Chapter Text
Kim Dokja was quickly learning that he’d underestimated the amount of work that went into a premiere day.
Really, he thought that as someone’s plus-one, he’d mostly just wear a suit that cost more than his rent, watch Yoo Sangah pretend she wasn’t mildly annoyed when he asked what the powder they were putting on his face was, and stay quiet while Yoo Joonghyuk gritted his teeth through one million red carpet interviews before suddenly and publicly kissing him or something to sell their image.
…He hadn’t exactly planned it out yet. What he didn’t think, though, was that he’d be handed a list of talking points and behavioral cues once he’d finally stepped into the limousine. “I know,” said Yoo Sangah, smiling at him, “it seems like a bit much, but we want to make sure things go as smoothly as possible.” There was a look in her eye that reminded Kim Dokja a little of Han Sooyoung, which was to say: he thought she might be going insane. He recognized this expression from back when they worked together, whenever management piled on too many deadlines at once.
“Right,” he said aloud, adopting a tone he’d seen people use when talking to feral animals on television documentaries.“Um. I just—most of these look kind of obvious?” Make sure to keep smiling! was circled four times and highlighted in bright pink, and please don’t badmouth him to press!!!! had a cartoon frown drawn next to it.
“Well.” Yoo Sangah’s smile somehow looked even more strained. “I gave them the same attention I usually give Joonghyuk-ssi’s; he tends to need a little more explicit direction.”
Kim Dokja remembered an interview from a few years ago where Yoo Joonghyuk had been asked what his favorite part of his new film was and he’d answered: “None of it.” Suddenly, the directions to be nice, please! made a little more sense.
He looked at the man in question, who was glaring at his own flashcards like they contained details of his death, before turning to Yoo Sangah and saying, “I get it.”
Yoo Joonghyuk threw him a dark look. Kim Dokja smiled winningly back at him. “You’ll be on the carpet for twenty minutes,” Yoo Sangah continued, drawing his attention to her again, “and most people will be interested in Joonghyuk-ssi, so it should be all right. The cameras can be a bit disorienting at first. Try not to get blinded by the flash. If you do, just hold onto him and he’ll lead you.”
“Uh,” said Kim Dokja, his hands turning a little clammy at the mention of cameras. He’d watched a few red carpet tapings in anticipation, and it looked doable, probably, when he was attracting the attention on purpose and not just because of—anything else. The noise just made him a little nervous. When he looked at Yoo Joonghyuk again, his gaze was sharp and considering. Kim Dokja turned his eyes back to his flashcards. “Thanks. Yeah.”
As soon as they stepped out of the limousine—Yoo Sangah clearing a path for both of them, Yoo Joonghyuk striding confidently after, and Kim Dokja mostly just clinging to him like a limpet and doing his best to smile—journalists swarmed toward them. “Yoo Joonghyuk-nim,” the first one called, shoving a microphone into his face. “Is this the man you’ve been spotted with so much lately?”
“Yes,” said Yoo Joonghyuk curtly. Yoo Sangah turned to him, her smile somehow both threatening and a little maniacal, and he sighed and added, “This is my boyfriend.”
The crowd fell silent. Kim Dokja had exactly a quarter of a second to enjoy staring at Yoo Joonghyuk’s profile up close in peace, the unamused curve of his mouth and harsh line of his cheekbone, before people started talking all at once and three microphones were shoved into his face and he felt a little like sinking through the floor. “What’s your name?” one reporter asked.
“How long have you been dating?”
“Was his marriage a sham?” the third demanded. Kim Dokja, even when fighting a wave of queasiness, had half a mind to say yes just because it would be funny. But that would earn him Yoo Sangah’s wrath (and lose him the money, but he’d been poor before and he’d never seen Yoo Sangah angry, so he knew what he was more afraid of), so instead he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and opened them again.
“My name is Kim Dokja,” he said. “We’ve been seeing each other for a month and a half, and his marriage was real; it’s just over now.” Someone gasped at the last part, and he grinned brilliantly. “No need to act so shocked; it’s been a few years. I’m sure you’ve seen his Wikipedia.”
This earned him a laugh. He felt the tension in his shoulders lessen just a little. Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm slid neatly around his waist, his hand warm and steady against his hip as he guided him forward and answered the brunt of the questions (though after responding to so are you gay now or what with a long, rehearsed definition of bisexuality that sounded like it had come straight from a textbook, most of the more invasive ones stopped). All Kim Dokja had to do, for the most part, was field a few easy ones, avoid staring directly into the camera, and look disgustingly enamored with Yoo Joonghyuk, which was—
—Well, it wasn’t too hard at a time like this. It would be a lie to say Yoo Joonghyuk was in his element right now when he so clearly wanted to be literally anywhere else, but he still commanded attention just from being . He spoke with a confidence that bordered on arrogance but felt magnetic all the same, the sort of self-assuredness that came from knowing, correctly, that he was a star. Even under the kind of makeup meant to look nice on camera and nowhere else, he was so gorgeous Kim Dokja sort of felt like he should be seeing him behind a screen, with the appropriate barrier between the beautiful people and the Kim Dokjas of the world.
But he was here now, and someone was asking what they thought about the headline saying they had no chemistry, so Kim Dokja thought of what would earn the highest ratings on a shitty television show and asked, “How’s this for chemistry?” before dragging Yoo Joonghyuk down for a kiss.
