[oneshot] the irresistible force paradox

[gdgdbaby]

Title: the irresistible force paradox
Pairing: chanyeol/d.o, baekhyun/chen
Rating: r
Genre: au, romance, slice-of-life
Warnings: n/a
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: chanyeol gets a new editor. it takes him a while to adjust. manhwa artist au. written for idolkiller for the 2014 round of chinguline, originally posted here. now translated into spanish by the lovely snowyblues, and with beautiful fanart by peacock-pie! 10,500 words.



All Hyunil can hear is the steady drip of water from the locker room showers, intermingled with his own harsh breathing. Jongsuk takes one measured step toward him, and then another. His cheeks crease when he finally reaches Hyunil. Jongsuk runs careful hands across Hyunil's shoulders, crooks a knee and eases it onto the bench, hair tickling Hyunil's upturned face. Warm thighs clamp around Hyunil's waist as Jongsuk settles in his lap. Hyunil lets his head fall against the lockers behind him, ass sliding back across the varnished wood to make room.

Jongsuk grinds down when Hyunil's dick start to stir, turns his face into Hyunil's neck and sucks the soft skin beneath his chin. Hyunil's breath hitches. A bead of sweat trails down to pool at his collarbone. He feels more than hears Jongsuk's quiet exhalation of amusement, warm breath cresting over Hyunil's wet skin. He shivers as Jongsuk clamps his thighs tighter and moves his hips in an easy, circular rhythm, mouth trailing up to nibble at his ear.

Outside the locker room, the janitor walks by wheeling a squeaky cart. Jongsuk freezes above him, but Hyunil thrusts up, laughing breathlessly. "Shh," Jongsuk whispers, clamping his fingers over Hyunil's mouth. "You're going to get us - ahh - caught." He moans as Hyunil grabs him by the waist and jams him down tighter, their crotches rubbing against each other until they're just a mass of sweaty limbs, Hyunil riding him desperately-

AND THEN ROCKS FALL AND EVERYONE DIES because this story is stupid as shit

"You really can't end it like that," Sungwoo says, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice. He turns to the next page of Chanyeol's notebook and sees the half-drawn doodle of Hyunil whipping a samurai sword out from behind his back while declaring himself Master of the Universe. "Come on, Chanyeol."

Chanyeol slides his hands through his hair and mashes his face into the cafeteria table they're sitting at. Years of gummy buildup adhere to his cheek. "I know," he groans. "I know. All I have to do is finish this one and then I can work on something new."

"You've just been with the story for a bit too long," Sungwoo returns, soothing. "Don't worry, kid. Most of it is great." He's got his red pen out now, flipping back and forth and making occasional notes in the margins. "Though-I don't think the position you drew in the scene before the locker room is anatomically possible."

Chanyeol unsticks his face from the table. "Does anyone who reads this stuff actually care about anatomy?"

Sungwoo clicks his tongue. He puts his pen down and takes a sip of his water. Sends Chanyeol a penetrating look, mouth a downward slash. The overall effect is one of tremendous gravitas. Behind closed doors, with the other artists and editors that work for S&M's manhwa division, Chanyeol calls it Sungwoo's Disappointed Dad expression. In the past two years, he's has been on the receiving end of it countless times. By all rights he should be completely immune to it by now, but he still tenses up, heart leaping in his chest, before drooping in his chair like a sulky teenager.

"Fine, hyung. I'll change it."

"Good," Sungwoo says, all smiles again. "I've marked everything else you should fix." He hands the notebook back and tucks his pen behind his ear, cradles his chin in his palm. "So. Is there anything new you'd like to show me?"

Chanyeol shoves his things in his messenger bag. "Sorry, I have to run," he says, squeezing Sungwoo's shoulder as he shuffles past him. Chanyeol pastes a wide grin on his face. "I've got a date."

Sungwoo purses his lips. "And you're going like this?" He laughs when Chanyeol looks down at his flannel shirt/ripped jeans combo and sends him a rude gesture from the door. "Haven't I taught you anything? At least tuck your damn shirt in!"

*

He'd mostly used the date excuse to put off mentioning that he hasn't been able to come up with anything new in over a month, but he really does have one. Of a sort. Chanyeol takes the subway across the river, deep into the heart of Gangnam, and emerges from underground just as a sleek sedan pulls up to the sidewalk. A perfect high heel clicks against the pavement. Yura steps out, immaculate as ever. She surveys him for a minute, her hands on her hips, and says, "You look like absolute shit."

Chanyeol rolls his eyes and follows her into the café. "Thanks, noona."

He dumps his bag on the floor and sinks into a plush armchair. Yura sits down across from him, folds her hands in her lap.

"Why did you want to see me?"

"Do I have to have a reason to catch up with my little brother?" Yura waves a server over and orders an iced tea.

Chanyeol goes for a two-shot latte. "We always have KKT, you know," he says, fiddling with a sugar packet.

"I know." Her face softens a little as she gazes at him. "Well, you're right, anyway. No use hiding it. I do have an ulterior motive."

Chanyeol waits. There are only two things this could be about. A potential girlfriend, or-

"A couple of producing opportunities have opened up at Pax TV," Yura says, stirring the straw in her drink. "I think you'd be a good fit. And it'll definitely pay better than-you know."

Two years ago, Chanyeol had graduated from K-ARTS with a dual degree in animation and broadcasting. Instead of going into news like everyone had expected, he turned down a lucrative SBS offer and signed a contract with S&M, who'd been interested ever since he first started publishing a popular online webcomic about an idol group with superpowers. His first hit oneshot, revolving around a gang of rowdy high school boys who made out with each other sometimes, came out two months later.

When challenged about the decision, Jongdae's hypothesis is that Chanyeol's perpetually stuck in that high school dude phase of trying to woo girls in any way possible. "Chicks dig manhwa," he'll say to anyone who will listen, grinning like an idiot. "Especially boys' love manhwa. You know, in another life Chanyeol would've made a great gay guy, but in this one all his good ideas come from me." Baekhyun just calls Chanyeol a perv, as if he has any room to talk. Some best friends.

Truthfully, people who are good at what Chanyeol does can be pretty successful. And Chanyeol is very, very good. Of course, it helps that he's always liked drawing. Burned through three sketchbooks per semester during college, his fingertips stained a permanent charcoal gray. More than that, though, he has a knack for figuring out what people like, what brings them the most pleasure, and how to give it to them. Serve it up on a silver platter. What better audience than the teenage girl, who loved so deeply and so thoroughly that it was almost mad?

Yura presses her lips together when he doesn't immediately respond. Really, she doesn't have to say anything. He can see it all in her eyes.

"I don't need another job," Chanyeol says at last. His fingers close around his latte. With a coffee stirrer, he doodles half-assed stick-figure porn into the microfoam. "I like what I do."

"I know," she replies. She laces her fingers beneath her chin, mouth twisting. "But think about it, will you?"

