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“We’re not even the same height.”
“We’ll work the angles, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Heeseung,” Jay said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “please tell me you’re messing with me. You are, right?”
When Yang Jungwon had first stepped onto his set and been introduced to him as his new stunt double, Jay had laughed out loud.
“Okay,” he wheezed, wiping away a stray tear. “Now who is it really?”
If Heeseung had looked decidedly not amused by his outburst, Jungwon looked downright shellshocked.
“Pull yourself together,” Heeseung chastised him, sounding bored. He was used to Jongseong’s antics by now, and was desensitized to the overall lack of tact or common sense. “He’s the best in the field, and has all the necessary expertise required to pull off the diverse range of action sequences in the film.” He leveled Jay with a flinty gaze. “The film you wrote.”
Jay winced, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew what that look meant. It meant:
‘You just had to have that intense car chase and that dramatic rooftop scene, and all those insane, over the top stunts you added in just because you thought they’d look cool— except since we’re legally obligated to ensure that no one dies on set, we had to hire someone who can actually manage to execute all your nonsense, so you’ll have to bite your tongue and stop giving me a hard time.’
Throughout their friendship, Heeseung and Jay’s dynamic had been cemented around two well known truths: Jay was a man of many words, and Heeseung was a man of decidedly fewer.
Luckily, sometimes terrifyingly, Heeseung didn’t need words to speak. He would look at Jongseong, and his expression would be so loud, so deafening, that Jay would be tempted to simply close his eyes or look away.
So when Heeseung gave Jay the look, he knew it was time to shut up. Or at least, to shut up for the time being.
Of course, this resolution was quickly undone the second Yang Jungwon opened his mouth.
“I’m actually a huge fan,” the boy mumbled, tipping back and forth on his clunky leather boots. He nervously fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while.” Jungwon looked up at him from beneath his eyelashes, and Jay’s breath caught.
“I’m looking forward to working with you,” he uttered automatically, while his thoughts spun cartwheels around his brain.
(He didn’t mean it. Not one bit.)
---
Jay could have gotten over the fact that Jungwon was smaller in stature and looked nothing like him. He could have. He could place all his faith in Heeseung and let the stunt expert do his thing, go to bed at night knowing that he wouldn’t have to put his life on the line to bring his vision to fruition.
He could give in, and let all of it play out as planned. Except for one thing.
One catch, one irreconcilable roadblock.
“Hey Jungwon,” Jay nodded to him as they passed by each other on the way to their makeup trailers.
“Jay!” Jungwon would exclaim, his eyes scrunching up and his cheeks puffing out slightly. His bangs bounced against his forehead as he trotted along, doc martens thumping against the pavement. And with that simple exclamation of his name, that simple but dazzling smile, he’d be round the corner and out of sight.
Jay blinked for a moment, feeling dazed in the wake of that simple greeting.
What the hell.
During breaks, Jungwon would linger in his peripheral vision, hip glued to the catering table like he hadn’t been fed all week.
“Jay!” he would call, and Jongseong would turn on instinct just in time to spot the grape sailing through the air and straight towards his face. He opened his mouth to catch it but missed, and the morsel bounced off the side of his nose and rolled off of his foot.
The resulting cackle from Jungwon sounded innocent and devious at the same time. Jay grit his teeth and said, “Again.”
He caught the next one. And then missed all four after that. By the end of it, Jungwon was laughing so hard he was clutching at his side in pain while gasping for air. A fond smile tugged at his own lips.
A few meters away, Heeseung was watching like a hawk.
They hadn’t filmed any of the more demanding scenes yet; so far, Jay had still managed to film his own fight sequences, practicing the choreography day and night to make sure he got it down pat.
Jungwon was there to supervise, though he didn’t do much more than hum and nod when asked if the take was good enough to keep. Still, he was always there. The more Jay saw of him, the more he was reminded of what was to come.
The Saturday night before the big week, they all went out for dinner. Jay remained uncharacteristically quiet, digging into his food while Jungwon enchanted the whole table— hell, all of the waitstaff and even the whole restaurant— with his oozing charisma.