It was short and a little underwhelming—a press of the lips more than anything, just hard enough that it didn’t look embarrassingly chaste. It was also the first time Kim Dokja had kissed someone in eight years, though, so he still felt a little dizzy as he pulled back. Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes were dark and clear and focused on Kim Dokja with the sort of intensity he’d seen him aim at love interest after love interest on show after show. When it was aimed at him , though, it was harder to tamp down the sudden jackrabbiting beat of his heart.
So many shutters were going off at once it sounded like weaponry. Kim Dokja supposed, objectively, that meant he’d done a good job. He wasn’t sure how he felt without objectivity: mostly, he was beginning to feel disconnected from himself, like he was guiding his body and watching the reactions from the crowd.
“We’ve got to get inside or we’ll miss the start of the film,” said Yoo Sangah sweetly to the reporters. This was an obvious lie, but it still allowed them enough space to muscle through the crowd and make it off the carpet. She turned to him, looking concerned. “Are you all right? I know it can be a little disorienting…”
“Fine,” said Kim Dokja. He felt unmoored, but not so much that it would be impossible to make it to their seats and pretend to pay attention to the movie. “Yeah. It was good, right?”
“Really good,” she replied, but he couldn’t tell if she was just being nice. He looked at Yoo Joonghyuk, who was giving him the same sharp, discerning stare he had in the limousine.
“It was fine,” he agreed.
“High compliments,” Kim Dokja said, managing a grin. “Do you think I was good enough to land a role in your next movie?”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
“So mean to your boyfriend,” complained Kim Dokja, and Yoo Joonghyuk rolled his eyes before marching them to their seats, his hand still firmly glued to Kim Dokja’s side.
✯✯✯✯✯
Kim Dokja had promised himself he would avoid going online the day after the premiere. Unfortunately, he was a man with particularly poor self-control and an internet addiction, so he broke that promise about five minutes after he woke up. The online consensus from people their age and younger seemed to be that Yoo Joonghyuk was very brave and a trailblazer and a bunch of other words that meant they bought it and loved it. Of course, there were outliers—and news outlets and troll accounts alike theorizing that major star Yoo Joonghyuk was out to turn the youth gay, amongst other things—but it was nothing worse than Kim Dokja saw or heard in high school, so he’d live.
The other online consensus seemed to be that Yoo Joonghyuk’s boyfriend was cute enough, but not remotely in his league, so he must have a really good personality. Kim Dokja was both more selfish and more shallow than he thought, so this bruised his ego a little more than the homophobia.
“Wow,” said Han Sooyoung, who was once again loitering in his apartment even though she had a much nicer place. “Nobody made this much of a deal when I came out.”
“When were you not out?”
“Shut up.” She squinted at her phone, adjusting her fake glasses like that would help anything. “This is great publicity, though. You know how many people are excited about him being in a gay show now? A lot more than yesterday.”
“Great,” said Kim Dokja, aiming for flat sarcasm and falling a little short. “You owe me a cut of the marketing budget, then.” He peeked out the window, irrationally afraid of paparazzi or insane stalkers somehow finding out where he lived. He’d heard horror stories about famous people’s partners before, and he didn’t particularly feel like becoming more of a shut-in.
Well, maybe it wasn’t that irrational. It had happened before, and that book was about as much of a sensation as Yoo Joonghyuk. He tried not to think about it.
“Do you know if we just… like, go on dates now or something? Is that it?”
“How the hell would I know?”
“You’re dating his publicist. I thought maybe—”
Han Sooyoung snorted. “That asshole? We’re over now. I’d be surprised if she ever talks to me again.”
Not for the first time, Kim Dokja wondered if whatever was happening between Han Sooyoung and Yoo Sangah was just an elaborate practical joke. If he voiced this aloud, though, Han Sooyoung might really kill him, so he just pinched the bridge of his nose and half-listened to her monologue about her show before pulling out his phone.
KIM DOKJA
I liked your movie.
As expected, Yoo Joonghyuk answered almost instantly. For a man as booked and busy as he was, he really didn’t seem to have much of a life.
YOO JOONGHYUK
Not my movie
YOO JOONGHYUK
And don’t lie
YOO JOONGHYUK
You almost fell asleep
KIM DOKJA
It was a tiring night. Sue me. Your
performance was good, though.
KIM DOKJA
You were a very convincing dead body. I almost
wanted to check your pulse.
YOO JOONGHYUK
Be quiet
Kim Dokja wondered if he should ask what it was like being out: it seemed like the sort of thing that would be a big adjustment, especially for someone as well-known as Yoo Joonghyuk. No matter how he thought about it, though, he couldn’t imagine Yoo Joonghyuk baring his soul to Kim Dokja, let alone explaining the intricacies of going from heartthrob actor to heartthrob actor and famous LGBT figure, so he didn’t say anything about that.
KIM DOKJA
Are we supposed to go on a date sometime soon?
Sangah-ssi didn’t say anything.
Yoo Joonghyuk typed something, then deleted it, then typed something again, then deleted it again. Kim Dokja stared at the bubbles appearing and disappearing for over a minute, beginning to feel like a particularly pathetic teenager.
YOO JOONGHYUK
Don’t know
That was underwhelming, Kim Dokja thought, so he didn’t reply at all, instead going back on the social media feeds he wasn’t supposed to be looking at and scrolling mindlessly.
(Three different images of him and Yoo Joonghyuk kissing were plastered everywhere he went. He thought that maybe if he looked at them enough times, he’d stop feeling so off-balance.)