*

Chen rappels into the sewers, webbed feet dragging down the walls. As he gets closer to the rush of tepid water below, the pipe starts narrowing. The nunchuks strapped across the back of his shell scrape against the wall until he's stuck. He has to wiggle back up and let them drop first so he can squeeze through himself. The splash sends a wave of mildew right into his face.

D.O looks up when Chen pulls himself out of the water and lifts the grille to climb into their lair. "Where have you been?" he asks, twirling the wrench in his hand. Chen eyes it warily before shaking himself off, nose wrinkling at the residual stink.

"Patrolling," he says. "B needed me to cover his shift." He drifts toward D.O's workstation, a mess of wires sparking beneath the whir of a heavy-duty battery. "What are you working on?"

D.O wipes a streak of grease from the scaly skin above his brow. "Jetpack. I know you said you wanted to figure out how to get airborne, so I figured I'd try and lend a hand."

Chen hooks an arm around D.O's neck and shakes him, laughs when D.O lets out a noise of disgust at the bit of mildew that transfers itself onto his shell. "I could kiss you," he says fervently.

"Spare me," D.O says, rolling his eyes. He shoves Chen away and gets back to work.

why am i just writing the BL version of teenage mutant ninja turtles ㅠㅠ

Historically, Chanyeol has enjoyed most of his weekly meetings with Sungwoo. The guy is an excellent editor: harsh when he needs to be, but fair, and enthusiastic about Chanyeol's work. The first thing Chanyeol did when assigned to Sungwoo was spill coffee in his lap in the cafeteria. Instead of throwing a fit or forcing Chanyeol to pay for dry-cleaning, he'd wiped himself off in the bathroom and spun the encounter into a hypothetical meetcute. "That's what we do here," he said, eyes crinkling as he wiped his hands off on a paper towel. "Now, it's your turn."

Since then, Sungwoo's gathered a few more wrinkles around his eyes. Same smile, though. Same shake of his head as he flips through Chanyeol's shitty storyboards. "Please have something that isn't a TMNT ripoff next time," he says, when he passes Chanyeol's notebook back. "Copyright violations are a bit frowned upon in our profession."

"Sorry," Chanyeol says, scrubbing his face. "It's been so hard to think of anything new lately." He leans back on two legs of his chair and grimaces.

"Don't force it," Sungwoo advises. "You can take your time. Just not too long. I'm not going to be around forever."

Chanyeol's eyebrows rise. "That's really morbid for a Monday. You aren't that old."

"I'm not old at all, you punk," Sungwoo returns. He kicks one of the raised legs of Chanyeol's chair and nearly sends him sprawling. "That's not what I meant. I'm saying-you're going to have a lot of other editors in the future, and not all of them are going to be as patient as I am."

Chanyeol waves a hand. "I'll figure that out when I get there."

Sungwoo spends the rest of their time trying to salvage one of Chanyeol's less illegal ideas. It's a rock band manhwa that he's been toying with on and off for the past half year, a little too derivative for serious consideration-but Sungwoo's always had a thing for hard rock. He's definitely got the right hair for head banging.

On the way home, he gets a text from Yura. Given any more thought to what we talked about last week? I can set an interview up for you by the end of the month, if you're interested. Just say the word. He pockets his phone without replying and climbs out of the subway two stops early. The sun is just beginning to set behind the building he stops at, which means-yep, there it is, the telltale whine floating down from the third floor-Jongdae should be home.

*

"No," says Jongdae.

Chanyeol sticks his foot out to stop him from closing the door and gets a stubbed toe for his trouble. "Jongdae," he groans through the crack. "Please."

"Absolutely not. The last time we played this game Baekhyun almost lost an eye."

"Such drama," Chanyeol scoffs. "The candle didn't even-whatever. That's not the point. I'm begging you, man, help a brother out-"

"You aren't allowed to watch us have sex!" Jongdae yells, just as his neighbor across the hall, a weedy-looking ahjumma, emerges from her apartment in a flurry of pungent perfume. She sends them a startled glance. Jongdae falls back, eyes wide. Chanyeol takes the opportunity to heave himself through the door, ducks beneath Jongdae's outstretched arm. "Shit. Hey, good to see you, Soohyun-sshi!" Jongdae slams the door and punches Chanyeol's shoulder. "Look what you did."

Chanyeol raises his hands. "If you'd just let me in from the beginning," he says, "none of this would've happened."

Jongdae shakes his head. "I'm serious. I love you, but go indulge your voyeuristic streak elsewhere-"

The door flies open again behind him. Chanyeol turns around and catches an eyeful of Baekhyun's blinding grin. "Did someone say voyeurism?"

They rope him into dinner. Rather, Baekhyun ropes Chanyeol into making dinner for them in return for tips about rimming. "I have lots of personal anecdotes," Baekhyun says, and Chanyeol almost regrets asking, but the samgyupsal that Jongdae's helping him flip in the frying pan smells way better than the old kimchi he'd be eating at home.

The first time Chanyeol had drawn a full guy-on-guy sex scene, the result had been-well. Less than stellar. He's pretty sure Sungwoo still has that storyboard in his office to use as blackmail collateral, in the event that Chanyeol ever wronged him. Kissing was easy and universal, but even explicit heterosexual sex was uncharted territory for him at the time. College was supposed to be How to Have Unattached Sex 101, not How to Draw It, and the one Life Studies course he'd taken sophomore year hadn't prepared him for anything.

Sungwoo, to his credit, had understood. Told him to go home and do some research. Chanyeol threw himself a gay porn marathon over the weekend and came back with a storyboard that Sungwoo liked even less.

"It's supposed to be hot, yes," he said, scratching his beard, "but do you really think a typical teenage kid in Korea is going to have access to anal beads, or whatever this thing on page thirteen is? We're trying for realism. Do it again."

Baekhyun and Jongdae had laughed themselves sick when they met up for drinks that Friday, and then proceeded to volunteer a series of sexual escapades that had half the bar listening in by midnight. "Maybe you guys should be writing this stuff," Chanyeol said, palm cramping from all the notes he'd taken.

Jongdae slid him another shot, cheeks pink. "It's too bad neither of us can draw. I guess it's up to you."

"I trust you'll be an adequate vessel for convincing gay erotica," Baekhyun put in, and raised his glass.

Sungwoo took a look at his new storyboard the following Monday, and, for the first time since Chanyeol had been assigned to him, didn't immediately pull out a red pen. "Promising," he said.

These days, it's lip service more than anything. Chanyeol's improved a lot in two years, and doesn't really need the help anymore. But he'll ask sometimes, when he's feeling particularly uninspired, mostly just to listen to Baekhyun talk and Jongdae whine. He hadn't thought, after four years on the same campus and two in the same dorm, that he'd miss hearing Baekhyun's scratchy voice or Jongdae's early morning warbling in the shower, but he supposes it's the inevitable way of things after college.

After dinner, when they're running dishes in the sink, Jongdae nudges Chanyeol's side with a gentle elbow. "Sorry for snapping at you earlier," he says, propping his elbows on the counter. "Work's been-stressful." Baekhyun's a piano teacher for grade school kids, so he keeps his own hours, but Jongdae does video editing for CJ E&M. He's almost always on call. "Sometimes I think you made the right decision, turning the SBS gig down."

