Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Heeseung is prone to making bad decisions. His friends could vouch for that. 

Heeseung, who was three weeks unemployed, five days broke, and about two hours away from eating cold ramen as a "balanced dinner," signed up instantly. 

How hard could being a doorman be? 

Smile, nod, press a button. Sifting through the folders of all the tenants in the building feels like an invasion of privacy but hey, safety you know? It’s not an ideal job but it is what it is, not like he has any other options.

Except— nobody told him the job description included not letting in horrifying skinwalkers in the city. They didn’t say what the D.D.D. stands for (they actually did), and maybe Heeseung was running on only 2 hours of sleep (he was gaming the whole time), so really, he only had himself to blame.

Now, standing at the lobby desk, Heeseung could feel his sweat drip through the cheap polyester uniform the Department of Doppelganger Detection (D.D.D.) had handed him. 

Anyway, it wasn’t because of the stuffy heater. 

It was because, within his first week on the job, he’d already let in six— 

Yes, six… doppelgangers.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself, rubbing his temples. “So maybe, Sunghoon’s eyes did look a little dead inside. But that’s just… him. And Jungwon being short and scary with a gaze that could cut literal glass? That’s literally his brand. And don’t even get me started on Jake— what was I supposed to do, quiz him on Australian slang?”

Heeseung groaned. 

A loser, yes. 

A hot loser, absolutely.

A competent doorman? 

…debatable.

The building was quiet, which was alarming, considering there were now six potential monsters running around disguised as his friends. Heeseung couldn’t help but wonder what kind of screening process thought that a man who once got scammed buying fake Chrome Hearts online— was fit to detect imperfect shapeshifters.

His first mistake had been Jay. He had strolled up to the lobby with his usual effortless swag, wearing a leather jacket that screamed “I’m cooler than you”, but in a friendly way. Heeseung had let him in instantly. Later, the real Jay showed up, and Heeseung— panicking— let him in too. 

“Double Jay,” Heeseung said to himself, staring at the ceiling. “I actually let two Jays in the building.”

They said the doppelgangers weren’t perfect, then what the fuck was that? There were barely any differences, and Heeseung prides himself that he gamed enough to have great attention to detail.

Mistake number two: Sunoo. 

Sunoo’s doppelganger had smiled sweetly, handed Heeseung a pack of Neoguri ramen, and said, “You’re working hard, hyung!”

Heeseung teared up instantly, buzzing him in without a second thought. Five minutes later, the real Sunoo showed up with the exact same ramen. Heeseung buzzed him in too, then ate from both packs in stress.

Needless to say, the cycle repeated and by the time he realized what was happening, it was far too late.

The building was crawling with impostors.

Heeseung slumped against the front desk, face buried in his arms. “They’re going to fire me. Or worse— make me work overtime without pay.”

“Oh no,” he muttered, suddenly remembering. “I think I let Ni-ki in twice.”

Suddenly, the intercom buzzed.

“Doorman Lee Heeseung,” came the flat, monotone voice of the D.D.D. supervisor. “Be advised. Doppelganger infiltration confirmed. Six. Error margin: catastrophic. Proceed with damage control immediately.”

Heeseung swallowed hard. “…Damage control?”

“Good luck,” the voice said. Click.

Heeseung shot upright, hair sticking out like an electrocuted scarecrow. He was so, so doomed.

But then—

The lobby doors slid open with a hiss. And there stood Jungwon. Or maybe… the doppelganger Jungwon.

The boy stared at him with those sharp, catlike eyes, the ones that always looked like they could cut glass.

“Heeseung-hyung,” Jungwon said slowly… too slowly.

“You’re… not very good at this job, are you?”

Heeseung gulped. Doppelganger or not, that was accurate.

“…Shit.”

Chapter Text

Now here comes the hardest part:  Proving which Jungwon is real without dying. 

Either way, he feels like he'd still be found dead considering that the younger acts like a feral cat at any given moment and honestly, Heeseung is scared.

After that announcement, in which, Jungwon just had to be present when it happened, the latter just chose to drop that one liner, left Heeseung a scrambling mess, and resumed to go back to his room without blinking. Like they're not in a middle of a catastrophic situation where their lives are in danger (mostly Heeseung’s fault though.)

Yep, that's definitely the real Jungwon.

So, the question is... did he let a doppelganger in the building or... not?

Surprisingly, Heeseung isn't dead— yet. Considering the way his hands were shaking around the clipboard, felt like a minor miracle.

Both Jungwons stood in the lobby like a poorly timed art installation: same GAP hoodie, same scowl, same catlike posture — and both looking at him like he was the one who’d eaten their last slice of dignity.

One Jungwon held himself taut and small, eyes sharp enough to slice through anything at this point. The other smiled too widely, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes; polite, almost suspiciously reverent. 

Huh, that's weird, Heeseung thought. But what sealed the deal was when he called him “sir,” and the world should have ended on the spot.

Heeseung tried to keep his voice steady. He knew who the fake was but opted to sort it out fairly, even as just a front. 

