo’s eyes find his, somehow, across the distance of the set— and Mingyu sees fucking lightning. Mingyu’s heart stutters in his chest when Wonwoo raises a hand from his folded arms, cocking his wrist upward to beckon Mingyu over with just a finger. 

God! If Mingyu was 15, he’d probably have gotten an erection because of such smooth, simple authority. 

He scurries over, offering a bow of his head. 

“You move too much. Aside from your blocking, it’s going to create continuity issues if scenes need to be edited down,” Wonwoo says, and Mingyu is entranced by that deep tenor of his, like silk, navy sheets, like…

Wait, huh?

“M-My apologies, sir,” Mingyu bows his head immediately, his heart racing like a child being chastised. 

“You’re also smiling too wide. You’re trying to look youthful, not like an idiot.” 

Damn .

“Right,” Mingyu nods, “Um… D… Do you have any other notes for me?”

“I’ve said all I needed to.” Wonwoo says, already turning over his shoulder, “I’ve got to get back to makeup or I’ll be set behind schedule.”

Dazedly, Mingyu watches as he goes. He hadn’t realized how utterly crushing Wonwoo’s presence was until it began to fade, his broad stature shifting Mingyu’s perception of depth. His mouth slightly agape, he looks around, finding just a few staff members staring. And that, just that, is enough for the embarrassment to hit him like another set of lighting structures.

“He’s being strict,” Jisoo smiles like soothing ice over a burn, “Your smile is exactly what we need.”

You need someone who looks stupid? 

Mingyu gives a slight smile, mumbling a diminished “thanks” as he looks toward the monitoring screens. He is fidgeting a lot, isn’t he?

“We’ll roll it again,” Jisoo says, clapping once, “Return to first blocking, please.” 

The sight of his own apartment is not really a view he admires. More or less, it’s just a view he’s grown accustomed to.

When he had first moved to Seoul, fresh out of high school and away from his parents for the first time, he had already been imagining where he’d like to live: A sleek penthouse in Gangnam with floor-to-ceiling windows. A kitchen with an island separate from the counters. A real fireplace with an HDTV mounted above. A guest room for his parents to sleep in when they want to take trips to Seoul. An infinity pool overlooking the city, and if he was lucky, with his own wine cellar. Artsy and modern with a sense of opulence. 

This is a far cry from that. It’s just a studio apartment without any rooms, a kitchen with a partially functioning electric stove, and a flight of stairs with steps so thin his feet often slip right off of them mid-step. He’s done his best to make the place cozy, of course. He bought a nice black couch for the place and printed out a select few photos he’d taken on trips with his friends in classic black and white frames. He lined the staircase with twinkling fairy lights, and hung up his polaroids over the headboard of his bed. Sometimes, he’ll project movies on the sheet white roll-down curtain of the apartment, or even just a view of a better place. Better than here, where his view is the second floor of a chinese-korean fusion eatery. 

He didn’t think he’d be stuck here for so long. Certainly not for five years. 

He punches his thumb against the keypad of his front door, a random series of numbers that has become mindless muscle memory to him. There isn’t so much a smell to his home, because this place isn’t one, and the absence of musk and cedarwood reminds him that his air diffuser has long broken. He refuses to think about it, instead placing his shoes within the shoe cabinet and slipping on his padded slides instead. There’s better things to think about.

Like an instinct, he reaches down for his bag, already fishing for his notepad. He gropes his bag a few times before finding the loose flap along the front side, flipping it open and finding his notebook first and foremost. Once he has it, he relieves his tired shoulder of its duty and hangs the reliable old bag up on the hanger within the shoe closet. 

When he woke up today, he didn’t expect to feel so tired at the end of it. He thought he’d feel elated, excited, or something else that starts with an E. In the place of his assumptions, he just feels exhaustion, and before he’s aware of it, he’s staring at the mirror he’d hung up near his front door, a step away from the shoe closet. 

Five years later, and what has he got? The smile of an idiot?

Scowling like this, he reckons he hasn’t even got that going for him. 

Mom always told him to leave a bad day at the doorstep. Once you’re home, you’ve ended it.

“So lighten up and smile,” He sighs, forcing himself to crack a small grin at his reflection before heading into his apartment. 

In the back of his mind, he can hear his mother’s gentle voice whispering to him the rest of it, her voice an ever-calming hush: ‘Cause baby, you’ve already been through the worst of it.

Trudging to the couch, he flips his notepad open, collapsing onto the couch as he happens across the page he’d been scribbling on all day. Notes from set, from staff. Constructive criticisms. Pages of it. Pages of things he’d jotted down just by watching Chae work, by working with her. Every detail he could think of. Every last little bit. 

Underlined in a jagged scribble, he sees it again. Look less like an idiot. 

He deflates a little, melting into the cool, untouched texture of his couch. The leather is worn from years of use now, softer, but still cool to the touch. No one else lives here, after all. Cold surfaces, in absence of warm bodies, is something else that Mingyu has grown used to. 

Maybe looking at this so long, lingering on it like this, is just making it worse. Maybe he’s actively leading his own brain cells off of a cliff by retreading. the same ground over and over. Yet, here he is, doing the same thing again. 

If it isn’t an insult to his work, what the hell else could it mean? Is it supposed to mean anything?

In the subsequent hour that Mingyu pores over his notes, he attempts to read between the filled lines of the notepad, only to find the same white spaces that he’s already seen before.

They film on a block schedule for the most part, which means that Mingyu ends up having quite a bit of spare time to himself, with entire days where he doesn’t have to be on set. On paper, it seems that these days are somewhat of a rarity–with him being a member of the leading cast–but it’s nice that he’s got the option to rest. Though most of the time, he is requested to be on standby, waiting around in case there’s a gap in filming that some of his scenes can be filmed in, since most of the others are already on set. 