"Hey, I have my deadlines, too," Chanyeol says, passing a plate over for Jongdae to dry. "My pending projects list is way too low, and S&M Manhwa publishes quarterly. If this keeps up I'm fucked for the fall."

"I guess we all have our battles to fight," Jongdae says, lips curling. "Yours are just more pornographic than most."

Chanyeol flicks suds in his face.

*

Lay's got a blood-splattered gun pointed an inch out from Kai's face when the kid leans forward and licks the muzzle, pink tongue darting out to flick over the top and against the barrel, the metal wet and glistening. Lay's thumb pauses on the safety just before it clicks, and then it goes down, a loud kerthunk that reverberates in his ears. Kai's eyes flash. He takes the barrel deeper into his mouth, lips stained a deep, coppery red from the leftover blood the thug had left on the gun after Lay shot him for-something. He can barely remember anymore. Insubordination? Being too easy on a member of the rival gang? Shit like that doesn't seem to matter anymore when Kai's deepthroating his gun in a last-ditch attempt to stay alive.

Kai scoots up. His crotch bumps against Lay's sock-clad foot and god, he can feel Kai's hot erection through all the layers of fabric, burning against his skin.

"You are one fucked up guy," Lay says, breathing shallowly.

Kai just makes a sucking noise and hollows his cheeks. A hand comes up to grasp Lay's crisp pant leg, tugging at it slowly as his hips cant at a torturous pace against Lay's shin.

- expand mafia world
- bring in rival gang boss
- threesome
- profit???

On Wednesday afternoon, Jongin comes over to help Chanyeol ink and shade his final manuscript for the locker room story. He lifts a bag of fried chicken and beer when Chanyeol opens the door. "There's enough for two," he says, sliding his shoes off and setting the bag on the dining table.

"Don't get grease on my manuscript," Chanyeol says, but he's already reaching for one of the wings.

Jongin's been working with S&M as an assistant artist for almost a year. Chanyeol shares him with some of the other manhwa authors, but now that Jongin's graduated from college, he's probably going to get promoted and start writing his own material. "Sad," Jongin says, laying his pens out on the desk and grabbing page six, where Chanyeol left off. "This might be the last project we work on together, hyung."

"We could always co-write something," Chanyeol suggests. He finishes inking page five and shoves it over to dry. "A story about a young man who mysteriously turned into a human drumstick, maybe because he ate too much fried chicken-"

Jongin smacks his arm. "You're so stupid."

Chanyeol grins. "Me? No. You just don't understand my genius."

It's late in the evening by the time they wrap up the last page. Chanyeol scoops it all up and shoves everything into a big orange envelope. "Two days before deadline," Jongin says. He stretches back in his chair and massages his neck. "Pretty good."

"I try," Chanyeol preens, and crunches a piece of daikon radish between his teeth.

*

The moment Chanyeol walks into the S&M building on Friday morning, he knows something's up. There's a parade of suits strolling briskly from floor to floor, all of them either carrying a binder or a clipboard with the company's logo emblazoned on the back. In the Manhwa office on the fourth floor, Jongin's milling around the bullpen looking lost. Chanyeol catches Sungwoo amidst the hubbub, sandwiched in between Jonghyun and Joonmyun, trying to explain all the details. "Management has decided to restructure some of the departments," he says over everyone's heads. "Don't worry about it. None of us are going to be shuffled, but we are getting some new blood."

The floor devolves into loud chattering. Sungwoo ducks into his office to escape the noise. Chanyeol jogs in after him, brandishing his manuscript. "Hey, I finished," he says. "My latest, for print in the summer issue."

"Great," Sungwoo says, looking frazzled. "Put it on my desk." He does a double take when he sees who it is, and the way his face changes makes Chanyeol's stomach go tight. "I need to speak with you, actually. Can you hang around for a bit?"

"Sure," Chanyeol says. He takes a seat in Sungwoo's office. Chanyeol gets a pretty good view of the main elevators from here, and hejoins in the neck craning every time someone he doesn't recognize walks into the bullpen. Sungwoo spends twenty minutes on the phone with Director Lee before he pulls Jongin inside his office as well.

"Do you know what's going on?" Jongin whispers, shoulders hunched.

"Not a clue," Chanyeol says, and is about to reach out and say something comforting when Sungwoo's door creaks open.

Director Lee himself steps in through the doorway. Chanyeol's only seen him a handful of times at company events and the like, but he's smiling at them, light bouncing off his glasses. Sungwoo pulls a chair out for him and waves him inside. Behind Director Lee is a guy who looks like he just leapt out of the pages of some shota comic, a fully formed cartoon come to life. Soft hair, wide eyes, plush lips, slim shoulders-Chanyeol could do a presentation on the archetypal uke and use him as the only visual.

Sungwoo reaches out to shake the guy's hand. "It's nice to finally meet you, Kyungsoo-sshi."

Kyungsoo smiles. Oh, hell, Chanyeol thinks. It's a perfect heart. "Nice to meet you, too," Kyungsoo says, the timbre of his voice low and broad and surprisingly husky. Chanyeol blinks, back straightening. That-isn't what he'd expected to come out of Kyungsoo's mouth.

Sungwoo leans back against his desk and addresses Chanyeol and Jongin. "This is Do Kyungsoo. He's coming to us from the literature department, and he'll be your new editor, Chanyeol. Jongin, you're stuck with me."

Jongin beams. The tight feeling in Chanyeol's stomach, which had just begun to subside, makes a swift comeback. "Oh," he says, mouth dry. "Seriously? What about-I thought we-" He clears his throat. Everyone in the room is looking at him, waiting. The smile's evaporated from Kyungsoo's face. Chanyeol's acutely aware that he's behaving badly, but can't really bring himself to care. "Sorry, but I don't understand why I'm being reassigned. Did I do something? I thought we had a good partnership. Hyung, you understand me."

Director Lee leans forward and shakes his head. "Sungwoo-sshi has been with us for ten years. He understands everyone, which is why he's good. His specialty is helping new writers hone their craft, and frankly, Chanyeol, you don't need him anymore."

"But-"

"You do work well together, but we've already kept you with him for too long. He needs to focus on the new artists we've signed. You need to focus on your work." Director Lee rises from his chair, gestures at Kyungsoo. "Come. We have more paperwork to do."

Kyungsoo shuffles out of Sungwoo's office, face shuttered. Chanyeol's stomach twists itself into another knot.

There's a long stretch of silence, during which Sungwoo tries to communicate with Chanyeol using only his eyebrows. Finally, Jongin reaches over and pats Chanyeol's arm. "For what it's worth, I really am sorry, hyung."

Chanyeol exhales slowly, sliding a hand through his hair. "Don't be," he says, scrubbing the hand down his face. "I wasn't-thinking straight. I've never had another editor before, you know." It's only been two years but he can barely remember what it was like to draw anything without Sungwoo's gentle guidance.

