Archive of Our Own ^omega

“Look.” Seonghwa is a little less than graceful when he tosses his phone in front of San, pulling every remaining ounce of San’s attention to the small screen in front of him. “What do you see?”

“Um, you abusing your poor phone by throwing it at me?” San always had to wonder what Seonghwa’s poor phone did to deserve to be tossed around like a baseball, picking up the device that landed in front of him far more gently than how it was thrown at him.

“Look closer. On the screen, Sannie. What do you see?” San knows what Seonghwa meant when the blond had originally given the phone over, but San liked to be a little bit of a brat when situations called for it.

“An… article?” He hasn’t bothered to look at the article in front of him, tapping the screen to keep it from turning black.

“Right — what does the article say, genius?” Seonghwa rolls his eyes, already annoyed with San’s impish behavior.

“Did Yunho not fuck you right last night and that’s why you’re being nasty?” It’s a low blow, truthfully, to pick fun at Seonghwa’s relationship with Yunho despite the way they’ve been happily dating for the better part of four years and they’ve looked at engagement rings together more than once and in front of San, making the latter feel painfully single.

“Mind your business, Choi San, and read the article.”

“Fine, Fine. After releasing four best-selling fantasy novels, author K. Ryusang will be holding an in-person book signing event for the first time to celebrate the release of his upcoming novel, The Seer of the Blessed, the first novel in his newest series “Solivagant”. Seonghwa, are you serious?!” San turns towards Seonghwa after reading just the first sentence of the article, jaw practically unhinged as he looks at his friend.

“No, I made the whole thing up.” Snorting, Seonghwa sniped his phone away from San, scrolling the article a little more. “Solivagant is a series that focuses on Do-Yun, a demigod in search of other demigods, intent to kill them to take their powers for their own, until he learns the twisted truth. After speaking with Ryusang, he confessed that the first two books are already complete, and the third and final installment of Solivagant is in the drafting stage. With the release of The Seer of the Blessed being so widely anticipated after the more recent successes of Shield of Acheron, Abyss of Titania, and Titan's Heir, and his debut novel The Emerald Sun, Ryusang has admitted that he’s looking forward to meeting his fans face-to-face for the first time.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Please don’t. I thought you’d be more excited! You can get a ticket to his book signing and finally meet him face to face and tell him how in love you are with him.” Seonghwa, always one for exaggeration on San’s mild obsession with Ryusang, pouted as he spoke, crossing his arms.

“First of all, I’m not in love with him; I don’t even know him. Second of all, I’m not even able to get my hands on any of his signed book pre-orders they’re so in demand, what makes you think I’ll be able to get a ticket and the day off to go? It’d be so cool, though. He’s just such an—”

“Inspiration to you, I know. But there’s no harm in trying right? You’ll never know if you get lucky enough unless you try.” Seonghwa sighs, shaking his head as he tucks his phone back into his back pocket. “It’ll suck if you don’t get in, sure, but I still say it’s worth a try. Look, I’ll even enter, too, so if I win you can have my ticket and meet the man of your dreams.”

“How can he be the man of my dreams if I’ve never even met him, hyung?” Sighing, San leans forward, resting his chin in his hand as he looks up at his friend, a pout firm on his lips as he imagines the could-be in his delusions. “Besides, there’s no way that things would just… work out between us even if he did give me a chance for whatever reason. He’s so successful and I’m… not.”

Seonghwa sighed again, “Choi San, your worth is not based on your success, and you know damn well that Ryusang wasn’t as successful with his first book as he hoped he would be.”

“Which is a crime in and of itself. The Emerald Sun is the very reason I picked up my sketchbook again.” The Emerald Sun was Ryusang’s debut novel, which the title had nothing to do with the actual content of the novel, the story being vastly different from what the title might imply — but had also been the spark San had needed to get his creativity back.

For years, his sketchbook and paints had been cast aside and untouched, collecting dust because San just simply could not find any reason to want to create, his sketches all half-finished or barely started because he would lose every vision he had conjured in his mind, pages torn out and crumpled in frustration before being thrown into the recycling. He was an artist who wouldn’t create, and had feared that he’d never find his passion for creating again.

While making art had been primarily a hobby for San, it was something that had once brought him joy, until it no longer did and he settled into his routine life of working in a little café that was about a ten minute bike ride from his apartment, grateful that he at least made enough with his job to live comfortably.

It had been by chance that San picked up The Emerald Sun, entering a bookstore to find something for Seonghwa at first, the greens in the cover catching his eye before anything else, a sticker that read New! attached to the front of the paperback. He’d never seen the pen name K. Ryusang before, and a quick glance of the back of the book had the confession that it was the debut novel for K. Ryusang.

The summary of the novel had gripped San from the front, curious about the story of Jun-Woo, an assassin who had been hired by the royal family to kill anyone who may have had a right to the throne with the looming threat of the royal family’s lineage being cut off as the queen failed time again and again to produce an heir, plunging the land surrounding the kingdom into darkness as the council takes control of the empire. That was, at least, until rumors of a powerful sorcerer in the north that was protected by a powerful, unbreakable barrier swelled up, causing unrest in the kingdom — and Jun-Woo was sent to destroy the barrier, and the sorcerer — only to find that the sorcerer bears a striking resemblance to the royal family.

San, intrigued by what could possibly happen between Jun-Woo and the sorcerer, bought the book without a second thought, and had been buried in it for hours, unable to put it down — because Ryusang had folded all of these elements San didn’t even know he loved into one book. High fantasy with descriptive imagery, embedded with mystery and even a romance between Jun-Woo and the sorcerer, Seong-Min, had left San’s mind spinning with all the possibilities, and with the desire to recreate the scenes Ryusang had laid out for him.

His sketchbook, for the first time in he wasn’t even sure how long, had been filled with sketches of Jun-Woo and Seong-Min, of the dark magic that Jun-Woo held to break Seong-Min’s barrier, of the desperation Jun-Woo had to protect Seong-Min as the rightful heir to the throne that could pull the kingdom out of the darkness the council had thrown it into — because of The Emerald Sun, San had been able to create again.

From that moment, whenever San had gotten stuck or in a rut when it came to creating, he’d open up his copy of The Emerald Sun and re-read the scenes that stuck out to him the most, or find something new that he had missed in his first few re-reads, just to get that inspiration back.

And then Ryusang had released Shield of Acheron and Abyss of Titania, and San had bought those on the days they were released as well. Shield of Acheron was the first in the two-book series, introducing an immortal warrior named Yong-Sun, blessed by a Goddess of Protection 500 years before the novel began to defend the kingdom the series took place in, in a world where the Gods freely interacted with humanity until they simply… stopped, driving the kingdom into madness that worshiped a more natural-order of things, and Yong-Sun, the protector, had become the hunted, tasking himself with a near-impossible mission to find and convince the old Gods to return to the mortal realm, before it was too late for the blessed.

Just like with The Emerald Sun, San had found himself carried away by Ryusang’s prose and ability to create stunning visuals with words alone, and Shield of Acheron had become Ryusang’s best seller — to where when pre-orders had begun for Abyss of Titania, the conclusion of Yong-Sun’s story, Ryusang had released a limited amount of signed copies, as a thank you for the support for Yong-Sun’s story, and for the support for him as a still new author.

San, as luck would have it, was not fortunate enough to get his hands on a signed copy of Abyss of Titania before it sold out, leaving him disheartened and heartbroken about it — because, in his eyes, Ryusang’s words had saved him as an artist.

He’d made another attempt when Ryusang had released signed versions of his previous novel, Titan’s Heir, and of course, he had failed to secure a copy of that as well.

But, there was a chance, now, just like Seonghwa said. If he could get into Ryusang’s book signing, he’d finally have a chance to get a signed copy of The Seer of the Blessed, which San was highly looking forward to, just as he had with all of Ryusang’s works.

Looking at Seonghwa, San sighs, looking through his lashes as he ducks his head down, almost ashamed.

“So, how do I get into his book signing?”

༻✧༺

“You know, it’s more shocking that you want to do a public signing event for the first time since you became a published author.” Yeosang barely looks over at Hongjoong as his manager taps along the screen of his phone, probably looking over Yeosang’s schedule leading up to the release of The Seer of the Blessed, wondering just how much PR he’s going to have to do and all the agreements that they’re going to have to enter to ensure that this signing event goes perfectly. “You’ve never cared about a signing event before, Sangie. So, why now?”

“Mm… I felt it was time?” Yeosang doesn’t really know what to say to Hongjoong, but he thinks after four novels, two of which sold out faster than they could be printed, he owes it to his fans that keep him living comfortably. “There’s not many people who know who I am that read my works. It’s why I can walk around outside without being recognized, because you handle all my press information and… I think it’d be nice.”

“I mean, five is a good number to start doing these signings at, sure, but aren’t you going to get overwhelmed? You don’t exactly do crowds well, and when you’re nervous, your lisp gets worse. You’ll have to, you know, talk to the people who come, and read an excerpt from the book itself. It’s a whole big event, Sangie; you’re sure you’re up for this? I can cancel it, just say the word.”

Yeosang laughs, shaking his head as he finally turns to look at Hongjoong, who was running his fingers through blue strands with mild distress — as unconventional looking as Hongjoong was for a manager, he was fantastic at what he did, and Yeosang is pretty sure most of that doesn’t come without thanks to Hongjoong’s husband of the past four years.

The husband that Hongjoong had met six years prior at a PR event when Yeosang’s first novel, The Emerald Sun was slated for publication and distribution.

Truthfully, Yeosang thinks how Hongjoong and Mingi met is cute — Hongjoong desperately trying to get some of the bigger name reporters out there to gain interest in The Emerald Sun before it’s release, running into Mingi, a producer/songwriter who was frequently invited to PR events because of his connections through the entertainment industry.

And while Yeosang hasn’t met Mingi personally, from what he knows from Hongjoong, Mingi was enamored with his manager from the moment they met and Hongjoong handed over his business card, because Hongjoong’s then bright-red hair stood out amongst the sea of dark brown and black hair that belonged to industry professionals — and Mingi liked that about Hongjoong, that he wasn’t ashamed to be who he wanted to be and was still able to remain professional.

They had dated for about two years before a mutual proposal while drunk off their asses (allegedly) occurred, and because Hongjoong doesn’t like crowds much, either, they never held a formal ceremony, and said fuck the legality of it all and just declared themselves married, just needing to sign a certificate when they could find someone willing to make their unofficial union official.

Somehow, in the six years that Hongjoong and Mingi have been together, they’ve become loving fathers to two massive dogs and one cat — the cat having been a stray that Hongjoong found in the bushes and took in after it scared Mingi shitless with its hidden meowing. Hongjoong had told Yeosang about the impromptu adoption of the little Birman kitten after the emergency vet verified that she wasn’t microchipped, and likely belonged to a stray, or a purebred that had run away — and Hongjoong was a weak man and took in the kitten and named her Maeun.

