Work Text:
among the crowd of students who walked carrying canvases, scale models and instrument cases, haneul made his way with quick strides, holding a folder against his chest as if he were carrying an invaluable treasure. his face overflowed with a euphoria that he had not been able to contain all day.
at the back of the faculty courtyard, sitting on one of the stone benches under the shade of a cherry tree, was martin edwards. he had his headphones placed around his neck and kept his gaze focused on his own notebook, oblivious to the hustle and bustle that surrounded him. his presence was serene, of a tranquility that bordered on complete disconnection with university drama.
“i made it, martin! he accepted!”, haneul exclaimed as soon as he was a couple of meters away, dropping down beside his friend with a momentum that made the bench rumble slightly.
martin raised his head slowly, marking the page of his notebook before closing it. there was that flat and slow calm that always characterized him.
“who accepted what?”, martin asked in a soft tone, offering haneul friendly attention but without changing his relaxed posture.
“what do you mean what?”, haneul opened his eyes wide, almost outraged by his friend's sudden amnesia. “juhoon! kim juhoon! he accepted to be the protagonist of my short film. i had to chase him three days in a row, talk to his professors, adjust the whole shooting schedule to his agenda and swear to him that this project was going to be worth it… and he said yes!”
haneul spoke with his hands, gesticulating with an almost religious fascination. for him, juhoon was not just another acting student; he was an almost unreachable figure, someone who walked through the hallways with an impeccable elegance and a reputation of pure talent that left half the campus sighing. having juhoon in his project was not a simple casting: it was the definitive validation of his work as a director.
martin tilted his head slightly, processing haneul's unrestrained enthusiasm. he blinked a couple of times and released a short sigh, showing a slight smile that sought to be understanding, even if the news didn't generate the slightest emotion in him.
“ah, the theater guy”, martin said in a quiet voice, crossing his arms. “well, i'm happy for you, haneul. i know how much you wanted that. congratulations.”
the response fell on haneul like a bucket of cold water. the lack of impact in martin's tone completely threw him off.
“'i'm happy for you'? is that all?”, haneul furrowed his brow, really offended by his friend's coldness. he leaned toward him, tapping the folder gently against his own thigh. “martin, you're not understanding the magnitude of this. juhoon doesn't say yes to just anyone. he is impeccable, he works with an absurd dedication and has a presence that grabs you even if he's just standing there doing nothing. that he accepted my script means he saw something in it. you should be jumping with me, not making that 'i don't care' face.”
martin let out a low chuckle at his companion's drama. he settled on the bench, holding haneul's outraged gaze without losing patience.
“it's not that i don't care about your achievement, haneul”, martin clarified in a slow manner, trying to soften the other's posture. “it's just that i don't know juhoon like you know him. for you he is an idol or the perfect actor, but for me he is just a faculty classmate with whom i haven't crossed words in my life. i understand your excitement and i really am happy that your project is moving forward, but don't expect me to start admiring him ahead of time.”
haneul huffed, although martin's calm ended up appeasing his outrage a bit. he rolled his eyes, adjusting his hair back.
“you are a bitter person, really. when you see him act in front of you you're going to have to swallow those words”, haneul murmured, although his tone was already recovering the excitement from before. then, he looked at him carefully, remembering something crucial. “by the way… you need to accompany me to the shoots. i asked you last week and you told me you would think about it.”
martin looked at him with a slightly raised eyebrow.
“haneul, i study something completely different. i have nothing to do on a film set.”
“i don't need you to direct, i just need you to be there”, haneul insisted, joining his hands in a half-joking begging gesture. “i am going to be on edge directing juhoon. i need someone of my complete trust to help me keep track of time, carry a couple of cables or simply give me moral support so i don't collapse. you are my best friend, you can't leave me alone in this.”
martin observed haneul for a few seconds. he saw the mixture of devotion to the project and the real need to have a support point amidst so much stress. finally, he let heavy air out through his nose, although his lips curved into affectionate resignation.
“all right”, martin conceded, stowing his notebook in his backpack. “i will accompany you to the recordings and give you a hand with the logistics. but on one condition.”
“whatever you want”, haneul said immediately, recovering his radiant smile.
“don't ask me to be part of your protagonist's fan club”, martin replied with a touch of light irony as he stood up. “i am only going to help you.”
haneul let out a laugh, also getting up and giving him a friendly slap on the shoulder.
“we'll see if you keep that indifference when shooting starts, martin. we'll see.”
martin only shook his head, smiling in silence as they walked together toward the exit, completely oblivious to what that simple favor would end up triggering.
the empty classroom on the third floor had been transformed into a dense and suffocating film set that did not cease to be professional. the air inside the classroom was impregnated with the aroma of cold coffee, accumulated dust and the constant heat radiated by the two old reflectors mounted on metal tripods. haneul ran from one side to another adjusting the sound cables with trembling hands, overwhelmed by the anxiety typical of the first day of shooting.
martin, for his part, stayed away from that commotion. sitting in a corner with his back resting against the wall, he held the notebook where he would register anything his friend asked of him, thus fulfilling the commitment he had made, although for him all that dramatic display lacked real interest.
the atmosphere of the place changed as soon as the door opened.
juhoon entered the set wearing dark jeans and a loose sweater. he was not wearing anything ostentatious, but his mere presence seemed to reconfigure the tension in the room. there was a spontaneous silence; the boy with the microphone paused what he was doing to look at him and one of the assistants adjusted her hair out of inertia. without seeking attention in an obvious way, juhoon possessed that natural magnet that forced others to follow his movements. he had a relaxed posture, a fluid elegance and a polite smile that he offered to everyone by bowing slightly.
“good morning everyone. i'm sorry if i made you wait, traffic near the faculty was complicated”, juhoon said in a soft voice that resonated clearly.
“not at all! you arrived just in time”, haneul responded, crossing the room to receive him and showing him a portable coat rack. “here is the wardrobe for the first scene. the white shirt and the vest. i got exact measurements that you sent me.”
juhoon took the garment and examined the fabric with a critical eye.
“haneul, today we will work on the scene of internal dispute, right?”, juhoon asked, reviewing the script mentally. “if the character feels the pressure of the other personality wanting to take control for the first time, he shouldn't look so put together. physical tension of the struggle should be noticeable.”