“Okay. Um. Cool. Hi.” Heeseung was trembling under their gazes.

“Doorman Lee,” the polite one said, voice syrup-smooth. “We need to confirm entry logs.” The taut Jungwon didn’t say anything. He just stared, and it felt like being inspected by a predator. Right, the younger doesn't call him formally. A hyung would've sounded more natural than that.

However, Heeseung’s brain short-circuited into the only defense mechanism it knew: absurdity. “Okay, psychological test. Who stole my Wi-Fi for three months so I had to hotspot off Sunoo like a peasant?”

Both Jungwons raised a hand in perfect unison.

Heeseung’s knees went soft. Of course they did. Of course Jungwon would've done that (and apparently, his doppelganger instinctively knows that the real Jungwon must have done it as well.)

Shifting back to the topic, the quiet Jungwon seemed to move first. His voice was low and clipped, “You let someone in without checking the badge. That’s negligence.”

The other one tilted his head, blinks too slow, too deliberate. “We’re here to help,” he said. “Sir.” 

The quiet Jungwon’s jaw tightened. “What the hell does ‘sir’ mean, idiot?” Yep, that's the real one alright.

Something in the fake's smile shifted— not a slow transformation, but a flicker: too wide, a flash of teeth that was wrong, mechanical. Heeseung’s stomach dropped. He was looking at something trying desperately to be human.

“Now,” the fake Jungwon said, and then moved like a marionette with loose strings.

It lunged.

There was no spectral howl, no dramatic folding of skin — just a visceral, stupid panic that Heeseung recognized from too many late-night games: a sudden, aggressive charge. The lobby felt too small. The fake Jungwon reached for Heeseung with hands that were just slightly too steady.

Real Jungwon lashed. He shoved a hand under its chin, hard. The fake one staggered, blinked wrong, then reached for the elevator.

“Get out,” Jungwon said, quiet and hard.

The three of them squeezed into the elevator because, of course, they did. The polished metal walls compressed every noise into an echo: the fake one’s breathing, Heeseung’s panicked intake, the click of Jungwon’s boots. The fake moved with jerky precision, and when his hand darted for the panel, Heeseung grabbed the nearest thing — the metal baton from the lobby security rack that he’d been busily pretending he knew how to use.

It felt obscene in his hands. A plastic weight. He swung blindly as Jungwon— the real Jungwon— tackled the fake one, using his body as a shield. The fake Jungwon's wrist twisted back; for a second it looked like it could slip free. Heeseung, hands clumsy, jabbed the baton into a shoulder. It didn’t look like much, but the fake yelped— a weird, inhuman sound— and staggered.

Heeseung’s other hand found the fire extinguisher mounted in the corner. He didn’t think. He hit the trigger.

A white fog spat into the tight air, and for a chaotic second everything went cottony. The fake Jungwon coughed, his face momentarily shivering from the cold spray.

Real Jungwon took the opening— two quick moves, a shove, a knee to the chest— and the fake folded to the floor with a clatter and a wet, wrong laugh.

The elevator dinged. Doors sighed open. Real Jungwon stood over the downed duplicate like a lion over a trapped rabbit, chest heaving, hair mussed, one sleeve torn.

Heeseung’s lungs finally remembered how to work. He swayed against the mirrored wall, extinguisher still in his grip. He could feel the heat of embarrassment and adrenaline burning his face.

Jungwon crouched and tapped Heeseung lightly on the forehead, the motion so casual it might have been affection if not for the way his thumb lingered with the promise of a bruise.

“You’re an idiot,” Jungwon murmured. His voice was low enough that only Heeseung heard. “If you die before you finish this— if you let more in— I’ll kill you.”

It was half-threat, half-promise, and entirely Jungwon: precise, feral, impossibly intimate. Heeseung’s knees melted.

Before he could stutter an apology, Jungwon’s lips ghosted over his mouth in a quick, sharp peck— more punctuation than kiss— and then Jungwon stood up, dusted his hands off as if they’d been doing housework, and walked out of the elevator without another blink, leaving Heeseung holding a smoking extinguisher and possibly the best and worst moment of his life.

Heeseung stared after him, chest thudding stupidly. He tucked the baton back under his arm like a talisman and, with a shaking laugh that sounded too small in the quiet lobby, whispered, “Noted.”

Report Filed:

“Damage sustained in Lobby / Elevator (Unit 1607 — Jungwon Incident):

— elevator panel scratched

— one seized fire extinguisher (discharged)

— security baton deployed (cosmetic bend)

— leather jacket: torn at sleeve

— minor blood on floor (lip split, non-critical)

— duplicate Jungwon: neutralized and contained

— emotional distress (severity: feral + catastrophic)

— note: verbal threat recorded — “If you die before we finish this, I’ll kill you.” (classified: affectionate)”

The D.D.D. supervisor squinted and sighed, "Mr. Lee, the last two are not necessary for the report." 