But all of that was to come back to the fact that Hongjoong is fantastic at his job, and Yeosang knows it’s because Mingi has given him pointers and hints at how to schmooze a crowd at these events and appeal to everyone around him. Yeosang thinks that Hongjoong is most of the reason his last few books have done so well when it came to sales, and not because of his talent, but as it turns out, word of mouth is far more powerful than people realize it to be.

Because not only did his Twitter follower count triple with every book he released, but he had people constantly tweeting at him, asking questions about his next book, what his ideas are, how he gets inspiration, anything they can think of — so he thinks part of it might be thanks to his own doing as well.

“So, you really want to do this?” Hongjoong looks a little weak as he looks over at Yeosang, his brows pulled together as his thumb hovers over his phone, lips twisted into something akin to concern. “There’s no canceling this signing after I confirm it. So, this is your last chance.”

“I’m sure, hyung. I appreciate the concern, and if it turns out I hate doing it, it’s the only one I ever have to do, right?” When Hongjoong nods, Yeosang shrugs, turning back to his laptop, looking at the outline he’s drafted for the final book of the Solivagant series.

He’s thankful, really, that he’s already gotten the second book finished and sent off to Jongho to edit, giving the two of them plenty of time to go over every line with a fine tooth comb while anticipation builds for the release of The Seer of the Blessed, ensuring that The Bane of the Archangel would be absolutely perfect by the time it was sent off to the publishers, giving plenty of time for The Seer of the Blessed to run its course and build new anticipation for the rest of the series.

With three books planned, Solivagant is Yeosang’s most ambitious project yet, despite his never-ending ideas for fantasy stories that he likes to weave mystery and romance into — which, in itself, wouldn’t be as risky if the main characters and their love interests weren’t always both men, reflecting his own desires for a magical romance that happens in the most unexpected of ways.

Being an author who writes strictly gay romance when he decides to tie in a romantic aspect of his books… well, it’s given him a little bit of an edge, he likes to think, appealing to the younger adult audience who can see reflections of themselves portrayed in media, without it being cut short or censored in any forms — because the romance always takes a backseat to the plot, but remains meaningful.

It was a risk he took with The Emerald Sun, having Jun-Woo and Seong-Min fall in love in the latter half of the book, and Jun-Woo risk everything to keep Seong-Min safe until he could ascend as the new king, and he had expected plenty of backlash — and he did receive some, but not from his intended audience, which was all that mattered to him.

The positive reception from the majority of his readers is what kept him pushing to create, and to hopefully inspire more people with his words alone.

Hongjoong sighs, drawing Yeosang’s attention again.

“Okay. No going back now, though.” There’s the audible sound of Hongjoong’s thumb tapping against the screen of his phone, the sound of an email going out following and Yeosang can feel a spike of adrenaline — or maybe it’s anxiety — come with the realization that he’s going to have his first official book signing event, and he’s going to be seen by the people who have read what he’s written.

And that was a terrifying thought on its own.

Because what if he’s not what any of them expect? What if they’re disappointed by Yeosang, and stop supporting him once they meet him? At least before the confirmed signing, he had some form of anonymity between his pen name (which isn’t even a pen name, truthfully, but another way to read his legal name), and the fact no one knew what he looked like.

And that was all going to change.

“You okay there, Sangie?” Hongjoong’s voice is calming, in comparison to the thoughts that are racing in his mind.

“Have I just made a terrible mistake, hyung?”

Inhaling softly, Hongjoong hums, thinking about the question posed to him for a moment before he tucks his phone away, crossing the short distance across the room to sit beside Yeosang. There’s nothing in his expression that gives away what he’s thinking, just that he is thinking, before a hand reaches out, landing lightly on Yeosang’s shoulder.

“Well, if it is, it’s one you made for a reason.” He finally says, which doesn’t necessarily make Yeosang feel any better about his decision, but he does appreciate the blunt honesty that Hongjoong always provides. “And, like you said, if you hate having a book signing, you don’t have to do one again. But there was a reason you wanted to do one in the first place, so it kind of is what it is, now. It’s just a few hours, and then it’ll be over. It’s all on the venue now to ensure there’s enough books provided for each ticket sold, and that you’re given the space to be comfortable.”

“Okay, that’s good.” Sighing a quiet breath of relief, Yeosang runs a hand through the length of his black hair, far longer than he’s used to it being, but enjoying how it looks as it grows out, curling gently around the nape of his neck as his bangs (wife bangs, Wooyoung’s voice in the back of his mind provides) either fall gently on either side of his temple to frame his face delicately, or will swoop backwards, looking far fluffier than they were.

“Do you wanna go over the plan?”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright.” Fishing his phone back out of his pocket (Yeosang isn’t even sure why Hongjoong put it away in the first place), his manager hummed under his breath as he searched for the schedule he created for this signing. “Your signing starts at noon and the actual signing part will last for about four hours, since you requested 5 minutes with each person. Each person that attends the event will have a numbered wristband on to ensure they’re part of the signing event, and not trying to sneak their way in. There’ll be security posted to ensure that only ticket holders have access to the event, so it goes as smoothly as possible. Each person attending will purchase their copy of The Seer of the Blessed before the event begins, and you’ll be brought out once all purchases are complete, at exactly noon. With me so far?”

“Mhm, sounds good so far. What do I have to do besides… sign?”

“Mm, that’s kind of up to you. You’ll have to come across as polite and professional, and interested in whatever the person in front of you is saying, even if you’re not. You’ll be expected to talk about your new series, people will probably ask for spoilers, which you can disclose at your own discretion. There’ll be a bit of a Q&A where you’ll be asked questions from your audience, and if there’s time, you can choose to read from your book or not. It’s kind of all up to you for the most part.”

Yeosang feels his body sink a little in relief as Hongjoong goes through the schedule, knowing that his poor manager is just going to have to repeat it all over again the day before and the day of the signing.

“That… at least makes me feel a little better about it. And if I hate it—”

“You never gotta do it again.”

༻✧༺

San isn’t sure what he did to get so lucky to end up winning his own ticket to Ryusang’s book signing. Tickets, from what he gathered, were drawn by lottery, one entry per person, up to 50 people being drawn to be part of the attendance for the signing. And San, by some miracle, had his own entry drawn. Seonghwa’s entry hadn’t been pulled, but the blond insisted it was better that way, because he hasn’t read any of Ryusang’s works, so he’d simply be taking someone’s place that should be there instead.

He did, however, agree to go with San to the signing for moral support, and would simply wander around while San was at the actual event, since he wouldn’t be allowed into the event area.

But San still can’t figure out what he did to get so lucky to be part of the signing event, unprepared for the winning email, having expected to lose and resign himself to never getting a signed Ryusang novel.

But somehow he’s made it, surrounded by 49 other people chattering amongst themselves about their excitement and anticipation for The Seer of the Blessed, and what tale Ryusang has spun this time, aside from the excerpt on the back of the book clutched to the attendees chests as they nosily poke their heads over the crowd as best as possible to see when Ryusang might enter the event area.

San’s dark gaze turns to the wristband nestled around his wrist, cleanly labeled with the number 24 on it, letting him know he was towards the middle of the signing, but not last, which honestly he thinks is better. If he was first, or closer to the front of the line, he might not know what to say to Ryusang, and being last, while he might have more time to talk to Ryusang, he thinks that the author will be a little exhausted from signing 50 copies of the novel, and will want to move on.

The wristband itself is a generic Tyvek wristband in a muted shade of red, with the words K. Ryu-Sang Signing Event printed on the outside in black letters, and San already knows he’ll be carefully cutting it off later and somehow keeping it safe to look back on in the future, as a reminder that the event really did happen, and he wasn’t making the whole thing up.

Looking up from the wristband, San looked around quietly, taking in the event space. Ryusang’s manager, or PR person, or whoever was pulling the strings had found the biggest bookstore in the area, and some shelves had been moved around to create the event area, big enough to create 5 rows of 10 seats, split down the middle to create an aisle for the attendees to sit in their assigned order.

And that’s where San sat, nestled between attendee 23 and 25, thumbing over the hardcover copy of The Seer of the Blessed, taking in the details of the cover, wondering what sort of story the book held to depict a character San assumed was Do-Yun, a fire in his eyes as a shadowy figure that was clearly more powerful than him loomed behind him.

He can’t wait to see what he redesigns for the cover once he reads the novel, wondering what kind of inspiration Ryusang will hit him with this time.

He hopes that he’ll have enough time with Ryusang one on one to show him some of the sketches San has done, based on nothing more than the words Ryusang had decorated the paper with, and hopes that Ryusang won’t mind doing 51 signatures rather than the 50 he’s supposed to, because tucked in San’s bag is the beat up copy of The Emerald Sun that he’s owned since it’s release 6 years earlier.

A few squeals from the front of the audience draws San’s attention, a handsome man with blue hair raising his hand towards the crowd as the noise grows, a smile on his lips that felt a little too tight to be natural as he looked over the crowd.

“Hi, hello, thank you all for coming.” The man begins, and San swallows a little thickly, hearing the slightly nasal quality of his voice, though finding it otherwise smooth and comforting. “There’s still a few moments before Ryusang comes out, so I wanted to take this time to go over some guidelines, as this is his first book signing. I am Hongjoong, Ryusang’s manager, before you start questioning who I am — because I am the one who set all of this up at Ryusang’s request.”

That made sense — San had been wondering who the handsome man with blue hair was, but it makes sense that he’s Ryusang’s manager, and would have an agenda for the day. He sits quietly, attention honed in on Hongjoong as the manager scans the crowd, looking at everyone in the first few rows.

“We will start with Ryusang talking a little bit about himself, introducing himself to all of you who are lucky enough to be here. I want you all to keep in mind that this is Ryusang’s first public appearance despite his success so far, so he’s a little nervous. I ask you to remain silent as he talks, and there will be a Q & A opportunity later. Once he’s done introducing himself, he’ll take a few questions not about his book, but if you have any about him, before we move onto the signing process. If you have questions for Ryusang about himself, please make sure they’re appropriate. If we, meaning myself or Ryusang, have found you’ve crossed a line, you will be escorted out of the event, and you will not get your copy of The Seer of the Blessed signed. Do you understand me so far?”

San nods along with the rest of the crowd, quiet murmurs running through the aisles as the other guests discuss Hongjoong’s rules — which San finds fair.

“Good,” At the sound of Hongjoong’s voice, the murmurs die down, all attention back on the blue haired man. “The signing process is simple. You’ll line up in accordance to your wristband number, as you’re all seated right now. Wooyoung, who is helping coordinate this event, will signal one row at a time to get up and make their way to Ryusang, so he isn’t overwhelmed by the amount of people in front of him. You’ll have 5 minutes to speak to Ryusang one on one, and I will be keeping track of how long you’re there from the moment you take your seat in front of him, to ensure no one has more or less time with him. Five minutes with him does mean that this signing will take a while, but Ryusang wanted to make sure he had a chance to hold a small conversation with each of you — if you cannot handle the commitment of waiting for everyone’s turn to pass, you’re welcome to leave the event now.”

Five minutes. That’s all the time San will have to sit across from Ryusang and thank him for everything he’s done for San, even though he’s done it unknowingly. Five minutes is such a short amount of time to say everything he wants to say, and San isn’t even sure if he’ll be able to say even a fraction of what he wants to say.