Today is one of those standby days. For the entire week that they’ve been filming so far, this is his first actual one. It feels odd to not have to be immediately rushed into costuming or makeup, instead left to his own devices. For a while, he simply soaks in the glamor of having his own dressing room labeled with his name. Granted, it’s just on a piece of paper slipped into the plastic room sign, but it’s gratifying nonetheless. The novelty quickly wears off, leaving him scanning over the schedule to see who would be on set. Down the list of scenes, filled with mostly ones of the heroine, a certain name catches his eye. 

It’s Jeon Wonwoo, of course. 

With how early on it’s been into filming, and how little overlap there is with their characters in the first part of the drama, Mingyu hasn’t even had a chance to watch him act yet. He’s seen him before in movies and dramas throughout his childhood, but never once in the flesh. Despite their sole rigid interaction, Mingyu figures that this may just be his only chance to watch Wonwoo. Up close. In the flesh. 

He grabs his notebook and his pen and makes his way toward the main set, the shell of the indoor office that the bulk of today’s filming would take place in. The hallways closer to the set still has plenty of staff clamoring about, looking for props and attempting to figure out who has went where and what has gone wrong before it’s even happened, so Mingyu doesn’t feel too much like the odd one out as he slinks through the open doors of the set. 

He settles down by the catering table, where a few other members of the cast and crew linger, flattening up against the wall to remain as out of the way as he can. With someone as big as he is, and with how many wires are perpetually on the ground, it’s just better this way.

Chae is silent, doing a quick breathing exercise as her eyes trail over the blockings on the floor. Just behind her, Wonwoo is sitting at an ebony-stained wooden desk, his neck craning upwards as a makeup artist gently blots sweat away from his brow. He looks flawless, damn near porcelain, and the smile he flashes to the makeup artist as she removes her hands and backs away is almost enough to make Mingyu stop. 

It is an instant reminder of the way he feels when he sees an incredibly handsome man at the subway, getting off just a stop away from Mingyu’s, never to be seen again. It reminds him how he feels when he sees someone with a smile he could never describe holding an equally gorgeous woman’s hand. A sense of loneliness that comes after the realization that something is unattainable. Only meant to be beheld, but never kept.

Feeling a bit more than just a bit starstruck, Mingyu pushes down the horrendously familiar feeling in his gut and waits for the director to call the start of filming, for the rush of the crew to still to a deafening silence. A staff holds the clapboard up for the camera, the sound of the plastic hitting against itself enough of a reminder to remain in their stillness. The staff is quick to dart out of frame, scuttling into the far reaches of the set. A buzzer sounds. Mingyu holds his breath.

There is a subtle shift in Wonwoo’s expression, hardening in the slightest as he smoothly settles into his role, a smooth glide into comfortable, warm waters. The infinitesimal shift in his aura, notable even by Mingyu’s inexperienced standards, is enough to send Mingyu spiraling. 

All at once, he feels too big, pressed up into a wall within a corner of the studio like he’s taking up all of the air around him. An unfamiliar envy expands in his chest, pulverizing his sense of self, and suddenly he feels so small. He’s crushed beneath the weight of the waves that tug at his legs and take him beneath the undertow. 

He struggles as he takes a single breath in, swallowing the rest of the scene as if it were a bitter pill, ingesting it as the seawater fills his lungs and leaves him drowning in Wonwoo’s gentle wake.

The familiar screech of the brakes on Seungkwan’s old Hyundai prompt Mingyu to look up from his phone and over at his manager who is currently rounding his way around the sidewalk bay. 

“Hey, hotshot,” Seungkwan greets, somehow scolding at the same time, “Too good to use the subway all of a sudden?”

MIngyu rolls his eyes and shoves his phone into his back pocket as he hunches down into the vehicle, the seat already pulled all the way back for him. Not like Seungkwan drives anyone else around these days, but it’s still somewhat unfortunate that they can’t even use a company car.

“No,” Mingyu mumbles, buckling himself before Seungkwan can warm, “I’m just… not feeling too great today.”

“I’m not your mom,” Seungkwan bites, but his hand is already searching for Mingyu’s face, motherlike, “Are you sick? Did you eat something off?”

Mingyu just nods, because even though he’s an actor, he’s a shit liar. Seungkwan could smell bullshit from a thousand yards away and come running to break his kneecaps as punishment. The silence seems enough for Seungkwan to ease up on his attitude, and Mingyu can feel as Seungkwan touches around his forehead just in case. 

“Well, you did good coming in today,” He says, shifting into a softer tone, “It’s always good to be standby even if you aren’t on schedule.”

Sometimes it’s maddening just how good Seungkwan is to him. Yes, there may be a contractual obligation for the two to at least be kind towards one another, but they’ve crossed the line between what is typical for a manager and client quite a few times before. Seungkwan has spent the night at Mingyu’s place helping him memorize scripts plenty of times, and Mingyu has nursed Seungkwan out of more hangovers than he can count. On one of those occasions, Seungkwan had accidentally divulged the nature of his drinking habits to the younger, which inevitably drew the two of them closer.

“The car smells good,” Mingyu mumbles, a quiet attempt at conversation. 

Seungkwan beams. He recently quit smoking. A vice he’d picked up from his ex boyfriend. 

“Thank you,” Seungkwan chirps, nearly humming with happiness, “I got the inside detailed last Sunday. No thanks to that first paycheck of yours.”

It’s a miracle that Seungkwan has been with him as long as he has. Seungkwan was his first manager, and has stayed that way. It didn’t matter that Mingyu made crumbs compared to other bright-eyed kids in his agency. Seungkwan is a staunch motherfucker, for better and for worse. Mingyu’s just glad that Seungkwan is finally getting his dividends.