“i understand your point, but i prefer that in this close-up he maintains a neat appearance to mark a strong contrast with darker scenes of coming days”, haneul explained nervously.
“if he looks impeccable, anguish is going to feel fake”, juhoon refuted quietly, holding the fabric. “the audience has to perceive that he is trapped inside his own mind from the beginning, seeing how his body does not respond to him. leaving the first buttons unbuttoned helps convey that suffocation.”
haneul blinked, hesitating between his aesthetic vision and juhoon's acting logic.
“all right, you're right. leave the buttons open”, the director conceded. “you can change behind the screen.”
“don't worry, there's no need”, juhoon responded with absolute naturalness.
accustomed to the straightforward dynamic of theater dressing rooms, juhoon grabbed the hem of his sweater and pulled it over his head in a single movement, without the slightest trace of modesty.
at that moment, martin's gaze was completely pinned on him. he stopped taking notes, devouring with his eyes every inch of skin that was exposed. he admired the smoothness of his well-defined shoulders, the clean line of his back and the apparent softness of his flat abdomen. his attention stopped with an almost senseless fixation on juhoon's waist: surprisingly small, thin and tight, giving his figure a visual delicacy that contrasted in a hypnotic way with his masculine presence. martin traced the curve of his sides with his eyes, feeling a hot knot tighten in his throat and the absurd need to verify the texture of that skin with his own hands.
he shook his head abruptly, turning his eyes away toward his notes and squeezing the pen until his knuckles turned white. he is just a boy from the faculty, he repeated internally in a desperate attempt to stifle the physical attraction that threatened to overwhelm him. i am not going to behave like an idiot.
juhoon slid the white shirt over his shoulders, buttoning it easily, and adjusted the vest over his waist before fixing his hair.
“ready whenever you say, haneul”, he announced, taking a seat in the central chair.
“perfect. martin, come here a second”, haneul called him. “lean over the secondary monitor to check that the tight frame doesn't cut off the shadow of his face.”
martin swallowed hard, stood up trying to conceal his agitation and approached the technical table, fixing his eyes on the small seven-inch digital screen.
“silence on set! let's go with the shot of the internal conflict. action!”, haneul ordered.
through the camera lens, juhoon's presence became overwhelming. the screen framed his face illuminated by the reflector, and in a matter of seconds, the friendly expression he gave to everyone disappeared. juhoon began to breathe with difficulty, his knuckles tightened against his thighs and his pupils dilated, showing the transparent terror of a person who feels how his own mind is invaded by an alien force.
martin froze in front of the monitor. on the screen, juhoon's vulnerability looked heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time. every micro-expression, the slight trembling of his chin and the tragic depth of his gaze pierced straight into martin's chest.
while watching the image on the small screen, a dark certainty began to take root deep in his mind: the magnetic and dangerous conviction that he had to protect that creature so fragile at any cost.
upon arriving at the faculty warehouse, a spacious area that had been lent to them for the occasion, the atmosphere was absolute chaos. haneul was walking in circles with his phone glued to his ear, visibly upset.
“you can't do this to me now, james! we've been setting up the lights for this scene for two hours”, haneul protested over the phone before cutting the call in frustration. he turned to martin with a desperate look. “james had a problem with his parents and is not going to make it. he was the extra for the attack scene. martin... please, i need you to do me this favor. you just have to appear in the frame. please.”
martin furrowed his brow, on the verge of flatly refusing to participate so directly. he had no interest in appearing on camera. however, his gaze involuntarily drifted toward the back of the warehouse.
juhoon was sitting comfortably on the edge of a wooden table, with one leg crossed and the other swinging gently in the air. he wore an overwhelming tranquility in the middle of the commotion. he was holding the script with one hand while a production girl adjusted locks of hair on his forehead.
juhoon looked up from the paper and observed the scenery thoughtfully. then, he looked at haneul and martin with a reflective tone.
“haneul, i was re-reading the script for this scene”, juhoon intervened in a clear, deliberate voice. “if the extra only appears already lying on the floor, the scene loses impact. it lacks narrative sense. it would be much better to improvise a small prior struggle, a brief fight where my character corners him before falling to the ground. it would give it a much more realistic and brutal rhythm.”
haneul blinked, processing the idea.
“it makes sense... but martin isn't an actor, juhoon. i don't know if he knows how to mark a struggle without it looking fake or someone getting hurt”, haneul hesitated.
juhoon looked back at martin. he gave him a small, warm smile, with those bright eyes that seemed to light up completely under the dim light of the set.
“don't worry. if martin agrees, i can teach him the sequence in two minutes”, juhoon proposed softly, without taking his eyes off him. “it's something simple: you just hold me by the arms, i push you against the wall and we fall together. that way it won't take you by surprise when we shoot.”
the impact on martin was immediate. with a racing pulse and defenses destroyed by such a direct proposal and such a close gaze, martin swallowed hard and looked back at his friend.
“all right”, martin conceded, his voice slightly raspy. “i'll do it.”
juhoon stepped down from the table delicately and approached martin. the physical closeness was instantaneous. juhoon took martin's hands and positioned them firmly on his own shoulders, showing how he should hold him. martin felt the firmness of his build and the warmth of his skin through the fabric of the wardrobe, remaining paralyzed by the ease with which juhoon guided him.
“when i say the first line, you try to stop me”, juhoon explained to him in a close whisper, adjusting his own fingers around martin's wrists. “i am going to struggle with you, i am going to corner you against that wall and throw you to the ground. you just follow my weight, okay?”
martin nodded awkwardly, unable to articulate words given the intensity of the contact.
ten minutes later, the set, martin, and juhoon were ready. bags full of fake blood had been implanted under martin's clothes, ready to be burst at the right moment. the smell of humidity and fake blood, thick and with a sweet syrup aroma, filled the air.
