Archive of Our Own

“Beomgyu, you know that we can’t transfer you,” Jisoo says, not lifting his eyes from the contract spread out on his table.

Beomgyu is almost certain he’s only doing it to create an illusion of being busy and get rid of him faster because Jisoo’s eyes haven’t moved a single bit since the moment he barged into his office with his request. He’s guilty of doing the same thing, whenever Soobin comes up to him with one of those crazy couple trends he wants to recreate, so Beomgyu knows the technique when he sees it.

“We don’t have other available artists,” he adds.

Beomgyu is also pretty sure that’s a lie. The corner of his mouth twitches down, just like last month when Jisoo promised to stop roping Beomgyu into content that involved exposing his face on camera.

“Yeonjun is having his comeback soon,” he whines. “Why can’t I be assigned to him?”

“Yeonjun already has Kai and Taehyun on his team. What are you going to do there? Play the recorder on the side?” Huh, that’s not a bad–

“And you know that Soobin doesn’t listen to anyone else. Where’s your sense of collective responsibility?” He flips another page. Again, his eyes don’t move — an amateurish move, if you ask Beomgyu. “What about Park Jaesoo? Do you want him to completely stop sleeping? He already has enough work trying to keep Soobin from causing troubles online. Beomgyu-yah, everyone says that he’s more manageable when you’re around.”

If only he knew that what Beomgyu is doing is an act of collective responsibility. There’s many things he’s considering in his request: a common good, the company’s reputation, even the poor PR team. Park Jaesoo, and his eyebags that are now even impossible to hide under the concealer Beomgyu has given him during the New Year’s Secret Santa exchange.

“But–” he starts.

“No,” Jisoo interrupts him, finally looking up, only to level him with a disapproving stare.

It would probably be more effective if the man didn’t look so much like Gomie, the bear plushie Kai has gifted him on his last birthday that now sits on his desk. Their furrowed eyebrows are the same shape, and the stern gaze Jisoo is trying to intimidate him with right now especially reminds him of his brown bear. “Unless there’s a specific problem, it’s not possible — end of discussion.” He stops, sighing. “Is there a problem?”

Yes, Beomgyu wants to say.

Unless you want your idol to appear in news outlets for public indecency and seduction of company staff, get him away from me. Now.

“No,” he mutters back, sinking into his chair.

* * *

“You wanted to transfer?”

Is the first thing Soobin says when he sees him the next day.

He should have known that Jisoo would tell Yeonjun, who would tell Taehyun, who would, of course, tell his boyfriend, Kai, who is incapable of physically keeping his mouth shut, especially when it comes to Soobin and his neverending stash of bribe snacks.

Beomgyu continues to type his email in hopes that the older man will drop the topic, but Soobin steps directly in front of him and closes his laptop, leaving him no choice but to look up. “Stop ignoring me, I know that you’ve heard.”

“I did.” He rolls his eyes, getting out his phone to continue his draft. It’s an important email, damn it, and unlike some people with too much free time on their hands — he should change that, stuff Soobin’s schedule so much that he doesn’t even have time to sleep, much less bother others — Beomgyu has a job to do.

“What! Why?”

“You know why,” he says, typing again without sparing him another glance. “I just think it’ll be better to put some distance between us.”

If you could specify the schedule for– The big palm snatches his phone away from him. Beomgyu’s fingers remain suspended before curling into a fist. He sighs.

“But you’re my manager,” Soobin whines, holding the device above his head where Beomgyu would have to physically climb him to get it back. He can keep it, he decides.

“Technically, I’m the company’s manager. I can be assigned to anyone, if they want,” he grumples. “And I’m thinking about you. Don’t you think that some variety will be good? Isn't it boring seeing the same face the whole time?”

“How noble of you,” Soobin crosses his arms.

Then, “Are you really acting like that because we had sex?”

Oh, here goes the S-word.

There are many perfectly reasonable ways Beomgyu has been referring to the Incident in the privacy of his own head. The Big Bad Fiasco is one of them, or The Day That Shall Not Be Named, being another. At three in the morning, when he randomly gets an unfortunate flash of memory, he sometimes calls it The Worst Decision Choi Beomgyu Has Ever Made In His Twenty-Three Years of Life.

(It’s not by far, but at night his mind gets especially dramatic.)

Beomgyu prefers to avoid the S-word at all costs, because using it would require acknowledging that (sex) had, in fact, happened, and he’s been too happy living behind his self-imposed walls of denial to avoid thinking about that. The only hitch in his perfect coping method, is Soobin who has apparently no qualms about tearing them down.

“...I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, after.

“Aha, right,” he hums. “That’s why it took you forever to answer.”

“It didn’t.”

“It did.”

“I was thinking.”

“About us having sex?”

“Choi Soobin!” Beomgyu shrieks. “Can you stop using the S-word!”

“The S-word?” He asks, incredulous. His lips twitch. “What is– Are we in kindergarten?”

“Stop making fun of me!”

“No, I mean–” He laughs. “What else are we using? Is there a B-word, wait, would it be a BJ-word? Do you prefer, I want to have an S-word with you or I want to F-word you, or–”

“Oh my god.” Beomgyu drops his head to his knees, hiding away. He cannot see the state of his face, but his ears are burning. “This is exactly why I need to transfer. You’re unbelievable.”

“Fine, go ahead.” Soobin’s voice is easy, the vowels flowing into each other to form the careless sound. There’s a thud on the couch, and Beomgyu’s phone bounces once, before falling near his thigh. He jerks his head up from the unexpected reaction, squinting his eyes. “You can try it and see what happens.”

“What does that mean?” he asks, suspicious.

Soobin beams with his brightest smile. All teeth and dimples on both sides of his cheeks. “Transfer and I’ll cause the biggest scandal this company has ever seen.”

Beomgyu stares at him. Soobin stares back, before winking and strutting out of the room.

He breathes through his nose, turning back to his unfinished task. Soobin is smart to leave as quickly as he does, because any longer and Beomgyu’s phone might actually go flying at his head, the company’s ‘most profitable’ artist be damned.

Do you want to send the email? In his draft he typed, I look forward to help–

He wonders what he did in his life to deserve this.

Case I: Statement of Formal Complaint

Choi Beomgyu, unfortunately, knows exactly what he did wrong to warrant this torture.

Imagine the setting. Children playground, two kids, one swing. Beomgyu is soaring through the air, legs swinging like he’s about to leap straight into the sky, each time higher and higher from the pushes of his hyung.

Gyu-yah, maybe it’s enough?

Hyung, you’re useless. I hate you.

No, I hate you!

The next push never comes. The swing is abruptly caught from behind, and Beomgyu, still carried forward by the momentum, slips forward, landing face-first into the dirt. He bursts into tears.

Ah, cookie, you shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds you, his eomma sighs later, rubbing the dust off his knees.

Little Beomgyu only hears something about biting and immediately thinks about spit, and spit is disgusting, just like those fat beetles in the grass that he won’t go anywhere near, so the lesson goes in one ear and out the other.

Oh, how he wishes, he had paid more attention back then.

Cue universal karma, irony of the world, or heavenly retribution — whatever higher being is residing up there is most probably having the biggest laugh of their fucking day at his expense.

Beomgyu’s unlucky streak begins on his first day at BigHit.

To preface the beginning of this tragedy, it’s important to say that he has never been particularly interested in the entertainment industry.

On the contrary, Beomgyu has spent the majority of his life running away from casting agents and giving out fake names, just to send them on a wild goose chase.

No matter how hard he tried to escape his destiny, apparently there’s an invisible tether tying him to the idol world, because years later when he finds himself freshly graduated, unemployed and in urgent need of money, the only application that gets a response back is the position for a manager.

Beomgyu blinks, seeing an email confirming his availability for an interview. He sent out his resume partly out of desperation and partly as a joke, his brain muddled from the cheap beer he drank the night before. At three in the morning it had seemed like a good idea, but now, in the bright light of the day, he’s not that sure if it still holds true.

Has he ever imagined himself babysitting some overzealous celebrity? No.

Does he want it? Absolutely not.

Does he have any other alternative? …

The building at the address they send is impossibly tall, rising into the sky in a succession of stacked floors. It’s a monster on its own, flesh made out of glass and steel bones, the monotony only broken by the constant stream of people, hurrying into the front doors that resemble a giant mouth.

Beomgyu tries to imagine himself as one of them, those nameless hurried men in black suits, and winces.

It’s easy to find the reception desk. When he comes up to ask for directions, the woman is speaking with someone on the phone, huffing under her breath. Lee Minji is the name on her steel badge. “No, mister Kim, we cannot–” Her eyes land on Beomgyu. “Oh, hello, are you here for an audition?”

“Do you mean the interview?” he asks.

“Please, let me confirm– Yes, that.” There’s more shouting on the other end and she gestures for him with her hand to pass through. “It's the tenth floor, last door– No, mister Kim, I’m not talking to you– Ah, no they changed it last minute, it’s the fourth one– Yes, I know that your appointment is urgent, just like all the others– When you exit the elevator, go straight ahead, until you turn right– Yes, I will notify them that you wanted to–” She sighs, waving her hand in the general direction of the staircase. “Just go up, dear, you won’t get lost. There are paper signs.”

Beomgyu nods, scurrying away when the voice on the other end of the line only gets louder. Did she mean tenth floor, fourth door? Or was it a fourth floor? He tries his luck and presses the button, stepping out only to see the long corridor with many identical doors.

Beomgyu walks straight, then turns right into another hallway and keeps going, hoping that he will at least reach that metaphorical last door that secretary Lee was talking about or stumble across one of those promised signs. It would certainly help if anything here looked even remotely different, but after what feels like an eternity of wandering in circles — this he realises when the same emergency exit sign greets him for the nth time — Beomgyu has to admit that he’s not going to find the way on his own.

It’s alright, it’s not like he’s in a forest. Beomgyu is simply going to retrace his steps and go back to the lobby to ask for more directions again, even if Lee Minji will potentially think he’s stupid. Not a big deal. He turns to the left and sees a staircase leading down. It’s not exactly the place where he came from, but finding the elevator again is going to take him another eternity — that he does not have — and going down is going down, right?

…

Well, apparently no. Beomgyu makes it down three floors before the staircase abruptly ends, leaving him in yet another unfamiliar corridor. His legs already hurt from walking all the way down, so climbing those steps back up feels completely out of the question. He decides to follow the logic of the previous floor, walking straight ahead and to the right, then again turning left, expecting to finally see an elevator, and–

There’s a dead end. Alright.

It’s time to accept he has officially gotten lost.

His next challenge is that the floor seems to be completely deserted, a stark contrast to the situation happening on the ground floor. He passes some of the doors, walking until there’s the faint beats of music behind one of them. Beomgyu hesitates, lingering next to the room.

To open or not to open? His inner introvert is once again faced with the eternal dilemma of whether asking another human being a simple question is worth the awkwardness it entails, but the arrowhead on his watch settles the argument for him.

Even though Beomgyu is still not entirely sure that working here is what he wants, he refuses to lose an opportunity just because he apparently possesses a shit sense of direction.

He pushes the door, peeking inside. To his relief, there’s only one person inside instead of the filming crew he was dreading.

The figure is tall — like, really tall — and handsome, but that is to be expected from an idol (trainee? Beomgyu doesn’t know).

The man is standing in front of the mirror with his phone propped up nearby, playing a choreography video on the screen. Beomgyu watches him attempt to replicate one of the movements once, then again after rewinding the video, and one more time when the second attempt goes no better. The third try ends with him losing his balance halfway, but he catches himself before he can land flat on his ass. The squeak of the sneaker is loud in the silent room.

The guy just stands there, until he suddenly groans and kicks lightly at the floor, before stomping his feet a few times for good measure. Finally, as if none of that has expressed the depth of… whatever it is that he’s going through at the moment, he starts hopping up and down.

What the hell. Beomgyu is honestly surprised the man still hasn’t noticed him gaping at this ridiculous spectacle from the doorway. He’s mentally debating if finding his interview is actually worth interrupting whatever personal crisis is currently happening, but his eyes accidentally fall onto the hanging clock on the wall. Ten minutes to spare.

Beomgyu coughs. “Ehm, sorry to distract you from this, but–”

“Oh my god.” He whirls around, gaping at him. His ears turn red, the colour spreads rapidly down to his neck. “How long have you been standing there?” Beomgyu opens his mouth. “No– What are you even–” His gaze travels over him once, before snapping back to his face, and somehow he gets impossibly even redder. “You don’t have any ID badge, how did you get here?”

“I walked down a stair?” Beomgyu says, hesitant. His words sound ridiculous even to himself.

“A stair?” he repeats.

“Yeah. It was red.” He shrugs. “I can show you? If you come with me. I’m not sure I’ll be able to find it again, though.”

“Come with you? Wait, are you one of those stalkers? You’re actually sick.” Beomgyu blinks. Now, how did he come to that conclusion? His expression changes, eyebrows pulling together in a frown. Just like that, the previous embarrassment disappears under suspicion. The man looks at him like he’s a gum under the soles of those expensive sneakers he’s wearing. “How did you sneak in?”

Now, wait a minute. It’s one thing to be rude–

But to immediately assume that he is one of those crazy people who obsess over stuck-up celebrities? Have you seen Beomgyu’s face! Does he really look like someone who would willingly follow vans around Seoul and camp outside buildings just to catch a glimpse of another man?

If your answer is no — Congratulations! You still have a functioning brain, unlike the individual standing in front of him.

He even dressed up nicely today, wearing his better pair of slacks and one of the few formal button-ups he owns. There’s a tiny oil stain on his left sleeve that is still there after numerous trips to the washing machine, but it’s barely visible. He made sure to check under different kinds of lighting.

The man mistakes his shocked silence for an admission of guilt, because he turns serious and says, “I’m calling security.”

He makes a gesture to grab his upper arm and that wakes Beomgyu up.

“Who even are you!” He explodes, jerking his hand away. The weirdo’s eyes widen. “I only wanted to ask where I could find the management lead office, but forget it. I don’t need it anymore.” Beomgyu scoffs, throwing his hands up. “Aigoo, I’m so sorry for stalking you.”

The man’s face does seem vaguely familiar now that he’s spent some time looking at it, which means that there is a very real possibility that he has just offended someone important, but he’s too irritated to care about it properly.

Beomgyu turns on his heel and storms out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. The thin glass rattles on the hinges, and he winces. A stalker. A stalker! Can you believe the audacity?

He takes a moment to replay the interaction one more time in his head, before turning back and yanking the door open.

The shocked eyes meet his own again, and Beomgyu marches up to the idol (trainee? he’s still not sure), prodding him in the chest. “And fix that nasty attitude of yours if you don’t want to lose your fans!” He pauses, thinking. The man looks awestruck. “If you have any!”

Satisfied, he turns back, closing the door behind him — gently this time, because Beomgyu doesn't have the funds to afford paying for it, in case it breaks, — and stomps away. What a waste of good looks.