Feeling less privy to conversation than usual, Mingyu just closes his eyes and crosses his arms, letting the car ride lull him to sleep. In the back of his mind, he’s a little kid again, falling asleep on his way home from school as he listens to his mom humming in the driver’s seat.

The rest is ultimately short-lived as they pull up to Mingyu’s apartment, Seungkwan simply just rattling his keychain around as a sort of wakeup call. 

“I’ll walk you to your door at least,” Seungkwan says as Mingyu makes bleary attempts to unbuckle his seatbelt, “Can’t have you collapsing up the stairs and breaking your nose or something.”

“I don’t feel that sick,” Mingyu mumbles, the seatbelt buckle just barely missing his face as he stumbles his way out of the car. He makes no real attempts to stop Seungkwan after that. The company, no matter how short lived, would be nice. 

The way up to his apartment is short. He’s only on the second floor out of fourteen, so it’s quicker to take the stairs than to fuss with the elevator. Once he’s home, he punches in his code and moves aside to open the door for Seungkwan, who slips his shoes into their usual place next to Mingyu’s little storage closet by the door. He takes a quick left into Mingyu’s kitchen, rummaging around. 

“Want ramyeon?” Seungkwan asks. Mingyu hums. Simple as that. The sound of plastic wrappers being opened is an instantaneous response. 

“Have the directors talked to you at all?” Mingyu asks, slipping his shoes into his closet, “Any notes for me at all?”

“No. Everything I hear is nice. They like you.” 

Mingyu shuffles his feet as he walks, sliding around the floor. It’s an odd habit, as many of his friends have commented, but his footsteps are quieter this way. 

“I don’t know. When I watch the playbacks, I feel like I’m always lacking a little,” Mingyu shrugs, setting his side bag down onto the living room coffee table. He’ll probably dig through his notes a little more later. 

“You’re working with a bunch of big names, but you can’t let yourself get too intimidated by them,” Seungkwan chides, “Are they not being nice to you?”

“No, they are…” Mingyu sighs, “But maybe it’s disingenuous, you know?” 

Pots and pans clamor about in the kitchen, and soon the sound of running water greets his ears. It’s not the first time they’ve just silently decided to eat dinner together like this. It’s nice. 

“I’ll ask around to see if I can find anything out,” Seungkwan says, “But you should believe in yourself. I think you’re doing a fantastic job, even if I haven’t seen any of it yet.”

Mingyu wants to believe him. He really does. But he knows that Seungkwan has probably the most biased opinion he could get. Seungkwan is his manager, his supporter, and probably the best friend he has.

As if he’d taken some odd sort of psychic damage, Mingyu feels like something inside of his brain is stabbing him, and he flops downward onto the couch. He brings an arm up over his eyes to keep the light out of them, but the absence of all else makes it clear that there’s hardly any escape for him. His mind is a jumble, a mess of fragmented lines and shapes and explosions of color that are all too vivid and too much for him to bear. If he focuses at all, he can feel that same internal shift he had felt earlier, the overwhelming inferiority.

“I’m gonna nap again,” Mingyu says, nudging his head beneath one of his pillows instead. 

Thankfully, he’s always been the sort of person that doesn’t struggle with sleeping. Once he sets his mind to it, he’s out like a light for just a blissful little while. 

Chapter Text

Ragged breath, a pounding heart, and a subtle sense of exhilaration keeps Mingyu moving forward, his momentum curved forward as he jogs through the cluttered streets of his neighborhood. There’s still people populating the streets, milling about as they walk their own paths around late-night bars and convenience stores. He lives in a college neighborhood, filled to the brim with young folk that cause Mingyu more sleepless nights than he’d ever admit to another living soul.

He slows his pace a little as he approaches the open terrace of a bar. Just a year ago, this place was a cafe. Now, it’s a popular dive for people just slightly out of Mingyu’s age range, just enough for him to feel too shy to go in alone. Mingyu misses that cafe. Misses being able to just go somewhere late at night when he doesn’t want to be cooped up in his apartment anymore.

There’s a couple sitting outside at the bar, clinking glass cups of liquor as they lock eyes. The girl looks younger, likely just barely at drinking age, giggling as the man across from her goads her into taking her shot first, a warmhearted yet teasing smile gracing his lips. Beneath the table, their calves are touching, occasionally grazing together with movement. 

Mingyu wonders, vaguely, if that’s what love looks like. 

He’s thought about it a thousand times. A million times. He’s never really had a full relationship to call his own, barring the one time he’d dated a girl in high school just because she’d confessed to him. Mingyu backed out a mere month later when he realized he felt close to nothing toward her. He knew it was wrong. She was a nice girl. Deserved something better.

He takes a mental note to people watch a bit more often, maybe to go out to that bar soon. 

It might be good research for Woohyun.

Before the couple can realize that there’s a weird sweaty freak watching them from across the street, Mingyu picks back up into pace, deciding on just another lap or two before returning home to a bland protein shake.

In all honesty, Woohyun’s role in the drama is small, especially before he realizes his feelings. Mingyu is only on set for a few hours at a time before he’s allowed to go home. Even so, Mingyu looks forward toward being on set nearly every day, excitedly checking his online schedule to see if there’s any changes. Last night, Mingyu was nearly shaking with excitement when he received the final script for episode four. 

Today, he’s still kind of shaking. 

For the first time, he’s got more than just a handful of minutes in an hour-long episode. For the next week, he’s pretty much got an entire schedule of scenes all to himself. It’s a goddamn miracle. He’s so happy that he forgot to bring the vinaigrette for his salad from home, and he’s okay with that. He’s in such a good mood that even dry lettuce seems appetizing. 

