"I might believe you're a witch," is the first thing Yeonjun says, the next day when Beomgyu arrives for dress trials. Beomgyu pauses, squinting through his headache, wondering if hallucinations are part of hangovers.

Did Yeonjun just call him a witch?

"Uh huh," is all Beomgyu says. He'd been (badly) woken by a very excited Kang Taehyun wanting to dish the dirt on his (possibly spectacular-Beomgyu didn't really catch most of it) threesome. And then he'd jolted out of bed because the large digital clock behind Taehyun's head had been spelling out 9:00 AM.

It's 9:58 now, which means Beomgyu isn't technically late. His hair is a mess, though, and his face is puffy like bread. He's still sniffling, voice rough from the cold. He's also wearing an old Gucci jacket he's pretty sure is on backwards, but he's hoping he can pass that off as high fashion. He's worn stranger things.

Yeonjun is wearing a black t-shirt over black jeans and retro framed glasses. It gives him a hot librarian look, which is a definite classic in Beomgyu's opinion. And with the dark, squinty way Yeonjun's looking at him ,Beomgyu would give this effort a solid 10/10. He doesn't think even Rihanna's recent Met Gala gown merited that much.

"A witch," Yeonjun says, just the tiniest hint of awe in his voice. "You have to be."

"Why's that, hyung?"

"I tried to replace you."

It's a tiny little arrow to the heart. Beomgyu can't hide that it hurts-he feels his face fall, and knows that Yeonjun sees it, too. But Beomgyu's had worse, so he soldiers on, merely pausing to take a sip of his matcha latte. "And?"

"I had Kai ring up every single vintage costumer and procurer."

"This early?"

Yeonjun shrugs. Beomgyu's not too surprised-when you're Choi Yeonjun, you get to wake up anyone in the fashion industry at even the most unearthly hour.

"Guess how it went."

Beomgyu perches on top of a pile of steel boxes. There's massive industry all around them: men and women working on constructing a retro bar around them as they speak, talking into earphones, moving around with fabrics and drills and glue guns. He spots Jimin out the corner of his eye, talking to the swing gang crew of set decorators .

He tries to keep his voice light even as his stomach churns a bit. Tries not to sound betrayed. "Hyung. Why did you try to replace me?"

"I find it hard to work with you. You're annoying," Yeonjun's tone is airy, dismissive, pitched to hurt. Beomgyu's almost ashamed to admit that it does still hurt. He's never had drunk conversations with anyone who hasn't become his good friend by the next day. "Never mind that. Guess what happened."

"I don't know."

"We called up everyone we could. Seojun, Suho, Mark Lee. What do you think they said?"

"...No?"

"No," Yeonjun mutters, darkly. "Indeed. Why's that, Beomgyu?"

Beomgyu wonders if he could ask Yeonjun to make this a multiple choice question. "They're my...friends?"

Yeonjun plays with his phone, spinning it around and around between his fingers, studying Beomgyu thoughtfully through his bangs. "They're your friends."

"Is that...bad?"

"It's mind-boggling!" Yeonjun exclaims, running a hand through his silver hair. "How many friends do you have in this industry?"

"A lot," Beomgyu huffs a laugh, abruptly unable to get the pleased smirk off his face. Yeonjun just looks so astonished, even through his veneer of nonchalance. "I have a lot of friends."

"Yes, you do," Yeonjun says, still in that feathery, light tone that suggests both irritation and amusement. "They said no the moment they heard it's you they're replacing. It was fucking awful."

Awful isn't the word Beomgyu would use. He probably needs to send them all bouquets. Or donuts. Or some nice champagne. "Maybe that luck spell worked, after all," he says, shrugging, biting his lip to ward off a sneeze. "You know, hyung, sex is a great way to charge up a magic sigil."

Yeonjun bites gently on his lower lip, almost in a mirror of Beomgyu. "Of course it is."

"Sex is a great way to what?" Kai asks, innocently, joining them.