Beomgyu hopes he never sees him again.

He finds the interview room through the combination of sheer willpower and the anger still simmering in his veins. (And by asking five different passerbies who magically appear where he can find Park Jisoo, but no one has to know about this specific details.)

By the time he finally spots a plaque with the correct name beside the door, Beomgyu is officially late for five minutes. He would be right on time if it wasn’t for that unpleasant encounter, he grumbles to himself. He straightens his shirt, knocking at the door.

“Oh, you must be Choi Beomgyu.” The man steps aside and ushers him. He gestures towards the chair opposite his desk, offering him a glass of water that Beomgyu hungrily gulps down more to extinguish the remnants of his fury than out of thirst. “Shall we begin?”

The interview consists of asking him:

How well do you react in stressful situations?

“I’m quite good at de-escalating them.”

Just yesterday, he managed to snatch blue buff from the enemy players when he was playing ranked matches in League, all under the screaming and swearing of his teammates in his ears.

We have a big team here and you’ll be meeting a lot of people every single day. Is it a problem for you?

The I in his MBTI does not come from nowhere, but,

“I’m a people’s person,” Beomgyu says, followed by, what he calls, his social smile. Judging by the satisfied nod that wins him a few extra points.

How do you handle difficult or demanding personalities?

“I try to remain professional and avoid unnecessary confrontation.”

Like jack shit — but that’s an information he’s perfectly fine keeping to himself.

The person he met earlier is a great testament to his ability to remain calm in the face of nasty personalities, but Beomgyu doesn’t think Manager Jisoo will appreciate hearing that he nearly got into a fight with one of their idols (trainees? Beomgyu remains to be blissfully clueless) before he’s even gotten the job.

Would you be willing to sacrifice a significant amount of your personal time, if the job required overtime, irregular hours or being available in case of an emergency?

Choi Beomgyu: …

(They move on.)

And, finally: Are you planning to get pregnant within the next two years?

Beomgyu looks down at his groin, which still, thankfully, sports all his necessary parts, and looks back at the man.

Park Jisoo clears his throat. Sorry– it was the question on the standard sheet. You see, we’re in such a hurry to find a replacement because our worker went on a sudden maternity leave and we couldn’t easily get someone who–

Well, either way, the answer is a hard no.

“You’re hired!” He claps his hands together, smiling. “You can start tomorrow.”

Beomgyu blinks.

“Don’t worry.” The man waves a hand, seeing the confusion and, most probably, rapidly growing horror on his face. Beomgyu starts to wonder if he accidentally got involved in some elaborate kind of pyramid scheme or human trafficking. “It’s more the type of job that you learn on the go.”

He continues, “You’re going to have a three-week period of training, but then we’re placing you on Choi Soobin’s team. He’s quickly becoming one of the company's most sought-after artists, are you familiar with him? Aigoo, I remember him when he just entered the agency–”

Jisoo drones about their memories and plays a fragment of his song, which Beomgyu immediately recognises as one of the tunes his local supermarket has been putting on repeat this August. It’s not hard, because every walk down the cereal aisle was accompanied by the same cheesy lyrics about Sundays and driving.

(Beomgyu is still not entirely convinced that the latter is not an euphemism for something.)

It’s not his type of music, but it’s decent enough that prolonged exposure to it won’t end up with him killing himself, or worse, developing a genuine appreciation for shitty pop.

“Usually beginners are placed with trainees, but we are in the middle of awards season, so it’s hard to re-coordinate teams. You can say you’re lucky. Soobin is a pretty good kid, he doesn’t really demand much, he’s easy-going.” The corner of his mouth twitches down. “You’re going to have a simple time.”

Beomgyu shrugs. What is one celebrity to another? They sign a contract.

There’s a knock on the door not long after, followed by it opening when Jisoo calls for whoever is outside to come in. Beomgyu notices that, somewhere during their conversation, one of his shoelaces has come undone, so he bends down to tie it, before he forgets about it and trips down on it later.

“Ah, what a coincidence,” Jisoo says, while Beomgyu finishes the knot, straightening. “Soobin-ah, come meet your new part of the team. This is Choi Beomgyu, he’s going to be a member of your management division.”

Beomgyu dons his polite grin — the infamous social smile that has already got him some points today — and turns around. The muscles freeze on his face. It takes him all of his willpower to stop the corner of his lips from souring, pointing down.

The other man looks no better than him, shell-shocked and speechless, before an indescribable emotion fills his eyes and his lips stretch in a smirk full of dimples and teeth.

One and a half months later, during the anniversary event celebrating his seventh year since debut, one of the questions printed on the hand-outs given to the fans will be: What is your favourite physical characteristic of Soobin?The public will be divided, fans shrieking that it’s impossible to choose, berating the company for placing a burden like that on their shoulders. After a long and arduous thinking the people will eventually reach a conclusion.

Definitely, his smile. The one that makes him look like an innocent bunny!

It will be, by far, the most popular answer among the swooning crowd of schoolgirls, although his puppy eyes will come close.

If you were to ask Beomgyu right now, it’s pure evil.

Sharp teeth that blind with their brilliance (are teeth even allowed to be that white?) and blood-red gums, similar to that poster of Jaws his hyung had hanging on his bedroom wall when they were small.

“Oh, I see,” he sing-songs, stretching his hand for a handshake. Beomgyu tentatively places his palm in his grasp, flinching when the man — no, Choi Soobin, one of the biggest idols (not a trainee, to his utter disappointment) of their time and his future employee (what the hell, Beomgyu’s head is still spinning from this development) — digs his fingers into it, pulling him closer. “I’m sure we’re going to have a great time working together, Choi Beomgyu-ssi.”

“I hope so, Choi Soobin-ssi.” He fake-smiles back.

Beomgyu should probably start looking for a new job already.

* * *

(The Draft starts on the way home, between Sinyongsan and Samgakji metro stations.)

Dear BigHit management,

I am writing to formally submit my resignation from my position at BigHit Entertainment. After careful consideration and evaluation of my future career goals, I have decided to pursue the path that aligns more closely with my personal and professional aspirations.

(Beomgyu turns off his phone, happy. He still doesn’t know what those aspirations are, but they for sure, don’t involve arrogant celebrities.)

* * *

The universe — that stingy little thing Beomgyu is sure has something against him — gives him a middle finger.

That evening, his mailbox is still empty save for some advertisements, two more rejections and a bill asking him to pay for his internet plan, or else his WI-FI will be cut off, so Beomgyu sucks it up and obediently shows up at work the next morning, fully expecting to be booted out straight from the entrance.

To his surprise, Lee Minji merely smiles at him and hands out his new ID card and access key.

Beomgyu spends the next training period in quiet anticipation of the end, walking on eggshells until he’s finally found worthy of being transferred to the main team. He tries to avoid Soobin as much as humanly possible in the meantime, limiting their interactions to situations where direct communication is absolutely unavoidable.

Overall, though, Beomgyu thinks he’s doing a pretty good job at being a manager.

He avoids unnecessary confrontation. (Refer to his answer to Question Three of the interview: How do you handle difficult or demanding personalities?) He ducks to the left when Soobin appears at the end of the hallway, or presses the close button when he spots him approaching the elevator at a distance.

He remains professional. (Refer to the aforementioned Question Number Three.) Whenever they happen to be in the same room, Beomgyu chooses to be the bigger person, settling for annoyed glances from the corner of his eye and rolling them when the other man is not watching. It’s good that he’s not the one being filmed twenty-four-seven, because there would definitely already be a compilation online.

Beomgyu learns how to communicate in the most productive manner possible, which consists of a nod, a shake of his head or a thumbs-up that he leaves on KakaoTalk messages. (Question Number Two, regarding his social skills.)

And he, most certainly, knows how to handle stressful situations. (Question One.)

Like right now, when the person concerned enters the cafeteria, heading straight for the table where he sits. Beomgyu curses under his breath, poking at his unfinished food on the plate.

It’s his own fault for saying yes to lunch with Kai, whom he met during his training, who drags his boyfriend, Taehyun, with him everywhere, who then invited Yeonjun hyung — Beomgyu nearly faints when Yeonjun hyung turns out to be an idol YEONJUN, his most-listened-to artist (yes, that one is on him for not connecting the dots, cut him some slack) — because apparently both of his dongsaengs have missed the memo that managers shouldn’t become buddy-buddy with the celebrities assigned to them.

And, cherry on top, guess who turns out to be always glued to Yeonjun hyung’s side?

“Sorry, I’m late,” Choi Soobin says, squeezing himself onto the bench. “They wanted me to re-record some parts.”

The only available spot is, of course, next to him. Beomgyu shoots to his feet, when the sides of their thighs brush from lack of space.

“I need to go,” he says, grabbing his plate. “I remembered that I needed to look over some documents for Jisoo. See you in dance practice.” He won’t. Beomgyu is going to ask someone on the editing team if there’s something he can help them with.

He dumps the rest of his food on his way out of the cafeteria, scurrying into one of the hallways that, after a few weeks of his hard-earned experience, he now actually knows how to navigate.

He’s lost in thoughts, contemplating whether it’s worth going to the vending machine because he’s still a bit hungry or riding it out until dinner, when a hand lands on his shoulder.

Beomgyu yelps as he’s yanked backwards, until his spine meets the wall with a soft thud. A moment later, there are two strong arms braced on either side of him, effectively cutting any possible escape route. Soobin furrows his eyebrows as he looks at him, biting his lip.

Beomgyu looks around for some witnesses, but unfortunately he was ambushed in one of the more secluded parts of the building.

This is the moment he tells me to fuck off, he thinks.

“I wanted to apologise.” Beomgyu hears, instead. What? “I mean, for accusing you on that first day. I wanted to talk to you about it earlier, but you keep avoiding me. It was a bad moment, not that it’s an excuse for my rude behaviour, but that time–”

Huh, so those are the infamous puppy eyes that took second place in that stupid questionnaire.

“–the whole situation with my tantrum. I’m sorry it’s just that you made me a little bit nervous. Seriously, what would you do if you just saw the most beautiful person–”

This is the first time, when Beomgyu sees them up close, and not from the videos that he has spent an unhealthy amount of time watching at night — because know thy enemy, duh.

“–and I really don’t want you to dislike me.” Soobin finishes his rambling. “So… Can we start over?”

He steps back, releasing Beomgyu from the human cage and extends his hand, a reconstruction of their first introduction, only this time he stands with a painfully earnest expression, peeking at him. “I’m Choi Soobin.”

Oh, poor innocent Beomgyu had thought at that moment. Maybe it’s true that you shouldn’t judge the book by the cover.

Wrong! He should have listened to his intuition and quit that very first evening, but in his desperate pursuit of money and uninterrupted access to Wi-Fi, Choi Beomgyu shook the devil’s hand and unknowingly sold him his soul.

And here they are, months later, and he’s blaming human greed for rapidly driving him to an early grave because Beomgyu has thought long and hard about it, and there is only one reasonable explanation left for Soobin’s recent behaviour:

Eleven strokes, two syllables.

In Korean, it’s Bogsu. In English, revenge. In Japanese–

Beomgyu limited knowledge of the language unfortunately does not extend this far, but what he does know is that whatever his idol has been doing to him lately cannot possibly be anything other than one long-winded, meticulous plan to get retribution for the humiliation Beomgyu subjected him to on the first day they met.

If you don’t believe him or think that he has gone crazy from all the overtime, that’s fine. Beomgyu won’t hold it against you. In fact, being the reasonable and unbiased person that he is, he is willing to present the evidence and let you reach your own conclusion.

Case II: Occupational Hazard

The first seeds of doubt start sprouting, long before what he will eventually come to call The Great Seoul Accident (the name he invents during his coffee run), The Lapse of Judgement (on the bus ride) and still, The Worst Decision Choi Beomgyu Has Ever Made In His Twenty-Three Years of Life (lying in bedat night after another flashback).

It, as the majority of most problematic things in life do, starts with a text message.

When Beomgyu first receives the buzz of the notification, the waiter has just come up to the table to ask if they would like to look at the dessert menu. The restaurant, whose address he got from his blind date, is cute, with dimmed warm lights and dark tablecloths meant to create some semblance of romantic ambience.

It’s been pretty nice so far.

The food, Beomgyu means, not the man.

When he first saw him, Beomgyu had actually applauded his eomma’s matchmaking abilities, but his date turned out to be nothing but a bore, droning about the woes of climbing the corporate ladder and ruthless chiefs, as if Beomgyu wasn’t a victim of capitalism himself.

And, he ordered tomato soup! Liking those disgusting things already deserves punishment, but ordering their mashed, gooey version after nine in the evening should qualify as a federal offence at the very least.

This union, it seems, was not written in the stars from the beginning.

So, going back to considerably more interesting Case II (their first meeting being Case I, because he is convinced that Soobin was plotting everything from the very beginning) in his list, the moment Beomgyu hears the unmistakable ping of the KakaoTalk, he rolls his eyes.

Without looking at his phone, he knows that the message is from Soobin, because of the higher-pitched, cuter ding! instead of the standard system sound. The reason for this is that two weeks ago the other man refused to go on live until Beomgyu let him choose a notification sound for himself.

Disregarding this small instance of childish behaviour, receiving cryptic messages from his idol has become a normal part of his everyday life, which he (against his wishes) accepted.

Sometimes it’s the pictures of his pet hedgehog (Beomgyu gives them thumbs-ups and not the heart, because the angry ball of needles keeps hissing at him), pictures of his dog back at his family house in Ansan (a heart! those ones he also saves to his gallery, because Tori is simply too irresistible) or an onslaught of emoticons, which apparently no one, apart from him in their team, ever gets.

So yes, after months of working with him, Beomgyu has already gotten used to the messages, and even somewhat began anticipating them, because their arrival meant looking at the cute animals.

Right now though, Beomgyu huffs, annoyed. He specifically told Soobin not to contact him unless someone was dying, because he had a date planned.

In any other circumstances, he would choose to ignore the notification on principle, but that sole ding! that is so unusual from his pattern of spamming Beomgyu until he replies and the addition of the monotonic speech from his date, compel him to take out his phone, only to see a simple message.

Simple, in a way that the only content of it are big capital letters S.O.S and a picture of Soobin’s swollen eyes that resemble two slits rather than a functioning human organ of sight.

He sends back a question mark, but the message remains unseen, which is the first alarm that something is wrong.

Unable to swallow the unease, Beomgyu goes to the restaurant bathroom and spends the next few minutes pacing near the urinals and calling Soobin enough times to warrant the title of stalker the other man has so graciously bestowed upon him on their first meeting.

His chatlog remains to be one-sided and empty.

There is only one thing left to do, then. Beomgyu rushes back to grab his things, mutters some half-assed excuse about a work emergency — his date gives him an understanding nod, turning to their waiter to complain about the toxic corporate culture — and runs out of the establishment to catch a taxi.