After all, how can he explain to Ryusang in just 5 minutes how he’s inspired San to pick up his pencil again and create? How he had been ready to give up on his craft forever until he picked up The Emerald Sun, and now he enjoys creating again? How does one express how much that means in just a handful of minutes?

Not to mention, with 50 people, that’s over 4 hours of signing books and getting to know his fans — Ryusang has to have the patience of a saint to sign books for 4 hours.

“Once everyone’s books have been signed, and you’ve all returned to your seats, we’ll start the Q&A about The Seer of the Blessed, and any of Ryusang’s other works. The same rules apply to the personal Q & A — if you say anything that makes Ryusang uncomfortable, you will be escorted out. I’d also like to mention that should you be escorted out for any reason… you will be blacklisted from any future event Ryusang holds, if he chooses to hold any. Future book signings from him are entirely dependent on you and your behavior, so keep that in mind.”

With the silence of the crowd, Hongjoong nods to himself, seemingly satisfied with his little spiel of what will be tolerated. To San, all of the rules are logical and sound, with Ryusang’s best interests at heart. San can see just how much Hongjoong cares about Ryusang, and has crafted the rules to cater specifically to Ryusang’s comforts.

“Well, since we’re all in agreement, it’s about that time.” Hongjoong checks his watch, or at least that’s what San assumes he’s doing with the way he looks down at his wrist before the doors to the side of Hongjoong open, two people coming out from behind the door — one of them, San recognizes from Yunho’s YouTube binges as a choreographer and dance cover artist, Wooyoung, who he realizes is Hongjoong’s assistant for the day, and the other…

Is probably the most stunning man San has ever laid eyes on. His features are almost decidedly perfect, with his hair styled perfectly into soft waves that fell gently on either side of his temple and ending in the middle of his cheeks, some of it tucked behind his ears on either side, wearing a soft-looking coral-pink button up, the first few buttons left undone to show off the white shirt he hand on underneath.

San figures that this ethereal man has to be none other than Ryusang.

The squeals and shrieks from the front of the audience are back, and San can barely resist joining in with his shouts, holding his copy of The Seer of the Blessed a little tighter as he watches Ryusang greet everyone, half bowing respectfully as he waves at the first few rows of people. There’s a pretty smile on his lips, gentle and welcoming, as Wooyoung retrieves a microphone for Ryusang — San assumes that unlike Hongjoong, Ryusang has trouble projecting his voice, or maybe he just wants to be the center of attention, whereas if people didn’t listen to Hongjoong, well… that’s their own fault.

Ryusang clears his throat a little, made louder by the microphone he holds to his lips, and San can feel the way he’s holding his breath as he waits for Ryusang to speak, a burn in his chest forming the longer he holds his breath.

“Um…” San exhales sharply as Ryusang muses quietly into the microphone, voice deep, deeper than San expected looking at him, but just so fitting for the god amongst men before him. “Hello. Uh… thank you all for coming. Sorry, I… this is kind of new to me, so I ask you to bear with me. Ahm… I guess to start, I’ll introduce myself. I’m sure you’ve all figured it out, but I’m K. Ryusang, and yes, it’s a pen name, but it also isn’t. Ryusang is both my legal name and a pen name, but only because my legal name can be read two ways, and Ryusang isn’t what I go by in my day to day life.”

San can catch a hint of a lisp in Ryusang’s words as he speaks, making him even more endearing. It’s clear that Ryusang is nervous, maybe more than San is, shifting subtly where he stands before his audience, eyes darting around to take in all of the audience members, and not focus too hard on one thing over another.

“Um… I’m 26 years old, and was 20 when I published my first book, The Emerald Sun. Since then I’ve published three more books, but I think… you all know that. I actually think it might be easier to tell you about myself just by answering questions, so… maybe we should just do it that way, instead of waiting until after?” Ryusang chances a glance at Hongjoong, who has since moved off to the side — and San can see the way Hongjoong nods, approving Ryusang’s request, though San doesn’t think Hongjoong could really say no to any of Ryusang’s requests. “Okay. So… what would you like to know? Ah, raise your hands, please, instead of talking all at once. I’ll call your seat number. Number one starts here, right?”

The question is directed towards Wooyoung and Hongjoong, and San can see the way Wooyoung moves to check the seat number, nodding to Ryusang that yes, the seat closest to where he and Hongjoong are standing is the first seat, and the one right behind the first chair was chair 11, and so on.

Hands shoot up around San, causing him to shrink a little, sinking in his seat — he’s too nervous to ask Ryusang anything about his personal life, or anything about himself, and would much rather hear the questions other people ask to learn more about the author. Ryusang looks around, before his gaze settles on one of the attendees.

“Yes, number… Sorry, I lost count. Give me a moment. Ah, number 46.” Ryusang’s cheeks flush a little in embarrassment, but San doesn’t blame him for losing track of what number was where — there were a lot of chairs, and he’s sure that all of this is overwhelming for Ryusang, as much as he’s trying not to show it. The person in chair 46 stands up, clutching their The Seer of the Blessed copy to their chest, bowing respectfully towards Ryusang before straightening up.

“Can I ask what the K stands for in K. Ryusang, and what the other way you can read Ryusang is?”

“Ah, yes. The K is actually just for my last name — Kang. As for the other part… Mm…” Ryusang thinks for a moment, though he doesn’t seem uncomfortable from the question, likely debating on if he wants to share his full legal name. “Sorry, but I’d like to keep that to myself for a while longer, I hope you understand. Um… next question?”

There’s a flush of red to number 46’s cheeks as they bow again before sitting once more, before hands are darting back into the air, and Ryusang is looking around once more.

“Okay, number 17.”

Number 17 stands, and San feels like it’s a little inhumane for him to mentally refer to the other by their numbers, but he doesn’t know their names, and none of them have introduced themselves, and probably won’t until Ryusang signs their books.

“When did you start writing?”

“Oh, good question. I think… Mm… Wooyoung-ah, when did I write my first short story?” Ryusang turns towards Wooyoung, and it hits San all of a sudden, between the casual tone and comfort between Ryusang and Wooyoung, and their completely different careers that the two are friends, and that’s why Wooyoung would be at a book signing event as a choreographer.

“Ehh, I think you finished your first short story when we were 14? You’d always told a lot of stories before then, but never wrote them down until then.” Wooyoung’s voice is quiet where San is sitting, and he’s sure that the people behind him could either barely hear, or not hear him at all — but it doesn’t seem to matter as Ryusang is nodding, turning back to the crowd and away from Wooyoung.

“Sometimes, when I can’t remember things like this, I have to ask Wooyoung — he’s been my closest friend since we were kids, so he remembers a lot of things that I don’t. He’s got a really good memory, but I guess he has to have a good memory if he’s going to make and cover dances. Anyway! I was 14 when I finished my first short story. It’s not something I’ll ever publish unless I do a collection of short stories, but yes. I started really writing when I was about 14. I think I started writing The Emerald Sun around the time I was 17? So it took 3 years of writing and revising to complete it.”

San wants to laugh, because the facts about The Emerald Sun have absolutely nothing to do with the question he was asked, and it seems like he’s not alone, vaguely able to see Wooyoung duck behind Hongjoong to cover his mouth and laugh, shoulders shaking with mirth as Ryusang looks so proud of himself for remembering — and San thinks that it’s cute the pride that’s on Ryusang’s face.

More hands go up as number 17 sits down, and Ryusang hums quietly as he looks around, becoming more comfortable with the crowd as they get to know him.

“Um… yes, number 20!”

“Where do you draw your inspiration from for your books?”

Ryusang clicks his tongue a little, “That’s a hard question… Some of my ideas come from when I’m daydreaming, or I see a particular image that if I tilt my head juuuust right… I can see something else. Sometimes, I get inspired by the things I wish I had seen in books growing up. Um… How do I say this? I wanted to represent… me. And do it in a way that can give hope for the future. Most fantasy books… well, there’s a prince and a princess, right? But not… Not every prince wants a princess, and not every princess wants a prince. And I think… with a new wave of authors, it’s a good chance to showcase the future. And I wanted to give hope, even if it’s just in fantasy form, that the princes and princesses who don’t want a prince or a princess can have that, too.”

San tries to be subtle as he dabs at the corners of his eyes — Ryusang has never done anything but showcase creative talent in his works, and has always been incredibly open about depicting same-sex romances, whether it was just a brief mention about side characters, or displaying a romance for what it was, Ryusang has always pushed the boundaries that not many others would. And it’s something he appreciates when Ryusang answers number 20’s question, the transparency in which he draws his inspiration from; stories he wished he could have read growing up to not feel so outcasted for not falling into a cookie cutter mold.

Just like San.

The initial Q & A doesn’t take a lot longer, with questions becoming scarce as Ryusang answered questions one by one, with multiple people apparently having the same questions; where he was from, if he studied anything while working on his first book, if he has any pets, if he has a TMI to share, simple questions that had Ryusang just relaxing in front of everyone — and then he was taking his seat at the table that had been set up for him, getting comfortable as Wooyoung gestures for the first row to stand up, making their way one by one in a line to where Ryusang sat, Hongjoong behind him with a timer in his hand.

And before San realizes it, Wooyoung is by his row, the two on either side of him standing up along with the rest of their row, causing San to scramble to get up, shuffling out behind the people in front of him in his row — only for him to realize that, at number 24, San is near the front of his row, and will be one of the first people in the row to get Ryusang’s signature.

It’s terrifying, really, to walk past Wooyoung (who he’ll have to tell Yunho is far prettier in person, even if Yunho doesn’t care about Wooyoung’s appearance and likes watching the dancer’s talent, though Seonghwa always pokes fun at Yunho about his baby crush on Wooyoung, despite the fact that Yunho is dating Seonghwa), and more terrifying to watch his feet lead him towards Ryusang.

And with the way each person gets 5 minutes with Ryusang, the 15 minutes before him in his own row is agonizingly slow and fast all at the same time. As it is, San’s turn will mark the 2 hours since Ryusang has begun to sign the books and meet his fans, but Ryusang doesn’t even seem to notice that two hours has passed.

And then, he’s sitting in front of Ryusang, at a loss for words as the man of his dreams (as Seonghwa had put it) smiles at him.

“Hello.” Ryusang greets San simply and warmly, and San feels the way he flushes, rubbing the back of his neck as he bows his head a little.

“Hello.” Lame, Choi San, how utterly lame—

“You’re shy, aren’t you? It’s okay; I am too. Can I know your name?” Ryusang’s voice is sweet and soft, his head tilting to the side just a touch as he watches San curiously, uncapping the marker in his hand as he gently takes the book from San, opening the front cover to sign the first blank white page.

“Ah, it’s… Choi San.”