The episode offers a glimpse into Woohyun’s life. He’s crafted off of a plethora of fan-favorite tropes. He works at a pet shop. He’s the childhood friend to Ye-rim. He’s gentle and kind, the rare brand of guy that stops just to walk a grandma across the street. The fictional kind of guy, of course.

But he’s not popular because of that. He’s popular because he’s anxious, unsure if he’s allowed to love the woman he does, and doesn't know how to express himself besides his occasional acts of jealousy. At his core, he’s just an inexperienced kid following in the footsteps of a woman who has already emotionally left him behind long before he’d ever realized it.

Mingyu enjoyed quite a lot of his scenes. Just little clips of him fake-grooming dogs, of his character indulging in his fake little hobbies, smiling and giggling as he’s texting Ye-rim. Mingyu likes these lighthearted scenes just as much as he enjoys the heavier ones, the ones that would really allow himself to shine. Those ones are all set to be later in the season, and filming hasn’t gotten that far. 

But there’s still something juicy. He’d been waiting practically all day to get to it. 

Waiting on the outdoor set, he watches as the extras talk with one of the camera assistants who directs them on where to meander about in the background, watches as the lighting guys hike up the lights up onto poles, adjusting them all just one final time. He gives an excited little wave to Chae as she finally arrives, as pristine in her makeup as ever. This time, they’d added just a pinch of extra shadow beneath her eyes– her character exhausted after a dramatic afternoon at work. Woohyun would meet up with her at her office to walk her home.

“I’m sorry for pushing our scene back,” Chae winks, quickly stepping over to the blocking tape, “I had to wait for my husband to get home. Our nannies called in sick.”

Mingyu quickly brushes off his first thought–– damn, more than one nanny? ---and gives her a cordial nod.

“It’s alright. I hope your son is doing well.” 

Chae smiles, rattling on about her son until the director calls for attention, and Chae leaves to return to the glass doors of the “office”.

Once filming begins, Ye-rim passes through the automatic doors somewhat dejectedly, walking until the streetlight she’s under flickers. Distracted, she turns to her side, and in the distance, Woohyun waves, already smiling bright. They retake that nearly three times before Mingyu is finally allowed to run forward to begin his lines.

“Noona,” Woohyun greets softly, “Are you busy tonight?”

Ye-rim rolls her lips between her teeth, not entirely happy to be bothered. After the day her character had, she wanted nothing more than to go home. That aside, if Woohyun was going to buy her a few drinks, then…

Her delayed response causes Woohyun’s smile to fade, and he reaches over, swiping a stray bit of her bangs away from her eyes. It’s unscripted, but it does well to distract Ye-rim, her eyelashes batting slowly before slowly pushing Woohyun’s wrist away. 

“No… I’m down to get meat, though.”

Woohyun’s smile returns, and he swiftly retrieves his phone from his pocket––an incredibly new Samsung that Mingyu could never afford—and waves the already lit screen at her. 

“There’s a good place down the street. Let’s go.”

The scene ends as Woohyun reaches down to interlace their pinkies, a habit the two had formed since childhood, and leads Ye-rim down the crowded street of the set.

They reshoot the scene only twice, and the director lets Mingyu keep his little improvisation of swiping her bangs ever so slightly out of her eyes. She liked it.

Mingyu is a shill. He’s such a shill, and he’s fine with it. He’s fine with carrying around a sponsored phone for his scenes as Woohyun, and he likes the fact that they’re sitting in a sponsored set restaurant. The labels on the soju bottles are faced outward toward the cameras, and as he’s divvying out the ‘soju” into shot glasses, he’s hoping that he scores a sick brand deal after this.

Woohyun stares at Ye-rim as she speaks, his expression just as kind as it is vapid, just barely listening to her as she complains on and on about her boss and how terribly rude he is about her designs. 

“And here he was, complaining on and on about taffeta,” Ye-rim sighs, pausing only to throw back another shot. Woohyun chuckles a little, watching her down it all. She’s classless when she drinks, but somehow, it’s endearing to him. He giggles.

“...What?” Ye-rim pauses, throwing a glare, “Did I say something funny?”

“No,” Woohyun quickly drops his smile, opting to pick up his chopsticks instead, “Nothing funny at all.” 

“You know I hate being laughed at,” Ye-rim simpers, “I get laughed at all day. The last thing I want to hear is more of it.” 

Woohyun bites his lip, feeling somewhat guilty. Obviously, he hadn’t meant to hurt her. Lately, it’s all he’s seemed to do, though.

After a moment, he perks back up again, and decides to pick some of the meat off of his plate, setting it atop of her untouched bowl of rice.

“Here,” He smiles, “Eat more. You’ll feel better.”

Somehow, this infuriates her more. As Ye-rim’s expression warps, her eyes nearly gleaming red, Woohyun feels somewhat pinned in his chair.

“Did you forget? I’m the heaviest girl in the office now,” Chae fumes, “I can’t be eating like this. I only came to dinner to drink.”

Woohyun blinks, caught off-guard. 

“Noona, I–”

“Forget it,” She sighs, already reaching for her purse, “You don’t listen. I shouldn’t have come here, anyway.”

“Wait, I didn’t—”

Woohyun watches as she stands abruptly, rushing out of the restaurant. Although he wishes to run after her, he just can’t seem to do it. After thinking for a moment, he deflates back into his seat, looking back at the bowl of rice. 

It’s unlike her. All of it is unlike her. She’d never not eat her rice, and yet…

Mingyu continues to sit there staring, letting the cameramen get all the shots they need, until the buzzer finally sounds. 

“That was it!” The director waves, “That’s a wrap for the day! Good work!”

There’s a few echoed calls of a good job back at her, and as Mingyu turns to do so, he finds a familiar face behind the playback screens. 

