Choi Yeonjun is an art director with zero tolerance for bullshit, looking for ultimate perfection in everything he creates.
Choi Beomgyu is the co-owner of a vintage fashion boutique who talks to clothes and learns magic from Tumblr.
It's a match ma...
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"Misery, thy name is Choi Beomgyu," Kai says at lunch-time, dropping by with an enormous pile of feathers that the costume department is supposed to stick onto some shitty showgirl costume. Beomgyu takes one look at it and sneezes so loud the entire department turns to stare. Roseanne, his breakdown artist, almost jumps into the pile of flamingo-colored dresses she's been meticulously ripping for a dream sequence. "You look awful. Just saying."
"Gah," Beomgyu says, stabbing himself with the needle for the sixth time in the last hour. He's taking out a few stitches from an under-dress but suddenly everything in this room is making him sneeze, from glue to feathers to the ticklish lace of the extras' costumes. "Yeonjun hyung only called me slow like five times today, so better than yesterday I guess. Did he get that stupid set to rotate the way he wanted?"
"Yep."
"Did anyone fall in the machinery and die yet?"
Kai blinks. "...not that I know of, you morbid child. Why?"
"I told him it's bad luck to say the name of the Scottish play," Beomgyu says, squinting through an eyelet at a particularly odd darn. "Y'know. Making conversation, and all. He just started chanting it."
"What, Macbeth?"
Beomgyu claps his free hand over Kai's mouth. "No, don't say it. It's witchy. You'll curse the set."
There's a rustle from behind him, and then a dark whisper: "Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth."
Beomgyu nearly leaps up in surprise and stabs himself again. "Hyung," he whines, and Yeonjun just cackles behind him like Hecate come to earth herself. The all-black he's wearing today definitely doesn't help matters. "It's true. Some things are just cursed."
"Say the name, Beomgyu," Yeonjun says, gravely. "Fear of the name increases fear of the thing itself."
Beomgyu squints up at him from where he's sat on the floor, in the midst of a mountain of fabric and tissues and he's rapidly depleting cold medicine syrup bottle. "Was that a Harry Potter reference, hyung?"
Yeonjun just shrugs, looking entirely bored.
"Could it be that that was a...joke?"
Yeonjun shucks his hands in his pockets. His expression remains carefully disinterested, completely devoid of mirth or amusement. "Was it?"
"What?"
"A joke?"
"It wasn't?"
Yeonjun thinks a bit. "Could it be?"
"Hyung," Beomgyu groans. "Did you need something, or can I go back to torturing myself with this needle?"
"You've stabbed yourself eight times now," Yeonjun informs him, lightly, flicking through his task notebook. "Is it just that you're completely klutzy today or is there some Fifty Shades of Grey sort of shit happening that I should know about?"