Everyone couldn’t help but orbit around him like they were planets being looped into the gravitational pull of a small, but powerful sun.
“Are you ready?” one of their costars asked him teasingly. “Big stunt coming up, that one. Have you ever shed blood on a set before?”
Jungwon winked. “Only once or twice.” While everyone erupted into awed murmurs and scattered laughter, Jay stared down at his plate. He felt a nauseating, sharp twist in his stomach.
One catch, one irrevocable roadblock.
Jungwon— his stunt double, the person who would be risking his life to enact all the crazy scenes Jay had pulled out of his ass—
Was cute.
—
“Fire him,” Jay told Heeseung, keeping his face carefully straight to indicate that he meant business.
“Go home, Jongseong,” the director said tiredly. “We’re done shooting for the day.”
“Yes, but tomorrow we shoot again, and tomorrow is when I jump out of a helicopter and into the ocean, except it’s not me jumping, it’s Jungwon, so you need to fire him right now,” he said in one breath.
“He’s not literally jumping into the ocean, you know,” Heeseung informed him. “There’s a green screen, and a padded mat for him to fall onto. And if he doesn’t do it, who will?”
Over the course of their friendship, Heeseung had learned that if he wasn’t careful with his words, he may just find himself unintentionally supplying his best friend with a very bad, very reckless idea.
This was definitely one of those times.
“I will,” Jay said, with the confidence of someone who was far too dismissive of their ability to die.
—
If he didn’t look down, he’d be fine. These stunts weren’t designed to kill people, right? It was just a little jump, a leap of faith. Anyone could do this.
It wasn’t like they hired professionals for this very reason or anything.
Jay chewed at his lip, the fastenings of the harness pulling against his skin. At least he wasn’t free-falling— but still, knowing him, he’d somehow manage to land the wrong way and snap his neck.
He looked down, a sea of cameras blinking back at him. He met Heeseung’s eyes first, looking at him skeptically with an eyebrow raised, as if waiting for him to call it off and clamber down from his perch any second now. Honestly, he was considering it.
And then his eyes fell on Jungwon.
The boy was chewing on his lip, hands twisting nervously in front of him. Even his hair seemed to quiver with anticipation.
Jay felt himself harden with resolve. He didn’t want to be someone anyone worried about, someone that others would fear for. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he especially did not want to be looked at that way by Jungwon.
He gripped onto the thick rope until the fibers dug imprints into his palms, closed his eyes, and jumped.
Even if they had to redo the take four times because of the shrill scream that he could’ve sworn was not being emitted from him, well, it did little to dampen his sense of accomplishment.
—
“Let me do it,” Jungwon begged, clutching at the fabric of Jay’s t-shirt and rocking him back and forth. Jay’s shoulders tensed.
They had slowly but surely been growing closer week by week, and throughout their budding friendship came the realization that Jungwon was every bit the touchy person that Jongseong himself was.
Jungwon spared no hesitation in jumping halfway up Jay’s back to accost him by surprise, or to play with his shoelaces absentmindedly while reading something on his phone, or to lean forward and wrap his fingers loosely around Jay’s wrist while he talked, as if he needed that small physical touch to tether the listener to his words.
For some reason, Jay found himself hesitant in reciprocating the contact. With Heeseung, or anyone else it came naturally, his arm automatically winding around their shoulders like an afterthought— but with Jungwon, he was hyperaware of every small movement, every brush of their shoulders, every second of a lingering glance that might be considered too long.
“Why?” Jay said innocently, trying to ignore the heat of Jungwon’s palms through the thin fabric. “It’ll be a piece of cake.”
“Jay,” Jungwon sighed, “you can’t even drive a car properly, let alone jump from the roof of a moving car onto another.”
“That was one time,” Jay protested.
“That is one too many times to cross on red.” Jungwon leveled him with a gaze, one that was all too reminiscent of the ones he received from Heeseung daily: concern, mixed with a healthy dose of judgment. He remembered the way Jungwon had looked at him when they had first met— eyes wide with awe, an undercurrent of disbelief at the fact that he was standing before a star.