“silence on set! let's go with the improvisation. action!”, haneul shouted.
in the exact second that the clapperboard sounded, juhoon's warmth vanished completely. the transition was terrifying.
juhoon's face became a mask of absolute coldness. his eyes turned dark and empty. immediately, martin tried to react just as they rehearsed, holding juhoon's shirt to stop him, but the push was overwhelming. juhoon did not hesitate and closed the distance with an aggressive stride, slamming martin against the wooden wall with a force that knocked the air out of his lungs.
the impact echoed flatly in the warehouse. without breaking character, juhoon cornered martin, holding him tightly by his clothes with one hand, while with the other he pressed his chest against the wood, preventing any escape. martin could feel the suffocating heat of juhoon's body pressed against his, his rapid breath brushing his neck and the muscle mass of his arms holding him with relentless firmness. at the climax of the brawl, juhoon hooked one of his legs behind martin's knee and dropped all his weight forward.
both collapsed noisily onto the cold wood of the floor. the blow echoed in martin's ribs, but before he could process the fall, juhoon had already straddled his lap, immobilizing his torso with his knees.
without the slightest hint of hesitation, he pulled out the prop knife and began the attack. he stabbed martin's chest again and again with a frantic rhythm, unleashing the weight of his torso with every thrust. the prop pumped fake blood that gushed out in spurts, soaking juhoon's white shirt and splashing directly onto martin's face, neck, and collarbones.
being trapped under juhoon, feeling the violent pressure of his thighs, the frenzy of his arms, and the warm stains falling on his skin, caused a shock wave to run through martin's spine.
then, juhoon came to a sudden stop.
the second personality yielded. juhoon's body suffered a violent tremor, as if he were suffocating. his rigid posture collapsed onto martin; his eyes opened wide, flooded by a heartbreaking panic. juhoon looked at his own hands, dripping red, and then looked martin in the eyes.
a choked and agonizing groan came from juhoon's throat. his stained hands fumbled for martin's face, leaving trails of red marks along his jawlines as he trembled convulsively. the pain in juhoon's gaze was so explicit and desperate that it seemed like the actual lament of a man trapped in an infernal nightmare, seeing how his own hands had committed an atrocity he never wished for.
martin, lying under him, with his face stained by the same blood and feeling juhoon's trembling hands holding his cheeks, was completely devastated. juhoon's vulnerability inches from his face broke him completely. in martin's mind, the line of fiction blurred; there was only that beautiful, broken, and bloodied boy who desperately needed someone to rescue him from his own torment.
“cut! my god, the fight and the fall were brutal! it was incredible!”, haneul exclaimed, breaking the trance with euphoric applause.
juhoon stopped instantly. the tragic desperation vanished from his face in the blink of an eye. he climbed off martin with agility, breathing normally, and offered him a hand to help him up.
“you did excellent, martin. you followed the movements perfectly”, juhoon said in his usual polite tone, smiling with absolute serenity as he wiped his hands with a towel handed to him by the same production girl.
martin took juhoon's hand to stand up, but the sensation of the other's skin remained burning in his palm long after letting go. he leaned his back against the wall, wiping a stream of fake blood from his neck while watching juhoon join the conversation with haneul, laughing easily, untouchable and perfect as always. martin ran his fingers over his face, feeling the sticky weight of the synthetic blood drying on his cheeks. he said nothing, but the certainty that he was no longer capable of staying out of it remained stuck in his throat like a knot impossible to undo.
the filming of haneul's short film had entered its final stage. after weeks of sleepless nights, wardrobe adjustments, and intense sequences, only a few b-roll shots and the closing scenes remained to be shot. the atmosphere in the makeshift faculty set was a mixture of general relief and the accumulated fatigue of a small crew that had given everything for haneul's project.
martin, leaning against the doorframe, observed the dynamic with that quiet look that was already habitual for him. however, his gaze did not wander around the place; it returned time and again toward juhoon.
juhoon was talking with the lighting technician in a corner, wearing a serene smile while reviewing the last block of dialogue. in martin's eyes, every movement of juhoon maintained that air of restrained grace and neat beauty that kept him entranced. but after the physical experience of the previous shoot, the impact against the wall, the force of the grip on his wrists, and the heartbreaking image of juhoon crying on his chest with hands covered in blood, something in martin's mind had changed definitively. what he felt was no longer a simple distant fascination, but a silent devotion, an imperative need to be close, to be the shadow that would watch over the fragility he believed he had discovered in him.
when haneul announced the final break before dismantling the equipment, the tension of the work seemed to dissipate. members of the technical crew began collecting cables and storing tripods. juhoon excused himself politely with haneul, mentioning that he would go change and remove the rest of the makeup before leaving for home.
martin saw juhoon walk down the hallway toward the area of the makeshift dressing rooms. the urge to follow him, to find an excuse to cross paths alone with him in the hallway, tightened in his throat. he prepared to take a step in that direction when a hand rested firmly on his shoulder.
“hey, martin. we're finally done”, haneul sighed, dropping beside him with a tired but deeply satisfied smile. he carried the external hard drive where he had dumped all the shot material tucked zealously into his backpack. “i have to buy you a few beers this week. really, i don't know what i would have done without you these days. you were a lifesaver.”
martin blinked, reluctantly averting his gaze from the end of the hallway to focus on his friend.
“it was nothing, haneul. i only did what i promised you”, martin responded, keeping a low and neutral tone, although inside, the impatience to reach juhoon began to eat away at him.
haneul let out a small laugh and adjusted his glasses, looking around the almost empty classroom before looking back at martin. there was something in haneul's expression, a different brightness in his eyes that martin had not noticed until that moment: an overflowing satisfaction that went far beyond professional pride for having finished his short.
“you know... for a long time i thought i had chosen the wrong major, or that maybe i didn't have what it takes for this”, haneul began to say in a confidential whisper, crossing his arms. “but seeing juhoon act in front of my camera... the way he responded to my directions, how he gave himself completely to what i wrote... i don't know how to explain it.”
martin furrowed his brow slightly. the name of juhoon in his friend's mouth ignited a small spark of alert in his chest.
“juhoon is incredible at what he does”, martin commented cautiously, measuring every word. “he has a natural talent.”
“it's not just talent, martin”, haneul interrupted him, letting out a shy, almost embarrassed smile while looking down at the floor. “it's the person. i've been observing him from afar at the faculty for months, fascinated with everything he conveys. having managed to get him to work with me, spending all these hours together on set, directing him so closely... i realized it's not just admiration.”
martin remained completely motionless. the air in his lungs seemed to turn to lead.
“what do you mean?”, martin asked, with a voice that lost any trace of warmth, turning dense and cold.
haneul, submerged in his own illusion and totally blind to his friend's change in attitude, let out a hopeful sigh.