Wonwoo is still in costume, his black hair slicked back out of his eyes with a single handsome strand curled just between his brows. His arms are crossed over his expensive navy suit, a tie pinned to his chest with a golden emblematic tie clip. He’s every bit of the intimidating CEO that his character is supposed to be. Perhaps even more so on his own.

Mingyu is quick to stand, bowing his head at the director before continuing onward over to the playback screens, where Wonwoo now gazes at an empty table.

“You watched our scene, sir?” Mingyu asks, already bowing his head at him quickly, as if apologizing ahead of time for disturbing him.

“I have to ask Chae something, so I figured I’d stick around to watch anyway,” Wonwoo replies, casual as ever. Mingyu doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but Wonwoo’s eyes scan slowly over his face, as if inspecting him. 

“Do you…” Mingyu attempts, his courage faltering midway, “...Have any notes for me?”

“No,” Wonwoo shakes his head, arms unraveling to rest at his sides, “You are good at looking clueless.”

Well hot damn he must be, because he’s got no fucking clue how to respond to that.

“Ah…” Mingyu bows his head again, “Thank you.”

It’s better than being told he’s got the smile of an idiot… Kinda.

“Good work today,” Wonwoo nods, but he’s already turning away, heading toward Chae. 

Mingyu can do nothing else but bow his head to him as he leaves, echoing the same thing as always. 

It isn’t often that Mingyu is called to the director’s office. Actually, it hasn’t happened once yet. Typically, the A.D would hand out scripts to anyone who needed them in the hallways or in everyone’s own dressing rooms, so Mingyu was practically shitting himself the moment the A.D walked up to him without a script in hand. 

He isn’t dumb enough to keep the head honcho waiting, so he scurries over to her office as quick as his legs could carry him. Luckily for him, he’s got quite the length, so he’s there within minutes.

It isn’t so much an office as it is an empty room with a desk fitted inside of it, with a few chairs to spare if there's a need for an urgent meeting. Mingyu’s been here before, mostly to receive last minute revisions, so having to be here for any undisclosed meeting… He can feel his own pulse thrumming through his body, his anxiety on an edge. 

He sets his vague, muffled anxieties aside as he pushes through the door, a rehearsed smile spread over his lips.

“Oh, wow,” The director laughs, sitting forward in her seat, “You got here fast.”

Mingyu likes Ms. Cho. Thus far, she’s been the nicest director Mingyu’s had the chance to work with. She’s relatively young, considering how directors are, and has a better on-set reputation than her father. Mingyu hasn’t had the chance to work with him, of course, but he’s heard that he’s the sort of director to start screaming at his assistants for no real reason. All things considered, he’s lucky to have her above the handful of prize assholes he’s heard all about.

“I try,” Mingyu smiles, offering a cursory nod toward her, “Is there something you need me for?”

“Mm, not really,” Ms. Cho hums, taking a pause to unstick a sticky note laid off to the side among the clutter of her desk, “I just have something for you.” 

Mingyu steps forward, offering out both of his hands to take it from her. It’s somewhat of a habit now, to be overly polite. On the note, he finds a number scribbled upon it. 

“What is this?” Mingyu asks, giving it a quick flip, just in case. 

“Mr. Jeon’s number.”

Mingyu splutters, his tongue too quick, and too clumsy, to wait for his brain to formulate a sentence.

“A little birdie told me you’re having confidence issues. Thought you could use some pointers, since he seemed like he had things he wanted to say anyway,” Ms. Cho hums, “I told Mr. Jeon to call you first, but in case he doesn’t, this is his number.” 

Seungkwan . Mingyu would seethe if he could. But the string of digits on the page has somewhat obliterated any of the inner workings of his mind, all emotions barred behind disbelief. 

“Is…” Mingyu glances back at her, nothing short of baffled, “...Is he okay with this? He’s letting you give this to me?”

 Ms. Cho cracks a smile at his expression, too open, too confused. 

“Let’s just say he owes me a favor,” She smiles, “I’ll be expecting you to work hard, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” He bows his head to him. 

“Alright, now go get to costumes,” She nods back, raising her hand to wave him off, “And if he blows you off, let me know. I’m technically his boss this time around.”

“Thank you again,” Mingyu nods, turning tail to do as he’s told.

The sticky note is burning a hole in his bag. Even on the train home, Mingyu found himself checking his bag multiple times, making sure that little yellow sticky note stayed put. There’s nothing written there besides a stream of digits, so it’s not like there’s immense danger in losing it, but still. How many people end up with a celebrity’s phone number? Mingyu has his own shortlist of contacts, sure, but it’s… Well, it’s a shortlist. And it’s not like he’s ever been given express permission to actually call any of those people. In his limited experiences, once he’s off set, none of these people ever talk to you again. 

Stuck within that line of reasoning, Mingyu tries to limit his excitement. The worst thing that could happen is that he’s got this number that he’ll never call that’ll inevitably get disconnected when Wonwoo swaps his number due to it getting leaked, or something. The best thing that could happen is, well. Wonwoo does call him, and they, fuck knows, workshop or something?

Okay, so he’s planned his night out. He’ll make his dinner, absolutely not think about calling Wonwoo, and go to the gym. He’ll take extra long on his bedtime skincare routine, just in case, but if Wonwoo calls in the middle of the night, Mingyu will exercise his boundaries and call him back in the morning. Which would give him an excuse to actually call first, if he needs to, because he’d be calling him second. By the time he’s rehearsed his plan in his mind, he’s started to thaw out his chicken breast for dinner.

And he almost drops the slab of chicken and plastic when his ringtone interrupts his spotify playlist. 

He scrambles, slapping the wrapped chicken back into the sink, staring at the name on his phone. Because he made Wonwoo a contact already, just in case he… forgot or something. 