“What’s the matter?” Beomgyu barges through the front door, brandishing his phone in front of him. “Yah! Choi Soobin, I swear to God–”

He stops in his tracks. Soobin is sitting curled on the couch with his knees pulled toward his chest, eyes red and swollen, with wet traces of moisture falling all the way down his cheeks. Beomgyu’s things land somewhere on the floor when he rushes forward.

“Hey, what happened?” Beomgyu crouches in front of him to take his tear-streaked face between both palms, tilting it gently toward himself. Up close, he looks even worse for wear.

“He died,” Soobin sniffles, and Beomgyu’s stomach drops.

“What? Who died?” he asks in a quiet voice, mind going at the lighting speed at the various possibilities. Someone from the family? A friend?

Should he postpone his schedules? There’s an appearance on the national television that will be impossible to move, but the OST recording that Soobin has in a few days can be pushed back a week. He’ll have to talk to Jisoo and coordinate with the sound engineers and the rest of the recording team, but–

Soobin’s face crumples even more.

“Oh no, hey, hey, hey,” Beomgyu panics, patting him gently on the head. Maybe triggered by his previous word died, the tears start coming out faster, mixing on his face with mucus under his nose.

What to do, if they speak to the higher ups and try to find an alternative, it may be possible to let some other idol go in his place to record a variety show. Beomgyu bites his lip, thinking about the solution. He’s not heartless enough to make his idol overwork himself while he’s going through something like that.

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out,” he murmurs, soft. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

Soobin hiccups one more time, before lifting his trembling hand to the tablet, where a figure of the dismembered character lies on the ground, cut in two.

Choi Beomgyu: ?

“How could they kill Gojo?” Soobin chokes out. “He had an Infinity! How does someone with Infinity even get cut in half? How did he become a victim of lazy writing?” His voice cracks on the last word. “And what was all that about him winning? What was the point of unsealing him if they were just going to kill him like twenty chapters later, tell me! Yah! Who’s going to continue reading this shitty manga now!”

Choi Beomgyu: …

“I feel miserable. Can you comfort me?” He ends in a meek voice, but his hand travels south landing on Beomgyu’s waist, pulling him closer. “Let me hug you to feel better.”

Choi Beomgyu:

“Choi Soobin,” he starts, quiet. “Do I look like a fucking anti-stress ball to you?”

Fucking cartoon character? Cartoon character? From anime? If they were in one right now, there would be steam coming out of Beomgyu’s ears and an angry vein, throbbing on his forehead.

The hand on his side squeezes the flesh again. “Well, you certainly feel like one. I already feel my stress disappearing.” Beomgyu’s eye twitches.

Then he says, much brighter, “Oh, did I interrupt your date? You said not to text you, unless someone was dying, and well–”

Beomgyu slaps his hand away and storms out of the apartment.

* * *

(He reopens his binned draft between the stations of Euljiro 3 and Chungmuro. It will take Beomgyu another half an hour to get home by metro, but he has already used his taxi allowance for the day getting to Soobin’s place.)

Below, I am attaching the list of reasons supporting my request for dismissal:

Over the course of my employment, I have discovered several serious concerns regarding the professional boundaries, moral conduct and basic human decency that I believe make the continuation of my current position–

(The train suddenly jerks to a stop, and Beomgyu lurches forward with the rest of the carriage, dropping his phone somewhere under the seats. When he finally fishes out the device from beneath somebody’s sneaker, there’s a nasty crack running through the middle of the screen.

…

He should really invest into getting his driving license.)

Case III: Online Reputational Damage

Now hopefully you are beginning to see where his suspicions are coming from.

Perhaps, it’s all a coincidence of fate, you may say.

Perhaps, Soobin is just a silly idol (which he is), a parasocial fan (which… he also is), distressed by the death of his favourite character, and not someone who intentionally torments Beomgyu as an act of a petty revenge. Fine.

If the previous example is still not enough to convince you, let Beomgyu demonstrate another instance:

“Game stream?” Soobin says, perking up. “Am I going to be playing with the fans, or?”

He’s sitting in one of those chairs with wheels, which in his convoluted logic means that for the past ten minutes he’s been getting on Beomgyu’s nerves by rolling closer until the tip of his shoes bump into Beomgyu’s, only to slide back when he gets visibly annoyed.

If they weren’t in a big meeting, full of people he’s not close with, Beomgyu would have already stepped on his toes three attempts before, but at least one of them has to behave as a grown-up.

Beomgyu has long since — precisely, six weeks after The Argument and one week after The Ambush when they started spending actual time together and he discovered that Soobin’s true personality was nothing but a giant loser and a crybaby, instead of the devil he has painted him as (he’s still not sure which option is worse) — lost his hope that Soobin is ever going to be that grown-up out of the two of them.

So, no. Beomgyu is going to wear his big boy’s pants, be a professional (Question Number Three of the Interview) and distract himself by thinking about that fat year-end bonus Jisoo has promised him–

Something bumps against his shoes again, and he jerks his head down only to see the retreating sneakers.

“Hm, we wanted to ask about your suggestions,” Choi Yena says, swiping a finger across the screen to scroll down.

On Choi Yena: they meet first during one of those mandatory team-bonding events, when someone jokes about having too many Chois in the company, and she 'accidentally’ trips them after.

Beomgyu is not particularly close to her, their interactions boiling down to exchange of nods and how’s it going when they meet in line for side dishes at lunch, but he respects her ability to predict future trends and what sells. Which makes sense, considering she’s the head of the content creation team.

In certain cases, BigHit’s Talent Recruitment team is excellent at its job, it seems.

Another bump.

Not always, though.

“We thought it might be more fun if we invite someone to join you in real life to get more interactions,” she continues. “And then you can match with the fans for some rounds.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Soobin hums, rolling away. Beomgyu wonders if anyone else in the room has noticed what he’s been doing, or if they are all simply chalking it up to Soobin being Soobin. “What am I playing? Some online games? I saw some interesting ones on my timeline.”

The staff suddenly gets secretive, whispering among themselves with poorly hidden grins, before one of them turns the laptop, showing the familiar logo.

Soobin visibly brightens. “LoL? We’re really playing League?”

He gets too excited, moving around, so his next bump is strong enough to make Beomgyu wobble on his chair.

“Soobin, stop that!” He hisses, fixing his balance.

If you remember, earlier in the story, Beomgyu has mentioned that the universe has something against him, you remember, yes?

So on that, right as the phrase leaves his lips, everyone — the traitors that they are — decide that it’s a good moment to stop talking, and his voice beautifully carries across the meeting room. All of the present people turn to look at him, and he flushes from the sudden attention.

“Oh, doesn’t Beomgyu-ssi also play? I remember you talking about it,” one of the younger interns says, and the gazes around him change immediately.

Et tu, Brute? Beomgyu remembers helping her when her banana pudding stuck halfway down in the vending machine. From now on, she’s going to be on her own.

Two of those gazes are more ardent than the others, making him shiver in his spot.

Another random fact about Choi Yena: she scares the living crap out of Beomgyu.

Okay, maybe he’s exaggerating for storytelling purposes, but there’s really something terrifying about this woman who doesn’t even reach up to his nose. She’s a corporate shark, sniffing even the smallest possibility to get viral like a drop of blood in the three-hundred-meter radius of open sea. Usually, she’s the mastermind behind Beomgyu mysteriously finding himself in front of cameras despite the fact that his job description did not contain that clause at all.

So that little thing he has mentioned before about her knowing what sells?

“Do you?” “You do?” Two voices sound at the same time.

Soobin speaks first, sounding offended. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Beomgyu opens his mouth to retort why would I when he rolls closer, crowding his space. “What rank are you?”

“This might be a good idea.” Choi Yena smiles, already writing down some things.

“I don’t think that anyone will be interested in me.” Beomgyu leans sideways to peek around the broad figure, and focuses on the greater of two evils. “I’m not even that good. I only play occasionally. ”

Which is not a lie. Technically.

Everything is relative in this world, so if you compare his statistics to the in-game time of professional players, Beomgyu doesn’t play a lot. Only two hours per night to maintain his rank.

“Wouldn’t it be better to contact someone from the professional players or another idol who plays?” He drops a suggestion, hoping to divert their attention. “You can get double the exposure from them both."

“Oh, don’t put yourself down,” Choi Yena waves her hand, scrolling down to the data.

She has one of those looks in her eyes, the kind when she gets an idea and you may take a bulldozer and bring it to the road she marches on to stop her, only for her to get into the driver’s seat and roll it on top of you, instead. Beomgyu gulps.

“In fact,” Her eyes glint. “In every poll we run, Soobin’s fanbase consistently asks us to film more challenges with you! People miss your face.” She smirks. “Manager Choi, you’re a top seller, you know?”

The second the words top seller leave her mouth, Beomgyu knows that his fate is sealed.

* * *

“Today we have a special guest,” Soobin smiles two days later. The staff claps and whoops, and someone pushes him in front of the camera. Beomgyu tries to resist, but his noodle arms are no match for the filming crew used to carrying equipment twice his weight.

Beomgyu gives up and drops into the second gaming chair, silently giving a thumbs-up. He wants to make it crystal clear that his participation has been nothing but a product of coercion. Soobin grabs the bottom of his seat and pulls it closer, until their faces are mashed together on the small monitor.

[beomokas] Manager Choi!!!!

[nihaomybin] Ahh, double visual kill

[beomterine] Our Soobin even has the most handsome manager.

[aertyunning] Manager Choi, when are you going to debut >~<

[alanaxgojo] Idols should be glad that he didn’t, isn’t he prettier than most of the entertainment industry!

“He is,” Soobin agrees, scrolling through the chatlog.

[gyufolks] Beomgyu looks like he’s being threatened to be there.

[gyozagyu] Manager Choi, blink twice if you need help.

Beomgyu blinks twice, and then some, hoping that by some heavenly stroke of luck their building will catch on fire.

Unfortunately, instead of the blaring of alarm, the only sounds in the room are still the pings of incoming messages and Soobin humming one of his songs.

“Today we’re going to be playing LoL,” he says. “Yeah, I posted on page.soobin that I’ve finally reached a master ranking, but because of you guys, I haven’t had much time to play, so I dropped back to Diamond.” He pouts, scrunching his nose and grinning. “I’m joking, of course, you all matter to me more.”

Beomgyu might have believed him if he didn’t personally witness his wailing and kicking his feet on the couch when his rank dropped during the comeback. His expression doesn’t even twitch as he says it, so maybe Beomgyu should start looking into getting him a minor role in a drama.

[staylonelys] Are you going to carry Manager Choi?

“Yup!” Soobin smiles. “Manager Choi said that he plays sometimes, so his rank is–” He looks at the account that Beomgyu has already logged into, and falls silent.

[greenspring_] …

[fluttersgyu] Is this what’s called playing sometimes? In that case, should I say that I never play?

[ghxst1ng_] lol did you see Soobin’s face

[coineater] (reply to ghxst1ng_) I take you for a brother, but you got rich behind my back without telling me!

[riwookrispkreme] (reply to coineater) Change brother for a wife and it will be accurate

“Well, perhaps Manager Choi will have to carry me.” Soobin shrugs, giving him another glance. Huh. Beomgyu expected betrayed glares or scathing remarks, but he’s behaving surprisingly well. Maybe his idol is finally growing up.

“You know me,” he continues, turning back towards the camera. “I like being led around and told what to do.”

Alright, yeah, nevermind. Beomgyu doesn’t look at the chat to see what kind of responses that gathers.

The queue pops, and Beomgyu moves his mouse to choose the role of Jungler, only for somebody to lock it in a second before him. He tsks, clicking Support instead, and Soobin doesn’t waste a second before selecting ADC.

“We’ll be playing bottom lane duo, then,” he says to the fans, like they don’t have their own functioning eyes and can’t see the screen for themselves.

Beomgyu clicks through the champions while waiting for everyone else to choose, hovering over a few before settling on one. “You’re playing Rakan?” Soobin says. “Nice! My Xayan is pretty good.”

A bit of lore about those two avatars: Xayan and Rakan were created as a paired duo and almost immediately became a fan-favourite, because their skills feed onto each other.

Choi Beomgyu is a man from Daegu, and that makes him a man of reason and logic, so he likes them because playing the two together gives you quite a few useful bonuses and amplification. The only reason why he doesn’t use them often, is because–

“Do you know they’re a favourite among couples? When you meet a Xayah and Rakan together online, don’t you immediately assume they’re dating?” Soobin asks the chat. “What do you think, Manager Choi?”

I usually cuss them out.

In Beomgyu’s extensive experience (two hours per night, fourteen per week, and he does not want to count how many it amounts to per month to not sound like a total nerd, because that role is for Soobin), there are two kinds of people who main Xayan-and-Rakan in bottom lane.

The first are e-daters who met on Discord approximately three days before, so their interactions are full of calling each other aegiyah in all-chat and sending cheesy emoticons while the rest of the team is actively losing.

The second one are long-term couples, who are marginally less nauseating right until one of them dies and they start arguing about whose fault it was, as everyone else is trying to contest Baron, and then one calls the other aegiyah and the argument runs its course.

(When it comes to couples in LoL, Beomgyu realises, it all boils down to calling someone aegiyah.)

It goes without saying that he dislikes both of them.

The secret third option are people like Beomgyu, who chose the champions for the actual in-game benefits, only to get accused of being e-daters by the enemy team when they start losing.

Okay, that is where his real distaste for Xayah-and-Rakan couples starts from.

When they first appeared, Beomgyu was excited to develop those champions, up till the moment he played and someone accused him of being in an online relationship. And listen, Beomgyu doesn’t think that there’s anything catastrophically wrong about being in an online relationship (that is, if your frontal lobe is still in the development stage), but an online relationship on Discord?

That’s the bridge he’s not willing to cross.

“Sometimes,” he only says, tapping his foot while they wait for the game to load.

Soobin hums, turning back to the tablet. “We’re going to look at some challenges while we wait, so send us stuff,” he tells the viewers. “I’ll just read random ones.”

[bamm_min] Can you recreate the in-game dialogues<3

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Soobin says immediately. “I actually got told once that I’d make a great voice actor.” More questions come in. “My dream character? You all know that I would love to be Satoru.”

Soobin launches into an explanation why exactly he’d be perfect for the role, complete with an attempted impression that sounds nothing like the character and only achieves the purpose of establishing himself as an even bigger loser, while Beomgyu lets his attention drift towards the moving chat.

[gyurangel_] Oh my god!! Soogyu as Xayan and Rakan?

[fortyonetwinks] hahaha @bamm_min I know what you’re doing

[soobriquet] when I think about it, aren't Xayan and Rakan’s phrases a little bit…

[taehyunqueef] (reply to soobriquet) I just thought the same thing

Beomgyu gets a faint sense of foreboding in his stomach.