Sungwoo returns to his side of the desk and drops into his swivel chair. "That's just how these things go. And Director Lee has assured me of Kyungsoo-sshi's excellence, so you'll be in fine hands."

Chanyeol tries to smile. It occurs to him now that this is what Sungwoo had been trying to tell him earlier in the week. Prep him for the bombshell, and let him down easy. Chanyeol had just been too stupid to see it, and now the rug's been pulled from beneath his feet. Burnt out of ideas, the autumn deadline looming before him, and assigned to a green editor who'd never even touched art before, let alone manhwa. Not a great trifecta. "Yeah," he says heavily. "I hope so."

*

"Stop bitching," Baekhyun says. "Suck it up."

Chanyeol flicks a peanut shell at his head. One of Baekhyun's heads. The second is swimming around his shoulder. Chanyeol uncrosses his eyes and swallows another mouthful of soju. "Why do I ever come to you for comfort?"

"Dunno," Baekhyun says. "I keep trying to convince you not to, but you always come back. You're like a masochistic boomerang."

Chanyeol snorts. Jongdae's working late tonight, so it's just the two of them at the bar. After the day's events, it hadn't take long for their conversation to turn into the Park Chanyeol Complains About His Job power hour. Three beers later, Baekhyun is categorically unsympathetic. Chanyeol squeezes his hand around his glass, frowning again as he thinks about Kyungsoo's rigid face, his wide-eyed stare. "It's just-he's coming from-"

"Literature," Baekhyun supplies. "I know. I heard you the last four times you told me." He crosses his legs, fingering his bottom lip. "Be reasonable, Chanyeol. Just because he doesn't know anything about drawing doesn't mean he won't be a good editor."

"I can't believe you're lecturing me about the merits of being reasonable." Chanyeol chews on his lower lip and watches Baekhyun spin in his barstool. "Well, there's nothing I can do to change it, so I guess I'll just have to deal."

"That's the spirit," Baekhyun says, giving him a half-hearted fist pump. "I-" His lips turn down, and he starts scratching at the back of his neck. "I'm worried about Jongdae."

Chanyeol sits up. "What's going on?"

"He didn't want me to tell you, didn't want you to worry, you know how he is, but things aren't looking so great in his department at CJ E&M. He said he's pretty sure they're thinking about downsizing."

The tipsy haze in Chanyeol's head evaporates. A cold feeling trickles down his spine as Baekhyun's face goes tight and pinched. The last time Chanyeol saw that expression was in senior year, when Baekhyun had been fretting about how to tell Jongdae he turned his underwear pink in the wash. Seems like a lifetime ago now. These days, they have bigger things to worry about. "Jesus," Chanyeol says, reaching out to squeeze Baekhyun's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm over here complaining about a new editor and Jongdae could be losing his job."

Baekhyun shrugs. "If it happens, it happens. We'll get by." His face takes on a wicked tinge as he grins. "Do let us know if there are any openings in the gay porn industry."

Chanyeol rolls his eyes. "You probably know more about that than I do."

*

"Pinch me just once," Minkyu half-sings, trying to decipher Jaewook's chicken scratch. "If this is all a dream, I hope I don't wake up."

"Is that the tune?" Seungho asks, frowning. "I don't think you're singing it right, dude."

"Shut up," Jaewook says, brow bunched. "Keep reading."

Minkyu's eyes scan the page and skip down to another messy line. "From the moment I met you, I can't remember how much time has passed," he says slowly. "Run after me - hyung, these lyrics aren't bad. What's the melody?"

Jaewook hums a couple of bars. Minkyu lifts his guitar, fingertips itching. "Seungho. Drums. Now." Seungho plops himself down on the stool, spinning a drumstick between his fingers. Jaewook makes himself comfortable at the keyboard and strikes the opening chord.

Making music is like solving a murder, or tightrope walking with no safety net: skill and intuition intertwined. Minkyu's adrenaline spikes every time a line clicks into place, a visceral reaction to the coalescing song. Shouts of 'no high-hat there' and 'that needs to be louder, Jaewook' and 'maybe this needs to be one key higher?' bounce off the walls of their small practice room, and - God, it feels so good to actually be doing something again. This is their band at its finest, even when they haven't showered or eaten a proper meal in days, even when they haven't actually committed anything to paper yet. It has nothing to do with whether or not they're onstage playing a gig or accepting a piece of plastic, hundreds of cameras lenses flashing their way.

By the time Minkyu's scribbled down all the rough chords, three hours have passed. Jaewook's stretched out on the ugly patchwork couch downing bottles of water. "This may be even better than sex," he says drily, and Seungho throws a pillow at his smirking face.

One positive side effect of switching editors is that he's gotten a second wind on the rock band idea, if only because Sungwoo had been so into it. Chanyeol spends the entire weekend holed in his bedroom switching between guitar and ukulele and avoiding pointed texts from Yura about Pax TV's employee benefits. By Sunday evening, he's pulled his old djembe out, the skin vibrating against his hand as he strikes a rapid rhythm.

The drum's so loud that it takes him way too long to realize that someone's knocking on his door. The clock reads nine when he glances at it on his way out to the door. In the darkness of the living room, he nearly trips over the neck of his guitar. "Fucking fuck," he says, flipping the light on, and pulls the door open with a scowl on his face.

Kyungsoo's the last person he's expecting to see on his front doorstep on a Sunday night, but he's what Chanyeol gets. "Oh, good," Kyungsoo says, in that husky voice of his. "You're alive. I really didn't want to have to use the key."

"Hey," Chanyeol says, bewildered. "What's up? How do you know where I live?" He glances down at the key ring clutched in Kyungsoo's tiny hand. "Why do you have a key to my house?"

It comes out more aggressive than he'd wanted it to. Kyungsoo takes a half-step back, face uncertain.

"Sorry," Chanyeol says, wincing. "I'm doing this all wrong. I mean-even Sungwoo-hyung didn't have a key to my house."

"He did," Kyungsoo says, the corner of his lip rising. "He's the one who gave it to me."

"Okay," Chanyeol says. "I did not know that. I guess he never had to use it." He leans against the frame of his door to let Kyungsoo inside. "So why did you come over? Is something up?"

"We were supposed to have a meeting today," Kyungsoo says slowly. "I emailed you about it."

"I never check my work email," Chanyeol says, digging around in his pocket for his phone. "Sungwoo-hyung and I always corresponded through-shit."

"Yes," Kyungsoo says stiffly. "I tried calling. When you didn't respond, I figured I'd swing by and make sure everything was alright."

There are three missed calls in Chanyeol's history, and a text from an unknown number asking about the meeting. Chanyeol forcibly resists the urge to bury his face in his hands. "I'm so sorry," he groans. "I was trying to avoid my sister. I'm not usually this irresponsible, I promise."

Kyungsoo glances at the various instruments laid out on Chanyeol's furniture and raises a thick eyebrow. "Really?"