Christ, he’s insane. He is insane, and his heart is going to beat out of his chest, because he’s suddenly just remembered that he’s quite possibly the worst person to talk to on the phone. He’s got confidence in person, but on the phone, there’s nothing else to do but space out, and he…

He forces himself to answer the phone before he starts to spiral any further.

“Hello?” Mingyu says. Simple.

“This is Kim Mingyu, right?” 

Wow. Wonwoo sounds great. His voice has always had this nice, calming sort of quality to it. A deep, yet somehow gentle kind of baritone that makes Mingyu think of cellos when he watches Wonwoo in dramas. But there’s something about it that sounds so… so indescribably rich when pressed up tight against his ear. The crackle of the microphone on the other end hardly matters.

“Yeah,” Mingyu nods, “You’ve got the right number.”

“Alright,” Wonwoo inhales, “I am only doing this once. How far are you from Gangnam?”

“Uh… By train..? I could get there in an hour.”

“Alright,” Wonwoo says, “Then, get to Gino’s in Apgujeong.”

“Gino’s?” Mingyu blinks, “You eat pizza?”

“What?” 

Idiot . Wonwoo lived in fucking America. Of course he eats pizza. 

“Nothing,” Mingyu scrambles, “Yes, sir. I will be there in an hour. Uh… I can be there faster, if you want me to Uber?”

“An hour is fine enough,” Wonwoo says, “I will see you then. Later.”

He’s hung up just as quickly as he called, leaving Mingyu feeling three different kinds of dazed. With little option but to get his ass in gear and get to Apgujeong, he rushes to his room to change his shirt and spritz some cologne before rushing out of the door. 

Being in Gangnam is always somewhat of a rush. Mingyu’s been at Apgujeong before to shop with friends, friends that had way better paychecks than he ever did. Mingyu couldn’t really buy anything, but the experience was nice. It’s a sleek commercial district, with the streets populated with well-dressed socialites that Mingyu can tell he can’t afford to talk to with just a single glance. 

He hustles to Gino’s, which is pretty damn hard to miss with its fake industrial-rustic aesthetic, a large golden Gino’s sign stretched over the sleek double-doored entryway. Yet, when he gets there, he doesn’t find a host waiting to seat him. Instead, he finds a casual open-seating plan, somewhere Mingyu would actually eat.

He scans the restaurant, only moderately populated on a Tuesday evening, and finds a broad frame clad in black sitting in the far end by the tinted windows. The man looks up, peering up from his black bucket hat and his round specks, and raises his hand as if confirming Mingyu’s suspicions. 

It’s Wonwoo. 

His legs suddenly feel like rubber, stretchy and weird when he tries to push himself forward, but he somehow manages to make it to the table. 

Everything about him, somehow, is surprising. Wonwoo’s just… there. In a long sleeve black shirt, a bucket hat, glasses, and a pair of jeans. Suspiciously normal. Nothing like his reputation would have it. In his photos, he’s always slick in a suit, or at the very least a well-fitting button-up. He’s got this sort of rich man, mature sort of aura to him. Seeing him stripped back, natural… It's weird. 

He also doesn’t quite dress his age, Mingyu thinks, or maybe he’s just got the wrong idea about people in their mid-thirties. 

“I’m sorry if you were waiting,” Mingyu says, “Thank you for inviting me out.”

Wonwoo only nods, so Mingyu decides to take the initiative to slide into the seat opposite to him. Before him, there’s already a glass of water for him. He doesn’t quite have the heart to reach out for it, though.

“Jisoo asked me to meet with you,” Wonwoo says, “Something about needing guidance?”

Wonwoo teeters in his seat, rising off of his hip in order to get his phone out of his pocket. 

“I looked you up on Naver. You really don’t have much to work with,” Wonwoo says, tapping through his phone, “But I enjoyed that movie you were in. Spring Blooms in Winter , right?”

Mingyu can’t help but gawp a little, swallowing down a bit of the dryness in his throat.

Spring Blooms in Winter had gone very much under the radar, having been released at a film festival, played for a few nights, and never seen again. It’s somewhere buried in a streaming site now, but nothing Mingyu got paid much for. It was a shame it never got the attention it deserved, all things considered. Mingyu was very attached to that role, sunk into it in the closest way he could get. It was a role close to his heart— he’d also been young and closeted, once, just like his character had been.

“You… watched it?”

“It was decent. I can see why it never hit theaters, but it was good for just being part of a film festival.”

“Um, yes, that was my only other role of note. I was only really the main character's brother, though, nothing close to the scale of the character I’ve been chosen for this time around. I’m usually in the extra pile in the background...” 

Nervously, he adjusts the fluff of his honey-brown hair behind his ear.

“It was an unassuming piece of condensed heartbreak and homesickness for a person spanning an entire full-length movie. I still adored your character regardless of the lack of any significant screen time. Furthermore, portraying a queer character so early on in one’s career is an impressive move. I would not have agreed to this if there was no merit in such an act.”

Mingyu feels like he’s going to start shaking. Nobody saw that movie. Mingyu’s parents watched it to support him, but Mingyu had never really come up in conversation before. And yet, here he is, across the table from a class act, talking about his low-budget foray into film.

“If I were to give you a specific example, you have no chemistry with Chae. You move like you’re afraid of women, or like you aren’t attracted to her at all. But in Spring Blooms , each time your Taeyeon looked at Hwandong, it seemed as if you were burning with affection. Where did that go?”

Mingyu chokes, left without air. With so little information, Wonwoo had sussed him out completely. It’s… Well, it’s significantly easier to act like you’re in love with someone you’re actually attracted to. Chae is gorgeous—that much is obvious—but she’s a woman . 

“Something like that,” Mingyu mumbles, eyes focusing on the condensation around his glass of water, “I worked hard.”