“Oh? Choi San, hm… you have a really strong name. It’s simple, but I like it. Choi San… the name of a protector, isn’t it? Like Yong-Sun is. Ah, forgive me, I don’t mean to assume you’ve read—”

“Shield of Acheron and Abyss of Titania. Yeah, I-I have. I’ve read… everything you’ve published. I actually…” San pauses, reaching into his back, and he can see the way Hongjoong’s eyes narrow at him suspiciously, a flush rising along the back of his neck as he pulls out the tattered copy of The Emerald Sun, showing it to Yeosang. “I carry my copy of The Emerald Sun with me everywhere. It’s… probably my most important possession.”

“Wow… You’ve loved this copy well, haven’t you? May I?” With a gesture of his head, Ryusang nods towards the copy of The Emerald Sun, and San can only nod as Ryusang takes it with the utmost care, being far more gentle than San is as he looks through the pages. “Your notes… can I ask about them? And what made you love my first book this much?”

“Well, that’s… I’m an artist. I was in a slump and about to give up on my art forever when I saw this book. It happened to be the day it released, and I bought it without thinking twice. Reading it… gave me all of my inspiration and motivation to create again, and whenever I find myself stuck, I reread it, to see what I might have missed the first… dozen times I read it, because it never fails to inspire me to create. Your other books have, too, but… nothing as much as The Emerald Sun has. I was actually hoping… you’d be willing to sign it as well, but it… looks like that.”

“I never expected anyone to bring my very first novel with them to a book signing event…” Ryusang muses softly, uncapping a thinner marker as he flips open the cover, moving to the acknowledgement page, a smile on his lips as he signs his name across the blank spaces, before he’s turning his smile to San. “Do you… perhaps have somewhere I can see what you’ve drawn from my work? I really like seeing what fans see when they read my novels.”

“Oh, uh… Kind of? I work traditionally, mostly, but I brought my sketchbook with me, if you’d like to see?”

“I would!” San isn’t sure how much time is left in his sitting with Ryusang, swallowing thickly as he hands over the sketchbook as he sees Hongjoong’s thumb hesitating over the stopwatch. “Um… I think our time is almost up, but if you’re alright with me holding onto this, I can have it returned to you after the signing. I really would like to see your art, San-ssi.”

“That’s… yeah, that’s fine. I have a ton of sketchbooks at home, so even if— even if you keep that, it’s fine. Thank you, for um… for signing both of my books, Ryusang-ssi. I really… It means more to me than I think you know.”

And when Ryusang smiles up at him as the timer goes off and San stands up, he thinks he feels his heart skip a beat.

༻✧༺

Yeosang forgets to return the sketchbook to San.

Or, more accurately, he forgets to give the sketchbook to Wooyoung to give to San after the signing, because by the end of the book signing, he’s so overly stimulated from talking to 50 people for hours that he’s begun shut down and Hongjoong has to escort him back to the car with a gentle lead.

It’s only once he’s in the car, situated in the back seat with his headphones in, letting the music drown out all the external stimuli, that he realizes he has San’s sketchbook in his hands still, and he never took a spare few minutes to flip through the pages. And he feels a little bad about accidentally taking the sketchbook with him, even though San had said it was fine if Yeosang kept it, because he has so many more at home, because he had still taken it after promising to return it.

But, truthfully, Yeosang doesn’t want to find a way to return it once he thumbs through the first few pages, seeing eerily accurate depictions of his characters in a way Yeosang has only imagined. He knows he’s given full descriptions of each one of his characters through each novel, piecing together little facts and details of each one through the whole story to create a full visual by the end, but no artist has managed to capture all the details so perfectly before — not until he’s seen San’s work.

And it’s beautiful, the time and effort put into each sketch, no matter how rough it is, because Yeosang can see the thought put into each one, and it makes him remember all of San’s notes in his copy of The Emerald Sun, and belatedly Yeosang realizes that the notes were more than likely details San has picked out for his art.

There’s a desire to go back to the venue and find San, because Yeosang wants to read every single note that San has written down, to see what details he noticed that Yeosang hasn’t realized are included in his own novels, but it’s far too late to turn around now. Hongjoong has already situated himself in the passenger’s seat and Wooyoung is on the other side of Yeosang, thumbing through his phone to reply to missed messages from Jongho, who always liked to check in on Wooyoung no matter the situation.

(Yeosang still thinks it’s a little funny that the only connection Jongho and Wooyoung had before they met each other is him, and he’s really the only reason the two ended up in a relationship, with Jongho being one of the few who can keep up with Wooyoung’s need for attention, while also being attentive and caring while playing it off as being anything but.)

He sighs quietly, turning another page in the sketchbook, eyes lingering on a beautifully illustrated scene from the climax of The Emerald Sun, lips twisting into a reflective frown as all the intricate details of the scene came to life — because if Yeosang didn’t know what the scene was, he would have been so curious to know what events led to the image in front of him.

“You have that thinking face on.” Wooyoung muses, breaking Yeosang out of his thoughts — not that there’s many thoughts truly being had, but there were a few that were bouncing around since the moment San had mentioned being inspired by Yeosang’s works. “So, what is it?”

“I was just thinking… how can someone be so in my brain without knowing me to where they can draw my characters and scenes exactly the way I imagined them? Every little detail is so perfect, it’s like it was projected right from my brain onto paper in image form.”

“Maybe you just did that good of a job of describing the scenes?” Wooyoung suggests, and normally, Yeosang might attribute that to how San could have done such work, but there’s details that Yeosang left out of scenes that San had drawn, and he’d taken the context from earlier scenes and context clues to fill in the gaps.

Which isn’t something an ordinary artist can do, in his opinion.

“No, it’s more than that… Every detail is perfect. Beyond perfect, actually.” He pauses, running his thumb over an inked outline with some vague shading that had been done with some form of marker, before he leans forward, his fingers curling around the back of Hongjoong’s seat. “Hey, hyung…”

“What is it?”

“I know that we outsourced the cover art for The Seer of the Blessed and are working with an artist already for The Bane of the Archangel, but… I want to commission San for the third book, when it’s complete. He’s the only one who has been able to capture everything perfectly…” Yeosang knows it isn’t that easy. He knows it isn’t that easy, but there’s nothing more that he wants at this very moment than to get San to do the final cover for the Solivagant series.

Hongjoong sighs softly, but he doesn’t turn his head to look at Yeosang, and doesn’t answer him right away. Yeosang can only hope that Hongjoong is thinking about how to answer Yeosang in a way that sounds positive, but he also knows he has to be realistic — San is a fan before he’s an artist, and Yeosang doesn’t know what kind of contracts would have to be drawn for a situation like this over simply outsourcing to an artist with only the climax of the book being sent off for the artist to go off of.

Or, he assumes that’s how it’s done. He doesn’t know much of the artistic process behind his books, just the actual writing and editing part.

“I don’t know, Yeosang.” Hongjoong finally says, and it’s about what Yeosang expects, his lips twist into a small, frustrated pout as he listens to his manager intently. “I suppose it isn’t… impossible to outsource San, was it? As an artist for your book, but that can be a lot of pressure for an artist who is also a fan of your works. The artists we source… they’re artists who work with dozens of authors, so there’s no bias. If we commission San for the cover of The King of the Lost, he may feel pressured in a way he’s not used to.”

“Well, what if you don’t tell him it’s for a cover.” Wooyoung chimes in, and Yeosang feels the way his friend is pulling the sketchbook from his hold, gentle as it leaves Yeosang’s fingers, the sound of pages turning as Wooyoung thumbs through the sketchbook. “I mean, Sangie is right when he says San’s details are… kind of incredible. Have you looked at it, hyung?”

“No, I didn’t get the chance to. Yeosang kept it next to him through the whole signing and then tucked it into his bag, which is how he accidentally stole it from San.”

“He said I could keep it.”

“I don’t think he meant for you to keep it, Yeosang.” Sighing, Yeosang sits back in his seat finally, watching as Hongjoong shakes his head in exasperation. “I believe you both when you say San is talented. I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Hyung… I want to do something for him, too.” Yeosang doesn’t know what prompts him to say it, truthfully. He says it without thinking, the words falling from his lips without a filter to catch them, fingers twisting into the hem of his shirt as he really thinks. “Most of the fans I talked to, I’ve already forgotten details about them and what we talked about, but for some reason… he sticks out the most.”

“Why’s that?” Yeosang looks over at Wooyoung when he asks, watches as Wooyoung’s eyes trail over each pencil line on the page in front of him, fingers laying gently against the edges of the sketchbook.

“Mm, well that’s… I could understand him well, I think, compared to the others? He’s… a creator who can’t create sometimes, and I understand that. How long have I been working on Thief of Fire on the side for?”

“Mm… since high school, probably? You keep getting blocked on it.”

“Exactly. So sometimes I’m a writer who can’t write, and he’s an artist who can’t make art. We’re the same. Both of us draw inspiration from outside sources. His inspiration just happens to be my books.”

“And you think that this is… going to do something for him instead of just pressure him?” Hongjoong asks, and Yeosang barely resists the urge to kick the back of his manager’s seat, clicking his tongue a little bit in mild annoyance. “Yeosang, I’m just trying to understand.”

“I don’t know.” Yeosang bites out, crossing his arms with a pout pulling at his lips. “I want… people to see his talent and his artwork, so people can see what I see when I’m writing. He’s the only one who gets it right.”

“So you… want to use him for your own gain? I’m not following your logic.” Yeosang isn’t sure how he can explain it any better to Hongjoong, aside from what he’s already said — sometimes, it’s hard to put into words what he’s thinking, his thoughts more visual than anything else, without the ability to explain what he’s picturing.

And what he’s picturing is San finding success as an artist while Yeosang becomes more known in the literary world, using each other to build themselves up and continue to find inspiration. He knows that a collaboration between himself and San for The King of the Lost would change everything for both of them, but he knows why Hongjoong is hesitant.

He’s given his reasons, and while Yeosang can’t argue them well, he can argue that it's his book and if he has an artist in mind, he can want to reach out to them and see if they’re willing to create the cover.

“I just…” Yeosang sighs, frowning a little, gently rubbing at the skin of his left thumb knuckle with his right thumb, shaking his head the slightest amount. “I think it’s the right choice. Something tells me that this is something we should do. You didn’t talk to him like I did, hyung. For him, I think working on the cover for one of my books would be a dream come true. You’ll at least consider it, right?”

“Yeosang, you don’t even know when you’ll finish The King of the Lost, so why are you so adamant about this?” Hongjoong sighs, and Yeosang can hear him tapping against the screen of his phone. “Look, since The Bane of the Archangel isn’t set to release for about… almost a year, if you hate the cover we’re sent from our outsourced artist, I will consider reaching out to San and sending him the manuscript of the scene you want on the cover, and see what he can do with it, alright?”

“You mean it, hyung?” Its the ideal for Yeosang, actually — he already knows that he wants San to do all of his cover art from here on out, if the artist is up for it, and he’s already set on rejecting what he knows will be a stunning cover, just for the chance for Hongjoong to reach out to San about it.

He doesn’t want to admit to Hongjoong that he plans on rejected the outsourced cover, feeling only slightly guilty and sorry for the artist behind it already, but he knows what he wants, and if there was even a chance to get what he wants since it’s far too late to ask San to do the covers for the entire Solivagant series, he can at least try to see if San will do the rest of the series.