Jay thought that maybe they had switched places; switched gazes.
“Why do you insist on doing all of these, anyway?” Jungwon continued, sounding frustrated now. “What am I even here for? I feel useless.”
If anything would have gotten through to Jay, it was those words. He didn’t want Jungwon to feel like anything less than what he was— which was everything. But he would rather Jungwon feel useless, than for Jungwon to be lifeless.
Heeseung told him he was being dramatic. The boy was a highly trained professional, after all.
Even then, Jay thought to himself, as an engine roared to life and his eyes met flashing pavement.
Even then.
—
“I heard you’re backflipping off the roof of a building today,” Ni-ki said, by way of greeting. Jay rolled his eyes, clamping his cell phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he prepared his breakfast. “Isn’t there a stunt double or something who can do that for you? How much are they paying you to die?”
“I’ve got it taken care of,” Jay muttered, scanning his ingredients. He wondered if Jungwon liked avocado toast.
“I want to be there,” Ni-ki told him excitedly. Jay sighed, having expected this. But he had to keep some level of confidentiality, even with a close friend who was like a little brother to him.
“You’ll see it on the big screen, kid,” he told the boy. “Be patient.”
“No,” Ni-ki said, his voice colored with glee. “I mean I want my face to be the last thing you see as I say, ‘I told you so.’”
“Morbid little shit!” Jay barked, and hung up the phone.
His heart was in his throat as the harness he was buckled into aided him in completing a perfect backwards somersault onto a ledge below. Jungwon could have done it without the harness, he knew. But he’d insisted. Heeseung was long past wasting the energy to argue with him by now.
Each time he landed, he straightened up, scanning the set for a familiar pair of almond-shaped eyes. But Jungwon was nowhere to be seen.
—
“Jay, please,” Heeseung pleaded, fully aware that he was sounding like a broken record. “He’s specially trained in this. You will kill yourself.” He had let Jay have his way for long enough. But even he had to try to put his foot down at some point.
“Heeseung. Remember when we would play in the pool as kids? And we’d compete with each other to see who could stay underwater the longest? And remember how I always won?”
“That was one thing, Jongseong,” Heeseung said exasperatedly. “This is holding your breath for three minutes.”
“Hardly a formidable stretch of time!” Jay countered. “Barely enough time to heat up a cup of ramen.”
“It’s your funeral,” Heeseung muttered under his breath. “Is he really worth it?”
Jay frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” The director rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing.”
To nobody’s surprise at all, he and Heeseung’s childhood competitions were nowhere near ample preparation for essentially drowning himself on camera. Jay remained gasping like a fish for the remainder of the hour, wrapped up in a towel as he shivered like a wet dog.
Thankfully, the footage was not only salvageable, but spectacularly realistic.
—
Halfway into their last month of filming, Jungwon visited him in his trailer.
“Come in,” Jay called hesitantly. The boy was standing in the open doorway, the door that Jay always kept open in case a costar wanted to drop by, or if Heeseung wanted to have a quick drink in between scenes. Jungwon’s visits had been far and few in between lately, and it hadn’t escaped his notice that the boy had seemed less energetic around him, his attitude a shade more sullen.
“What are you doing?” Jungwon said bluntly. He looked as serious as Jay had ever seen him, a sternness sharpening his soft, boyish features.
“What do you mean?” Jay asked, masking his face into innocence as he twisted his hands in his lap. He reached over to pick up the glass on his table, taking a nervous gulp. Most of it missed his mouth.
“I think you know,” Jungwon replied. Jay swallowed. A cold line of water trickled its way down the curve of his throat. “You’re sabotaging me.”
“I—”
“Every time you insist on doing something yourself that you’re not even trained to do, you’re taking away a small chunk of my job. This is my livelihood, you know.” Jungwon held his gaze, his eyes hard and unflinching. “Why? Is it that you can’t stand being told that there’s anything you can’t do? I’ve worked with actors who are like that before— I just thought you’d be different.”