Wonwoo scoffs, “Sometimes hard work alone isn’t enough. There has to be at least a little talent to go with it.” 

Mingyu blanches.

Well there’s no misconstruing that , is there?

Wonwoo clears his throat, inhaling deeply. 

“I apologize. That was out of line.” Wonwoo says, his deep voice almost inaudible beneath the sounds of the restaurant, “You wanted help. I can give you that, at least.”

Mingyu bites his lip and nods, forcing himself to meet Wonwoo’s gaze. This time, though, it is Wonwoo’s eyes that are downcast, staring straight at the salt and pepper shakers set off to the side of the table.

“I know I… don’t have much experience to back me up,” Mingyu starts hesitantly, voice soft as if he could inhale back his words and take them away, “But I would appreciate not being insulted, sir.”

“It’s a reflex of sorts,” Wonwoo says, “But inexcusable all the same. I… would advise just getting more comfortable with Chae.”

“Right,” Mingyu nods, withdrawn. 

Silence settles between the two of them. Mingyu knows he’s got a once of a lifetime chance that he’s just letting slip through his fingers, but… But he didn’t come to be insulted. He didn’t think Wonwoo’d be such a fucking prick.

“Are you two ready to order?” The waitress stops by, iPad in hand. 

‘You can choose,” Wonwoo says, “Don’t worry about it.”

Mingyu just nods, and on the placemat menu, he simply decides to just pick the first thing he sees. The waitress nods, takes their plastic menus, and leaves. It’s unreasonable, but Mingyu kind of wishes she would just stand there as a barrier or something.

“Good choice,” Wonwoo grins, like he’s trying to comfort him in the least effective way possible, “The Margherita here is great.”

Mingyu feels like he’s on autopilot. He wishes he didn’t shut down so quickly, but he can’t help it. It doesn’t take much, but lately, just one thing makes him feel like he’s going to collapse. He has to go numb, or he’ll just break. And he really, really doesn't want to do that. Not in front of anyone. Not in front of the biggest actor across the Pacific fucking Ocean. 

“Alright,” Wonwoo inhales, “Well… Alright. Let’s think about it. Are you dating someone?”

“No,” Mingyu replies, “I’ve never dated.”

“Never?” Wonwoo tilts his head, “Really? You’re handsome. I assumed a kid like you would be popular. How old are you?”

“Twenty three,” Mingyu says, “I did date someone in high school, once, but it wasn’t a real relationship. And I’ve been too busy with my career to think about dating.”

Wonwoo’s lips draw into a line, and after a moment, he starts to hum flatly. It takes Mingyu a moment too long to realize that Wonwoo is thinking. That Wonwoo’s actually trying to do something for him. 

“That isn’t bad,” Wonwoo shrugs, “You could play into that more. That is a cornerstone of Woohyun, right? Woohyun is in love with a preconception he harbors of Ye-rim. You can envision that to be whatever you want, if it helps you.”

“I’m not a methodist,” Mingyu says, “I’ve tried, but it isn’t natural for me.”

“You don’t have to be a methodist. You can just see yourself in the characters you are meant to embody. What is your ideal partner like?”

Mingyu, for the first time, looks up from his glass of water and into Wonwoo’s eyes. They’re focused on him, deep, dark and endless. Mingyu feels like he’s going to get sucked into them if he stares too long. 

“Kind and funny, I guess. Someone who dresses nicely and takes care of themselves. Um, someone who would like my parents. Someone who's…” 

Someone who is strong, that’s willing to bear the world on his shoulders if that’s what Mingyu needed. He wants someone that’d drop everything at a moment’s notice just to come see him if Mingyu asked. He wants someone that would make him feel safe when he’s held, that would make him laugh, that would watch those weird arthouse films with Mingyu even if neither of them comprehend it fully. He would adore if his dream partner were sensitive enough to go to art museums with him, and would be impulsive enough to go shopping with him. There’s a million things Mingyu wants. He’s a romantic like that… And that’s why he doesn’t dare try. It’s impossible to check all of those boxes. It would be unfair to anyone to have to live up to that, when Mingyu has so little to offer in return. 

“Someone who’d never exist, I guess,” Mingyu laughs, somewhat at himself, “I’ve resigned myself to it.”

“And if they did exist?” Wonwoo continues, “What would they be?”

It’s as simple as not assuming a certain pronoun, not calling that ideal partner a she, that makes Mingyu feel a little more comfortable. He straightens out in his seat a little, breathing in as he contemplates a careful response. 

“Just… someone that makes me feel less like the world is going to cave in on me,” Mingyu says, vulnerable, “Someone that I’d call home.”

“You’re right,” Wonwoo chuckles, ‘People like that don’t exist. But Woohyun would be someone that would dare to dream of it. It’s fine to be that whimsical. You don’t have to be unfailingly handsome, especially in a role as shallow as Woohyun. He’d get jealous, and maybe upset, when he realizes Ye-rim isn’t the person that he really wants.”

Mingyu knew in some capacity that Woohyun was shallow, that he was jealous, that he was entirely immature. He hadn’t quite thought so deeply about his flaws, though, about the parts of him that could be considered ugly. 

“Can I write that down?” Mingyu says, already pulling out his phone, “I think I need a minute.”

Wonwoo nods silently, sitting back in his seat as Mingyu’s mind starts working, thumbs tapping away at his phone. He writes for a good while, sorting out some ideas to work with later, as well as Wonwoo’s general pointers for Woohyun’s general direction.

Somewhere in the evening, Mingyu starts to enjoy this. Wonwoo has good insight, and his way of wording concepts makes it easy for Mingyu to digest. Despite his imposing looks, Wonwoo is a decent tutor, and is quite good at making Mingyu actually think. During dinner, they don’t talk much, but Mingyu is kind of just… happy to have company. It’s been a while since he’s gotten dinner with someone.