He hasn’t played either champion enough to have their interactions memorised, and his style of playing is more action-based, so he often skims over dialogues. Sure, some of their lines can get a bit cheesy, but how bad can it possibly be?

(Spoiler from his future self: Very.)

For the first few minutes of their game, nothing exceptional happens.

Beomgyu buys his starting items, following Soobin towards the bottom lane, where the other man starts farming minions. He drops a few wards into the river, biting his tongue in place of swearing when Soobin suddenly gets too ambitious and nearly loses half of his health bar, trying to secure a kill.

Beomgyu hisses at him to recall, but he goes in anyway, and somehow (read, only by Beomgyu’s perfect abilities) they come out of the fight with first blood of the game. He’s still reeling from the unexpected burst of action, when the chat activates, flashing messages.

“Oh, you have a line,” Soobin tells him.

Beomgyu rolls his eyes. “I love watching you kill.” A little bit cheesy for his taste, but nothing catastrophic.

“And I love killing for you,” Soobin answers him immediately.

Beomgyu can bet that he’s having the time of his life right now. If Soobin didn’t become an idol, he would be one of those people attending conventions in full character costume, refusing to talk with you until you call them by their fictional name.

He starts reading automatically the next line, “Let’s–”

Beomgyu chokes on air, seeing the rest of the sentence.

Who the hell puts something like that in a video game!

Isn’t this the reason why those pesky e-daters are as gross as they are! Tonight he will send a complaint to the developers, cursing their five generations of bloodline.

“Let’s…” Soobin prompts him. Beomgyu looks at him and slowly shakes his head. No way in hell. “Look at the chat, they are all waiting for you to finish.”

Beomgyu’s eyes find Choi Yena in the back of the room, where she stands with a bright grin.

Maybe that random person at the team-bonding event was right about the amount of Chois in this company, because somehow the bearers of that surname keep occupying his highest positions on the list who make his life difficult.

Yeonjun hyung was not a contender until this morning, when he betrayed Beomgyu’s trust and his hiding spot in his dressing room’s closet to Soobin after he had gone there to bide his time with hopes of escaping the livestream.

Which was rather stingy and evil of him, if you ask Beomgyu. Never meet your heroes, as one says.

(Yeonjun hyung still only places third because he’s Beomgyu’s favourite artist, but the principle stands.)

Choi Yena mouths to him, Year-end bonus, and indicates an additional amount of zeroes on her fingers, and again Beomgyu loses to that simple human emotion called greed. He sighs.

“Let’s make–” he mumbles, swallowing the last word. The top of his ears burn.

“What?” Soobin leans closer. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“Choi Soobin, check your ears, then!” Beomgyu explodes, shaking him hard enough that maybe his brain will finally fall back into the right position. “Let’s make out! Do you hear it now! Let’s! Make! Out!”

“I heard you the first time.” He bursts out laughing, bending down to clutch his stomach from the hysterics that go through his body. The ugly sound doesn’t stop, until he rises back up, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. “Okay, I agree. Heol, you’re so aggressive, my shoulder hurts. It’s good that I’m into that.”

[ch33yan] Manager Choi’s red ears are so cute

[1hatefluttershy] I’m new here, is it normal?

[stars4sale] Oh my god, you’re in for a treat

To hell with it. Beomgyu wants to stand up, but his knees slam into the underside of the desk, and the impact sends him back on his ass in the seat. He’s too embarrassed to attempt it for the second time, so he sinks into the chair, pretending that he’s a rock with no senses of perception to comprehend anything around him.

A rock has no mouth, no eyes, no ears, and most importantly, no understanding of human language and no human shame. Being a rock is a peaceful affair, after all.

Soobin chats for a few more minutes with the fans, and then they begin new games, winning and losing some, and everything starts calming down, so he blames that for making him lower his guard and relax a little bit.

“We’ll finally start playing against you guys in those next matches. Hm, let’s make it more interesting, what should we do if we lose?”

Shouldn’t you ask what you should do if you win, Beomgyu grumples to himself.

The chat interface starts going off again.

Soobin leans closer to skim through the suggestions, until he stops on a certain line on the screen, grinning. “Ah, user @takeitinurheart says: Someone has to bridal-carry the other and do sit-ups. What do you think?” Soobin asks the chat. Beomgyu steps on his foot under the desk, to express his own opinion about the idea, but the older guy ignores it. “Everyone likes it? Let’s do it!”

Beomgyu cracks his knuckles together.

Okay, let it be. Most of the fans in Soobin’s fanbase are teenage girls, and the others are grandmothers, because somehow along his career Soobin became a poster boy for the perfect grandson. How hard can it be playing against some of them?

(Another spoiler from his future self: Very.)

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry us to win,” Beomgyu says, settling his hands over the keyboard.

Beomgyu will show him up, even if it’s the last thing he has to do in this lifetime.

* * *

DEFEAT.

Beomgyu stares unblinking at the letters that stay the same.

No, seriously, what the hell was that?

Is there a professional player’s trumpet account hiding among Soobin’s fans? A transmigrator with a golden finger? A hidden talent? LCK should contact them, and maybe they will finally start winning international competitions.

Perhaps they would have stood a chance, if his teammate didn't wake up with two left hands today. Beomgyu turns a searing glare to his side. Soobin, for someone who has just embarrassingly lost to his own teenage audience, doesn’t look particularly disappointed. In fact, the bastard is smiling smugly.

“Well, it’s time for the punishment!” He says, hopping out of his chair.

[showurwings] Someone tell Soobin to stop looking so giddy.

[beommybear] no, is this really a punishment if you’re acting all happy about it?

[bamyguu] Why do I have a feeling that it’s only one of them who is losing here

[femmehrj] why am I actually starting to feel bad for manager choi T_T

“Come here,” Soobin says. Beomgyu wants to ask why me? just to be difficult, but then he looks down at his twig arms and a giant standing next to him, and you know what? He has already experienced enough public humiliation today, there’s no reason to add to it.

“Just get it over with,” he huffs, crossing his arms.

The moment the words leave his mouth, the ground under him disappears, and Beomgyu holds out his arms to stop himself from falling. He refuses to look at the camera, wanting to get it over with as quickly and unscathed as possible. Maybe it’s not as catastrophic as he thought.

Beomgyu may have forgotten that the idol he’s managing is Choi Soobin.

“Doesn’t he look like my bride?” he says. He swings him from side to side, twirling around, and Beomgyu yelps, grabbing Soobin’s neck to steady himself, which only encourages him farther. Soobin readjusts his hold, shifting him higher against his chest as he gets into position for the squats.

Which would be alright, except,

“Soobin, you’re not touching my back,” Beomgyu seethes through his teeth, turning away his head so that the cameras don’t capture his words. “Get your hand off my ass.” Soobin pretends like he doesn’t hear him, jostling him again, when he bends to start doing sit-ups.

The staff are already half-rolling on the floor from the absurdity of the situation, and then, as if the events taking place were not enough for his public online execution, someone plays a wedding march from their phone.

Beomgyu twists his head to see who it is to add them to his personal blacklist, and he’s not surprised when he meets a pair of sly eyes.

Next time they meet near the banchan section, Beomgyu is going to walk past and ignore her.

The messages in the chatlog start coming at the speed that makes it impossible to read anything, a blur of emoticons and red hearts.

This is never going to be erased from the Internet, Beomgyu thinks and covers his face with both palms, internally screaming.

* * *

The video gets millions of views.

Of course, it does. Nothing sells better on the Internet than two attractive men being all up in each other’s personal space and public humiliation, and guess what?

Damn Choi Yena hits the jackpot, because theirs has both.

Someone sends the post to their corporate group chat and everyone congratulates Beomgyu on getting viral. He mutes the conversation, releasing a sigh of relief, and then his eomma sends a remix of Let’s! Make! Out! (EDM-version) in their family group.

Beomgyu turns off his phone completely, and opens his computer to check how much the tickets to North Korea cost. They don’t really have the Internet there, right?

* * *

(His next addition finally happens in a car.)

This job has proven to be significantly more emotionally taxing than I originally anticipated. Over the course of my employment, my mental health has been subjected to the entirely unnecessary up-and-downs, while my stress levels have reached heights that cannot be possibly considered normal for a twenty-three-year-old man, and I have begun to suspect that prolonged exposure to those factors may very well be shortening my lifespan–

(“I can’t believe you failed your driving test,” Soobin says from the backseat next to him. “I was looking forward to you taking me places.”

The only good thing to come out of the entire livestream affair is that Beomgyu’s year-end bonus was generous enough for him not to worry about the taxi fares for the next year at least.)

Case IV: Breach of Conduct

Yah! What an insane bastard! you may think, and you will be absolutely correct. Thankfully, you’re starting to see the reason behind Beomgyu’s initial accusations of revenge.

Shameless. That’s the only thing that comes to mind when he thinks of Soobin.

About the word itself: in English, shameless is quite a straightforward one. Two syllables and six sounds. The first part is a base that is the distant cousin of guilt, and a small suffix, which turns the meaning on its head.

In Korean, it’s a little bit more complicated, as most of the things tend to be.

The main component comes from the characters yeom, carrying the sense of upholding some standards, and chi — the feeling that is supposed to follow when you fail to do so. Together, it’s yeomchi: that very same thing inside each one of us that makes you stop for a second and think, Huh, maybe I shouldn’t do that.

And then, there’s eopda. To not have. Put them side by side, and you get yeomchi-eopda, or to exist without a sense of propriety.

Composition of words is an interesting thing.

Beomgyu prefers the Korean version (and not only because it’s his mother tongue) because this tiny part -less in English presupposes the existence of something that can be, well, lesser in the first place. Something that you dig away from for a hole to form.

Korean is more complicated, but also simpler at the same time because it talks of an absence. Eopda. To not be from the beginning.

Beomgyu thinks that Choi Soobin– Oh, it’s been eight paragraphs of his ramblings, we’ll return to this later. To go back to the original train of thought,

Okay, Soobin is shameless, we got it, but surely after being humiliated on such a scale — in this case, the scale Beomgyu’s talking about is him being recognised by people on the street because of the Let’s!Make!Out! (Edm-version) remix — there cannot be anything worse?

If you happen to find yourself in the last circle of hell, at least there is no other level to descend to. That’s right — but, there’s always a Lucifer in the frozen lake.

Who, he finds out, is a Choi Soobin, or specifically this new version of him that emerges after The Grand Seoul disaster (name he invents in the shower) and his unsuccessful transfer to another artist.

Touching the back of Beomgyu’s waist or putting his head over his shoulder becomes a normal occurrence in the days that follow.

It would be one thing if Soobin did it somewhere behind the camera, where he could shove him away, but the bastard has learned his ways and figured out that Beomgyu is significantly less likely to elbow him in the ribs when the camera crew is following them, or worst of all, in the middle of another livestream.

At a certain point, he completely forgets about their surroundings, bringing up allusions of the S-word in the most unconventional setting.

Setting, being the busy set of the television programme, which Soobin got invited to participate in. Except for the episodes of time when he has to film, Soobin has been trailing after him, clinging to his arm and trying everything to get his attention.

“Beomgyu-yah–”

“It’s Manager Choi or Beomgyu-ssi,” he interrupts. He’s been trying to tell him to act professional at least during the time when they are surrounded by other people.

“Okay,” Soobin nods. “So the next time we sleep together, do I have to say, Manager Choi, can you please suck my dick-”

“Choi Soobin!” Beomgyu hisses, covering his mouth with both palms and looking around to see if someone heard them. A make up artist a few metres away gives them an odd look, but most of them are used to Beomgyu’s and Soobin’s antics. “Are you an idol or am I? Why the hell don’t you care about your reputation?”

Just utterly shameless, as he said,

“And how many times do I have to say, that was a one-time thing. We made a mistake and I’m telling you, it’s never going to happen ever again!” he continues.

* * *

Beomgyu finds himself in Soobin’s bed three — three and a half, let’s not forget the half because three actually sounds pathetic even to himself — hours later.

Listen, before anyone says anything, Beomgyu wants to clarify that it happens against his wishes and common sense.

He keeps his composure and survives the rest of the filming without incident, until he drives him back home, but then Soobin looks extra handsome when he turns to say goodbye to him, and then Soobin kisses him — and the rest you can imagine for yourself, because the rating of this story is not explicit.

“Okay, this is the last time,” Beomgyu huffs, half-buried in his duvet.

“Choi Beomgyu, why are you so shameless?” Soobin hums, drawing a pattern on his back. The places where his fingertip glides leave a warm tingle on his skin.

Beomgyu gawks at Soobin being the one to tell him something about shame of all things, until, “You were the one who kissed me again, and now you’re discarding me.” His finger comes to a stop at the base of his spine. “Am I not a person with feelings?”

Right.

Okay, you caught him!

Maybe, if we go by technicality, Beomgyu was the one to initially breach that small gap between their lips, but– But! Soobin was the one to look at him in the low lights of the car, all handsome with the remnants of leftover makeup from the filming and speaking in that stupidly lowered tone of his that Beomgyu has recently begun associating with… You know, with an S-word.

Yeah. And if you want to start pointing fingers based on technicality and chain of events, it’s actually Soobin’s fault for starting this mess in the first place.

So, to finally tell you about The Event Horizon, The Great Fall, The Great Professional Miscal–

(The setting fades to black.)

“What the hell,” Beomgyu mutters, blindly searching for his phone in the darkness.

It’s two a.m. which is exactly five hours too early, to be waking up from the onslaught of notifications that light up the device like a Christmas garland.

When he squints his eyes at the screen and sees the collection of missed calls from Soobin, his first thought is that he’s having another one of his nightmares.

Soobin is a recurring protagonist of his dreams, and most of them end with him doing something so profoundly irritating that Beomgyu wakes up with the beginning of a headache, while others are of the more… How should he put it, precarious character.

Beomgyu entirely blames those ones on his self-imposed celibacy, explained by a few factors.

The first one being, is that looking after an adult-sized toddler idol is apparently more exhausting than trying to wrangle a herd of cattle. By the time, he ends up in his bed, drained out of life after showering and hours of League to maintain his points, finding someone to be sharing that very same bed with ranks significantly lower than his beauty sleep.

The latter reason he blames on the presence of that pesky human being, named Choi Soobin.

It’s a simple fact that Soobin is a good-looking man, so it’s only natural that Beomgyu, who is attracted to men, would find him — you guessed it — attractive.

(Freudian law, or whatever Taehyun was telling him about during their lunch break. For God’s sake, half of Korea finds Soobin attractive, if his consistently high ranking among young gay men is anything to go by. It’s truly not Beomgyu's fault for having eyes.)

Unfortunately for him, constantly orbiting the man who is labelled Sexiest by more magazines than Beomgyu cares to remember (because there’s just too many of them), has an additional side effect of making other men around him decidedly — you guessed it — not as attractive.