“i like him, martin. i think i fell in love with him”, haneul confessed in a whisper full of transparent sincerity. “at first i thought it was just the excitement of the short film, but no. it's the way he talks to me, how he smiles at me when we finish a shot, that closeness we built these weeks. i think he feels something too... the way he looks at me on set can't be just acting. tomorrow, during james's party, i'm going to tell him. i'm going to confess what i feel.”
the words fell on martin like a dull hammer blow. every syllable from haneul echoed in his ears with an unpleasant distortion.
for martin, listening to haneul talk about juhoon as if he were something that belonged to him, as if that tragic and beautiful creature could be reached by the ordinary clumsiness of his friend, felt like an unbearable profanation. in martin's distorted mind, haneul didn't understand anything. haneul only saw the charismatic actor, the bright surface, ignoring the pain and fragility that he believed he had witnessed firsthand. haneul was an obstacle. a annoying noise that threatened to dirty and ruin the only pure connection martin had discovered in his life.
“are you going to confess to him?”, martin repeated, his voice falling into a frigid monotony, deprived of all human nuance.
“yes”, haneul nodded, looking back at him with a smile full of innocent hope, unmindful of the abyss that had just opened in his best friend's eyes. “i know it might sound hasty, but i feel like if i don't do it now, i'll regret it forever. what do you think?”
martin observed him for a few eternal seconds. he analyzed haneul's face, his expression full of a childish illusion, and felt how a cold, clean, and absolute hatred took root at the base of his stomach.
“i think you should be careful, haneul”, martin murmured, framing a faint, absolutely empty smile that did not reach his eyes. “sometimes things don't turn out the way one plans.”
haneul let out a light laugh, giving him a friendly slap on the shoulder, completely oblivious to the weight of the latent threat.
“relax, i have a feeling everything is going to turn out fine. i'm going to store the last boxes. see you outside in five minutes, okay?”
haneul turned around and walked toward the back of the classroom. martin remained standing in the same spot, feeling his pulse beating with an unsettling calm in his ears. he looked at the palm of his hand, the same hand that had touched juhoon on the warehouse floor, and closed his fingers slowly until forming a tight fist.
at that precise instant, the decision inside martin was made without a single hint of doubt: he was not going to allow haneul to get close to juhoon. whatever happened, no one was going to touch what he was willing to protect.
james's parents' mansion was a monument to excess and modern architecture. with his parents out of the country on business, the house had been transformed into the center of university chaos to celebrate the end of filming and also as james's way of apologizing for his absence as an extra in the short film. as one of the most popular students in the arts faculty, james had not spared any expense; the music thundered with a force that made the glass windows vibrate and alcohol flowed without control on a makeshift dance floor that overflowed the ground floor.
in a corner of the living room, away from the hustle and bustle, martin stood with a glass in his hand from which he had barely sipped. his eyes were unable to tear themselves away from juhoon.
juhoon was wearing street clothes, more styled than usual, chatting with a couple of classmates near the window. he smiled with that impeccable courtesy that aroused admiring glances from anyone passing nearby. through the party lights that cut the dimness in warm flashes, martin devoured juhoon's presence with a feverish and toxic devotion. he admired the delicate line of his neck as he tilted his head, the fluid movement of his shoulders under the soft fabric of his shirt and that aura of tragic fragility that, in his distorted mind, juhoon carried with him everywhere. for martin, juhoon was not an ordinary person in the middle of a noisy crowd; he was a living work of art, a pure and brittle creature that the vulgar atmosphere of the party threatened to contaminate. he felt a thick heat tightening his insides, a possessive and suffocating need to wrap him in his arms, to pull him away from the eyes of others and become the only refuge capable of containing the tragic beauty he believed he had discovered in him during his friend's shoot.
a few meters away, haneul observed him with a mixture of nervousness and childish devotion, holding a glass full of beer and desperately seeking the courage to step up and make the confession he had announced to martin the day before. every time haneul took a step toward juhoon, martin's jaw tightened in a frigid gesture, watching his friend with a silent contempt that intensified with every second.
near the marble bar, the energy of the party was at its peak thanks to keonho and wonhee. true to their reputation as the tireless soul of any event, the two were leading a drinking game. keonho shouted cheering the crowd with a glass held high while wonhee set the rhythm beating the bar with his palms, dragging dozens of students into a frenzy of laughter, applause and shouts.
oblivious to the clamor of the ground floor, james and seonghyeon were in the dim light of the wide second-floor hallway, which connected to the interior balcony.
james kept seonghyeon softly cornered against the decorative stone wall, isolated from the outside world by the shadow of his own body. james's devotion was absolute, transparent in the way his eyes devoured every feature of seonghyeon; for james, the rest of the party, the crowd and the music simply did not exist. seonghyeon was his absolute center, a precious figure whom he treated with an almost religious cult, as if walking on the very air he breathed.
“you're exhausted”, james murmured in a low, raspy voice. he brought his hand closer to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear with extreme delicacy. “i told you we didn't have to stay downstairs for so long.”
seonghyeon tilted his head barely a millimeter, enjoying the touch of his fingers, and framed a tired but sweet smile.
“i'm fine, james... i just wanted to see you in your element”, seonghyeon responded in a faint whisper, pressing his palms against james's chest.
james let out a choked sigh at that closeness. unable to contain himself a second longer, he leaned in and sought his lips in a deep kiss, loaded with a suppressed passion and an unfiltered devotion. his hand descended down seonghyeon's back to hold him firmly by the waist but without roughness, pressing him to his body as the kisses became more intense, suffocated by the dim light of the hallway. it was a display of urgent, almost desperate desire, where james surrendered completely to the silent dominance seonghyeon exerted over him just by existing.
seonghyeon parted his lips, reciprocating the contact with a faint moan that got lost in the sound of the music. james kissed the line of his jaw and neck with a feverish desperation, as if he needed to leave a mark of his passage before returning to the reality of the party.
from below, a new outburst of shouts led by wonhee and keonho echoed through the staircase skylight, breaking the bubble for an instant. seonghyeon let out a small contained laugh against james's lips, caressing the nape of his neck.
“your friends are going to destroy the house if you don't go down to control them”, seonghyeon joked between rapid breaths.