"Get glowing skin like yours!" Beomgyu coos, jumping up to pet Kai's cheeks. Kai lets him, blushing a little, slinging one arm around Beomgyu's shoulder. Yeonjun watches them irritably, gives a sigh, and mutters something about needing to check the gaffer's lighting plans again as he wanders off.

"I'm sorry, Beomgyu-ah," Kai says, grabbing Beomgyu's hand when he's sure Yeonjun's out of ear-shot. "But he woke me up in the morning demanding we find you a replacement. Wouldn't even give me a reason. What the hell happened yesterday?"

"We got drunk," Beomgyu says unhappily, shrugging as he sits cross-legged on his boxes. "We talked. He said he hates people and needs no one."

Kai follows Yeonjun's disappearing back with his eyes, a worried crease appearing between his eyebrows. "Hyung's always been like that. Thinks people are leeches, doesn't let anyone close. Sometimes I think he only keeps me around because I don't push him to say anything."

"Well. It's fucking stupid."

"Says you," Kai slaps his shoulder, delight crinkling his eyes. " Yah, Beommie, how many friends do you have? I swear I made like twenty calls. Yeonjun hyung nearly blew up. He only gave up after I threatened to call up Taehyung hyung and tell him about his unreasonable vendetta towards you."

Beomgyu shoots Kai an aggressive little wink. "You're stuck with me, Kai-ah."

"I didn't want it any other way," Kai declares. Then he seems to think of something worrisome and scuffs his shoes against the ground. He's quiet for nearly a minute, and a quiet Kai strangely looks very sad, Beomgyu thinks. "Hey-did, uh, Taehyun talk to you today?"

"He just babbled on about what a good time he had-why?"

Kai colors a bit. "No reason," he says, hastily, smiling wide at Beomgyu. "Uh, do you wanna go get the clothes ready?"

Not suspicious at all, Beomgyu thinks, but follows Kai as he weaves through a crowd of artists and decorators and set dressers. Pre-production is on full force, and usually Beomgyu would go babble at the production crew before he met the costume department. Today he feels preoccupied, head full of sharp-toothed thoughts on why Yeonjun would try so hard to replace him.

One answer is that Yeonjun's still not convinced of Beomgyu's ability-that he still thinks Beomgyu is terrible at his job, or irresponsible, or incapable of following instructions. The other, more easily obvious answer is in all they'd spoken of last night.

That maybe Yeonjun feels like he told Beomgyu too much. That maybe he thinks Beomgyu would try to fix him.

Truth be told, Beomgyu has no such intentions. He's admired Yeonjun from afar, fallen in love with his work, dreamed of working alongside him one day. This is that day. He likes to think that he can be professional. If Yeonjun doesn't want to bring personal shit into their working relationship, Beomgyu can pretend that the conversation never happened.

(Even if it niggles at him. Even if it tries to weather down his own happiness. Even if he-)

No. Beomgyu is a businessperson. Professionalism is his buzzword. He and Taehyun have been in situations like this a hundred times before: men confessing drunken secrets to them, women admitting to adultery and then tearfully pressing them into silence, yet others making passes at and propositioning them for sexual favors.

It's just part of the job. Part of the industry. It's about as common as getting a sour bagel at odd times on the sets-which is a lot more fucking common than anyone would think.

Be professional, he thinks, as he catches sight of Yeonjun now. Yeonjun pauses between inspecting a bunch of fabric swatches to meet Beomgyu's gaze, and there's a spark there, hot and dangerous.

A challenge.

Choi Yeonjun, Beomgyu thinks, is like a lit firework. Beautiful, yet dangerous to hold. Ephemeral and bright, but toxic if you get too close. The kind of person Taehyun warns Beomgyu away from. The sort of heart-breaker that leaves scars. Yeonjun's said it himself-he has no time for anyone, spares no thought for friendships, has no need for relationships. Beomgyu would be stupid to try to change any of that. It would be as impossible as unwinding a dog's curly tail, or getting Taehyun to stop clinging to people. Futile. Painful. Unnecessary.