Cue the onslaught of unsuccessful blind dates that fail due to his lack of physical chemistry or end up being ruined anyway because of his work schedule or some ridiculous emergency. (See Case II on this list.)

So, to be woken up on a Thursday night, groggy and irritated (read, unsatisfied), Beomgyu is already not having the time of his life.

Especially when he sees a ton of mistyped messages of can you please pick me up and I don’t feel so well.

Earlier in the evening, Beomgyu had known that the night may end up like that when Soobin told him about his outing with his idol friends. He also remembers specifically telling him not to drink much and that he was not going to pick him up under any circumstances, but when did Soobin listen to him, right?

Maybe it’s partly his own fault, for always giving in to his wishes. They say it takes two people to raise a spoiled kid — a parent and a child. So trying to put down his foot this time, he replies: Get a taxi or ask one of your friends. I’m not coming.

But all of them are drinking, what if we get stopped by the police and get taken to the station. And, I think I saw some photographers lurking around:(

Little shit knows what buttons to push.

Beomgyu turns to scream into his pillow, opens a half-finished draft of the resignation letter that has three paragraphs written, then his bank account, sighs and untangles himself from the comfort of his own warm bedsheets.

It takes him fifteen minutes, full of grumbling and reconsideration of his life choices, to get to the pin location that is the last message in their chat.

The only positive thing is that Beomgyu has finally gotten his license and was given a company car, so the whole picking up affair is much smoother than if he had to stuff Soobin into the backseat of the taxi, while making sure that his face wouldn’t appear in gossip columns the next day.

When he arrives at the outside parking lot, Beomgyu texts Soobin to come out, but his message stays undelivered.

He gives himself five minutes of waiting, and then five minutes after his original five minutes, Beomgyu accepts his fate and turns off the engine. At that point of night, the restaurant is mostly empty, so he simply follows the booming laughter coming from one of the private sections until he slides the paper partition.

Someone spots him before he can properly reach the table.

“Ah, Manager Choi!” Seungkwan says, waving. “You’re here.”

Boo Seungkwan is one of the idols Beomgyu has interacted with the most during the backstage music and award shows, due to the simple fact that Soobin is close to him.

Between the two of them, they developed somewhat of an acquaintance-ship — the kind you stumble into when your friend gets a new friend and introduces you, so you’re forced to awkwardly shake each other’s hands, playing house. After a few of those instances, they find a common language in the art of making fun of Soobin.

“You look as beautiful as always, Beomgyu-ssi.” He grins.

Ah, and this. One day when he opens the door for him Seungkwan says a flirty remark, and Beomgyu playfully swats at him, and then they just… continue.

It’s pretty obvious to everyone involved that it’s nothing more than a joke, with the exception of one Choi Soobin, who gets visibly agitated every time, but to his dismay (see above) they have a shared hobby of making his life miserable.

Beomgyu glances down at his ratty pyjamas and home slippers that he forgot to change in his haste to get there before someone took an unruly picture, and applauds him for knowing how to work an audience.

“Smooth, Seungkwan-ssi, but thank you,” Beomgyu says, scanning the faces around the table, until he finds a familiar head. Head, he says, because the only visible part is the crown of dark hair, from where Soobin is slouched in the corner, snoring on the table. “I came to pick up our Soobin, so if you don’t mind, we’ll be going.”

Beomgyu thinks about the logistics of wrangling the body of someone who weighs more than you do, when he hears, “Please, sit with us for a bit. We always ask that rascal to bring you too, but he keeps you all to himself.”

“Oh, I think we have to–”

“No, I insist! Just stay for one round of drinks.”

“But I’m driving–”

“It’s okay, we’ll pour you water.”

“But–”

“Sit down,” Seungkwan smiles.

“Okay,” Beomgyu gives in.

Here goes his five– Oh, already four hours of sleep.

He hopes they at least possess enough grace and kindness to seat him somewhere away from Soobin, but an idol, whose face but not the name Beomgyu knows, gives him a polite smile, scooching away to leave a vacant space next to his source of headache, so Beomgyu has no choice but to accept his fate and plop down between them.

It doesn’t even take him a few seconds of sitting, when Soobin’s nose twitches and he opens his eyes, blinking the sleep and exhaustion away from them. “Beomgyu?”

“He’s been asking for you for the last forty minutes,” someone quips from the other side of the table, pouring him a glass. “We tried getting him a taxi, but he refused to leave with one of us.”

Beomgyu thanks them, taking a sip, before turning his attention back. “How many did you drink?”

Soobin considers the question seriously, and holds up three of his fingers, then thinks again and lifts one more. Beomgyu keeps looking at him, silent, and he winces, putting two more fingers up.

“Okay, no more alcohol, water it is,” Beomgyu says, grabbing an empty glass and filling it.

Soobin scrunches his nose, like the liquid sloshing inside is something disgusting, and not a thing that basically has no taste nor smell. What a crybaby. “Can you give me a kiss if I drink that?”

Beomgyu ignores his babble, pushing a glass towards him, Soobin nudges it back, so that it spills over the rim, leaving a circle on the tabletop. “I don’t want it.”

God, give him strength.

“Well, you don’t have a choice,” Beomgyu grits through his teeth. “You have to drink it, or I’m leaving, and you’ll be on your own.”

Soobin doesn’t look happy with the ultimatum.

“Then give me your glass,” he says, finally. Beomgyu doesn’t know what difference it makes, but if it makes him drink some water, so be it. He slides his cup and Soobin turns it, bringing it to his face.

“Oh, that’s–” the side I drank from, Beomgyu wants to say.

There’s still a trace in the shape of his mouth left on the rim, that half-moon of chapstick he put because the thin skin there started flaking, which Soobin rests his own lips against. His throat works to gulp down the water, maintaining their eye contact, until there’s nothing left. A drop slides down the side of his chin. Beomgyu feels a little bit hot under his collar.

“Manager Choi-ssi– Sorry, what year were you born?” Beomgyu turns to the sound, thankful for the distraction.

“Ah, I’m 2001,” he replies, playing with a thread on his pants to busy his fingers with something.

“Oh, you’re younger than I thought. I don’t know why, maybe because I’ve only ever seen you in a work setting.” Seungkwan laughs. “I think we’ve known each other for a while now. Do you mind if I call you Beomgyu-yah? You can call me hyung.”

“If you want.” He shrugs. Seungkwan pours him another glass of water, because his own is still being held hostage. “Thank you, hyung.”

He feels an intense stare burning into the side of his face, so sharp it almost turns into the physical touch in the shape of fingers. Beomgyu still feels a little bit unsettled from the earlier interaction, so he pretends not to sense it. There are fingers tapping his leg, and he brings a glass to take a sip, choking on it, when a palm squeezes his upper thigh.

“Choi Soobin!” he hisses, turning to him. “Watch your hands!”

“Why do you never call me hyung?” He pouts.

Beomgyu rubs the bridge of his nose. “Because you don’t behave like a hyung.”

“That’s so not true,” he mumbles, sulking. “I’m very mature.”

Just yesterday Soobin cried because his timeline showed him a panel of Gojo dying again. Beomgyu knows this because he was an unlucky soul whose shoulder was being used for soaking up tears and snot between the takes of the music video.

“So mature,” Beomgyu hums, too tired to argue with a drunk person.

Thankfully, his sarcasm goes over Soobin’s inebriated mind, because he smiles with his silly pleased grin and nods at him.

Beomgyu loses a track of the conversation, trying to think of the moment to politely bid their goodbyes and leave, when the mention of his name catches his attention.

“Manager Choi, have you really never considered the entertainment industry?” Cube’s idol asks, curious.

If he’s being honest, Beomgyu has never been good with names, and working in the industry where new faces seem to appear on the never-ending conveyor belt certainly doesn’t make it any easier. As a result, he knows most of the people gathered here less by their names and more by the agencies they belong to.

“I prefer being behind the camera,” he answers. Preferably, very far away from it. Meaning, somewhere, where he won’t be captured to be able to make any musical covers with his phrases.

“Would anyone look at you, if he debuted.” Someone else laughs. If he’s not mistaken, that one is from KQ. “It only fits Soobin because he’s on the same scale of appearance. I’m grateful that my manager does not look like that, or I’d become a background character in my own airport pictures.”

“My manager only scolds me for eating at night or playing games.” SM Entertainment? “I wish I had a Manager Choi.”

“And you have a very nice voice.”

…The conversation is becoming increasingly more bizarre.

“Yes, Manager Choi, do you know that you took first place in the Dream Manager survey in our KakaoTalk group,” the person next to the previous speaker says.

Beomgyu has been blissfully unaware that a thing like that even existed, moreover the fact that he had somehow managed to win it.

“Wah, Soobin-ah, you are one lucky bastard,” Seungkwan finishes. “I think I wouldn’t even mind listening to scolding if it came from the face like that.”

The table ahs in agreement.

“Well, he’s mine.” Soobin puts both of his palms over Beomgyu’s face. His manager, he mutters but it gets lost in the warmth of his skin. “So, stop leering at him. What’s up with all of you? Why are you all behaving like hungry wolves?”

They laugh at his disgruntled appearance, cooing, and Seungkwan pokes his cheek from across the table, which Soobin swats. Beomgyu finally pries his hand away from his face, but it only lowers enough to rest over his shoulder.

Soobin starts shifting beside him, fidgeting in place. He tries to ignore it, but at a certain point Beomgyu's ribs hurt from his elbows. “Do you want more water or?”

“I need to go to the bathroom.” Soobin looks at him, and Beomgyu lifts one brow.

“Okay?” he trails off, confused. “Do you need me to hold your dick while you pee or something? It wasn’t in the contract.”

Soobin gives him the stink eye — the audacity! as if he was the one who was forced to wake up at an ungodly hour to be a personal chauffeur — and saunters off in the direction of a restroom, nearly knocking a potted plant in the process.

Beomgyu taps his foot. It’s been fifteen minutes since he disappeared.

There could be many possibilities from Soobin throwing up to Soobin falling asleep, hugging one of the toilets (hopefully, not the one he would throw up in, but you never know with him).

When the image of Soobin in one of the cubicles first appears in his head, Beomgyu thinks that it suits him right for making him come all the way, until he has a following vision of someone taking a picture of it and uploading it online, where it gathers a lot of likes and attention.

“I’ll go check up on him,” he says, rising from the table.

Someone waves in the direction of it, and Beomgyu finds the sign on his second try. His navigation skills have long since gotten better, when he had to get used to the chaos of backstage and recording studios. He’s about to step into the hallway, leading to the restrooms, when someone collides with him.

“Oh, it’s you, Manager Choi!” Pledis, he thinks. “I saw Soobin in the bathroom.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m jealous, your bare face looks better than mine after make-up,” the man says, offering his hand for a handshake. Beomgyu takes it, trying to peek above his shoulder to check for another presence. “You know, you’re very popular among idols. You’re very pretty, you could be one if you wanted.”

“Thank you, but you’re exaggerating.” Beomgyu smiles politely. He remembers seeing him in passing at some music shows, but nothing more than that. “The ones who are idols are all of you, for a reason."

”Say, what do you think about dating one?” he says suddenly, moving closer.

“Oh, ah–” he blanches.

He still hasn't let go of his hand, and Beomgyu is debating whether it’s appropriate to forcefully shake it off, when another palm wraps around his upper arm, gently tugging him back.

“I’m sorry, but right now he’s too busy managing my affairs to have any personal time for dating,” Soobin says with exaggerated sadness.

“This sounds like a violation of labour laws,” the idol laughs, backing off. “Well, Manager Choi, if you ever decide to change companies, give ours some thought.” He winks before walking back to the table.

“So annoying,” Soobin tsks, grabbing his hand to pull him behind. “We’re going home!” Finally.

They barely make it two steps in the direction of the entrance before he spins around, poking his chest with his finger. “Yah, Choi Beomgyu! Can you stop seducing everyone around you? You’re so disloyal.”

Beomgyu sputters, speechless.

This is what I get for trying to do good deeds, he seethes. Next time I’ll block your number, just you wait.

The whole ride home Soobin is curled against the window, sulking. He looks just like his little pet, when it’s Beomgyu who comes to feed him and not the other man, busy with late recording.

They have a complicated relationship with that hedgehog, but at least Odi tolerates his company. He knows that because he once peed on Yeonjun, while the maximum wrath Beomgyu received was an angry hiss after he scared him when turning on lights.

The familiar outline of the building complex appears.

“Okay, we’re here,” Beomgyu sighs, rubbing his neck. “Off you go, shoo. I’ll order you a hangover soup for tomorrow. Don’t forget about the schedule.”

When he turns to the side, Soobin is looking at him with wounded eyes, and Beomgyu recalls if he managed to do anything in those twenty minutes of silence. Unless he suddenly developed an ability to read minds during the ride and heard the comparison to his pet, he comes up empty. And even in that case, Beomgyu doubts that he would mind it — Soobin loves Odi too much. He would say some cheesy remark that of course, children should resemble their parents. He’s pretty sure he already said something similar.

Again, Beomgyu remembers what a giant loser he is.

“Why are you always so nice to others?” Beomgyu gives him a glance, confused about what he’s talking about. On the way back, he thought Soobin was sobering up, but maybe he was mistaken. “You kept smiling at him the whole time, did you really want to date him?”

Ah, that. He has already forgotten about it.

“What are you talking about? He was clearly joking.” he snorts. “And why would I be mean to people without reason, wouldn’t that make me a psychopath?”

“You were to me,” Soobin says. “That day we met.”

“There was one.” A reason, he means. Beomgyu sinks deeper into the car seat, accepting that Soobin is in his chatter-box stage of the night. At least, there wasn’t anything to do in the morning.

“Not really. I feel wronged, it was a misunderstanding.”

“Consider yourself special, then," he says. They look at each other.

“I know that you’re joking.” When Soobin smiles, the corners of his top and bottom lashes come together in a kiss. That is to say Soobin has pretty eyes. “Ah, but for some reason hearing that makes me feel better.” He tilts his head. “Thank you.”

Thank you. What a strange thing to say.

But it doesn’t feel so strange in their car. Maybe because it’s the time of the night when you can say anything and it will sound right. Beomgyu looks up, only to find Soobin already looking at him.

“Hmm, he did say one thing right. You have a pretty face. The prettiest I’ve ever seen.” He mumbles, thoughtful. His eyes go through Beomgyu’s features, before cupping his cheek and tilting his head back to illuminate it better. He lets him. “Imagine if you went to be an idol and we debuted in the same group.”

“I would quit the company with a leader like you,” Beomgyu bites back, partly to bring them to the stable ground, when he feels that the soil under him is getting shaky. Soobin doesn’t respond to him, continuing to scan his face, like he didn't hear.

Maybe he didn’t, his eyes are glazed over. Maybe he’s drunker than Beomgyu had initially thought.

“But I wouldn’t want that, because then I’d have to share you with more people and now you’re mine,” he whispers.