For a moment, Kyungsoo actually looks angry, his mouth pursed, forehead wrinkled. Then his face melts into a smile, and Chanyeol remembers to breathe again. Of course Kyungsoo was only making a joke. "Listen," Chanyeol says, leading Kyungsoo to the couch and moving the ukulele to let him sit down. "We got off on the wrong foot. I want to apologize for the way I spoke on Friday, it was out of line."

Kyungsoo regards him quietly. "They told me you were really nice. Really friendly, a people person, so it was a little jarring to meet you on an off day. But I don't blame you for having misgivings. Obviously, I don't have a lot of experience editing manhwa." Kyungsoo sticks his hand out. Chanyeol takes it automatically, Kyungsoo's skin soft against his calluses. "I hope we'll be able to help each other out."

"I'll try my best," Chanyeol says, and lets go. He plucks idly at the ukulele in his lap.

Kyungsoo stares down at it. "What are all the instruments for?"

Chanyeol strums a C-chord. "The last unfinished project I was working on with Sungwoo-hyung was about a rock band," he explains. "I learn a bit of everything so I can get a feel for what I'm writing about. I went to a school for the arts, so being surrounded by music people means you pick up some things."

"That's an awful lot of research for a homoerotic comic."

"Not all of my colleagues do this kind of stuff," Chanyeol says. "Everyone has their own process. I just like to be thorough." He squints at the dubious expression lingering on Kyungsoo's face. "You know, people think manhwa is lowbrow in comparison to other mediums, but that isn't necessarily true. There's artistry in what I do." He grins. "You can learn a lot of really important life lessons, like always use a condom, and don't forget lube during anal sex."

Kyungsoo laughs, the sound as deep and husky as his voice. "So does that mean," he asks, "that you have to study gay sex, too?"

Chanyeol tilts his head and pretends to think about it. "I do have an extensive porn collection. Wanna see it?" Kyungsoo tenses. "Just kidding," he continues quickly. "About you seeing it, that is. Not the existence of the porn collection. That's totally real."

Kyungsoo laughs again. Chanyeol feels something rising in his chest. Maybe they can make this work after all. "Good to know," Kyungsoo says, and folds his hands in his lap. "Let me hear you play something."

*

Chanyeol makes a point to start checking his work email every morning. There are a couple of year-old messages from Jongin sitting in his inbox from when he first became an assistant artist, before he'd figured out that Chanyeol didn't use it. Kyungsoo's email had been quick and perfunctory. Chanyeol makes an EDITOR folder and moves it inside.

Their first official editing meeting is at a café across the street from the S&M building. This time, Kyungsoo runs late. "Sorry," he says, out of breath, the AC pushing his sweaty hair back as he slides into the seat next to Chanyeol's. He dumps a stack of books on their table. "Slept late last night."

"Oh?" Chanyeol says. "Why's that?"

Kyungsoo picks one of the books up, small hands flipping through the pages. "I was reading these."

Upon closer inspection, Chanyeol recognizes the cover. "Is that-mine?"

"Yes," Kyungsoo says. He places the book neatly at the top of the stack and pushes it all toward Chanyeol's side of the table. "You said you did research for your work, so I'm trying to do some myself. Familiarize myself."

Chanyeol grazes his fingers against the cover. This particular book is a collection of BL oneshots he'd published with S&M last winter. He raises his coffee and grins around the paper rim. "Find anything good?"

Kyungsoo stares at him, eyes round. Chanyeol shifts in his chair at the sudden silence. "The art is really nice," he says at last. "But are the stories usually so-"

"So what?"

"Cliché?" Kyungsoo finishes, fingers playing with the loose pages of the book.

"It's manhwa," Chanyeol returns easily. "I'm in the business of clichés."

Kyungsoo's eyes narrow. "I just think-all of these stories have more potential. You don't have bad ideas, but there's a consistent lack of follow through." He flips to the middle of the collection. "Like, take this werewolf oneshot. Growl. You don't explain the semantics behind the universe, just leap straight to the sex scene after Lu Han saves Tao from the rival pack. The conflict isn't believable, the world-building is half-baked at best, and Lu Han could be anyone."

"Okay," Chanyeol says, determined not to leap to the defensive. "Maybe you're right. But that was the best-reviewed story in the collection."

"And I'm telling you it could've been better."

Chanyeol exhales through his nose. "I admit that Sungwoo-hyung and I always focused on art, because that's what we know best. And ultimately, sex sells. It's what the readers want." He folds his hands together beneath his chin. "What would you consider a well-written story, Kyungsoo-sshi? Hard mode: no literature allowed."

Kyungsoo chews on his bottom lip. Chanyeol orders another mocha in the time it takes him to think. As the server delivers it to their table, Kyungsoo mumbles something under his breath.

"What was that? I didn't catch-"

"Prince of Tennis," Kyungsoo blurts, face flushing.

Chanyeol nearly spits his mouthful of coffee out. "You watch Tenipuri?" he croaks.

"It's a good show," Kyungsoo says. "We can watch it at our next meeting. Maybe it'll give you some tips."

Chanyeol cracks a smile. "And you said you didn't know anything about manhwa."

"I never said that," Kyungsoo returns. "You just assumed it." His hands come up to play with the pages of Chanyeol's collection again. "I also wanted to ask: have you considered serialization? I noticed all your stories are oneshots. Having an ongoing manhwa running in the S&M magazine could help you flesh your stories out more."

Chanyeol thinks about the dwindling number of half-baked ideas scribbled down in his notebook and almost laughs out loud. "Yeah," he says weakly. "I'll think about it."

*

Playing football for years has made Minseok's legs strong like steel. It doesn't always look that way when he has pants or shorts on, the straight lines breaking up the curves of his thighs, but when he's got them off in the locker room-well. That's another story entirely.

It's after a match with Kyunghee that Minseok hobbles off the pitch with a bad pulled knee ligament. As far as football injuries go, it's not as bad as a torn ACL would be, nor as potentially dangerous as a concussion-but he's still out for at least a month. Even after he's been discharged from the hospital, he's not allowed to return to normal practice for at least two weeks. "You want to heal, right?" the Yonsei team's physical trainer asks him crossly, when he finds Minseok trying to smuggle balls into his room to kick around during his off time after classes.

"Of course I do."

"Then stop fucking around and rest yourself."

////

It's frustrating watching the other members of his team dribble circles around him on the pitch, when even thinking about twisting the wrong way sends a shivery twinge up Minseok's left leg. "I hate this," he mutters, grabbing water from the bench and sitting down heavily an hour into practice. The other guys are taking shots on goal. Minseok wants to be there. He wants to feel the football connect solidly with the top of his foot before it sails into the net. All he can do right now is think about it. "I feel so fucking useless."

"I know," Minho says. He snatches the water out of Minseok's loose grip and dumps it over his own head. "You aren't allowed to run around more than two hours, though. Coach told us. Doctor's orders."

Minseok scowls. His toes flex in his cleats, bright green turf stretching out into the distance. It's like having a full course meal laid out in front of you and being told that you aren't allowed to eat any of it.