Because Yeosang saw something in San that was more than just understanding of his situation — he saw someone that understood him to his core, even without knowing him, seeing someone that he doesn’t exactly want to just become another face in the crowd.

San is someone that Yeosang wants to meet again, and get to know — because there’s something that keeps telling him that he met San specifically for a reason, beyond just the covers. Because asking San to do the covers for the rest of the Solivagant series is just a start, once Yeosang convinces Hongjoong to reach out with the offer.

And he’s pretty sure he knows that San will agree to it.

༻✧༺

Exactly two months and three days after meeting Ryusang, San finds himself sitting across from Hongjoong in the small café where he works, a small stack of papers held together with a binder clip in front of him, and San feels small under Hongjoong’s stare. His shoulders are pulled in, knees pressed tightly together with his hands being squeezed between his thighs as he tries his fucking best to not squirm under what feels like the most judgmental look in the universe.

He’s not sure exactly what he’s supposed to say — he doesn’t even know why Hongjoong is here, or what the stack of papers in front of him is, or what the manila envelope resting beneath the stack contains. He wonders, briefly, if he’s in trouble, that Ryusang spoke up about the book signing event from two months earlier, and had complained to Hongjoong that San had made him uncomfortable — which causes dread to settle in the pit of his stomach as he forces himself to look everywhere but Hongjoong.

There’s an interesting speck of dust that settles next to San’s drink, still mostly full from the quick coffee he had whipped up for himself before Hongjoong had walked in, and he makes a mental note to get the high dusting done in the next day or so, before Seonghwa threw a fit about the cleanliness of the café.

The downsides, San supposes, to working for one of your best friends, rather than with your best friends.

San’s head snaps up when Hongjoong clears his throat, his back ramrod straight in record time as he swallows thickly, looking for any indication that he might be in trouble.

“Choi San-ssi… right?” Hongjoong speaks with a low drawl, as if he plans to drag out whatever this is that’s happening, and San can only nod quickly, almost frightened with what Hongjoong could or would do to him. “You can relax, you know; I’m not going to bite you.”

“S-sorry… You weren’t really, um, specific with what you wanted to meet about, so…”

“You’re nervous. Understandable, really, but you’re not in trouble or anything. First, I wanted to return this to you.” San blinks a little in confusion as Hongjoong reaches into the bag by his side, making a little noise of recognition when the sketchbook he had given to Ryusang at the book signing enters his field of vision. “We weren’t sure if you’d want this back, so I figured I’d bring it along, just in case.”

“N-no, that’s… There’s only a few empty pages left in it, so…”

“Mm, I noticed, which… only brings me to my offer for you.” Hongjoong places the sketchbook on the table between them, San’s eyes darting between the drawing pad and the blue haired man in front of him. “Ye… Ryusang really loves your art. I’ve never heard him go on about how amazing someone is before like he did when he went through your sketchbook. He also has only one thing on his mind entirely right now, and that’s…”

San isn’t sure what Hongjoong could possibly say, until the binder-clipped stack of papers is flipped over, and San thinks he audibly gasps when he reads The Bane of the Archangel — Chapter Eight on the top in what he can only assume is Ryusang’s handwriting, the cover of the stack clearly hastily written with Ryusang’s signature in the corner.

“I’m… what is… this?” San is careful to ask, eyes locked on the stack of papers, and the way Hongjoong’s left hand comes to rest across the front, taking in the sight of a silver band on his left ring finger that’s familiar in a way he can’t place.

“Normally, we outsource artists to work on the covers for Ryusang’s work. No doubt that by now, you’ve read The Seer of the Blessed from cover to cover, and have a definite idea of what Do-Yun looks like, correct?”

This has to be a dream of some sort — San finds himself nodding dumbly to Hongjoong’s question, turning his gaze up to the manager across from him, trying everything to convince himself that what he’s hearing is real.

“Yeah, I… I have a ton of sketches of what Do-Yun looks like from the way Ryusang-nim describes him. The… the sketchbook is in my bag, actually, but… Hongjoong-nim… I’m really confused right now, and partially convinced that none of this is real.”

“What’s with the formality all of a sudden?” Hongjoong snorts, and San can feel himself flush, head tucking between his shoulders as his cheeks flood with heat. “I told you to relax, didn’t I? That doesn’t mean speak informally, but at least speak comfortably. The way you would with a-a sunbae, you know? Anyways, what I’m getting at is Ryusang is adamant that I convince you to create the cover for The Bane of the Archangel. Truthfully, he wants you to do all of the art for the rest of Solivagant, but let’s start here, hm?”

“Ryusang… Ryusang-ssi wants me to do the art for his books?”

Hongjoong nods, settling back in his seat comfortably, one leg crossing over the other from what San can tell based on the way Hongjoong is sitting. 

“He’s wanted you to since he first looked through your sketchbook.” Hongjoong states easily, as if it doesn’t immediately change San’s world to know that his favorite author likes his art enough to ask him to do the cover art for his future books. It’s something that San has only fantasized about, and here it was, actually happening.

“This isn’t… some kind of sick joke, is it?”

“Not at all. Ryusang has been at me for two months about it, and rejected the preliminary cover for The Bane of the Archangel in order to have me ask you. So, will you consider it?”

“Consider me agreeing. Hongjoong-ssi, this is literally a dream come true for me.” San’s a little breathless as he agrees without hesitation, knowing that his hands would be shaking if they weren’t pressed tight between his thighs. “It’s… it’s an honor to even be considered for something like this.”

“Ryusang thought you might say that.” Hongjoong’s laugh is surprisingly warm for someone who was intimidating the hell out of San moments before, the manila envelope sliding over towards San. “Ryusang drew up this contract himself detailing what he expects, your compensation, royalties, anything you might be able to think of. He had it looked over by our lawyer, and once the okay on it was given, I reached out to you to meet with me.”

“So this…” San’s fingers trace along the manila envelope, in awe that this was really happening to him. “This is real?”

“Are you really this much in shock?” Hongjoong laughs softly, shaking his head in amusement. “Yes, it’s real. All you have to do is read over the contract, and if there’s any changes you’d like to make, or you think something is unfair, I can do my best to adjust them in the moment. But, as long as you’re in agreement with everything, then all you have to do is sign and you get the manuscript for chapter 8, which is where the scene Ryusang wants for the cover comes from.”

San holds his breath as he pops open the manila envelope, slowly sliding the contract that Ryusang himself drew up, eyes darting all over the page as he sees what Ryusang managed to come up with. San doesn’t know much about illustrating for book covers, but from what he understands, generally artists won’t receive any royalties for their art — it’s just a flat fee that they’re paid, and they’re on their merry way.

But Ryusang has worked in royalties for San’s art, a small percentage from the sales of what his book retails for. And while 5% isn’t much for what Ryusang’s books retail for, it’ll add up over time — because if Ryusang sells 10,000 copies of The Bane of the Archangel (which San knows he’ll sell more copies than that), he’ll get roughly 17 million won alone for the hardcover copies, if his math is right.

He has no idea how book royalties work, he realizes, when that number doesn’t make sense to him in the least.

“He wants me to have 5% of the profits?” San looks at Hongjoong, who can only shrug at San’s question. “That feels like a lot. I’d have done this for free if he wanted me to. He really wants me to have that much?”

“Ryusang… how should I say this? He’s careful with his money and where it goes. He never likes to keep too much for himself. So, he likes to split the profits he gets. The way publishing works is, before the book is published, he gets an advance payment, and once the book sales break even with the advance he’s given, he then makes 20% in royalties, which is more than most authors get. Of his royalties, you’ll get paid 5% of that, leaving him with 15% of the post-publishing royalties. You won’t see your royalties right away, it’ll take time, but you’ll be compensated for your work with what Ryusang feels is appropriate — which is more than most cover artists receive.”

“I’m… honestly honored he wants me to have any sort of royalties. And this part here is…?” San’s finger lingers on a number that seems far too much to be what Ryusang wants to pay him for the cover, but with the way Hongjoong huffs his amusement, San isn’t so sure that the number in front of him isn’t what Ryusang wants to pay him.

“Your payment for the cover. He took the high end of what designers make in South Korea and multiplied it by 80 hours of work, untaxed. He wasn’t sure how much time it would take you to create the cover, so of course if it takes more than 80 hours, you’ll be compensated accordingly, but the initial payment guesstimate is just that.”

“This feels like… a lot.”

“Really? Ryusang thought that a little over 3 million won was lowballing it. He kept saying you deserved more, that he thinks he’s underpaying you.”

“Are you telling me that 3 million is his idea of lowballing?” San gapes at Hongjoong, looking between the number that’s sitting on the page, filled in with Ryusang’s neat scripture in bright blue ink, and the man across from him. “I think it takes me, like… Let’s see, minimum wage is 9,620 won per hour, and I make 12,750 won per hour, so that’s… 235 hours of work, divide that by—”

“You don’t need to do the math to figure out how long it would take you to make 3 million won at your little café job, San.” Hongjoong laughs, clearly amused with the way San is struggling to do the math in his head, producing a pen seemingly out of nowhere (that San rationalizes was from either his bag or the pocket in his way too expensive looking jacket) and placing it within San’s reach. “You can suggest changes to this contract if you’d like, but I can’t promise—”

“No, everything seriously looks amazing.” San breathes, snatching the pen without hesitation, signing where indicated and initialing at the end of every bullet point, just like he’s told to, repeating it with the second copy of the contract that he realizes was still tucked inside the envelope. His heart is hammering in his chest as he dates the contract, and he feels a little bit like he sealed his fate as Hongjoong takes one copy of the contract back, sliding it back into the manila envelope.

“Well, now that that’s all settled,” San thinks he might be sick as Hongjoong slides the manuscript over to him, tempted to look under the makeshift cover to see what secrets the chapter holds. “Chapter eight is the height of The Bane of the Archangel. It’s… well, you’ll get an idea of what’s come before this, and what will come after. It’s about, mm… well, the manuscript is usually double spaced to allot for Jongho’s editing notes, since he prefers to do them by hand, so it’s roughly 32 pages long, so I’d set aside some time to read through the details.”

“Are you kidding me? This is light reading before bed.” San snorts quietly, hand resting on the top of the chapter. He smiles, dimples popping out as his eyes crinkle in both happiness and excitement. “Hongjoong-ssi, will you do me a favor, and thank Ryusang-ssi for this opportunity?”

“Of course I will. Here, give me your phone; I want to make sure you have my number in case you need to reach me for whatever reason.” Obediently, when Hongjoong extends his hand, San places the beat up little device into the other’s hand, flushing slightly as Hongjoong snickers at the crack in the screen. “Do me a favor when you get the payment from Ryusang? Buy yourself a better phone. This one has seen better days. Is this an iPhone 8?”

“The… the X, actually. You can tell ‘cause the camera is vertical and not horizontal.”

“…O-kay, yeah. Treat yourself; get a new phone.” San puts that at the top of his priority list for the future, because Hongjoong has a point — his phone, as reliable as it is, has seen far better days, and could probably use an upgrade with the way it’s started to lag and rapidly heat up to where San can’t touch it until it cools down sometimes.