The answer comes out automatically. “Your manager.” Beomgyu doesn’t know why he always finds it important to add that part, or to whom he’s reminding it to.

“Mhm, so you should manage everything about me.” Soobin takes one of his hands from his lap, bringing it to his mouth to leave a butterfly of a kiss on his knuckles. He puts that same hand behind his own neck, squeezing. “Choi Beomgyu, shouldn’t you be attentive to all my needs as well.”

Maybe it is another one of his dreams, some of them start like that.

Beomgyu pinches himself on the soft skin of his thigh through the cotton, blinking back when the interior of the car does not disintegrate into the warm hues of his bedroom. The hand is still hot against his cheek, and Soobin’s hair is soft at the place where his neck meets the shoulder.

He worries the sensitive skin of his lip with his teeth. Soobin eyes trace the movement, before his thumb pulls down at it, soft flesh giving way with the wet pop.

“Stop biting,” he chides. “You’re going to leave a sore.” The pad of his finger rests at the edge of his mouth, close enough for the tip of his tongue to feel its presence.

He doesn’t know when they drifted together, if it was Soobin who moved close, or Beomgyu who pulled him in.

“Choi Soobin–”

“Can you call me hyung?” He presses with his thumb up and down on his bottom lip. The tip of his nail scratches on Beomgyu’s canine. Soobin looks more out of himself than when he was drinking. “Call me Soobin hyung.”

It’s silent in a car, except for the sound of their breathing.

“Soobin hyung.” Beomgyu blushes.

“Yeah, thank you.” Another thank you. Soobin tilts his head, until their foreheads brush together.

It’s interesting to observe someone you have spent a long time looking at from an angle you’ve never seen before.

It takes the ordinary, and magnifies it until you find that extra part in the planes of their face. There’s a freckle on the bottom of his cheek. Maybe it was hidden under make-up before because it’s the first time he notices it.

Beomgyu half-expects him to close his eyes, but when he lifts his gaze back, Soobin’s eyes are wide open, hungrily tracing over his face. He wonders if he’s also discovering something new in him at that moment.

(So, now. Remember that thing that Beomgyu mentioned in the beginning of Case 4, when he went on that whole tangent, about the lessening of the word in English and that part about yeom and chi, and them coming together in the feeling of Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this?

To finish his thought: Beomgyu thinks that Choi Soobin suits Korean far better, because he has always been committed only to the -eopda part. To not have shame from the beginning.)

“Imagine–” he exhales, immediately gasping for air. Beomgyu understands him because it feels like he’s going to suffocate. “Beomgyu-yah, imagine if I go to hook up with someone else and get photographed. It would ruin my career, yeah? Shouldn't you, as a manager, prevent situations like that?”

When he puts it like that, there is some logic to it.

Logic, Beomgyu argues, is the only reason he ends up closing that gap between them right then and there, with fingers in his hair and taste of soju on his tongue, and it is precisely that same logic that, later in the night, leads one thing into another, as an action logically needs to have a continuation of it.

The first law of Newton says that the body in motion stays in motion, unless acted upon by a force to stop it.

Beomgyu and Soobin are two bodies, tearing at each other’s seams, two forces, colliding and collapsing, and unfortunately for them there’s not a single external one that day that could put a stop to it.

And there it is. The infamous Beginning of The End.

(That’s the first ever name he comes up with sometime later that night in bed as the consequences slowly begin to catch up.)

If you expected something extraordinary, he’s sorry for raising your expectations too high, but that’s life.

Because at the end most of the complicated things have a simple root of them, and Beomgyu and Soobin are just two simple people — even though his idol’s fans would object to him being anything simple — at the age where every minor inconvenience can amount to the biggest tragedy in this world. So, for Beomgyu it is.

It’s his Lucifer in the frozen lake. The absolute bottom of hell.

Isn’t he a little dramatic, you’re thinking. (The answer is yes, but aren’t you used to it by now?)

They are grown consenting adults.

Who didn’t have a couple of frisky entanglements in their mid-twenties?

The common protocol is to have an awkward morning, while a) exchanging civil pleasantries that ring slightly false, because there's always something ridiculous about being polite to a person who learned the canvas of the body the night before; and b) gathering your clothes and finally leaving, putting everything behind. Better yet, if the opposite party remains asleep through the entire process, allowing you to skip that dreaded a) and immediately jump to b).

The first thing that goes wrong is that Soobin has the photoshoot in the afternoon, which Beomgyu has to drive him to, so instead of tucking his tail between his legs and bolting back to his own place to process everything, he has to take a shower and steal clothes two sizes larger than anything he normally wears.

He gives himself additional ten minutes of nervous pacing and panicking, before going to wake up the culprit behind the series of those unfortunate events.

He drank so much yesterday, Beomgyu reasons with himself. There is still hope. Maybe by some miraculous stroke of fate he has erased everything that took place last night.

It’s only logical.

Beomgyu may be a man of logic, but he’s certainly not one of luck.

Soobin opens his eyes and asks for a morning kiss, and Beomgyu slams a pillow in his face.

Another thing deviating from the protocol: someone forgot to give Soobin the memo of how it should be, because instead of treating their one-time and accidental encounter for what it is — that is, one-time and accidental — he keeps following him like a lost puppy, driving him insane.

All days long it’s just Choi Beomgyu, Beomgyu, Beomgyu-yah, Beomie again, and again, and-

“Choi Beomgyu, are you not paying attention to me?” Soobin whines in the present time. “Who are you thinking about?”

Warm palms slide around his waist, bringing him in the tight embrace. He presses a kiss to his shoulder, lips moving up until they stop under his jaw, sucking on the skin there until it tingles. He makes a metal note to check for any visible marks tomorrow morning. “Let’s go for a second round?”

Beomgyu lets himself fall into the pillow and screams, hoping that he suffocates on the expensive feather that is worth more than his weekly pay. He knows because he was the one to buy them, just like fifty percent of things in Soobin’s apartment. So much for The Point of No Return.

They end up doing it three more times before the night is over.

* * *

Furthermore, I am experiencing a level of physical exhaustion that was neither stated nor reasonably implied anywhere in my employment contract.

(Beomgyu rubs at his lower back. Soobin is the one behind the wheel — something he deeply regretted approximately five minutes after they started driving, because somehow he managed to immediately run two red lights and nearly hit a pedestrian. Normally, Beomgyu would never willingly entrust his life to him, but this morning he couldn’t even sit down without an ache.

“Are you still uncomfortable?” Soobin asks with concern, glancing at him, and their car careens to the left, edging the oncoming lane.

“Look at the road!” Beomgyu screams.)

…This position has also begun to pose a direct and increasingly frequent threat to my personal safety and well-being.

Case V: Inappropriate Personal Attachment

Beomgyu wants to tell you that it’s the last time they get involved like that, but unfortunately he can’t.

He could, if what he was trying to do is to build a faux narrative, unconditionally supporting his claims, but that’s not what this presentation of cases is for. As we said, Choi Beomgyu is a man of reason and logic, so the examples he demonstrates are a result of objective and unbiased collection of data.

After what Beomgyu crowns in his head The Lesser Disaster of Seoul, they fall into a strange sort of limbo, where Soobin spends most of the time figuring out which buttons of Beomgyu’s he can push without being pushed back.

It reminds him of that stupid crocodile game that Soobin played once on his live, where you press plastic teeth, until the wrong movement inevitably sends the jaws snapping around your fingers.

Soobin had yet to touch the piece that triggers the mechanism. Or–

The unfortunate reality is that it’s Beomgyu who’s letting him press them down one by one into his gums, only to find out that the mouth is empty and the wrong tooth was just a hoax from the beginning.

So he begrudgingly accepts his own fate, that is being kissed and touched by Soobin whenever the opportunity presents itself.

Oh no, my hot and talented idol keeps kissing me. What a woe.

Beomgyu knows how it sounds, alright? You’re probably cursing him out in your heads already. And yeah, he understands that this acts like a considerably weaker evidence for the Revenge Theory than some of the cases presented before you, but it simply requires an additional context of– Maybe it’s easier to just show you:

The couch dips under the weight next to him, startling him back into reality. He blinks. The clock tells him that it’s been half an hour since the moment he started feeling his eyes getting heavy.

“What–” Beomgyu yawns. “Are you done with the filming?”

“No, they need to change the set. I have a ten-minute break.”

Beogyu is still stumbling on the edge of the dream, in that hazy place, where a wrong misstep can send you falling back into it, so it takes him longer than usual to process his surroundings, and by the time he does, Soobin’s head is already resting on his shoulder.

His body always runs a little colder after waking up from a nap, so the addition of a human warmth pressed against his side, doesn’t help to ignite his brain into working properly. At least, that's how he justifies it to himself, because anything has a place to be if he makes sense of it. A man of reason, remember?

Recently Soobin has found a loophole that when it comes to Beomgyu it’s easier to ask for forgiveness rather than permission, which amplified his already shameless behaviour (the yeomchi-eopda that he told you about) to another level.

So it doesn’t surprise Beomgyu when after a few minutes of peaceful silence, Soobin lifts himself up from his shoulder, leaning to him, “Let me kiss you?”

“You’re going to smudge your makeup,” Beomgyu says, putting his palm over Soobin’s lips.

“I’m sorry, who told you to look this pretty?”

Instead of moving away, Soobin tilts forward, pressing closer. Beomgyu notes that their mouths would be touching already if there wasn’t a layer of his hand between them. They stay in place, breathing each other in. It feels more intimate than kissing.

“They are going to reapply it before the next scene, it’s okay,” he says. Beomgyu hesitates, and Soobin sees it.

“Just one kiss.” And then he waits.

Beomgyu finds it interesting that Soobin, as someone who spends so much of his life prodding and pushing (the unstoppable force that he is), always leaves that final sliver of distance untouched until Beomgyu comes to him, denying him the pretense of being an immovable object.

It’s smart of him. It proves to them both something that they already know between each other, even if Beomgyu is too scared to name it.

“Please?”

He sounds so sincere that Beomgyu slips his fingers into his hair, pulling him closer to leave a chaste kiss on his lips before drawing back.

“Here it is,” he whispers.

“That’s not how you kiss someone,” he says, before tugging him forward. “Let hyung show you.”

Soobin tilts his head, bringing their mouths back together — and oh, Beomgyu understands what he means.

The kiss is enough to make goosebumps race up his arms despite the sudden heat blooming under his skin. Soobin licks into his mouth, with none of the restraint from before, like that first touch of their lips has broken an invisible seal, working his tongue along his teeth and gums like he’s trying to eat him alive, like Beomgyu is the rarest delicacy and he can’t get enough.

His head is gradually getting stuffed with cotton, everything around him turning into a haze. When Soobin pulls, Beomgyu follows, laying his weight on him. He presses his hands on his waist, grounding them against each other, before slipping his hand lower, tugging his thigh open, so that he can straddle his lap and–

Bang!

The door slams open, and Beomgyu scrambles to push himself away, missing the edge of the couch and landing flat on his back on the floor. He breathes hard, trying to make sense of the ceiling that is suddenly above him.

What the hell.

“Today we’re surprising Soobinie at his filming!” Yeonjun’s voice booms from the hallway. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Beomgyu is going to unsubscribe from being his monthly listener. “He doesn’t know that we’re coming with you, guys, on live.”

Beomgyu thanks everything on this earth that the door opens to the opposite wall, leaving the couch hidden from when you just enter the space. Not like the practice room, where you can see everything from the moment you open the door.

The practice room is what comes to his mind, because it’s one of Soobin’s favourite locations for the impromptu make-out sessions. After everyone has left and in the blind zone of the camera, of course. (He says that he likes the lighting, but Beomgyu honestly suspects that he’s just getting off seeing his own reflection.)

Well, not anymore, there’s no way Beomgyu is doing anything like that at work after today. He’s still trying to wrangle his breathing from the sudden fright.

“Yah, Choi Soobin, why are you glaring at me like that? I came all the way here to support you.” He tsks towards the phone. “That punk.”

“Some guests are not welcomed.”

Yeonjun continues babbling to the live about the decreasing values of dongsaengs, until he finally processes their state, that is Soobin in the unnatural position on the couch and Beomgyu sprawled across the floor, and his eyebrows fly up.

“Why are you so red?” Yeonjun asks, confused.

“I was doing some exercise to pump up the muscles before filming. It makes them look better,” Soobin tells him immediately.

Beomgyu tries not to facepalm. Thank God they check all the questions before the interviews because Soobin is absolutely shit at lying on the spot, it turns out. They all look at each other, and he adds, “Taehyun showed it to me yesterday.”

“Why didn’t Taehyun show it to me,” Yeonjun mutters, looking down at his own biceps, before finally moving his attention. “Yo, Choi Beomgyu, I didn’t see you at first. Hey, guys, look Manager Choi is also here,” he says to his phone, pointing it at him.

Right now he’s taking the cake on his Most Hated Chois list with a big gap. “What are you doing on the floor, though?” Yeonjun says.

“I was trying to do sit ups in solidarity,” Beomgyu grits out.

“I see,” Yeonjun says, eyeing both of them with barely concealed confusion. He looks like he’s regretting coming here. Beomgyu shares his feelings. “You should correct your form.” What a mother–

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Let’s go film the set,” he continues to the broadcast.

“Don’t spoil anything,” Soobin shouts after him, sighing.

It takes Beomgyu another five minutes just to get over the embarrassment to lift himself off the floor, and by the time he does, Soobin is whisked away by the stylist to fix up his appearance.

“Yah, Soobin-ah, did you get mauled by something?” Heesol says, curling her lip. “I swear, it’s been ten minutes since I fixed your bangs.” Beomgyu looks up and their eyes meet in the mirror.

There is one second of silence, and then they hysterically start laughing.

Beomgyu doesn’t even understand if it’s out of fun or lingering adrenaline, but it’s impossible to stop, especially when he takes another look and sees an ugly cowlick at the back of Soobin’s head. Heesol looks between them like they've escaped from the asylum, and Beomgyu wipes his cheek.

Maybe everything is going to be okay.

—and yeah, you guessed it.

Usually, in a story like that, whenever this sentence appears, something absolutely has to go sideways. That’s just the law of tropes.

He wouldn’t say that for him it’s a thing that happens in a singular instance but the combination of the previous events and a video that Beomgyu accidentally stumbles on.

He doesn’t spend a lot of time on social media, due to the simple lack of that time in his everyday life. Between working, playing League (two hours per night because he doesn’t want to be a loser like Soobin who dropped to Diamond) and now giving a portion of his attention to his idol, Beomgyu sometimes doesn’t even have a chance to sit down — but whenever he gets a moment he likes to scroll through on his trumpet account.

They say the animals resemble the owner, but in the music industry this phrase quickly finds home in the fans resemble the idol.