Howon jogs by with an empty water bottle in his hands and favors Minseok with a look of commiseration. "How you feeling?"

"Awful," Minseok grumbles. "Though I'd say I feel great if I thought it would change the doctors' minds."

"Don't push your luck," Howon warns. He'd been out for a couple of months last year because of a pulled calf muscle, and, unlike Minseok, had made the grand mistake of coming back to play too early. Insisted on playing against SNU in their opening fall match and came down hard when someone's tackle went awry. Out for half the season, just like that. "I'm speaking from experience." He grins, face creasing. "Besides, if you hurt yourself again, we won't be able to give you the welcome back surprise we've prepared."

Minseok's eyebrows jump. "Welcome back surprise? What is that supposed to mean?"

"You'll see," Minho says, patting Minseok's shoulder. He passes the half-empty water bottle back and jogs away, soccer ball bobbing up in the air between his knees. A minute later, the whole team starts scrimmaging. Minseok's left with his own yearning thoughts of running across the pitch without any pain in his legs at all.

"This isn't the rock band story you said you were working on," Kyungsoo says, scanning the final page with a critical eye.

"No," Chanyeol replies, fingers clenched around his pencil. "It's not ready yet. I figured, considering how much you like sports manga, that I'd try something different in the meantime. I have a high school cycling idea, too, if you want to see it."

Kyungsoo's face is still as ice. Chanyeol is quickly coming to learn that isn't a good sign. "Is there some sort of porn quota that you have to fill?" he asks.

"Well, no, but-"

"Then you should really stop trying to rush there every single time," Kyungsoo says. A divot appears in his chin when he frowns. "I understand that porn is what you do here, but writing isn't a race. And this isn't what I meant when I brought up sports manga. Tenipuri is good because it makes you feel something." He reaches down into his backpack and slides a thin laptop out. "Here. Watch the second season finale with me."

The Korean dub is pretty awful through Kyungsoo's earphones, and it's been years since Chanyeol first watched Prince of Tennis in elementary school, so he's kind of touch-and-go on the specific details of each character arc. But over a decade later, the anime's art direction is still beautiful, and Chanyeol finds himself immersed. When they get to the part of the episode where Tezuka refuses to abandon his team to study abroad in Germany, Chanyeol chances a glance at Kyungsoo's face and finds his gaze watery. "Are you crying?" he asks, incredulous, and Kyungsoo sends him such a dead-eyed look that he recoils in his chair.

Kyungsoo pushes his laptop lid back down and snatches his earbud out of Chanyeol's hand. "That's what I'm talking about," he says flatly. "Go home and try again."

*

Over the course of the next three weeks, Kyungsoo vetoes every single idea that Chanyeol brings to him. They do get through quite a bit of Prince of Tennis at Chanyeol's house, which is fun on its own but not exactly productive. As preliminary draft deadlines for the fall issue loom closer, Chanyeol can't shake the heavy feeling in his stomach every time Kyungsoo flips through one of his storyboards and sends it back soaked through in red pen-or worse, with no notes at all.

"Hyung," Chanyeol moans through the phone in late August. "I'm going to get fired because I can't give him what he wants."

"You aren't going to get fired," comes Sungwoo's fizzy reply.

Chanyeol taps his pen in a staccato beat on his notebook. The blank page stares at him in accusation. "Nothing's good enough for him. It's like he expects me to churn out the next great classical novel or something." Chanyeol sags listlessly against his couch, toes wiggling against the wood of his coffee table. The guitar in his lap slides down to dig uncomfortably into his stomach. "I don't think he gets that he isn't in the literature department anymore. He still treats me like I'm one of his High Art people."

"Is being held to a higher standard really so terrible?" Sungwoo asks.

Chanyeol tilts his head back and gazes at the ceiling. When he puts it that way-"I guess not," he mutters, deflating even more. "Look, I'm sorry for bothering you, I know you're busy-"

"You'll be fine, Chanyeol," Sungwoo says warmly. "Just calm down and let it flow."

The line clicks. Easier said than done, Chanyeol thinks miserably, and goes back to strumming his guitar.

*

Chanyeol's been waiting at the café across from the S&M building for fifteen minutes when the text message comes. Very sick, it says. Can't make it to meeting; sorry for late notice. Reschedule to Wednesday?

On one hand, Chanyeol's relieved. He doesn't have anything new in his notebook that isn't nondescript doodling or nondescript porn, neither of which seem to interest Kyungsoo. He's about to book it out of the café and call it a day, but when he's out on the street he catches sight of Sungwoo strolling inside the S&M building, Jongin chattering away at his shoulder. A warm wave of nostalgia rises in Chanyeol's chest. He'd been like that, once. Endlessly enthusiastic, eager to prove himself.

He could be like that again. Before Chanyeol loses his nerve, he dials the manhwa department's receptionist. "Hey," he says into the receiver when she picks up. "Do you have Do Kyungsoo's address?"

*

Kyungsoo's face is even paler than usual through the sliver of light streaming from his door. "What are you doing here?" he croaks, squinting with confusion.

Chanyeol raises the pot in his hands. "Heard you were sick," he says. "I brought a magical cure-all with me."

Kyungsoo blinks blearily at him.

"It's chicken porridge," Chanyeol revises. "Let me in."

Kyungsoo's small apartment is as neat and tidy as he is. He sinks onto the couch, drowsy off cold medication, swallowed in an over-sized sweater, and stares from the couch as Chanyeol putters around his kitchenette. "You didn't have to come," Kyungsoo murmurs. "I already told you we could reschedule."

"I know," Chanyeol says, putting the pot of porridge on the stove and setting it to a low simmer. "I wanted to. It's the least I could do." His eyes flick toward the bookshelves. "Plus, I was kind of curious to see your apartment, since you've been in mine so many times."

Kyungsoo lets out a wet snort. He sneezes a second later (so cute, Chanyeol catches himself thinking, almost burns his hand on the pot) and reaches for the box of tissues on the coffee table.

The porridge is bubbling in no time. Chanyeol ladles some of it out into a shallow bowl and brings it to the couch. "Need me to turn on some Prince of Tennis?" he asks casually.

"Dick," Kyungsoo says, voice thick. Chanyeol grins. He folds himself into the fluffy armchair adjacent to the couch and watches Kyungsoo spoon a piece of chicken into his mouth.

"Good?"

"Passable," Kyungsoo mumbles, but he inhales the entire bowl.

Chanyeol's grin spreads. "Want more?"

Kyungsoo bundles himself inside three layers of blankets. "Maybe later," he says, looking away. A long beat of silence, and then: "I could use some Prince of Tennis, though."

Chanyeol laughs, loud and delighted, and puts the DVD in for him. In the middle of the second episode, he looks over and Kyungsoo's out cold, his little cocoon rising and falling. He sets the afternoon news to a low rumble, tucks the blankets tighter beneath Kyungsoo's chin, and pulls his sketchbook out of his messenger bag.