“let them destroy it”, james murmured without hesitation, capturing his lips again in a slow, possessive kiss, making it clear that he had no intention of moving from that hallway unless it was with him.
inside the mansion, the hustle and bustle was a dense and suffocating buzz. juhoon was near the kitchen, holding a glass of water with intact serenity, when haneul approached him. the director had a flushed face, his shirt slightly wrinkled and his eyes red from the amount of alcohol he had ingested with the intention of gaining more courage. he moved with obvious clumsiness, swaying a bit before stepping directly into juhoon's path.
“juhoon... please, come with me for a moment”, haneul stammered, slurring his words and making an impatient gesture toward the back exit. “i need to talk to you alone. it's about the final edit... and about something important i have to tell you before the night ends.”
juhoon analyzed haneul's state in a fraction of a second. his classmate's drunkenness caused him deep annoyance, but he framed his usual polite and understanding smile.
“all right, haneul. let's go outside for a moment so you can get some air”, juhoon agreed in a soft voice, leaving the glass on a nearby bar.
both left the heat and music of the house to step into the backyard. the night air was cold and biting, an absolute contrast with the atmosphere inside. haneul guided juhoon away from the illuminated glass windows, seeking the dimness of an area surrounded by tall hedges and dominated by the stone structure of an old turned-off fountain.
martin, who had not lost sight of juhoon the entire evening, noticed the departure of both immediately. he slipped through the crowd with quick and silent steps, going out to the patio with his guard completely up.
upon reaching the fountain area, haneul turned sharply toward juhoon. the artificial bravery of alcohol suffocated any trace of prudence.
“you don't understand, juhoon... the whole short film, every damn shot, i made thinking of you”, haneul blurted out unexpectedly, taking a clumsy step forward and aggressively invading his personal space. “i know you feel the same. i saw it in the way you looked at me when we finished shots, the way you gave yourself on set...”
juhoon took a step back, maintaining composure. “haneul, you are very drunk. let's talk about this tomorrow when you feel better.”
“no! not tomorrow!”, haneul exclaimed, losing control of his voice. he stretched his arms roughly and caught juhoon by the wrists, pushing him until the actor's back hit the stone wall of the fountain. “i've been keeping this inside for weeks. look at me, juhoon. i know you love me.”
juhoon furrowed his brow for an instant. the pressure of haneul's hands on his wrists and the closeness of his alcoholic breath awoke in him a wave of violence that he couldn't identify. for a microsecond, juhoon's posture tensed, he set his heels against the ground, clenched his fists and was a blink away from using force to break haneul's nose with a single blow and slam him onto the ground.
but just before reacting, juhoon's gaze drifted over haneul's shoulder.
through the dim light of the garden, among the shadows of the trees, he spotted martin's silhouette approaching with a firm step, his face distorted by blind fury.
a flash of absolute amusement crossed juhoon's mind. in a matter of a blink, he aborted any attempt at physical defense and changed roles.
in a second, juhoon's strength dissipated completely. his body became soft, submissive. his eyes opened excessively, flooding with moisture under the faint moonlight, while his breathing turned into an erratic and frightened gasp. he turned his face violently to avoid haneul's contact, shrinking his shoulders with a perfectly calculated tremor, passing himself off as a fragile, terrified, and helpless creature.
“haneul... you are hurting me... please, let go of me”, juhoon pleaded with a thread of a broken voice, just the right vibration of panic in his throat to break the heart of anyone who heard him.
haneul, blind from his drunken obsession, did not notice the change nor the presence behind him. he tried to hold juhoon's face to force a kiss.
in martin's mind, the image of juhoon's suffering made everything explode.
he came out of the shadow with lethal speed. he didn't yell or ask for explanations. he arrived behind haneul's back, shoved his hand into the collar of his jacket and pulled him back with immense force. haneul's grip on juhoon broke suddenly and he was sent flying, stumbling over his own feet until falling heavily onto the damp lawn.
“martin! what the hell is wrong with you?”, haneul spat, rubbing his shoulder with confusion as he tried to get up.
martin didn't spare him a single glance. he positioned himself immediately between haneul and the actor, like a human shield. his eyes, dark and void of any empathy, fixed immediately on juhoon. the boy remained pressed against the stone wall, rubbing his wrists as if they hurt deeply, looking at him with heartbreaking relief and vulnerability.
“go inside, juhoon”, martin told him. his voice sounded abnormally soft, a protective whisper that contrasted eerily with the rigidity of his back. “go back inside, grab your things and get out of here. i'll take care of him.”
juhoon nodded with a slight tremble in his chin. he gave martin one last look loaded with gratitude, as if he were handing him his life, and passed almost running beside him. but as soon as he turned his back on martin and crossed the threshold of the shadows toward the party lights, juhoon's panic mask crumbled. a small smile full of satisfaction formed on his lips. he loved the chaos he had just orchestrated.
once alone in the garden, the silence between martin and haneul became tense.
haneul managed to get on his knees, laughing bitterly. “what is your fucking problem, martin? he's my actor, it's my project... you had no right to interfere, he loves me—”
martin didn't let him finish.
he lunged at him with the speed of a predator. before haneul could stand up, martin pushed him with all the weight of his body, slamming the nape and back of his friend against the hard stone edge of the fountain. the impact knocked the air out of haneul, but before he could emit a single groan, martin's hands closed around his neck like a steel tourniquet.
haneul opened his eyes wide, while panic cleared the effect of alcohol suddenly. he brought his hands to martin's arms, digging his nails into his best friend's wrists in a desperate attempt to break free. he opened his mouth looking for air, but from his throat only a dull scrape emerged.
martin observed him from above without blinking. he observed haneul kicking and flailing on the ground with the same indifference with which one observes an insect getting trapped.