He sees it. It’s in the funny and silly reactions Soobin’s fans make about him. There are a lot of them who affectionately call him a disaster, asking him to behave, because they’re getting second-hand embarrassment from his actions. Beomgyu more than anyone understands how they feel, so those ones are his favourite kind of posts.

(Okay, that’s not true.

The videos that make him spend more time on them are the compilations of Soobin being in his element, be it on the stage, in the recording booth or practice room, because Beomgyu has never seen another person who fits their place more than him.

He will never admit it to anyone though, so please keep his secret, especially from one Choi Soobin whose ego has already inflated his head to the size of the moon and any more might lead to it exploding.)

So it is during one of the breaks when Beomgyu finds a compilation online, the footage that says Soogyu Moments.

The name only attracts him, because it’s something he remembers seeing from that cursed livestream chat from months ago, so he clicks on it. He doesn’t expect a lot, and at the end how bad can one video really be?

(Final spoiler from his future self: Very. Choi Beomgyu, just stop asking stupid questions at this point.)

A whole new world welcomes him.

It’s all their moments captured on camera, (which Beomgyu did not even think were so many to come across), some of them slowed down to the point of ridiculousness. Every touch or glance in each other's direction is put with the romantic background music and falling flower petals in every third scene.

There’s a moment when Beomgyu remembers looking down because he was trying not to sneeze on camera, but in the video they put some red arrows and crying sounds because apparently Manager Choi was too jealous of seeing Soobin interacting with other idols.

Which is utterly ridiculous, because Soobin is the jealous one of them both! If you do some bullshit, at least do it properly, why is he the one suffering from mental issues! Is this how they see him?

The most terrifying part is that the creator comments, This was only Part 1! Please look forward to Part 2, there are so many more delicious moments.

The length of part one, when Beomgyu checks, is two hours. He doesn’t want to know how long the sequel is going to be.

The video is so silly, but it does make him think if their interactions are clear to other people, if they can sense that subtle pull between them.

Most of the comments are positive, but there are some that edge on the line of something malicious and disgusting and he doesn’t think that he’s affected by it until he finds himself thinking about it deep into the night.

He was too caught up in the moment to process it properly, but now Beomgyu thinks about nearly getting caught a few days ago and the very real possibility of it ever happening in the future. The implications that it holds.

There are two pillars on which the K-pop industry stands: the mistreated kids and fanservice.

People love the latter when it’s suiting their interest, hence the whole service part, when it’s this abstract thing that can fuel their fantasies, but Beomgyu has seen how quickly the fans turn on idols when it stops being a playful act and turns into something real.

When it’s the idol, who comes first, and not the fan, who is no longer being serviced.

The love they receive is real, but it’s a two-edged sword because that same intensity can turn into something much uglier the moment they step out of those pretty plastic boxes the people want to keep them in. And thinking about it–

Ah, his head hurts from the ethics of the industry he stumbled into. He sounds like Choi Yena right now talking about the psychology of the public.

Beomgyu is just a cog in the moving machine, there’s nothing he can do about it. It’s not really his place to care about. His initial goal was to coast through this job, focus on money and his Internet access, and somewhere along the way the focus has shifted, putting another person in the center of it.

Beomgyu rolls onto his stomach, sighing into the pillow.

Damn Soobin for swindling him into caring about him. It’s those damn puppy eyes.

He’s not sure what is the right thing to do. So Beomgyu remembers his roots from Daegu and makes the most logical decision for now.

* * *

“Beomgyu hyung, when are you going to go back to your own dressing room?” Taehyun says.

“It’s not that we mind you being here,” Kai adds. No, I do, I want to make out with my boyfriend in peace, sounds Taehyun’s mutter. “But isn’t it cramped in that closet?”

“I actually think Yeonjun hyung could fit another five people in here,” Beomgyu says, looking around. It’s wide enough that he can sit on the floor, fully stretching his feet. Calling it closet might be doing it a disservice, because he’s pretty sure that the space is the same size as the guest bathroom at his house.

“Okay, this is ridiculous.” Taehyun swings the partition open, so that he finally talks to him face to face, instead of through the layer of wood. “Why are you moping?”

Surprise, so his great logical decision is avoiding his problems as long as he physically can, shoot him. He’s an idol manager and not a mathematician for a reason.

The situation is somewhat reminiscent of those dreadful weeks after The Accident and before The Ambush had a chance to happen, when Beomgyu was lurking in corners and ducking into the empty rooms when he spotted Soobin approaching. Back then, though, his behaviour got a pass, because everything could be blamed on the awkwardness of being the newcomer, and now everyone has grown so used to Soobin trailing behind him that the first thing they ask whenever they find Beomgyu alone is where the other boy is.

And yeah, it’s not as if he’s not acknowledging that his behaviour is ridiculous, as Taehyun has expressed, or bizarre and idiotic and nonsensical (also Taehyun’s words), but everyone has to have a fatal flaw, right? And Beomgyu’s might be making choices. He doesn’t want to be shifting the blame, but his appa might be the beginning of that one.

He was six when he first watched a cartoon about the Little Mermaid and became obsessed with it.

Beomgyu wanted to have red hair like her and live under the sea, talking to the cute animals there — cause surely they could, unlike his silly parrot who mostly squawked and flew around, never responding to him. So when he found out that there was a book, he immediately asked his parents to read it as a bedstory to him. His appa did: completed with different voices for each of a character and theatrics — and just as soon as it began the story was over.

There was a very clear problem for Beomgyu then, one that he never noticed in the cartoon, distracted by the songs and her red hair. But what about her family? He asked after. How can she spend time with them if she lives with the prince on land?

Sometimes you just have to make a choice, Cookie, his appa explained. Beomgyu then thought that everyone had to make a choice like that in their life, and he burst into tears from the thought of not seeing his family ever again.

Shh, don’t cry, he was immediately pulled into his arms. I’ll make it so that you never have to lose something.

And, for the most part, he did. When Beomgyu stood in the aisle of the store choosing between two colours of the pen, his appa just bought him both. They shared desserts between each other when he wasn’t sure what flavour he wanted to get. His appa loved him, and somewhere in his mind, love became intertwined with this particular kind of generosity: if you could spare someone from having to give up something, then you did. It made for a very happy childhood.

It did not, however, make Beomgyu particularly good at accepting that some choices come with consequences no one can take away for him.

(So that phrase Beomgyu mentioned earlier about raising a spoiled kid? He knows it from experience. He’s just glad that his eomma, at least, had enough sense to tell him no, or he’s afraid to imagine into whom he would have grown.)

“Did you break up with Soobin hyung?” Taehyun asks, when Beomgyu doesn't say anything.

“What do you mean?” He stammers. “Break up?”

“Soobin hyung has been looking down lately, and you’re– Well, here, instead of being with him, so we were wondering.”

“No, I meant–” Beomgyu licks his lips. “We weren’t dating?

“Oh,” Taehyun says.

“Really?” Kai jerks up, from where he’s laying on the couch. They turn to each other communicating with their eyes, and then he sighs with a very noticeable disappointment. “Oh no.”

What a cute kid. Beomgyu is touched by them being so emotionally invested in his love life, until, “We owe Yeonjun hyung two hundred thousand won then, damn. I can’t believe he was right.”

“No, that’s impossible,” Taehyun says. “Do you think he cheated and went to ask Soobin?”

Choi Beomgyu: ?

As if summoned by the mention of money and his name in one sentence, Yeonjun sticks his head into the room.

“Beomgyu, you’re still here? I don’t want to choose sides, so if you’re really avoiding Soobin, like he says you do, you should leave, because I just texted him that you might be in my closet.”

Choi Beomgyu: …

There’s not a single human being working with him. All of them are pigs.

“If your next comeback has one less streaming listener, know that it’s completely on you.” Beomgyu stands up, before dusting the lint off his pants. “And you’re not the It boy of the Fourth generation. Felix is.”

They all gasp. Yeonjun looks on the verge of fainting. Beomgyu flips all three of them off, before quickly walking away.

He has places to be.

Thankfully, his quick reflexes help him to avoid Soobin that day and in the process he even discovers a new hiding spot in the janitor’s room on the tenth floor.

The whole avoidance agenda turns out to be much easier than he thought, because Soobin gets busy with the year-end award shows, while Beomgyu pushes his minor responsibilities onto other assistants, feigning more urgent matters to deal with.

It goes on pretty well.

In the way that his plan works, and not how it actually makes him feel, because Beomgyu’s chest has been hurting from the addition of this hole in it that he does not let himself fill. Unlike Soobin, Beomgyu thinks that he fits the English language more, even if his knowledge of it is restricted or he prefers Korean.

Unlike Soobin, who has always been about the absence from the beginning, Beomgyu is someone who needs to hold a thing in his hands first to understand what it means to have less of it.

He gets in the vicious cycle of hurt and blame, because he misses Soobin but it’s a bed of his own making, so he lies in it until it makes him hurt more. A bed of thorns, if you must.

The whole arrangement goes on, until Jisoo asks him to bring some props to the shoot and Beomgyu doesn’t have a good enough excuse to decline.

“Hey, Yang Heesol, how’s it going?” he says, entering the venue.

“Ah, Manager Choi, you’re here. I haven’t seen you lately.” She waves at him, before wincing. “It’s not good, to be honest. Soobin can’t get into the mood, and photographer Shin doesn’t like something, but we can’t figure out what’s wrong.” She hums. “Technically, the pictures look good but there’s something missing. Sometimes it’s just like that, you know?”

He does.

Beomgyu had quite a bit of experience with photography himself, even if for him it has always been a thing of documenting memories rather than something he could ever imagine building a life about. It’s easy to take a beautiful picture: take a good enough camera, watch a few tutorials on youtube and you can get something pretty enough that will gather attention on the Internet — but to take a picture that speaks?

A picture that talks to you is a collision between the person behind the camera and an object in front of it, both existing in the frame of mind that nobody else can quite reach. Not everyone can do that. Beomgyu certainly never managed to take one.

Maybe only once, when he wanted to snap a photo of the practice room during the rehearsal for his memories and right before he pressed the shutter, Soobin looked up.

He comes closer to the set to see how it's going, cautious to stay behind other staff so that his presence goes unnoticed. Soobin looks up just like that time. Their eyes meet.

“Oh!” The photographer exclaims. “That’s it! That’s exactly what I needed. Can you, please, keep the same lovelorn gaze?”

A few more rapid clicks follow, and he still can’t look away from Soobin. Seeing him, reminds Beomgyu that there’s a hole in his chest in the shape of someone who breathes and stands three meters away from him that he’s not letting himself fill.

“Okay, those ones were definitely better. Nice! You’re getting into the right headspace.” Photographer Shin hums, looking through the shots on his camera. “Let’s change the outfit, Soobin-ssi.”

Beomgyu half expects him to come straight towards him, but Soobin walks past without saying anything, heading for the make-up station. He looks mad, but Beomgyu knows that it’s coming from his own disappointment with himself. He remembers him being excited about this photoshoot when he first learned of it, so it must be eating at him that he’s having difficulties with it now.

Heesol goes through her cart before frowning. “I think I forgot glitter in the car. Can you start changing on your own? I’ll grab it really quick.”

The second she leaves, Soobin huffs, reaching for the tie on his neck. He starts aggressively undoing the knot and tsks when the fabric gets stuck, hanging awkwardly. Beomgyu hovers in his vicinity, unsure if he should step in. It would be a perfect moment for him to step away and disappear to avoid confrontation, but his heart hurts from seeing Soobin in this condition.

He pulls at it again and Beomgyu can’t bear it anymore.

“Stop, you’re going to tear it,” Beomgyu pushes his hand away, stepping in front of him.

His fingers touch the tie, turning it around to figure out how the knot works. Someone put it on too tight, so the fabric got locked midway, but if he frees a loop first, it should be fine.

They stay like that, with Beomgyu’s fingers working carefully the mess near his throat and Soobin just staring at him.

“What are you throwing a tantrum like a child for?” He mumbles, just to fill the silence.

“Why are you avoiding me?” So they’re doing this.

“It’s not polite to answer question with a question.” He’s been strictly looking below his chin level to avoid meeting his eyes. It doesn’t help in any way, because he feels like he’s burning under his stare.

“You’re not the one to talk about what is polite right now.” Touche.

The knot comes undone.

“It’s finished.” Beomgyu says, ignoring his words.

He wants to step away, but Soobin grabs his hand, keeping him in place. In the area where his arm is the most narrow his skin burns in the imprint of Soobin’s fingers. “I also need to change my shirt.”

They look at each other, and Beomgyu drops his eyes again. He hesitates before his hands move to the collar, lingering near the first button. It has some fancy metalwork which makes it harder to push through the hole.

“I’m not avoiding you,” Beomgyu says finally. They both know it’s not true because yesterday he ducked into the closing elevator when Soobin called his name. “I’ve been busy.”

“That’s it?” He has done the third of them, but his hands shake a little, making it harder to work faster. “You’re my manager, what could you possibly be so busy with that I wouldn’t know about?”

Just a few more to go. His fingers slip, grazing the bare skin of Soobin’s lower stomach. There’s an exhale, but he doesn’t know who it belongs to. “I had some things to resolve.”

The last button gets stuck, and he tugs at it roughly.

“Busy being a coward?”

It snaps off the thread, cluttering to the floor with a metal clink. For a garment that most probably costs a fortune, it has very bad stitching. Beomgyu wants to bend down to scoop it up, but Soobin halts him.

“Choi Beomgyu, can you at least look at me?”

He lifts his eyes.

They’re closer than he expected them to be.

There hasn’t been a single chance for them to stand like this in two weeks, or rather, Beomgyu was not letting it to be. Soobin’s little freckle on his cheek is hidden behind the make up. He misses seeing it.

“Take it off.” It takes him time to understand that he means the shirt. His brain feels like it’s in a constant flight mode, danger alarms blaring all over his mind.

Beomgyu’s hands hover over his shoulders, before he lowers them. The shape of Soobin is familiar under his touch. They don’t move for a few seconds, and then Beomgyu tugs it down fully, from collarbone to the wrist.

“Sometimes you confuse me,” Soobin says, lifting his arm so that the fabric slips easier. “I don’t understand what you’re thinking,

“That makes two of us.” Beomgyu mutters.

“It’s driving me crazy. I’ve never felt so insecure in my life, do you even care about me?”

“I–” Beomgyu stutters. He waits for him. “I do,” he finishes lamely, holding the shirt in his hands. His throat feels scratchy.

He hopes they don’t need it for the future takes. He accidentally creased it from balling it too hard in his fist.

“I know you do.” Soobin’s eyes soften, because he’s not the type to hurt people he cares about. Beomgyu is. He really doesn’t deserve him. “I just don’t get why you’re having such a hard time admitting it.”

It’s simple. Just like Beomgyu has said before, most of the complicated things in life have very plain motivations behind them.

He’s scared. In Soobin’s words, he’s being a coward.