Heeseung only stared, resembling like a deer caught in headlights. He obviously didn't know what was wrong with the text. The supervisor ended the meeting with a "Please write only the necessary parts to be reported. And what I mean by necessary, I mean what we need to know." 

Surely, he should've known that he could have gone into detail when he sees his file report next. Unfortunately, he can't predict how things turned out for the doorman turned damage control personnel. 

Chapter Text

Heeseung didn’t know what was scarier— the silent tension stretching across the spotless marble kitchen… or the fact that there were two Jays standing in it like a fashion editorial about to turn violent.

Leather jackets. Raised brows. That stupidly smug, sharp jawline times two.

God was testing him again.

The Jay on the left crossed his arms and clicked his tongue. “You really let a copy of me in? Idiot.”

The Jay on the right gave him a smile that made Heeseung want to crawl into the nearest trash can and die.

“Don’t worry, buddy. We’ll sort this out.”

Heeseung froze. Buddy?

Jay had many faults— arrogance, violent competence, a tendency to shout as affection— but he never said buddy. Not even ironically.

He stepped back slowly, fingers brushing the emergency taser strapped to his belt.

“Jay?” he whispered.

Both Jays lifted their brows.

Great. Amazing. He was dead.

Then— left Jay moved. Smooth, elegant, no warning. In a flash, he was grabbing a heavy cast-iron skillet from the stove.

Right Jay bared his teeth, but instead of morphing or hissing or growing a second head like the others, he went unsettlingly still.

Too still.

Like a mannequin waiting for someone to choose a pose.

Real Jay— skillet Jay— gave a second glance to Heeseung. “Get behind me.”

Heeseung obeyed instantly. Loyalty or survival instincts, who knew.

Fake Jay lunged first— unnervingly fast but jerky, like someone moving in frames instead of fluid motion. Heeseung flinched, but skillet Jay was faster— stepping in clean form, swinging the pan with precise force.

Crack. The sound echoed.

Fake Jay staggered but didn’t fall. Its neck twitched, smile glitching into something… wrong. “Cute,” it hiss-whispered. “He chose you.” 

Skillet Jay spat, steps sharp, grounded, like he'd trained for this— which, horrifyingly, he probably had. “Don’t flirt with my face,” he snapped.

Fake Jay grabbed a kitchen knife. Real Jay snatched the nearest tool— stainless-steel tongs. Ridiculous? Yes. But his grip said I have trained with worse.

Heeseung ducked behind the island as the two Jays clashed— tiny clangs and heavy skillet thuds echoing, knife scraping metal, controlled breaths and sharp curses. God, he wants to cry but he's letting Jay handle his doppelganger which is everything Heeseung’s job is about but he's too cowardly to do shit right now.

Real Jay fought like a professional — clean, precise, lethal. Fake Jay moved like a broken marionette, unpredictable and jerking too fast. The knife skidded across the counter, embedding into the chopping block inches from Heeseung’s ear. He squeaked, (silently, because pride.)

He grabbed a pepper shaker and, in full panic, chucked it as hard as he could.

It hit Fake Jay dead in the eye.

A hiss, followed by a disoriented lurch.

Real Jay moved instantly— slammed the skillet into Fake Jay’s jaw, then pinned it to the floor, breath harsh.

Heeseung scrambled up, grabbing cuffs and a portable binding cord (thank you, D.D.D. damage control starter kit). They secured the creature— body glitching, face warping, melting in and out of Jay’s likeness.

Heeseung’s heart hammered. The kitchen smelled like metal and black pepper.

And well, shame.

Real Jay turned, breathing hard, hair mussed, bruised lip forming— somehow looking hotter than before. Of course.

“You let a doppelganger of me in, hyung. How will you make up for it?” 

Heeseung swallowed. “Technically, you’re just… very convincing.” Jay leaned in, trapping Heeseung against the counter, skillet thunking beside his head. "Is one not enough?"

The Heeseung almost choked if it weren't for the fact that he'd dig his grave deeper than it should be if he did.

“I don't know if you're insane,” Jay then murmured, voice low, “or in love?” Heeseung blinked. “…Both?” And fuck, he's seriously in dangerous territory— different and not life threatening but still dangerous. He doesn't know if he should run to be honest or maybe, he should apply as Jay's housewife instead.

Those thoughts stopped abruptly as Jay brushed a thumb over his jaw, smirk dangerous and stupidly soft beneath it.

“Answer after we survive.”

Heeseung didn’t get a chance.

Jay— real Jay— kissed him like they were in a music video then there were sparks (Heeseung suspects a migraine) and maybe a little blood at the hem of his shirt but whatever, it was hot.

Report Filed:

“Damage sustained in Unit 1703 kitchen:

— cracked countertop

— one compromised skillet

— pepper shaker used as projectile

— emotional distress (severity: catastrophic)”

The D.D.D. supervisor read it like he’s seen hell and wishes he hadn’t. “Mr. Lee… why is there (and still) a note that says ‘Jay kissed me so I think we're good?’" then quickly adding a "Nevermind, I actually don't want to know."

God, he wanted to quit this job.