“i told you to be careful, haneul”, martin whispered, applying more and more pressure on his trachea. “you dared to touch him. you scared him. you dirtied the only pure thing that existed.”
haneul looked at him with dilated pupils and bloodshot eyes. tears of suffocation ran down his temples while his movements became increasingly clumsy and spasmodic. he tried to hit martin's face, but his fists lacked strength. in martin's distorted mind, he was not committing a horrendous crime against the person who had accompanied him for years, but rather eliminating a threat and clearing the ground to keep his juhoon safe.
tens of agonizingly slow seconds passed. haneul's kicks against the lawn ceased. his body gave one last involuntary twitch before relaxing completely. his arms fell heavily to his sides and his eyes remained open, empty and opaque, fixed on the night sky.
martin maintained the pressure for a full minute longer, making sure not the slightest trace of life remained. when he finally removed his hands, haneul's head fell sideways against the stone with a dull thud.
martin stood up slowly. his breathing was heavy, but not from regret, rather from physical exertion. he wiped the scratches from his wrists without feeling any pain, contemplating the corpse at his feet. there was no guilt in his chest. he only felt an absolute and insane certainty, juhoon was finally safe, and now it was his turn to claim him.
juhoon walked with a firm step along the dark sidewalk that bordered the perimeter of the mansion. the music from the party was now only heard as a dull, distorted thrum in the distance, drowned out by the freezing night wind. with his hands shoved into the pockets of his loose jacket, he moved under the flickering light of the streetlamps. his breathing was calm and his face clear, still processing with a certain annoyance the ridiculous harassment scene haneul had pulled in the garden minutes ago.
the dry sound of rushed footsteps crunching dry leaves behind his back made him stop dead in his tracks.
before juhoon could turn to look, a rigid, rough hand grabbed the fabric of his shoulder with excessive violence, dragging him without ceremony toward the dimness of a side alley.
martin cornered him against a wall of worn bricks. he was disheveled, pupils dilated to the limit and breath coming out in thick puffs of steam from his mouth. there was something deeply broken in martin's gaze: his eyes shone in a way that made it seem as though sanity had completely dissolved to give way to a destructive devotion. his hands were marked with recent scratches and his skin was strangely pale, trembling with a contained frenzy.
“juhoon... calm down. please, don't scream. it's me, you're safe”, martin murmured in a harsh, raspy voice, attempting to sound reassuring, but conveying a dangerous instability. his face was too close, his eyes fixed on juhoon as if he were contemplating a divine revelation. “haneul is not going to lay a hand on you ever again. never. we are leaving right now, i am going to take you to a place where no one will ever scare you again.”
juhoon blinked, completely astonished by the sight of martin. he looked at the trembling hands holding him, the cold sweat covering his forehead, and the unhinged urgency of his every word. for juhoon, the situation had crossed the boundary of the ridiculous: a near-stranger, the quiet guy from the set, had just dragged him into a dark passage talking with the delusion of a madman.
“what the hell are you talking about? get your hands off me, martin”, juhoon ordered in a freezing voice, firm and loaded with sharp indignation.
martin was bewildered for an instant by juhoon's raspy tone, but the rotten gears of his distorted mind reworked the scene in a second. in the parallel universe where martin lived, juhoon was not rejecting him; rather, juhoon was traumatized, terrified, suffering a nervous breakdown because of haneul's groping and the suddenness of the situation. juhoon's aggressiveness was, in martin's eyes, the desperate cry of a tragic creature who didn't understand that he was his only savior.
“you don't understand... you don't comprehend it yet, but you will understand”, martin stammered, framing a crooked, tremulous smile that did not touch his empty eyes. his voice fell into a possessive murmur, almost maternal in its madness. “you're scared. you're in shock from what happened in the garden. but i am looking out for you. i have everything prepared. a quiet place, no cameras, no vulgar people trying to dirty you...”
“let go of me, you freak!”, juhoon exclaimed.
feeling cornered and perceiving that martin's mind was completely lost in a delusion from which he would not respond with logic, juhoon acted out of survival instinct. he pretended to yield for a millisecond, relaxing his shoulders, and before martin could react, he clenched his fist and landed a direct, clean blow to his face.
the punch impacted with precision on martin's lower lip, cutting the skin against his own teeth. the sound of the impact echoed in the alley. martin's head snapped sideways and blood gushed immediately, thick and warm, staining his chin.
martin took two steps back from the momentum, touching the wound with the tips of his fingers. he looked at his red-stained hand and then fixed his eyes on juhoon again. instead of rage, a mad pity formed on martin's face. seeing his "defenseless creature" strike with so much fear only confirmed his theory: juhoon was broken inside and needed to be saved from himself at any cost.
juhoon didn't waste a second. taking advantage of the distance, he stepped forward and delivered a accurate, brutal kick to the center of martin's chest. the blow resonated with a hollow impact, knocking all the air out of martin's lungs and sending his body crashing back against a metal dumpster.
juhoon turned on his heels, ready to sprint toward the light of the main avenue. however, he didn't count on the stamina martin's psychosis granted him.
despite having no air and feeling his lip burning from the cut, martin felt no physical pain, as his obsession acted like the most powerful adrenaline. he launched himself to the ground like a cornered animal, stretching his arm with blind ferocity until managing to catch juhoon by the ankle just as he took his first step.
juhoon lost his balance and fell heavily onto the hard concrete of the alley, letting out a curse through his teeth as the impact scraped the palms of his hands and knees. with desperate agility, he flipped onto his back and began kicking with his free leg directly at martin's face and torso to break free.
martin blocked the blows as best he could with his forearms, ignoring the impacts. with a heavy, clumsy, but unstoppable movement, he dragged himself over juhoon's body, using his larger build and weight to pin his legs to the ground.
“let go of me! somebody help! let me go, you idiot!”, juhoon shouted, struggling with all the strength in his body, trying to dig his fingers into his eyes or strike his throat.
martin caught both of juhoon's wrists in midair with a single hand. he squeezed his fingers around his joints with a crushing force, pinning them above juhoon's head against the damp pavement. juhoon arched his back violently, contorting beneath him, but the difference in weight and muscle mass was an insurmountable wall.
martin's face was inches from his. his mouth was stained with his own blood, his pupils fixed, and his gaze filled with a sick, almost religious devotion as he contemplated juhoon's agitated face beneath him.