Beomgyu is the stone walls of Troy and Soobin’s affections come to him in a wooden horse, inconspicuous enough that he doesn’t notice their presence, until he finds himself standing in the ruins of the burning city.

And that would be okay if Beomgyu was the only one to burn down.

He is the one who stumbled into this industry accidentally and the one who has a job he never intended to keep, even if he ended up loving it.

He would miss having lunch with Kai and Taehyun, and fighting with Yeonjun for the spoilers of his new album or exchanging nods with Yena, who now gives him her extra kimchi after the broadcast disaster, and even miss listening to Jisoo’s stories about his honeymoon who all of them heard before for many times, but at the end of the day if something were to happen, Beomgyu could dust off his hands and leave the whole ordeal fairly unaffected.

But it’s not the same thing for Soobin, who has so much more to lose, who Beomgyu has seen pouring his sweat, blood and tears into being on stage and how genuinely happy it makes him, like there’s nothing that could compare to that feeling in this world.

Beomgyu is still not sure what is the right choice to make; or how to make it so that no one gets hurt in the end, — and so he defaults to the one thing he’s at least certain about,

“I’m doing what a manager should do for his idol.” He whispers, glancing up. Soobin has already started putting on his next garment.

He turns to look at him, searching for something in his face. Beomgyu wonders if he’s looking for that extra part he saw when they first kissed.

“I’m an idol, Beomgyu-yah, but I’m human first, and you sometimes seem to forget about it.”

Heesol finally comes back calling him to her and Soobin gives him one last glance, before walking away.

* * *

I believe that, considering the circumstances, my continued employment in this position may no longer be in the best interests of the company or the artist under my management. It is my responsibility to consider the conditions that could negatively impact his career in the future.

Mainly for those reasons that I have outlined above, I am formally requesting that you accept my resignation from my position as Choi Soobin’s manager.

(His fingers hover over the keyboard.)

There is also a minor issue that somewhere along the course of my employment, Choi Soobin stopped being only the artist under my management to me and I have developed inappropriate feelings towards him, which I am certain violate at least half of the clauses in my employment contract. So, if you consider all the factors, I am doing everyone a favour.

I only have a small request for the future manager of Choi Soobin: please remember to take care of him.

Don’t let him follow those stupid salad diets, when he thinks that he needs to lose weight, and buy him Milkis after a late night recording because he gets grumpy otherwise. There are extra painkillers and bandaids in the glove compartment of the car because he never remembers to bring them himself. Look out for the signs of his ankle hurting again. He’s never going to be the one to speak up first, because that’s the kind of person who he is.

And what he is, is a giant loser and even a bigger crybaby, but, don’t let it scare you away, because he's actually one of the best people you will ever meet in your life. He’ll wait for you to catch up when you need more time, and if you give him even the smallest reason to believe that you care, he’ll hold onto it even if you’ve given him every reason not to, even if he shouldn’t, because, more than anything else, first he’s kind–

(Beomgyu presses backspace to delete the last two paragraphs.

It’s true. In the end, Soobin is too kind so this time he makes a decision for both of them.)

+ Notice of Resignation

It goes like this: Beomgyu finally submits his resignation letter that has been one year in the making, putting a definitive end to his Revenge Theory and, with it, the strangest chapter of his life.

The curtain closes, main actors go behind the stage to take off their makeup and wigs, and the story ends with him watching Soobin from afar, as he goes on to reach the new heights in his career.

Beomgyu meanwhile stays single and miserable, until he grows old to his seventies and becomes the weird neighbourhood ahjussi who sits on the bench, telling stories about the one who got away to anyone who is willing to listen.

He lives alone and dies alone, and all of you, dear readers, feel deeply for him, while cursing him out for his horrible life decisions. His bed of thorns, if you must.

(The end.)

— or, well.

That’s what would have happened if anything in Choi Beomgyu’s life had ever gone according to plan. But as the witnesses to the five cases over the course of this story, you already know that it never has — and so, naturally, it doesn’t.

What really happens is:

“What is that bullshit Jisoo told me about you quitting?”

Soobin storms up to his desk, when he’s in the middle of deciding if he should keep Gomie, or leave him to Jisoo as a small trinket to remember his weird colleague by. Beomgyu sighs. He specifically chose the day, when he knew that Soobin had an outside schedule to drop the news and the paperwork and hopefully by the time he found out, be on a train to Daegu to visit his parents.

“Didn’t you have a recording right now?”

“The equipment broke.” Of course. “But that’s not what’s important right now. Is this a joke?”

“No, it’s not.” Beomgyu reaches into his drawer to take out his letter he finally completed last night. In all those feel-good movies they always tell you to go out with the bang, so he went to the nicer printshop near the company that morning and let the workers there talk him into paying extra for some fancy paper that glitters in the sun. “I’ve made up my mind, I’m resigning–”

Soobin snatches it away and rips it apart into many pieces.

…

“I’ve sent an electronic copy either way,” Beomgyu mutters, watching as his five thousand won flutter to the ground.

“Like hell, you’re quitting,” he snarls back. He grabs the box of his personal belongings sitting on the table and starts putting everything in place. Every item lands with a loud thud and Beomgyu winces. “Stop acting out.”

If he wasn’t sure before, now he's definitely certain that their coworkers are looking at them.

Most of the people who work on the sixth floor of their management division have been subjected enough times to their antics to not be surprised when something like that happens, but this time it cannot be easily attributed to their usual back and forths. There are some whispers, and Beomgyu looks around, biting his lip. He thinks he sees someone take out their phone to start recording and he doesn’t need to be a genius to know that it’s going to appear in their gossip group chat soon. Great.

Soobin huffs when he sees that his attention has shifted, and then Beomgyu’s wrist is caught and he’s being dragged away from the desk.

“Yah, Choi Soobin!” He yelps. Beomgyu makes eye contact with someone on the way, but they politely lower their eyes, going back to work. Traitors.

“This is not funny, let go of me!”

Soobin speed walks through the hallways, until he finds an empty recording room and pushes him inside of it. Beomgyu pitches forward when his foot trips on the fold in the carpet, and by the time he grabs a chair to catch himself, Soobin is already locking the door behind them.

The click is especially loud in the small space.

“Are we holding people hostage now?” Beomgyu crosses his hands. “What’s next?”

“Want to volunteer to be the one to find out?” He starts walking to him, and Beomgyu backs out until his lower back hits the table. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” The words come out sharper than he intended, so he clears his throat. “I’ve been thinking about it for some time now, and I finally made my choice.” Beomgyu tries to soften his voice. “You know that being a manager was never in my plans.”

“But you love doing it,” Soobin says. “Yeah, maybe you got here by accident, but you never seriously thought about quitting. Beomie, come on, you would have a long time ago if that’s what you wanted.”

“Do you think you’re important enough to tell me what I want? Choi Soobin, don’t flatter yourself.” He flinches, and Beomgyu regrets his words immediately.

They both know that he’s lashing out right now. And worse, they both know that it’s not actually true. He wants to take it back, but if Soobin gets angry at him, then maybe it’s better. If he hurts him enough for the last time, just enough to make giving up on him easier, then Beomgyu can take one more heartbreak on himself.

“Let it go, it’s just–” He gently pushes him away, taking a moment before breaking their contact. “I think it’s just better for everybody in the end.”

Beomgyu crosses the room and his hand touches the handle of the door.

“If you’re not going to be my manager, I’ll stop being an idol. I’m being serious–”

“Are you now!” Beomgyu whirls around and stalks back to him. Everything just makes him so angry. He thinks he’s been actually very angry for a long time now. Angry at himself for hurting both of them, angry at Soobin for refusing to see what he knows is going to happen and this whole stupid industry in general. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“That–”

“Huh! Tell me!” Beomgyu shrieks, pushing at him. “It’s easy to talk until it happens, but have you actually thought about the consequences of losing it? You love being on stage, you love performing and talking to your fans, I won’t be the one–” He bites his lip.

Neither of them speaks in the aftermath. Beomgyu curls his hands on Soobin’s chest, breathing hard. The heartbeat under his palms helps to ground himself, and he finally looks up, meeting his eyes.

“Have you actually thought about what happens if people find out?” Soobin's hands close gently around his fists, rubbing his knuckles. “It’s not a game, but you don’t seem to understand it.”

“You said you cared about me,” he reminds him gently. He wilts. Soobin knows that the most effective weapon against him isn’t screaming or demanding anything by force.

Soobin, as always, waits for Beomgyu to come to him first.

“Of course I do.” Beomgyu whispers back, because he can be dishonest about many things, but not about this. There are frustrated tears, gathering in his eyes, and he rubs at them angrily. “I–”

Beomgyu thinks.

Like feels like too insignificant of a word, and love is not where they are at, at least not in this particular point of time. They could be in the future, if Beomgyu actually lets them have one.

Falling in love might describe it the best, but where is that limit where the falling- ends and -love begins. It’s something he’s been thinking about lately. Beomgyu is a man of Daegu, if you remember, so for him to accept something means to understand it first.

Looking at Soobin now, he thinks that perhaps the mystery has always been hidden in that tiny invisible in, that moment when you just step off the cliff, right before you hit the rumbling water below, when there is no ground underneath you anymore but you haven’t reached the surface either. The tiny folded space in time between beginning and the destination, where he’s been since the elevator opened on the wrong floor and he stepped out, marching on until their current moment.

“You know I have feelings for you,” he settles on. He thinks it’s a good compromise.

“Me too.” Soobin says immediately, like it’s that simple and not something Beomgyu has just spent this entire story trying to make sense of. “I have a lot of fucking feelings for you. So why are you making it complicated?”

“I’m just– It’s–” He tries to hold it in, but he starts crying harder.

“Aigoo, are you a baby? ” Soobin takes a pad of his finger to wipe the tears from the corner of his eye, but they just pour more. He takes him in his arms. “Shhh, don’t cry. My heart can’t take it.”

They stand there. For two minutes, and then five, until it turns to eight, and then however long it takes until Beomgyu’s sobs turn into small sniffles. Or maybe an eternity passes, and he just doesn’t notice it. Soobin starts humming, rocking them from side to side. Stupid, is he seriously treating him like a child? Does he think that it’s going to work on him?

…Maybe it does, because Beomgyu can feel the shudders leaving his body, and they still stay breathing in tandem with each other, with his cheek pressed against Soobin’s chest. That gap inside of him that he’s been deliberately keeping empty the past two weeks aches with the presence of the missing puzzle piece.

“It’s my career,” Soobin says then, softly. “Why are you the one crying?”

“I’m scared,” he admits.

Soobin rubs his cheek. “I’ll be brave for both of us.”

“I don’t want you to ever be in the position where you have to make a choice.”

Because Beomgyu grew up spoiled with love; because when he was six sobbing over the mermaid having to leave her home, he learned of it from his appa for whom love was carrying the responsibility of the choice onto yourself, even if you become a bad person in the end, so that they never have to wonder whether they chose wrong. But also–

“If something happens, you’re going to end up resenting me and I can’t bear it.” His fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt.

Because if one day, Soobin ends up losing fans or looks back at everything he worked for and finds Beomgyu being the catalyst for him leaving it — how can he ever ask him not to regret choosing him?

Soobin laughs. “That’s so stupid.”

Which is, Wow, rude. His first impression has actually been the correct one, all along.

Then, “Heol, how can you be so lovely?”

He hugs him tighter to his chest. “So lovely, and cute. From what red staircase did you come from, again? Maybe you came straight from heaven.”

“You’re so cheesy,” Beomgyu winces. They stand like that with Soobin’s arms around him.

“My career is my burden to carry, so why are you trying to do that for me?” he says to him.

“Well, my salary comes from it,” Beomgyu mumbles into his chest. Soobin laughs, before cupping his face and tilting it up.

“I told you, but you never seem to listen to me.” He playfully rolls his eyes, and then they soften. “Regardless of how people see me, me being happy is all that matters in the end. And if they are my true fans, they think the same.” When he smiles one corner of his lip curls slightly higher than the other. That is to say, Soobin has a pretty smile. “Why should I choose when I can have everything I want?”

He kisses the mole near the corner of his mouth.

“Manager Choi, and I wanted you for so long.” Another peck on his cheek and a twin one on another side. “Wanted you since the moment you walked into the room months ago and screamed at me to fix my attitude.”

Which is… Yeah, he always knew that he had some screws loose in his head.

“Choi Beomgyu,” Soobin starts, leaning their foreheads together like that time in the car. Beomgyu discovers that he has a small faded scar in the corner of his eye. “can you, please, stop overthinking and finally date me?”

Beomgyu closes his eyes, counts all the pros and cons of this whole setup and understands that there are so many more outcomes in which both of them come crashing down.

The correct thing — the only logical thing, if he’s being honest, — is to say no.

“Okay,” Beomgyu sighs, because Soobin is still looking at him with his bunny smile (What is your favourite physical characteristic of Soobin?), his puppy eyes (his personal favourite in the same questionnaire) and Beomgyu is, as it turns out, not a professional he claimed to be. (Question Number Three: How do you handle difficult or demanding personalities?)

He wishes he was. That would have saved him a lot of headache along the way.

“Okay,” he repeats, bolder. His body feels light. Maybe this is the story where he does not have to choose. “But you have to be obedient and listen to what I tell you to do, and please, for the love of God, stop acting out on cameras. I won’t have any scandals on my hands.”

The grin that he gets in response is bright enough to rival a thousand suns. “I’ll be so obedient.”

Beomgyu knows that Soobin is full of shit. Most probably the next time he’s going to do or say something that will make him have a micro heart attack, but it’s a problem for Manager Choi of tomorrow.

For now, Beomgyu kisses Soobin first, like he always does, and the rest is history.

* * *

So, at the end, I am formally withdrawing my resignation letter.

In lieu of the presented case points (e.g. Statement of Formal Complaint, Occupational Hazards, Online Reputational Damage, Breach of Conduct and Inappropriate Personal Relation), one Notice of Resignation and the events following The Big Bad Fiasco, i.e. The Day That Shall Not Be Named, i.e. The Event Horizon, i.e. The Great Fall, i.e. The Great Professional Miscalculation, i.e. The Great Seoul Accident, i.e. The Lapse of Judgement, i.e. The Beginning of The End, i.e. The Point of No Return, i.e. The Worst Decision Choi Beomgyu Has Ever Made In His Twenty-Three Years of Life

— I have decided to continue being his manager.

(“When are you finally going to start calling it for what it is?” Soobin interrupts, putting his head on his shoulder to see better.

“Which is?”

Soobin rewrites the sentence. He grins.)

So, at the end, I am formally withdrawing my resignation letter.

After falling in love with my idol

— I have decided to continue being his manager.

* * *

In the real end,

Beomgyu stacks five cases and one notice on top of each other and together they spell the shape of his affection;

Soobin completes his final act of revenge by making Beomgyu love him.

(The curtain closes.)