“Will do.” San agrees as he takes his phone back from Hongjoong, noticing that the blue haired man has already sent himself a message from San’s phone to have his number for himself. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, anything.”

“…Why did Ryusang-ssi want me specifically when there’s a fuck ton more talented artists out there that could probably do a billion times better than I will?”

Hongjoong only smiles, “I can’t answer that one the way Ryusang can. You’ll be able to ask him yourself soon enough. I’m sure it’ll mean more coming from him, anyway.”

San’s curiosity is left unsated.

༻✧༺

Yeosang has a small smile on his lips as he sits across from San — San, who looks even more nervous than he did at the book signing event, if that’s even possible. He figures it’s understandable, at least — San probably wasn’t expecting Yeosang to ask to meet with him only two weeks after signing the contract, but Yeosang has been finding it harder and harder to sit still without contact with his artist.

His.

Yeosang has no intentions of not asking San to do all of the covers for his works permanently, so long as San wants to. He’d never force San to do it, of course, and it wouldn’t be a breach of contract if San chooses not to continue with the work he’s been asked to do — Yeosang has made sure that San could leave the contract at any time if he decides he doesn’t want to do it any longer.

He doesn’t think that’ll happen, though.

But San is across from him in the cushy common room of Jongho’s editing floor, because Jongho is nothing if not meticulous with his organization for Yeosang’s projects, and decided he needed an entire floor for his work. San’s iced americano is untouched in front of him still, as if he’s too afraid to touch the drink in fear of knocking it over onto the white décor of Jongho’s space.

Behind him, in one of the offices, Yeosang can hear Wooyoung complaining to his boyfriend about a mild ankle injury, and begging Jongho to “make it better” as if Jongho has magic powers beyond catching Yeosang’s mistakes in his writing.

He’s pretty sure he hears the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, and the loud whining of Wooyoung, and Yeosang can piece together that Jongho has forced the dancer into a chair and get him off of his injured ankle before he makes it worse — which isn’t surprising, and is rather normal for the couple, truthfully. It’s commonplace for Yeosang to hear the pair (lovingly) bickering with each other when he chooses to overtake Jongho’s editing floor for a change of scenery to write, finding comfort in the quiet of the floor as he listens to Jongho shuffle around, organizing papers and manuscripts because he does work with more than just Yeosang — Yeosang just happens to be his most important and favorite author to work with.

Yeosang’s words, not Jongho’s.

He knows it’s true, though.

"Um…” San fidgets under Yeosang’s gaze, and for a moment, he wonders if he’s staring a little too hard at the man across from him, but he doesn’t think he was — but Hongjoong has told him that sometimes, he can unintentionally look at people a little too hard and unnerve them, and while Hongjoong knows that isn’t Yeosang’s intention, people he doesn’t know might not. “Ryusang-ssi—”

“Yeosang.” San looks at him in confusion, and it only makes Yeosang smile a little more. “My name. Remember back during the signing, when I said my name can be read two different ways? Ryusang is one, and Yeosang is the other. Yeosang is the name I like to go by. So, Yeosang. Not Ryusang.”

“Ah…” It’s a little cute, that San doesn’t know what to say in response to Yeosang’s statement, but Yeosang supposes that he can’t really be surprised — this is the first time they’ve spoken since the book signing, the first time they’re able to meet without a crowd of people around them. Yeosang watches as San’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, still on edge despite the fact Yeosang doesn’t think he needs to be, until he’s finally looking up from his hands that are laced in front of him, where his fingers were twisting together anxiously, and Yeosang pretends he doesn’t feel a little shy as their eyes lock. “Yeosang-ssi… can I ask why you wanted to meet all of a sudden?”

“Mm, that’s…” Yeosang sucks in air through his teeth in thought, because for as much as he writes, he’s still so bad with his words when they aren’t on paper. “I guess… the truth is… I wanted to see you again.”

It feels like a little bit of a cop out answer, but Yeosang knows that behind any other excuse he could give San, nothing would be more of the truth than the fact he wanted to meet San again, just them, because no matter how much Yeosang had tried, there was no forgetting the artist that had found his love for art all over again because of Yeosang.

“You… wanted to see me again? Am I being punked?”

Yeosang laughs, a quick bark of laughter that’s more obnoxious than not that has him covering his mouth quickly, even as his eyes crinkle up in amusement.

“No, I’m being honest. You told me at the book signing that The Emerald Sun inspired you all over again and helped you rediscover something you loved so dearly, and I never once forgot that. It was… still is, actually… something that makes me really happy, to know that my books could help you find your passion all over again. I think about the copy of The Emerald Sun that you showed me, and how loved it is, and all of your notes and how the cover is raw at the edges compared to a new copy of the book. I think of the creases in the pages and where you dog-eared pages to return to, and… I don’t know.”

Yeosang’s smile falls a little as he turns to look at his own hands, dropping San’s gaze, cheeks reddening slightly in embarrassment as he realizes he’s rambling, and he had never actually asked San if he was comfortable with meeting him alone, had just requested that San meet with him, and…

Wow he felt like a complete asshole.

“Um… I guess that’s all to say that you telling me that I inspired you… inspired me.” Yeosang feels like his voice is coming out a lot quieter than before, and he can’t bring himself to look at San any longer, desperately wishing for Wooyoung or Jongho to appear and save him from his mortification, but even their voices have died down and Yeosang knows he’s on his own. “That… that’s all…”

“Yeosang-ssi,” It takes more effort than Yeosang wants to admit to lift his head to meet San’s eye, though San doesn’t look upset by any means. Rather, if Yeosang is reading San right (which is always a shot in the dark if he can read anyone’s non-verbal cues right), the artist almost looks… shocked? Maybe a little touched?

And Yeosang can’t begin to fathom why San would feel touched by anything Yeosang had said.

“Yeosang-ssi,” San tries again, and Yeosang can only muster a small nod to let San know he’s listening. “Then, can I ask why you wanted me to do the art for your books, when there’s a billion better artists out there?”

“Why would I ask an artist who has no appreciation for my characters to do the art for my books?” It slips out before he can stop himself, leaving Yeosang immediately cringing at his own words. “That… came out wrong. What I mean to say is… I don’t care if there are better artists out there; an artist who won’t take the time to know the characters and my visions for them isn’t an artist I want to work with. San-ssi, your sketchbook… it’s filled with amazing sketches of my characters in the exact way I picture them. It- it’s like you crawled into my head and took what I saw and put them on the paper in a way I never could. You had… every detail so incredibly perfect, and your art is just stunning, and I… I just couldn’t help myself when I asked Hongjoong-hyung to find a way to contact you about… maybe doing the covers.”

“You really like my art that much? I just… I never thought it was good enough to do cover art, but when Hongjoong-ssi told me that you asked personally, I was really wondering what you saw in it to reject an already finished cover.”

“It wasn’t finished.” At San’s confusion, Yeosang cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks heat up more as San’s brow pinches together. “It wasn’t finished. I paid off the artist that had been outsourced to just… stop. They were a little confused, but I paid them the rest of what they would have earned from the cover to just… not do it so I could have Hongjoong reach out to you. If you had said no… Well. I would have had to reach back out to that other artist and offered more for them to finish it.”

“So you really… you pinned me saying yes to the offer all on a chance. And if I had said no… wow. You… you had a lot of faith in me, Yeosang-ssi.”

“You can drop the -ssi.” He knows why San is speaking so formally with him, but if he’s going to be honest, formality outside of professional meetings, for Yeosang, is just uncomfortable. So, he clears his throat, humming a little. “I think we’re about the same age, right? Even if we aren’t, I’d be more comfortable if we could talk comfortably.”

“Mm, if you’re older than 26, then I’ll have to call you hyung.” San points out, and Yeosang can’t stop the smile from tugging at his lips.

“I’m also 26. Same year friends, then. I’m June. June 15th.”

“July 10th. Less than a month apart, then.”

“Wooyoung is also 26, but he was born in November. His boyfriend and my editor, Jongho, is a year younger. Hongjoong-hyung is 27, even if he doesn’t act like it. He only acts it when it comes to doing his job, otherwise he acts like he’s younger than Jongho.” Yeosang snorts in amusement, feeling the tension that had been between San and himself fade away with the realization they’re the same age, with no reason to uphold formalities. “I want to know more about you, San-ah. Ah, is it okay if I call you that? I know I said I wanted to speak comfortably, but…”

“It’s fine!” There’s a nervous laugh in San’s voice as he reassures Yeosang that the affectionate call of his name is, in fact, all right. “Seonghwa-hyung, Yunho, and Mingi all call me San-ah or Sannie, so it’s not, like, unusual for me to hear.”

“Okay, good. And, please, if I ever do say something or call you something that makes you uncomfortable, let me know. Sometimes I have a hard time telling when I’ve crossed a line and people are usually a little too nice to tell me when I have, and… it just doesn’t really help me know when I have if I’m not told, you know?”

At least, in Yeosang’s experience, he doesn’t think that it’s something that’s happened too much — most people tell him that he’s too nice, and usually checks too many times before doing or saying something, just to make sure he won’t hurt anyone, but he knows that that also comes with a price. Sometimes, being too cautious has pushed people away from Yeosang in the past, and he doesn’t want to lose San for any reason.

But San only nods, his posture finally relaxing as he leans back into his seat, and Yeosang thinks that whatever relationship forms between himself and San will be just fine.

“I understand. You’ve never made me uncomfortable so far, in fact you’ve done everything you can to make me comfortable, which… I dunno. I don’t think many people would go out of their way to try to do so. So… I appreciate it.” And when San smiles, Yeosang feels his heart catch on a breath, unable to look away from the dimples that crease San’s cheeks. “So, what do you want to know?”

“Mm… you put me on the spot, so I can’t think of anything now, but… I’m sure I’ll think of a few things and make some kind of a list, if you’re willing to meet with me again to answer them? And you can ask me anything you can think of, too?”

San laughs, “What, you think I’d say no? Just remind me to bring my sketchbook next time. I have a few ideas for the cover already that I wanna run by you, and you can choose which one I should flesh out a little more. I have to re-read the chapter a few more times to make sure I didn’t miss any important details, but I have too many ideas and want your input.”

Yeosang blinks in mild surprise, positive it shows in his expression with the way San’s smile only grows, creasing the corners of his eyes endearingly, and Yeosang can only breathe out a laugh.

“I’m… wow. Y-yeah, of course, I’d be honored to see what you’ve got so far. I’ve never really been asked for my input on the full preliminary sketches, sometimes not at all, so… yeah, I’d really like that.”

“Well,” San shrugs, and Yeosang finds he can’t look away from the way San’s light up despite his nonchalance. “It’s important to me that you really like what I’ve come up with, and I want to make sure it’s perfect. Your books are important to you, and they’re also important to me. So, I need to make sure it looks exactly how you envisioned it, and change whatever I need to before I move it into digital format. Especially because it’ll take me longer to finish digitally since I work mostly traditionally, but I did some research and it’s easier to send off the final image for printing if it’s a digital file and not a traditional copy, even if it would look nicer done traditionally.”