Mingyu can tell it’s time to wrap it up when Wonwoo starts checking his phone. It’s not an explicit request to leave, but Mingyu knows how to read between the lines. And he doesn’t want to mess things up when conversation with Wonwoo seems to be so fragile, anyway. 

“I should head back,” Mingyu bows his head, “I am grateful for your time, Mr. Jeon. You didn’t have to do this for me, but I appreciate it all the same.”

“I didn’t mind it,” Wonwoo says, “You have an intriguing perspective. I am not above learning from my juniors, either.”

“With all due respect,” Mingyu attempts, his lips creeping upward, “You don’t seem like the type.”

Wonwoo’s brows fly upward on his forehead, disappearing past the rim of his bucket hat, “Well if you think I’m an ass, you can just say that.”

“I didn’t say anything like that, sir,” Mingyu smiles a little wider, “You like putting words in people’s mouths.”

“You're an open book, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Mingyu rolls his eyes, “But still. Thank you. I hope I can speak with you again in the future.”

“I won’t pay for dinner again,” Wonwoo nods, “But alright. Get home safe. I’m going to stay and have a beer.”

Mingyu feels like a bobblehead with how much he’s nodding and bowing these days, but he gives Wonwoo one last bow before leaving Gino’s. 

Wonwoo was right, though. Gino’s does have a great Margherita. If, by chance, he does never get to do that with Wonwoo again, he can at least relive the memory of it with a good meal.

Before the morning sun has begun to caress the quaint reaches of Mingyu’s apartment, Mingyu blearily awakens to a message from Seungkwan. It’s a brief message with an attachment to the link, and Mingyu misclicks on his screen a few times before he’s able to successfully get it open.

It’s a simply written-up post on a community buzz site filled with celebrity gossip and tabloid-esque nonsense. Usually, it’s a sort of guilty pleasure of Mingyu’s to scroll through, to see what everyone’s talking about. He likes to consider it good training on how not to piss people on the internet off. Even if they get mad at just about anything. Now, Mingyu feels a shockwave of anxiety rippling up and down his spine, seeing his name right in the title. 

[Actor Jeon Wonwoo spotted with Kim Mingyu at an Apgujeong Restaurant last night.]

There’s a few blurry photos attached of Mingyu hunched over his phone as Wonwoo talks to him, which is pretty much the extent of all of their interactions from the night. The final photo is nicer, though. It’s one of the rare moments that Mingyu decided to look up from his phone and listen well when Wonwoo was speaking to him. Mingyu isn’t surprised to find that he was smiling, excited as he was. But how did he not realize that Wonwoo was smiling back?

Mingyu presses down on the photo, saving it. Documentation of a memory. Right.

He aimlessly scrolls down toward the comments as his phone vibrates again. Mingyu ignores his manager for just a moment longer.

[-2, +34] Is Wonwoo cleaning up his act? Tutoring rookies is an ok look I guess.

[-4, +27] Maybe that kid will be good if he’s taking tips from someone like Wonwoo.

[-5, +12] Ah… Wonwoo looks good here… 

[-22, +2] That fg needs to stay out of this country.

[-42, +0] This comment has been deleted.

Nothing really pertains to Mingyu anymore, so he clicks off of the page, back to Seungkwan’s texts. 

[From: Kwannie Manager-nim]

>Nice one. Being seen with Wonwoo is good press. CEO will be happy.

>>You were trending for a little on Twitter overnight too!

>>>Ok, I’m going to bed. Work hard today, ggyu ggyu!

[To: Kwannie Manager-nim]

>Sleep well. 

>>And stop staying up so late!!

With a sticker of an angry dog sent Seungkwan’s way, Mingyu decides to make the most of his extra time and go for a run today.

Maybe it’s the added boost of seeing his name a bit more often, but Mingyu feels like he’s been performing better lately. In fact, there’s been a few more scenes written into the script just for him. Someone, either the director, the producers, or the writers, must like him a lot, and it’s a blessing from above for him. 

As the mid-season filming hits, there’s a few more people walking around on set with big Panasonic cameras, taking “behind the scenes” shots. Mingyu’s seen this sort of promotional material for other dramas before, but something about it being on his set makes the production feel a little bit bigger, as well as a little more real. People are going to see this someday. People are going to see him on a primetime drama slot some day. An unfathomable, innumerable amount of people. The thought is just as terrifying as it is exciting. And Mingyu kind of feels like he’s walking on the moon. 

Dressed in Woohyun’s typical casual attire, Mingyu waits patiently by the craft services table for his name to be called to set. He flicks around idly on his phone until a heavy weight settles upon his shoulder, followed by the heavy, enticing scent of Tom Ford Bitter Peach.

“Stay still for me,” Wonwoo mumbles, just slightly too close to his ear, and Mingyu’s heart does a triple-flip in his chest. 

For me. Maybe it’s perverted, but the hint of it being an order makes Mingyu’s brain go haywire. Everything feels hot and hazy and his brain feels like it’s covered in fog and blankets, and he has to make an active attempt to breathe like a regular human. Stiffly, Mingyu tries to ignore the way he can somewhat feel Wonwoo’s breath on the side of his face as he cranes to gaze at Mingyu’s Instagram home page. 

A flash goes off, and one of those photographers mumbles a thank you before shuffling off to the next interesting thing. Mingyu looks up dazedly, just in time to watch him leave. 

“Uh?” Mingyu asks, his brain still attempting to clear the fog.

“Sorry about that,” Wonwoo pulls away, patting Mingyu’s shoulder, “See you later.”

As the scent of sandalwood and peach grows faint, Mingyu is once more allowed the privilege of breathing. And thinking. 

Wonwoo isn’t supposed to be on set today.