Anyway. It's not his place. It's not his problem.

Yeonjun's not his problem.

Be professional, he thinks, in the voice in his head that sounds distinctly like Taehyun. He swallows when Yeonjun smirks at him from right next to the rack of Beomgyu's clothes, sport clear in his eyes. His expression is stretched thin, a vague purple beneath his eyes from the ghosts of last night's drinks, and he stands with his chin ducked, shoulders hunched, clearly defensive. There is something about it-something hectic and unsettled-that sets a frisson of nerves tangling in Beomgyu's chest.

Don't try to be his friend. He tried to replace you. All you said was maybe he should get through his trust issues and stop being an asshole. Be professional.

"I'll warn you now," Kai says. "It gets a bit crazy in here. Just-don't take it personally, okay, Beomgyu-ah? He's just doing his job."

"Sure," Beomgyu says, trying to inject enthusiasm into his voice, failing when he meets Yeonjun's gaze. "I can be professional. Don't worry."

"I'm here, okay? The craken is unleashed, but you call me if you want a paddle boat. Or a lifesaver. Or just a big hug."

"I'll take one now," Beomgyu says, gloomily, and Kai envelops him in a warm hug instantly.

"You'll be okay," he says into Beomgyu's hair. "He respects your work, if nothing else."

Beomgyu perks up. "How do you know that?"

"Remembers your name, now, doesn't he?" Kai's smirk is like a cat's. "You're not just Fairy Boy anymore. Isn't that a great upgrade?"

Beomgyu shoves Kai lightly in the chest. "Go think of your life. Think hard about your choices. Reflect on how you got stuck here, in this terrible, loveless place."

Kai just grins and flashes him a thumbs-up. "Good luck!" he says, syrupy sweet, his eyes twinkling. "You'll need it, Beommie."

***

Kai is right.

Beomgyu needs all the luck he can get.

That first day he comes back home with a head swimming with alterations, modifications, replacements. The magenta dress has to be broken down for additional shots post the love-motel scene-he needs standbys for that, and the breakdown artists need to be taught how to work with vintage. The actress playing Choi Hae-won freaks out if something obstructs her neck; he needs to modify the minidress to fit her instructions. Yeonjun thinks they need to find something else for one of the outdoor shots-it has to be polished and in-character, but not too flashy, nor too bland, nor too easily recognizable from one of the time period's fashion catalogs. Yet it must be label; preferably a New York label. Searchable, nostalgic, and very period-y, because that's nearly the opening shot, and they can't fuck it up.

Don 't fuck it up, Beomgyu.

It's too-big buttons and errant stitches, garters that pinch and sleeves that are too long, bustles that don't fit and under-dresses that are too visible in the light. It's colors that don't pop under indoors lighting. It's wallpapers that blend with the costume too much. It's the actress screaming that a dress calls too much attention to her "problem areas". It's clashing hair-color, clashing backgrounds, clashing props. It's imperfections of the minutest variety, crawling up to torment him, recorded in Yeonjun's notebook and meticulously itemized.

Make it perfect, Beomgyu.

Perfect, perfect, perfect. He works with the cutters through the day, overseeing work for not just his pieces but the ones that will complement it. He works with extras' costumes, the details on them, the styling required to make even a plain white shirt appear as if it belongs to a time period. He runs around like a maniac, arms full of fabric, trying to set things in place. Yeonjun hovers, making suggestions, writing things down in an ever-lengthening task-tracker. The longer it gets, the more he seems to thrive, like some weird sort of desert succulent living on scorching winds and cursed earth.

At the end of it all, Beomgyu's ready to crash and sleep for two hundred years. His feet are killing him, and his head throbs. He sneezes what feels like every two minutes. There is a distinctly unattractive puffiness to his face that isn't helped by the giant strawberry pastry he shovels into his mouth for dinner.