He draws until his stomach starts rumbling. The porridge is a little stickier than Chanyeol usually likes it, but still tasty. He washes the dishes and ducks into the bathroom to pee. There's an open notepad next to the sink. Chanyeol carries it out with him, flipping through the pages. Most everything is text, but there are a couple of drawings. The wolf head is impressive. There's a sketch of Director Lee beneath a July schedule, and then the Han River stretching across two pages, dark water ribboning out.

Chanyeol's head snaps up when he hears a choking noise.

"Don't touch that," Kyungsoo says, voice still raspy with sleep, but it's too late. Chanyeol flips to the next page and sees a portrait of him, from the shoulders up, mouth stretched into a wide smile.

"This is really good," Chanyeol says slowly. Kyungsoo leans over and jerks the book out of Chanyeol's hands. "Hey, you didn't tell me you could draw."

"It's just-" Kyungsoo swallows, the line of his Adam's apple bobbing. "Just a hobby. Nothing serious."

"Right," Chanyeol says, searching his face.

He's missing something, he knows, but Kyungsoo isn't giving him anything to work with. His face is as shuttered as it was the first time they had met. Chanyeol shifts on the armchair, fingers laced together atop his lap, and turns to stare at the TV screen. The evening news is on. He gets the distinct feeling that he's outstayed his welcome, but he can't think of a way out that won't making things even worse.

The financial report comes on. "Oh, hey," Chanyeol says, watching Yura gesture at the green screen behind her. "That's my sister."

Kyungsoo reaches out for the remote control and turns the volume up. Yura's smooth voice filters through the speakers. "Early this afternoon, CJ E&M officially announced the dissolution of its partnership Chrome Entertainment. Employees have either been reassigned to other departments or let go. Chrome Entertainment's stock took a dive..."

"Sorry," Chanyeol says, rising to his feet. Kyungsoo gazes at him, eyes unreadable. "I have to go."

"But your pot-"

"You can return it to me at our next meeting," Chanyeol says. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and sees two missed calls from Baekhyun. "There's something I have to do."

*

Jongdae's surprisingly lucid when Chanyeol makes it to his house. "I just heard the news," Chanyeol asks. "You okay? Not drowning your sorrows, yet?"

"It's not like this was totally out of left field," Jongdae says, sharing a look with Baekhyun over the dirty dishes on the dining table. Chanyeol moves to help them clean up. "I've been expecting it for a while. Haven't been able to find a replacement job, but I figured I could do some freelance editing to pay the bills. Baekhyun's taking on some more private lessons. We'll figure it out."

"Wow," Chanyeol says. "You sound like such an adult. What happened to the Kim Jongdae who set his own boxers on fire to stop Baekhyun from borrowing them without permission?"

Baekhyun mumbles, "Those were my favorite pair, too. Heathen."

Jongdae rolls his eyes. "Yeah, well, I'm about to go do some really adult things, like play League of Legends for five hours because I don't have to wake up for work tomorrow morning." He hooks an arm through Chanyeol's and dumps the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink. "Care to join me?"

*

The obnoxious humming from the other side of the room is slowly driving Minkyu insane. He leans back in his chair and sends Jaewook a pointed glare. Jaewook just hums louder, amused, scrawling notes across a page of blank notebook paper.

"Will you shut the fuck up?" Minkyu announces finally. He throws his pen down and rubs his temples. "I can't concentrate."

"The door is over there if you want to leave," Jaewook replies. "I'm actually working."

"You don't need to hum to come up with lyrics," Minkyu snaps. "I'm the one writing all the music."

"Break it up, you two," comes a placid voice from the doorway. Minkyu jerks his head toward the noise. Taewoong fills the frame, arms crossed, face stern. "Where are Seungho and Jinho?"

"Decided not to come," Minkyu grunts, waving a flippant hand. "They're not the ones writing our songs, so they took the day off."

"What? You have a deadline in two weeks! They have to practice for the new album-"

"You're our manager," Jaewook interrupts, raising his eyebrows. "You figure it out."

"I can only do so much," Taewoong replies coolly, "if only half the band shows up for practice."

"This conflict makes no sense," Kyungsoo says, slashing a big red X over the open page in Chanyeol's notebook. "Wouldn't all members of a rock band be working on their own respective parts regardless of whether or not they're writing the songs?"

Chanyeol pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're right. I'll try to think of something else."

"And I don't know about this Taewoong character, he just seems like extra filler."

"Kyungsoo-"

"Either just focus on the band, or have the band be distinct enough that you can afford to introduce someone else-"

"Kyungsoo," Chanyeol says loudly, grabbing his arm. The noise in the rest of the café seems to subside into a dull roar. "Jesus Christ. You're the most anal-retentive person I've ever met. Look, it's just a stupid boys' love manhwa, okay? I'm not trying to win the goddamn Nobel Prize."

Kyungsoo freezes. His eyes scan Chanyeol's face, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Chanyeol's already regretting saying anything, but Kyungsoo opens his mouth again first. "You were the one who told me that there's artistry in manhwa."

"Yes. I did say that. But-"

"So prove it, Chanyeol." Kyungsoo tilts his head, an aggressive jut in his jaw. "I never said your writing had to be High Art. I left Literature because I didn't want to have to deal with that anymore. Your story doesn't have to be Nobel Prize winning material. Just make it real."

He passes Chanyeol's notebook back to him. Chanyeol accepts it numbly, fingers curling around the spine.

"Call me when you get your shit together," Kyungsoo says, thin shoulders hunched as he walks away.

*

"He hates me," Chanyeol moans.

"You sound like a teenage girl with a crush," Baekhyun remarks helpfully.

"You don't understand," Chanyeol says. "It was awful. I said anal-retentive out loud and didn't even get to make a joke about it."

"You're slipping," Jongdae says, hooking an arm over Chanyeol's shoulder. He gestures at the bartender. "Two bottles of soju, please." Chanyeol edges over to make room for him at the counter. Jongdae sinks into the stool between his and Baekhyun's, slides a hand through his hair. "So, what's new with you and the editor from hell?"

Chanyeol lays it all out from him, Baekhyun interjecting with his own commentary. "I haven't even met this guy before and he sounds like a dick," Baekhyun says when Chanyeol's finished.

Jongdae elbows Baekhyun quiet. "I don't think he'd be so invested in your success if he didn't like you somewhat," Jongdae says, contemplative. "I mean, if he didn't care at all, why would he be giving you so many tips?"

Chanyeol tightens his grip on his beer. His relationship with Kyungsoo is like unstoppable force meets immovable object, frustrating and unsolvable. But there had been a curiously vulnerable look in Kyungsoo's eyes on the night he was sick, one that didn't have anything to do with the cold.

A week after Chanyeol had been assigned to him, Kyungsoo stayed up all night reading his manhwa. Aweek ago, Chanyeol had flipped Kyungsoo's notebook open to a picture of himself. He'd even gotten his teeth right. In subsequent meetings Chanyeol hadn't brought it up, but it was always there, in the back of his mind, another piece to a puzzle that didn't fit.