“forgive me... forgive me for having to do this”, martin whispered, his voice broken by panting and a trickle of blood falling from his lip directly onto juhoon's collarbone. “i know you hate me right now. i know you think i'm a monster. but when you wake up and see that you are safe, you are going to thank me. i promise you, juhoon... i am going to take care of you through everything.”
with his free hand, martin reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a thick cloth handkerchief, previously soaked in a concentrated anesthetic substance.
juhoon clenched his teeth and turned his neck violently to the side, refusing to breathe. martin, with a chilling clinical coldness, dug his fingers into his jaw, pressing the pressure points on the sides of his face until forcing him to face him again.
martin pressed the handkerchief firmly over his nose and mouth.
juhoon fought with fierce desperation. he held his breath as long as his lungs allowed, shaking his head and kicking the ground with his heels in a desperate attempt to break free. but the lack of oxygen forced him to take an involuntary gasp. the sweet, suffocating chemical invaded his airways instantly.
in a matter of three seconds, the savage strength in juhoon's arms began to evaporate. his body's resistance collapsed, his limbs turned heavy as lead, the streetlight above their heads began to dissolve into blurry flashes, and martin's bloodied face floating over him was the last thing he saw.
juhoon fixed his eyes on martin one last time, filled with a mixture of helplessness, contempt, and deep confusion, before his eyelids gave way completely. his head fell heavily to the side, limp on the concrete.
silence claimed the alley once more.
martin remained resting on his knees on top of juhoon for over a minute, listening only to the sound of his own heavy breathing. with an almost reverent slowness, he brought his trembling hand toward the boy's face. he brushed away with extreme delicacy a lock of hair covering his forehead, caressing his soft cheek with his blood-stained fingers.
a smile of absolute relief, devoid of any trace of sanity, spread across martin's face. he had done it. juhoon would finally be safe.
he slipped his arms under juhoon's back and legs, lifting him in his arms as if he weighed nothing. he settled the actor's unconscious head against his chest and began walking with a firm step toward the car he had parked in the shadows, completely submerged in the illusion that he had just rescued the love of his life.
the air in the basement was a dense, freezing, and stale mass that smelled of aged humidity, accumulated dust, and rusted metal. a single bare lightbulb hung from the high ceiling by a wire, swaying slightly and casting long, grotesque shadows on the raw concrete walls.
juhoon began to emerge from unconsciousness very slowly. his head throbbed with a dull pulsation from the anesthetic, and a chemical, sour, metallic taste covered his palate. he blinked repeatedly until his vision managed to focus on the cracks in the wall in front of him. he tried to move his arms to rub his temples, but a sharp tug and the dry sound of a metallic clank stopped the gesture suddenly.
he was sitting directly on the freezing cement floor, his back against a thick support column. his wrists, encircled by heavy chains whose links squeezed his skin until it was red, were bound with an iron padlock behind the structure.
a mere two meters away, sitting on a worn wooden chair, martin observed him in a deathly silence.
martin was no longer wearing the stained jacket from the party; he wore a dark t-shirt, but his overall appearance was the living image of consummate madness. he had sallow skin, lined with purple dark circles that sunken his gaze, and his lower lip was split, scabby, and grotesquely swollen from the punch juhoon had landed on him in the alley. he held a damp cloth in his hands, squeezing and wringing it compulsively.
upon seeing juhoon's eyes finally fix on him, martin's frigid expression crumbled, replaced by an almost devotional emotion. he slid off the chair and approached with a slow step, kneeling on the cold floor at juhoon's level.
“you woke up... you're finally awake”, martin murmured. his voice was a soft, reverent scrape, loaded with a tenderness that was spine-chilling given the surroundings. he stretched out a trembling hand to pass the cloth over juhoon's forehead. “shh, calm down. you are safe here. no one knows you exist in this place. no one is ever going to touch you or lay vulgar eyes on you again. i promised you.”
juhoon jerked his neck sharply, avoiding the cloth with a gesture of disgust. he lowered his gaze toward the metal trapping his joints and then fixed his eyes back on martin. the initial disorientation lasted barely a blink; in its place, juhoon's eyes became pools of cutting contempt.
“take these fucking chains off me, you mental case”, juhoon spat. despite the dryness of his throat, his tone did not waver for a second; there was no tremor in his shoulders nor a trace of the panic a regular hostage would show. “what do you think you're doing? do you think that by locking me in this filthy hole i'm going to cry or beg you? you are nothing more than a pathetic, disgusting stalker.”
martin smiled with a sad, mad pity. he shook his head slowly, looking at juhoon as if contemplating a wounded angel who failed to comprehend the greatness of the altar built for him.
“i don't care if you insult me, juhoon. i don't care if you hate me right now”, martin said, resting his palms on the floor in front of juhoon, leaning forward. “i know you are in shock. i know it's too much for you. but you left me no other choice... i had to do what was necessary to protect you from haneul's filth.”
juhoon arched an eyebrow, letting out a bitter huff. “from haneul? please. he was a pathetic piece-of-shit drunk. i didn't need an unhinged freak like you to defend me.”
martin clenched his fists against the floor with such force that his knuckles turned white. his eyes became two dark voids, devoid of any trace of humanity. the coldness with which he released the following words chilled the basement air.
“haneul is not going to bother you ever again. never”, martin said in a whisper devoid of guilt or regret. “i killed him, juhoon. i strangled him with my own hands in the garden while you went back inside. i broke his neck against the stone of the fountain because he dared to lay his hands on you, because he erased your smile and scared you. i destroyed him so you could be completely mine and no one else's.”
the silence that followed the confession was overwhelming. the distant dripping of a broken pipe echoed like a metronome in the dimness. martin remained motionless, awaiting the reaction he had fantasized about in his mind for hours: he expected to see juhoon break down in tears, tremble with terror, reach for his chest to take refuge from the horror of death, or beg for his life before the monster that had saved him.
however, none of that happened.
juhoon kept staring at him. for five eternal seconds, his face remained absolutely expressionless, processing martin's image, the scratch marks on his wrists, and the truth of his words.
and then, the corner of juhoon's lips began to curl upward.
a small snort escaped his nose. then, a choked laugh that was born in the back of his throat. in a matter of moments, juhoon threw his head back against the concrete column and burst out laughing heartily. it was a loud, clear, shrill, and deeply unhinged laugh that bounced off the cement walls like a nightmare echo.
martin froze. the innocent illusion, the altar of purity, and the rescue narrative he had meticulously constructed over the past months shattered into a thousand pieces before his eyes.
“is it... is it funny to you?”, martin stammered, undone, feeling an abysmal void opening under his feet.
juhoon brought the laughter to a stop little by little, but the broad, cruel, and dark smile remained painted on his face. the mask of a fragile, scared, and helpless boy he had worn on set—the same one martin had worshipped with religious devotion—disintegrated completely. the gaze juhoon directed at his captor now was one of pure malice, injected with a sick electricity he had never allowed to be seen in front of a camera.