"You sure you'll make it to the auction?" Taehyun asks, hovering at his apartment door in the early hours of morning. "Beommie, I can cancel the Haskell viewing, but we need this auction."

Beomgyu clutches Blue and sways on his feet. "I'll catch that plane. I will, Taehyunie. You go get us some bling."

"If you're sure," Taehyun says, reaching out his arms to hug Beomgyu and dog and the giant blanket around his shoulders and all. "Binnie's coming to get your stuff packed, so don't worry about that. He'll let himself in. Just don't think he's an intruder and try to murder him."

"Hey, that was once."

"You attacked him with a waffle iron. Naked."

"There were no lasting damages."

"To his psyche there was," Taehyun grins, and Beomgyu scoffs at him. Soobin's made of sterner stuff than that, he knows for a fact. No waffle-iron or accidental dick-spotting is likely to rattle him. "Also, that outdoor costume thing-I pulled a rack for you, so just go see that in the morning first before you turn the shop upside down. There's some good stuff there. I thought, maybe Gucci, some velvet, maybe Rabanne?"

Beomgyu heaves a sigh of relief. "You're the best, Taehyun."

"I know," Taehyun simpers. "Should I tell Kai to remind you to leave for the airport on time?"

"No, I'll manage. You should go. You'll miss your flight."

Taehyun gives him a searching look. "Don't let Yeonjun hyung give you shit, okay? Remember, you're bulletproof."

"Bulletproof," Beomgyu grins, and shoots a finger gun. "Got it."

"Love you. Don't die from overwork. I need you to reach the top shelves."

"Ha fucking ha."

Beomgyu wakes up a few hours later with no memory of how he got to the couch, curled up around a pillow and drooling, Soobin's face inches from his as he tries to click a photo.

"Ssshh," he says, full bratty grin on display. "Go back to sleep, hyung. This is a great shot."

Beomgyu blearily swats at the front of Soobin's hoodie. It's still early enough that the light filtering through the blinds is a moody lilac, and all he wants to do is burrow into his blanket and never wake up. "Binnie. S'early. What you doin'?"

Soobin plops gracelessly onto the couch by Beomgyu's head. "Dropped by on my way to the gym to pack your shit. Kai is here, too. We're making you some food for later. Go back to sleep."

"What time's it?" Beomgyu tries to move and winces as pain shoots up his ankles. "Ow."

Soobin looks at him pityingly. "Do you even know what leg days are?"

"Fuck off," Beomgyu moans, clutching his pillow tighter. "I don't wanna work today."

"Do you have to?" Soobin asks, and then frowns lightly when Beomgyu nods. "That sucks. We'll put Yeonjun hyung on our kill list, okay?"

"You guys have a kill list?" Kai whispers, from somewhere behind Beomgyu. "That is fucking dark. Who's on it?"

"Not you," Soobin grins. "Because you make the best pancakes. Can I have one?"

"They're for Beommie."

"Now you're on the kill list."

They bicker for a while more, back and forth, something about pancakes and maple syrup and the dick size of a Canadian moose, and Beomgyu's just beginning to take interest in the topic when drowsiness claims him again.

He wakes up to his alarm and an excited Blue scratching industriously at the couch right next to his head. The apartment's empty, and bright light is pouring in through the window, but there's a packed suitcase in the hall and some stew and pancakes in the kitchen. There's also a bottle of cold medicine in a pink glass bottle with a post-it that says DRINK IN MODERATION.

Beomgyu thanks his stars for his friends.

"This is what you get if you don't lock yourself and your feelings away in a tower," he tells Blue, who's busy sniffing at the kitchen cabinet for no specific reason. "But apparently I'm the stupid one."

There's a prickling in his nose. He stoops to inspect some funny charm Soobin's left him with a little note to carry in his pocket, and then reels back with a sudden, powerful sneeze.

This stupid cold is going to be the death of him.