Chanyeol shakes his head. "How's the job search coming, anyway?"

Jongdae sends him a shrewd look, but lets it go. "Two email requests for portfolios, one call back, no in-person interviews," he says, ticking them off on his fingers. "Not terrible for the first week. Funemployment is treating me well."

"What have you been looking into?" Chanyeol asks around his glass. "Just editing jobs?"

Jongdae shakes his head. "I did some other stuff in college, too-graphic design, producing. Anything that seems even vaguely relevant to my degree."

"Wait," Chanyeol says. "Wait-wait. Video production."

Jongdae sends him a weird look. "Yeah, remember when we made that stupid animation for Professor Jung's class in junior year and she gave us full marks?"

Chanyeol lifts his phone off the bar and clicks speed dial #1. Yura picks up on the second ring. "Hey, noona," Chanyeol says, "the most important person in my life-"

Yura snorts so loud it sends feedback through his receiver. "What do you want?"

"Do I have to have a reason to catch up with my big sister? It's been a while."

"It has." A pause. "Shit, where are you, it's so loud-"

"Sorry, at the bar with Baekhyun and Jongdae." Jongdae sends him a questioning look. Chanyeol holds a finger to his lips.

"Say hello to them for me," she says, laughing. "Listen, Chanyeol, I'm glad you called. I was talking to my supervisor's supervisor and she's still looking for someone who can help take the load off our financial producer-"

"Yeah," Chanyeol interrupts. "About that."

*

Management drops the bombshell on them two weeks before the first leg of their concert. "We're what?" Minkyu asks, folding his hands over his chest and waving at Seungho to stop drumming. "How are we supposed to tour with a new manager? What happened to Taewoong-hyung?"

"He's been reassigned to one of the label's new artists," Director Lee says, hands folded in his pockets. "A female soloist. You guys are veterans, and she needs Taewoong more than you do."

"Okay," Jaewook says. "Okay, so who's our new manager?"

The director steps aside. In the doorway stands a short, sweet-looking guy in a pullover sweater and dark jeans. He bows at the band. "Hi," he says. "I'm Cho Jinho. I'm really excited to be working with you."

Minkyu, Seungho, and Jaewook share a long look. "Seriously?" Minkyu says, hefting his guitar. A sour expression crosses his face. "This guy doesn't look like he even listens to punk rock. How is he going to manage a punk rock band?"

Kyungsoo sits back in his chair, an unreadable expression on his face. "Huh," he says finally. "I-don't know what to say."

Chanyeol shrugs helplessly. "You keep telling me to introduce believable conflicts and make things more true to life, so I tried it out. Kind of." He rolls his pen between his fingers. "If you think it doesn't work, I can scrap it and start over."

"No," Kyungsoo says slowly, "don't change it. This is good. I-" He pins Chanyeol with a penetrating look. "Is that really how you thought when you first saw me?"

"You wanna know the truth?"

"Sure."

"I thought you looked like you'd just stepped out of a shota comic," he says, a tentative smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Clearly I was wrong. You're way too tsundere to be shota."

Kyungsoo sends him a flat look and reaches over to smack his arm.

Chanyeol yelps, rubbing at the sore spot. "Hey, you said you wanted the truth!"

Kyungsoo shakes his head, expression half-fond, half-exasperated. "How did you think of this, anyway?" he asks, gesturing at Chanyeol's storyboard. "I'm impressed."

"I thought about what you said," he replies. "About realism. I was always so focused on the visual aspect of my work that I didn't really notice how contrived the story could become." He taps his pen on the table, debating his next move, and then thinks fuck it. "And-I mean, you drew me, so I figured turnabout was fair play. Even though the character doesn't look that much like you. I'll try to get you down better, next time."

"Please don't," Kyungsoo says faintly. "I actually thought you'd think it was weird-and I wasn't expecting you to be so nosy, but I should've known."

Chanyeol ignores the jab, tosses his head back. "I have a really beautiful face," he says, grinning. "Like, this is true art, so it's only natural that you'd want to-"

"You don't get it, do you?" Kyungsoo interrupts, sounding incredibly resigned. He leans into Chanyeol's space again. Chanyeol flinches, expecting another smack, or a pinch, something painful, but Kyungsoo's hand lands lightly on Chanyeol's cheek instead, and then his full lips press against Chanyeol's, soft and warm. Chanyeol jerks, surprised. Baekhyun's annoying voice rockets into his head-you're like a teenage girl with a crush. Chanyeol thinks, oh, fuck, his lashes fluttering, and his hand comes up to curl around Kyungsoo's wrist. He tilts his head, licks firmly into Kyungsoo's mouth, tongue gliding past his teeth to stroke the warm roof of his mouth. Kyungsoo lets out a muffled noise, inhales sharply, makes room for him. His fingers clench loosely in the collar of Chanyeol's shirt.

They breathe in tandem once, twice, before breaking apart. Chanyeol's panting when he falls back in his chair, lips slick with spit. He brings a hand to his mouth and slowly wipes it off. The tips of Kyungsoo's ears flush a dark red as his eyes search Chanyeol's face.

"Understand now?" he asks.

Something takes root in Chanyeol's chest and seems to expand, lighter than air. "I-wow. Yes. I think I'm starting to." He sticks his lower lip out and reaches for Kyungsoo's arm again. "But you'll have to do that again, just to make sure."

*

Chanyeol invites Kyungsoo out to get drinks with them the Friday after Jongdae gets a formal offer from Pax TV. Baekhyun and Jongdae are at the usual bar, already three shots deep by the time Chanyeol and Kyungsoo slide into their booth. "This is Kyungsoo," Chanyeol says over the music, gesturing at him. "These are my two idiot best friends, Baekhyun and Jongdae."

Jongdae pats Kyungsoo's shoulder. "It's nice to finally meet you," he says, eyes glinting. A dangerous smile spreads across his face. "Chanyeol's told us a lot of things."

Kyungsoo arches an eyebrow. "Really? Do tell."

Chanyeol hastily raises the bag in his hand. "Oh, look," he says. "I brought copies of the fall issue. They're serializing my band story. We made the front cover!"

"Gold star for you," Baekhyun says. He narrows his eyes at Kyungsoo, and ignores Chanyeol when he kicks him beneath the table. "You're the overbearing editor, right? Is office dating encouraged at your place of work, or is this an illicit romance?"

"Are you and your friends a three-for-one package deal?" Kyungsoo asks Chanyeol, loud enough to hear. "Can I get a refund?"

Baekhyun's jaw drops. "I think we should keep him," Jongdae says, cackling, and pushes two shots of soju across the table.

*

Kyungsoo runs a hand down Chanyeol's face. "Since the first day I met you," he says, "I thought you were the most handsome person I'd ever seen in my life." His fingers slide into Chanyeol's hair as he gets up on his toes, lips parting. "Please. Ravish me."

I refuse to let you publish this, Chanyeol.
ㅋㅋㅋㅋ come on not even an omake???? i made u look so cute :D