“he died? you really killed him with your own hands?”, juhoon asked, leaning forward as much as the chains permitted, his eyes shining in a psychotic ecstasy. “my god... it's fucking incredible! that idiot was driving me crazy with his cheap director speeches and his bargain obsession. and did you really think i was scared of him? or that i was scared of you?”
martin swallowed with difficulty, feeling a physical dizziness. “he... he was cornering you at the fountain, you were trembling, you looked at me—”
“i was acting, you piece of idiot!”, juhoon interrupted him with a bitter, biting laugh. “i saw you standing among the shadows in the garden from the very first second. i saw how you looked at me with those rabid dog eyes, and i used you. i knew perfectly well that if i played the helpless victim, you were going to jump at his throat like the beast you are. i manipulated you into getting rid of that nuisance for me, and you fell for it hook, line, and sinker!”
martin felt a savage lash in his chest. the revelation that he had been a pawn in juhoon's game should have destroyed him or unleashed his rage. yet, deep within his rotten mind, the effect was the exact opposite. knowing that the creature he worshipped was not a delicate victim, but a manipulative, cold, and ruthless monster just as broken as he was, did not extinguish his growing obsession: it converted it into an absolute, sick addiction. he was not worshipping an angel; he was chained to a demon.
juhoon noticed the instant transformation in martin's face, seeing how the shock and shock gave way to a feverish, dark, and hungry fascination. juhoon was fascinated by that reaction. feeling the cold metal biting his wrists, the presence of a real killer a few inches away, and the overload of adrenaline from having provoked a death triggered a perverse appetite inside him that he had never experienced before.
juhoon yanked on the chains with force, making the clank of the links echo through the basement. he ran the tip of his tongue over his dry lips, pinning his eyes on martin's with an unyielding provocation.
“look at you... you're completely unhinged”, juhoon murmured, lowering his voice to a dense, raspy, and seductive whisper. “you killed your best friend for me. you drugged me, dragged me to this filthy hole... and even like this you can't stop looking at me like i'm your god.”
martin closed the distance separating them, crawling on his knees until he was millimeters from his face. his breath was a hot, heavy pant brushing juhoon's skin.
“you are... you are my fucking god”, martin confessed in a thread of a choked voice, raising a trembling hand to hold his jaw.
this time, juhoon did not pull away. he pressed his cheek against martin's rough, stained palm, enjoying the absolute dominance he exerted over his captor even while chained.
“if you want me, you're going to have to truly earn it”, juhoon provoked him, tilting his neck and showing him the bare skin of his throat. “kill me if you want... or show me once and for all what you're capable of to feed this addiction.”
martin didn't hold back a second longer.
he threw himself onto juhoon's mouth in a brutal, desperate kiss lacking any delicacy. the clash of their lips was savage, a clumsy impact that tasted instantly of the dried blood from martin's split lip and the metallic flavor of the chemical. juhoon responded to the kiss with equal ferocity, opening his mouth to receive him, yanking the chains violently behind his back in a frenzy of power and submission. in the middle of the kiss, juhoon bit down angrily into the cut on martin's lip, biting until opening the wound again and swallowing the warm blood that gushed out immediately.
martin let out a choked groan against his lips, imprisoning juhoon's waist with his arms, pressing his large torso against his with crushing force, pinning him against the concrete of the column.
in the frozen dimness of the basement, amidst the smell of blood, the echo of iron striking stone, and the suffocating gasps of both, the line between captor and captive vanished completely. the chains ceased to be a prison and became the bond of a psychotic pact: two twisted minds surrendering to a dark devotion where sanity had died and only the violence of their own obsession remained.
a month after the night at the mansion, the atmosphere in the hallways of the arts faculty had returned to normal. haneul's mysterious “disappearance” after the wrap party had become old gossip. the police closed the case as a voluntary departure, exactly as the coordinated narrative of martin and juhoon made them believe.
now, the only center of attention on campus was the strange and incomprehensible relationship between juhoon and martin.
no one understood how the star actor, polished and coveted, had ended up officially dating the production student who used to go unnoticed. but they didn't care about anyone's opinion.
it was late at night. the faculty editing room was completely dark, except for the bluish glow emitted by the gigantic projector screen.
juhoon was sitting on the main desk with his legs crossed. he was wearing an oversized leather jacket that belonged to martin and held a cup of iced coffee, watching the screen with a satisfied smile. beside him, standing and immersed in the shadows, martin worked the computer keyboard. the scar on his lower lip had healed, but in his eyes there was no longer a single trace of the shyness of the past.
on the projected screen played the raw footage haneul had recorded before he died.
in the scene, juhoon's character looked at the camera with an expression of studied fragility. juhoon pressed the spacebar to pause the video right on the frame where his "victim" face looked perfect.
“look at that shot, martin”, juhoon murmured in a soft voice, loaded with a sinister pride. he tilted his head to look martin in the eyes. “haneul really believed i was suffering in that frame. he was a talentless idiot.”
martin approached slowly, positioning himself between juhoon's legs on the desk. he took the coffee cup from his hand and set it aside, caressing his waist with his large, rough hands, pressing him against his body.
“you are too much for any of them”, martin said in a low, raspy murmur, pressing his forehead against juhoon's. “no one knows what you really are. only me.”
juhoon let out a small, enchanted laugh, intertwining his fingers in martin's hair and pulling back with force, forcing him to expose his neck. he was fascinated by the power he held over him: knowing that this man, who had been capable of killing his best friend in cold blood without blinking, trembled with eagerness at just one of his glances.
“and aren't you scared, my love?”, juhoon provoked, brushing his lips against martin's jaw with tortuous slowness. “you know what i'm capable of. you know it was because of me that he died... what makes you think i won't destroy you too when i get bored?”
martin didn't hesitate for a single second. he framed a crooked, pale, and sick smile, pinning his dark eyes on juhoon's while holding his face with a firmness that bordered on pain.
“destroy me if you want”, martin whispered against his lips. “but for as long as i live, you're not getting out of my sight.”
juhoon returned the kiss with hungry ferocity, pulling at martin's clothes while the projector illuminated their intertwined figures against the background of the screen. martin's madness was not a prison for juhoon; it was his favorite stage, and both were ready to act on it to the ultimate consequences.