“It’s not that!” Jay blurted in a panic, urgency saturating his tone. “I swear that it’s not.”
“Then what?” There was a challenge in his voice now; and something in his face, in the shape of his mouth made Jay certain— for a fleeting moment— that Jungwon knew. He had to know, because there, his eyes were smiling now, and teeth were beginning to peek out from between his lips.
He just wanted Jay to admit it. It would be so easy to, and yet it would be the most frightening feat of all.
“It’s just…”
“Jay,” Heeseung snapped, popping his head through the door. “Five minutes.” He ducked right back out, apparently not having registered Jungwon sitting right there. Jay froze. The moment shattered, and the boy’s face slipped back into a mask.
“You should get going,” Jungwon said in a neutral voice, getting up and making to leave. “See you around,” he called over his shoulder, “Jongseong.”
—
“You want me to what?”
“You wrote it, Jay, how can you be surprised?” Sunoo looked at him with wide eyes, clutching onto the script like a shield.
“I… don’t even know how to drive a motorcycle,” Jay admitted in defeat.
“Well Jungwon does, you know,” Sunoo told him with pursed lips. “Are you going to let him do this one?”
Are you going to let him do this one?
The words echoed through his head as Jay clutched onto the handles of the bike, his knuckles white from his death grip.
It wasn’t time to film yet, it wasn’t even an official rehearsal, but here he was, his ass planted on the seat of a motorcycle— just to test himself, just to see if he would really do it, could really go this far to do something that nobody had asked him to do.
He looked over the edge. He had to drive right over the edge and land on the road below, and keep on driving. Keep going, keep speeding away like nothing had happened, nothing had even fazed him.
But it would. It had.
He had looked at Jungwon at ground level, and then he had looked at him from high up above, during that first stunt that had solidified his decision to embark on this self-destructive journey.
He looked over the edge of the stairs now, the steps narrow and steep like a descent right into the center of the Earth. He tried to imagine Jungwon there at the bottom, waiting for him.
Why couldn’t you do it? he imagined Jungwon saying to him. But even as he pictured it, he knew this was unrealistic. What Jungwon would actually say was, Why didn’t you let me?
It was a long way to fall. And he had already fallen so far already.
Jay’s heart dropped down to his stomach, then to his feet, before tumbling down the three flights of granite steps and splattering onto the cobblestones below.
When he knocked, it took Jungwon four and a half seconds to answer. He counted each one aloud to himself, the door swinging open partway through his lips forming around the five.
“I’m sorry,” Jay whispered. “I can’t do it.”
He didn’t need to explain. Jungwon already knew. And it was exactly what he had been waiting for.
The boy smirked, a twinkle in his eye. “Are you finally going to let me do my job now?” Jay looked down at his feet, and nodded. “And are you going to tell me why you tried to prevent me from doing it in the first place?” He inhaled sharply.
“You know why,” Jay said in a low voice. Jungwon shrugged.
“Maybe I knew why from that first day you rubbed your hands raw with rope. But I still want to hear it. Why did you take all those falls for me?”
“I’m not a professional,” Jay began, cursing the heavens for not engineering his brain with a built-in professional script writer, “and I sure as hell can’t pull off my own stunts. I may give myself rope burn, or drown myself, or god forbid, break my back.” He dug his nails into his palms, and did the bravest thing he’d done in the last few months.
“But I’ve fallen for you,” he said shakily, “and I’ll keep falling for you, for as long as you’ll let me.”
“I think you’ve forgotten one thing,” Jungwon said. His face revealed nothing, one of the more infuriating, yet endearing things about him. Always cryptic, never revealing what he meant until he was ready to explicitly say it word for word.
“What is it?” Jay asked hesitantly.
“The most important thing about falling,” he said, leaning in. “Is sticking the landing.”
Their lips met.
Later, when Jay watched Jungwon perform the stunt, observing him in his natural habitat for the first time— he couldn’t help but notice that the boy was far more skilled at a great number of things than Jay would ever be:
Taking risks, embracing love, and operating motor vehicles.