“You are…” Yeosang pauses, causing San to blink in curiosity, head tilting to the side as he waits for Yeosang to finish what he has to say. “Absolutely amazing.”

San laughs again, and Yeosang thinks that San’s laugh might just be his favorite sound in recent.

San’s laugh sobers into a quiet sigh, though his smile lingers, soft and with a fondness that Yeosang just can’t place. “I just like to create art, and I really do have you to thank for not giving it up. Really. It means more to me than you know. You… you saved me from losing one of my favorite outlets, and that’s something that I can never repay. Mingi always tells me that it’s dramatic of me to say that, but it’s true. It means… everything to me.”

Yeosang flushes, embarrassed at the idea that he could have such an impact on someone, and thankful all the same; because San is proof that he isn’t just writing for no reason, that he’s accomplishing his goals of inspiring other creatives with his words.

And that’s enough for him.

༻✧༺

San only realizes that Yeosang has inadvertently asked him on a date after he spent two hours berating Mingi for not telling him he was married to Yeosang’s manager, and therefore San has been two people away from his favorite author for the better part of six years.

(Mingi, of course, had only laughed at San, and shrugged off San’s complaints because San had never asked what Hongjoong did for a living, making it San’s fault in the end. Which, of course, San does not agree with.)

It’s Seonghwa who has to point it out that Yeosang has, whether he realizes it or not, asked San out on a date when San recounts his story to his friends that same night, an intense game of Mario Kart going on between Yunho and Mingi as Seonghwa sits on the couch behind his boyfriend, nursing a cup of chamomile tea.

San feels a little silly when Seonghwa points it out, his cheeks flushing bright red in embarrassment because he hadn’t realized when Yeosang had said it, especially after Mingi laughs and points out that Yeosang probably didn’t even realize what he was asking, either, because that’s just how Yeosang is. Or, at least, that’s what he’s pretty sure Yeosang is like based off of the stories Hongjoong tells him.

He doesn’t think it’s a date date, not really, not when he and Yeosang don’t really know each other all that well, but maybe it is. He knows that Yeosang likes boys — he’s said it in not so many words, but has made it more obvious with the romances he enjoys writing, and from the small details he dropped back at the book signing.

But it does give San a little hope that maybe Yeosang did ask him on a date date the best way he knew how, and it just sounded unintentional to not pressure San into saying yes or no. The potential of the next meeting with Yeosang being a potential real date doesn’t deter San in the least from filling at least four more pages of his sketchbook with ideas for the cover of The Bane of the Archangel, with details of Do-Yun being more intricate than they were for San’s doodles of Do-Yun from The Seer of the Blessed, using the thinly veiled details Yeosang has worked into chapter 8’s manuscript to tweak things.

He’s also made a list, a small one at that, of things he wants to know about Yeosang. He doesn’t know what Yeosang might want to ask him, but he figures that it’s fine this way — if Yeosang asks him something that he didn’t think of, he can always ask Yeosang the same question, and he thinks that’s part of the fun of getting to know each other.

San thinks he’s prepared when he meets up with Yeosang a week later at a little café, thankfully not the one he works at, but with the way Yeosang has invited him out and didn’t ask San to meet him at Jongho’s editing floor (which, really, San hasn’t been able to move past if he’s going to be entirely honest) — it makes him far more sure that Yeosang has either realized he’s asked San on a date, or has decided to take a chance and see where things lead, or (in the worst case scenario, he’s decided), Yeosang wanted a change of scenery.

Yeosang’s knees are curled up against his chest as he sits sideways in the armchair almost across from San, the two of them facing each other though their chairs are angled towards each other, not too far apart, the small end table settled between them with San’s iced americano resting neatly on a coaster. Yeosang, instead, has his hands curled around his mug, gently blowing on the steam of the too-hot latte he had ended up ordering.

San is pretending Yeosang didn’t pay for them both, not even giving San the chance to protest.

“I hope it’s okay that I wanted to come to a café instead of somewhere more private.” Yeosang’s voice can only just be heard above the music that played softly through the speakers, and San knows that Yeosang is both a little embarrassed and shy at the fact he’s asked him to come somewhere so public. “If you’re uncomfortable, though—”

“I don’t mind at all.” San flushes a little, realizing that he’s cut Yeosang off mid-sentence, laughing a little nervously as he rubs the back of his neck. “If I wasn’t okay with it, I would have told you beforehand. I work in a café, so this kind of atmosphere is something I’m really used to and comfortable in.”

He wants to ask if this is a date.

He hopes it’s a date.

“I’m glad.” Yeosang relaxes a little more when San reassures him, taking a sip of his latte finally, deeming it cooled enough to sip gently. “I was worried that you were saying yes because it was where I asked you to come, but knowing that this is an atmosphere you’re used to… I’m relieved. I like places like this. They’re… comforting.”

“Mmh, I agree. Café’s that make an effort to feel warm and welcoming… I think they’re places to keep close. I know the café I work at… we do our best to make everyone feel welcome there. Probably because Seonghwa-hyung owns it, and he’s the most welcoming person I know, but… That’s kind of beside the point.”

“Your Seonghwa-hyung sounds nice. My friends, well… I mean, you’ve met them. Hongjoong-hyung intimidates people both intentionally and unintentionally, Wooyoung skips steps when he’s becoming friends with people, and Jongho acts so much older than he is.” Yeosang laughs a little, and San feels the corners of his lips turn upwards at the deep rumble that comes from the black haired man across from him.

““Skips steps”? What does that mean?”

Yeosang huffs another laugh before he hums in thought, hiding a smile behind the ceramic mug, a twinkle in his eye that San wishes he could capture in a drawing and not just with his mind’s eye.

“Well, it’s like… We met as teenagers. We had known each other for I think no more than a handful of days before one day he just came up and… well, bit me.” San’s jaw drops at the information, which only pulls another laugh out of Yeosang, a hand coming up to cover his mouth to muffle the sound.

San wishes he wouldn’t hide his laugh, but he understands — they’re in public, and Yeosang is trying not to draw attention to them.

“Yes, you heard me right. Just came up and bit me without warning. Next thing I know, he’s draping himself over me and clinging to me. We’ve been best friends ever since.”

“But he… bit you.” San’s trying to wrap his head around this information, because truthfully, he can’t imagine going up to someone he barely knows and biting them. “And you became friends with him?”

“It was a very unconventional ice breaker, I admit. But it worked, and as much as he drives me absolutely insane some days, I wouldn’t trade him for anything.” San knows that Yeosang is being entirely honest when he says it, too, and he thinks it’s a little endearing the way Yeosang wasn’t turned off by Wooyoung simply biting him one day. “He’s the one who encouraged me to keep writing, actually, so none of my novels would exist if it wasn’t for him.”

“Really? Then, I hope he knows he did a really amazing thing, because if it wasn’t for you, my art wouldn’t exist anymore.” In that moment, San decides he really likes the way Yeosang’s cheeks turn red whenever San mentions that Yeosang is the only reason he continues to make art. He makes it obvious that he never expected his work to have such an impact on someone, even if it was his intention, and San wants to make sure that Yeosang always knows his novels will never go unappreciated so long as San is around.

“His ego will get even bigger if he knows, so it’s better to not tell him.”

“It’s a little funny, actually. Wooyoung does dance covers and just comes up with his own choreography and uploads it to YouTube, right?”

Yeosang nods, “Yeah, he’s a professional dancer actually, and everything he uploads is more for fun than anything. He works pretty closely to create choreography for idol groups, and if one of his sets is rejected since his team kind of treats choreography as a competition, he’ll find a song with the same BPM that matches what he’s trying to convey and upload the rejected dance to YouTube. Most of the time, though, anything he uploads is just for fun or freestyling that he likes and wants to refer back to. Why?”

“My buddy Yunho is subscribed to him. Yunho loves dancing and all of that but instead of pursuing a career in dance, he took a more secure path, but the path he took is how he met Seonghwa-hyung in university, so not all was lost since they’re very grossly in love and never fail to show it. But every time Wooyoung uploads something new, Yunho sends it to me and will talk about whatever he’s sent me, even if I don’t really understand it. I recognized Wooyoung at the book signing because of those videos.”

“Really?” The little look of surprise has San barely restraining a coo of adoration — he doesn’t know Yeosang well enough to tease him like that, doesn’t know how Yeosang feels about him outside of his art, and San… he doesn’t know what he feels for Yeosang, either.

Admiration, for sure. Attraction, without a doubt, because Yeosang is stunningly beautiful and San doesn’t think there are words in any language that can capture exactly how gorgeous he is. He knows he adores Yeosang’s novels and ideas, and thinks he could listen to him talk about his plans for hours, because Yeosang’s voice is just so soothing to listen to and San really thinks the little lisp Yeosang has is cute.

So, maybe he has a little crush on Yeosang. It doesn’t mean he knows him well enough to tease him affectionately.

Instead, San just nods, picking up his americano and humming as he takes a sip, placing it delicately back on the coaster when he finishes.

“Yeah, I thought it was a little funny, honestly. Yunho whined at me for hours when he found out. Mingi laughed. I still haven’t forgiven him for not telling me that he’s married to your manager, by the way.”

“It’s not his fault. I’ve never met Mingi personally, even though he and Hongjoong-hyung have been together for 6 years. You’d think I’d have met him by now, but no. Schedules never work out with his job and I’m not exactly an E-type. I’d rather stay home or somewhere I’m comfortable if I’m given the choice.” Yeosang chuckles a little, shrugging it off entirely, and San can’t find it in him to keep up to even playfully complain about Mingi and Hongjoong.

“Fair enough,” He says instead, falling quiet in favor of just quietly observing Yeosang and the way he sips at his latte, apparently still not cool enough despite thinking it was. “You’ve talked about it before, but more about what inspires you, but what made you start writing?”

Yeosang blinks in surprise, before thinking about his answer.

“I didn’t start writing because of any particular reason. I told a lot of stories before I started writing, little made up things that weren’t really fleshed out that could make for a good base for a D&D campaign or a loose plot that would take a lot of fleshing out for a video game. Little things that I can’t really remember in full, but I would have a new one almost every day for Wooyoung until eventually he just told me to write it down and he’d read it, because he couldn’t follow along with all the information I was giving him. So I did. And I think it just kind of… went from there.”

“Wow… I wish all of your short stories had been written down. I wanna see what baby Yeosang came up with and want to see how much you’ve grown.” He’s comfortable enough to tease Yeosang like this, but it’s mostly true — he wants to see Yeosang’s growth as a writer, the difference from his first written story to his current works, knowing that the result will be nothing less than astounding.

Yeosang chuckles, quiet and breathy, and San can see the amusement on the author’s face. “Maybe one day, if Wooyoung didn’t toss out the stories I gave him, you’ll be able to read the first one I wrote down. But what about you, though? Your art?”

