Chapter Text
The first day of shooting always smelled the same—like hot lights, hairspray, and nervous sweat. Crew members darted back and forth across the soundstage, wires snaking over the floor, makeup artists adjusting collars, cameras being tested. It was chaos, the kind Jeonghan thrived in. He looked perfect in the costume tailored to him, his hair styled just right, lips painted with the faintest sheen of color. He had the kind of beauty that could silence a room—except he never let it go to waste. He wielded it like a knife.
Wonwoo sat across the set, quietly flipping through his script. Serious, calm, every line committed to memory. Jeonghan liked that. Reliable people were rare in this industry. He was halfway through teasing Wonwoo about how stiff he looked when Seungkwan arrived.
Seungkwan always arrived. Not walked in, not stepped onto set—arrived. A sharp cologne announcing him before his voice did, an expensive jacket slung over his shoulders even though it was thirty degrees under the studio lamps. His assistant clung to his side, carrying his bag, his coffee, even the script Jeonghan doubted he’d opened.
The makeup artist fixing Jeonghan’s eyeliner muttered, “He’s late again.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Jeonghan purred, loud enough for the entire set, “time bends for people with the right family name. Haven’t you heard?”
A ripple of chuckles spread across the crew. Seungkwan stopped dead, lowered his sunglasses, and fixed Jeonghan with a glare that would have burned through weaker skin.
“Good afternoon, sunbae,” Seungkwan said smoothly, though his knuckles were tight around his coffee cup.
Jeonghan smiled back, cruel and sweet. “Afternoon, indeed. How considerate of you to join us while the rest of us peasants sweat for our paychecks.”
Even Wonwoo glanced up then, eyes flicking between them. He didn’t say a word, but his faint exhale carried here we go again.
During rehearsal, Seungkwan fumbled a line. Not badly, but just enough. The director called for another take, and Jeonghan, who stood opposite him in the scene, tilted his head with that dangerous half-smile.
“Villains usually know their lines, sweetheart,” he whispered between takes, just enough for Seungkwan to hear. “Try again. With feeling this time.”
Seungkwan’s jaw clenched so hard Jeonghan almost heard his teeth grind. He spat the line back on the next take with such venom that even the director applauded.
Jeonghan smirked. “See? I should invoice your family. Apparently I’m your real acting coach.”
By the end of the day, the atmosphere around them was buzzing—crew members whispering, some laughing, some exchanging worried glances. Jeonghan was relentless, and Seungkwan gave back what he could, but everyone could feel the imbalance.
When the set finally wrapped, Wonwoo left with the director to review footage. One by one, the crew trickled out, until the cavernous soundstage was almost empty.
Jeonghan was packing up his things when he noticed Seungkwan still lingering, shoulders slumped, face scrubbed free of makeup. Without the armor of designer clothes and bravado, he looked younger. Tired. Almost lonely.
“Still here?” Jeonghan called, slinging his bag over one shoulder. His voice carried the same bite as always, but softer now, dulled by the quiet.
Seungkwan shot him a glance. “Why do you care?”
Jeonghan walked closer, stopping a few steps away. He tilted his head, studying him like he was a scene to be analyzed. “Because you looked like you were about to cry on camera earlier. And if you ruin your face, production will kill us both.”
Seungkwan scoffed, hugging his bag tighter. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Mm,” Jeonghan hummed. Then, more quietly, almost like he hated saying it: “Your delivery was better in the last half. You actually sounded dangerous. It worked.”
That made Seungkwan’s head snap up. He blinked, searching Jeonghan’s expression. For once, there was no smirk, no mockery. Just something unreadable in the low light.
“…Thanks,” he muttered.
“Don’t get used to it.” Jeonghan flashed a grin, sharp again, already turning to leave. “Tomorrow, I’ll bully you twice as hard.”
And with that, he vanished through the studio doors, leaving Seungkwan standing there, lips pressed tight, heart beating faster than he wanted to admit.