“I’ve always liked different forms of art. I’ve tried… pretty much every medium there is. I think my parents still have finger paintings I did in preschool.” He laughs, shaking his head in amusement, knowing well that his mother has a small chest back in Namhae with all of his artwork from school. “So I’ve never really… I never really had something that got me into art, since it’s something I’ve always done and enjoyed. There’s a few art competitions from high school and university that I won that I think my mom has hung up on her walls back in Namhae. She was always the biggest supporter of me doing what I liked, while my dad wanted me to do something more practical, if you count taking over her dojo as practical.”

“His dojo?”

San nods, “My dad owns a taekwondo dojo back in Namhae. I trained there for a long time, until I left for Seoul to come to university. He wanted me to take it over, so it would stay in the Choi family, but I really wanted to pursue art. I was gonna go back to Namhae and go back to training under him to eventually take it over after getting my degree, but… I met Yunho and Mingi and then Seonghwa and I decided I didn’t really want to go back. Namhae… is a lot farther away than I want to be from my friends.”

Yeosang makes a small noise of surprise, nodding softly to himself, “So you really left it all behind to stay with your friends… But because you did that, we were able to meet, so I think it was supposed to happen, in a way. Do you plan on eventually going back to Namhae?”

“Not unless it’s Chuseok or I’m visiting my family. I’ve made a home for myself in Seoul, and I don’t think there’s much that could get me to leave it. Like, I think it would be nice to take over my dad’s dojo, but… he’s still pretty young and healthy, so I have a few more years before I either decide to move back home and take it over or not, so it’s not like… at the forefront of my mind.”

It’s nice, San decides, to talk to Yeosang like this. It has a similar feel to a first date, though he’s not sure if that’s in his head, influenced by the way the overhead lights shine just right against Yeosang, highlighting his features so perfectly, his jawline standing out in a way that makes San want to trace his fingers along it.

There’s also the birthmark along Yeosang’s left eye that he’s sure the author thinks he’s hidden with a touch of concealer, but San can still see it beneath the thin layer of makeup, holding back the urge to run his thumb over the heart-shaped mark because he thinks it’s one of the most stunning parts of Yeosang’s features.

It feels a little like San is in slow motion, but the words fall from his lips before he can stop them, the brain to mouth filter no longer in place as he locks eyes with Yeosang.

“Is this a date?”

Yeosang doesn’t respond right away, nerves climbing through San’s body as he realizes he might have fucked up entirely, feeling the pain of his teeth burying into his lower lip as Yeosang takes a breath, his fingers playing with the smooth surface of the porcelain cup.

Yeosang’s lips part, and San holds his breath.

“I hope so.” San straightens up a little more, swallowing thickly at the way Yeosang says he hopes this is a date — because San has been hoping it is, too. “It doesn’t… have to be, if you don’t want it to be, though. I know that we… we don’t really know each other that well, but I like to think that’s part of dating, getting to know the other person… I just know that I feel like… I’m supposed to know you.”

“Me, too.” San breathes, chest feeling far less tight as he exhales in what he can only describe as relief. “Me too. That- that I feel like I’m supposed to know you, and that I hope this is a date. I was hoping… that it was. I want it to be one.”

“Then… it’s a date.” Yeosang nods a little to himself, his cheeks heating up and there’s a smile he just isn’t able to hide as visible excitement floods his system, and San thinks that he’s a mirror image of the man next to him, an uncontrolled smile on his lips, though he doesn’t even try to hide it. “A date.”

“Hopefully… the first of many? Because, and I know this is only our third meeting, second if you don’t count the book signing, but… I do like you. I can’t really, like… place how much, but I do like you. I like spending time with you, even if I’m jumpy at first, but I think that’ll go away with time. I just… I dunno.”

“I get it.” Yeosang’s laugh is gentle, and San feels a little like he’s being wrapped in a warm embrace. “There’s no real feeling to describe what just feels right. We don’t know each other well enough to really say we like each other beyond friends, but there’s something that’s telling you that you want to explore this, and see what more than friends can be like, right?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it. There’s just… a feeling.”

Yeosang hums softly, “There’s a Japanese phrase that comes to mind to describe what we’re feeling, I think. Koi no yokan, or the premonition of falling in love. It’s too early to really say, though, but… you know when you just have a good feeling about something?”

San knows. He knows all too well, and has known ever since he first met Yeosang at the book signing. So he nods, worrying his lower lip between his teeth again before he lets out a slow, quiet breath.

“Yeah, I do. And I also believe everything happens for a reason, and that’s why I met you that day, at the book signing. I really think… I really think we were supposed to meet for a reason. So…”

Yeosang smiles; he doesn’t have to say it for San to know he agrees entirely.

༻✧༺

The Bane of the Archangel is slated to release in a month, and San is beyond excited for the release of his boyfriend’s next book.

Boyfriend.

Even after dating Yeosang for a little less than a year, San still finds it surreal to be able to call Yeosang his boyfriend, when for so long, he’s always been San’s favorite author.

Some days, San wakes up thinking that the past eight months have been a dream more than anything, because there’s no real reason he can see why Yeosang would want to date him, but when he sees the sweet good morning ㅎㅎ texts from Yeosang, he knows it’s real.

He’s excited, though, because in a month his art will be on every single copy of The Bane of the Archangel, his first book cover and definitely not the last, seeing as he’s already set to work on the cover of The King of the Lost, the final installment of Yeosang’s Solivagant series before he turns his attention to a new idea — an idea that San has already seen glimpses of, but has no idea on where Yeosang is going to go with it.

San is sitting in the living room of his apartment, his sketchbook in hand as he simply doodles, nothing in particular in mind though he finds when he has nothing in specific to draw, he’ll default to drawing Yeosang, little depictions of the cute faces his boyfriend makes whenever they’re together, committed to memory to draw over and over again. The tranquility of his apartment is only disturbed when the door opens, Yeosang letting himself in as he usually does, with San having given him the spare key three months earlier.

“San-ah,” Yeosang doesn’t try to hide his lisp as he calls out for San, and it makes him smile, heart warm with nothing short of pure adoration and love for the author and the way he’s comfortable enough to not hide anything about him these days. “You’re not still asleep, right? It’s almost lunch time…”

“In the living room, babe.” He can hear the little noise of acknowledgement Yeosang makes and the shuffling around as Yeosang navigates his way into the living room, settling next to San on the couch. His hair is tied back loosely today, San notes, a low ponytail secured with a few clips on the side to catch the shorter hairs as he decides if he wants to keep growing it out, or if he wants to cut it. “You look pretty.”

“You say that every time you see me.”

“Because it’s true every time.” San smiles as Yeosang flushes, a dramatic sigh on his lips as he pretends to be annoyed with San’s compliments, despite the way he’s betrayed every time by his blush. “Did you come over to drag me out for lunch?”

“Partially, yes, but I had another reason for coming over unannounced.” Yeosang shifts again, San finally notices the cross-body bag Yeosang is wearing, which only serves to make San curious.

“What’s in the bag?” San questions, and he feels like he should be a little concerned with the impish grin Yeosang sends his way and the way the author taps the side of the bag, fingers making a dull noise against something decidedly hard beneath the canvas fabric. “Yeosang-ah…”

“It’s nothing bad, really. I just thought you’d want to see what our book looks like before it’s released.” Our book — San doesn’t miss the emphasis on our, because that’s what Yeosang has been saying since San finished the digital version of the cover they agreed on and had it sent off to the printer.

And then it clicks, and San’s sketchbook is tumbling to the floor along with his pencil that he’s sure has rolled beneath his couch and he’ll have to unearth later.

“Are you telling me—”

“Mhm. Hongjoong-hyung gave it to me this morning. It’s the very first copy that was finished being bound and covered, so I thought you’d want to see it and have it, before anyone else.” Yeosang’s smile is still in place as he pulls the hardcover out of his bag, the book maybe two inches thick from cover to cover, and San feels the way his breath catches in his throat as he sees his art work looking back at him.

“Oh my god… I seriously love you, do you know that?” It’s not the first time San has told Yeosang he loves him — he knew six months into their relationship, maybe earlier, that he was in love with Yeosang, hopelessly and desperately, and Yeosang had only blushed a bright red before murmuring the fondest, softest ‘me too’ that San had ever heard from the other in the time he’s known him.

“You may have told me once or twice.” Yeosang teases, still bad at being able to say it back, because the words feel foreign on his tongue and he’s more about written words than verbal words, and shows his love through actions far more comfortably. The book feels heavy in his hands as it leaves Yeosang’s, and it takes everything in San to not start bawling at the fact that he really created this, that Yeosang loved his art so much to ask him to do this. His emotions are running high, barely managing to steal a wet kiss from a still smiling Yeosang before he feels his boyfriend’s head tuck into his shoulder. “Open it. I’ll sign it for you later, if you want; there’s something I want you to read first.”

“God,” San giggles softly, sniffling in a way that he thinks might be a little embarrassing, but he can’t find it in him to care all that much as he uses his sleeve to wipe at both his eyes and nose before he opens the cover of the book, the satisfying creak of the spine opening for the first time almost loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. “There’s more than just the book?”

“Of course there is, dummy.” Yeosang’s voice is quiet and teasing, though holds a hint of apprehension, not that San can place why Yeosang might be nervous. “Just… keep going.”

San isn’t sure what to expect when he reaches the acknowledgement page. Usually, Yeosang has always dedicated his books to the people who need inspiration and a little magic or fantasy in their lives, a short little blurb that most people would skip over.

This time, there’s more.

To anyone else, it would read as a heartfelt dedication. To San, it was a love letter, conveying just how much he meant to Yeosang in words the author had trouble saying.

To see those words stamped forever on a page, for San, is far more meaningful than Yeosang saying them, visible proof of how much Yeosang loves him.

And San will never give that up for anything.

Acknowledgements 

There’s a Japanese concept called 生き甲斐 ; ikigai. The literal translation for ikigai is “a reason for being”. The way I interpret ikigai is as “the reason you get up in the morning”. Back when this book was going through the editing process, I hadn’t found what ikigai was to me. My life was more of a routine than anything, where I would wake up and pour my thoughts and ideas out onto a page for hours on end, and when I couldn’t write any more, I’d wander the streets of Seoul looking for more inspiration in the most unconventional places.

I held my first book signing before the release of The Seer of the Blessed . It was an honor to meet so many of my fans and supporters, to hear pieces of their stories and what inspires them and hear a little bit about their ikigai — and it was there I found my ikigai in the form of a fan who carried a well-loved copy of my first novel around for inspiration, wherever and whenever. He told me about how he had nearly given up on his ambitions and what he loved to do because he just couldn’t find inspiration, until he picked up a copy of The Emerald Sun . He told me how it was because of this book, his inspiration returned, and he found himself re-reading it whenever he needed to find that motivation to keep going.

When I took the plunge to publish The Emerald Sun , I had been hoping for just this — that I could touch the heart of even just one person, and inspire them to do what they loved, just as my friends and family have always encouraged me to do what I loved. His story, in turn, inspired me more than I could have ever imagined.

This story is for you. For the fan who showed me just how much I could inspire a single soul, for the fan who carries around a well-loved copy of my debut novel, for the fan who became more than that, you became my reason for being. This one is for you. Thank you for becoming my ikigai.

-K. Ryusang