#sc: dejun | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starlightkun · 5 years

Text

sleepless cinderella [dejun]

❧ word count: 14.4k

❧ warnings: none, besides cursing

❧ genre: fluff, childhood friends to lovers au, director dejun, journalist reader

❧ EDIT NOV 2023: a former member has been removed from this fic and series, please let me know if any continuity errors exist so i can fix them!

!this is part of a series, if you have not read the prologue, you will not know what is happening!

Dejun noticed this. There’s no way he couldn’t have, you were staring at him like he was the most wonderful thing you’d ever seen, and you weren’t even trying to hide it.

You were thinking about Dejun. Sure, before that night you hadn’t seen him in over a decade, hadn’t thought about him in almost as long. But now that you had seen him again, you found your mind caught on him. Who would’ve thought you’d ever see him after he suddenly disappeared from your life?

Not to mention that those eleven years had… treated him very well. To put it less eloquently, puberty had hit him like a fucking train. But that was only part of the reason why you found him popping into your thoughts every so often. Most of it was because you had suddenly rediscovered one of your old childhood friends. As you reminisced more and more in your memories, you were gradually remembering that he had been much more than just your neighbor all those years ago. He had been one of your best friends.

You could remember your sixth birthday party, smushing cake in each other’s faces; you could remember playing tag in your backyard and tripping and falling all over each other; you could remember claiming seats next to each other on the first day of school for six years straight; you could remember when he found out that his mother was pregnant with his little brother, he came crying to your house that his parents were replacing him, and you reassured him that they weren’t trying to replace him, and if they did, that you most definitely wouldn’t.

With a sigh, you realized.

You had to see Dejun again.

But how? The lounge was an option, but you couldn’t just go there hoping to be there coincidentally at the same time as him. However, it was also your only option.

As you changed from your pajamas to more acceptable clothes to wear out of your apartment, you also packed up your laptop to bring with you. If you couldn’t find Dejun, you could at least maybe get some work done as well.

You said goodbye to Xuanyi on your way out, who was getting ready to go into her own work. She poked her head out of her room as you had tossed your farewell to her over your shoulder.

“Where are you going?”

Realizing that you had already told your roommates that you were never going back to the VIP lounge again, you felt sheepish going back on your word. Instead, you fibbed, “Coffee shop. Going to try to get something written or researched.”

“Have fun.”

“See you, Yi.”

With that, you left your apartment.

The cab ride took so long you were pretty sure it would have been faster for you to walk. Definitely much less expensive, at least. After paying and stepping out of the taxi, you stopped on the sidewalks for a moment, patting your pockets. Shit, you forgot your VIP pass. And now you just looked like an idiot standing in front of a building that was too fancy for you and with barely enough money to get a ride back home. Definitely not enough for a full round trip to collect your pass and come back. Maybe you could take the bus, that would be a bit cheaper.

Grumbling, you were just turning around to start looking around for the closest bus stop when you noticed a figure heading in your direction. They had a dark baseball cap and dark face mask, presumably to cover their identity. But it didn’t work very well, considering his face was plastered on the billboard right behind him.

Yangyang stopped beside you, eyes crinkling as he greeted you. You guessed there was a smile concealed by the mask.

“Hey, Y/N. Are you leaving?”

“Yeah, I forgot my pass,” you explained, eyes trained on the ground as you still weren’t quite used to talking to an actual celebrity who was not only extremely attractive, but extremely famous. What if paparazzi saw you with him? That could be dangerous.

“I have mine, you can ride up with me,” he offered, nodding his head towards the front doors for you to follow him in.

The two of you stepped onto the elevator together, and you watched silently as he tapped his pass to the sensor on the button panel. The elevator smoothly came to life, lifting the two of you up to the top floor.

“So you’re back,” Yangyang stated.

“Yep.”

“I’m glad you decided to come back.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I was pretty sure we had scared you off. I’m happy to see we aren’t as terrifying as I thought.”

You let out a light but nervous chuckle, “You kind of are… but I’m back anyway.”

“How are we terrifying?” Yangyang asked, seeming slightly offended.

“You’re not the usual kind of people I hang out with. Not to mention half of you seemed to hate me for no reason.”

“Oh don’t worry about them! Like I said, Hendery and WinWin have sticks up their asses.”

“And the pilot?”

“Oh, Kun? He was just in a bad mood because his father was there. They don’t really get along.”

“Got it.”

The elevator ding!ed before the doors opened, revealing the lounge to you once more. You’d forgotten how luxurious it was in there, caught off-guard again for a moment. Yangyang was completely unfazed, plopping down on the couch and finally taking his hat and mask off.

As he ran a hand through his hair to rid it of the hat hair, you sat at one of the high-tops, pretty much as far away from him as you could. Good god, he was attractive. No wonder he got picked for perfume ads and to be brand ambassador for designer brands, despite his actual profession.

“So any particular reason you came back today?” He asked as you set your laptop down.

You busied yourself with opening it as you replied, to avoid eye contact, “Uh, not really. Needed somewhere quiet to work.”

A slight fib. Saying that you were hoping to maybe coincidentally be there at the same time as Dejun sounded kind of pathetic when you thought about it. So instead, you just gave your secondary reason.

“What are you working on?”

Jeez, this guy was friendly.

“My article.”

“What is it about?”

And that’s when you let out your first sigh of the day. You still didn’t have a subject.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Well what are your options?”

“Everything and nothing at the same time.”

Yangyang chuckled at this, and you felt your face flush from all the attention. You seriously were not good at this whole ‘talking to famous people’ thing.

“What kind of article is it? Like, a research article, or could it be an interview?”

“Whatever kind of article I want to write, actually. It’s the final one, so my professor gave free reign of the topic and structure.”

“Well,” the racer stood up, and you found yourself holding your breath as he walked towards you and sat in the stool across from you. “How about you interview me? Not to toot my own horn, but I think I could be a rather interesting subject.”

“Really? You’re just offering an interview to me?” You confirmed, absolutely dumbfounded.

“Yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve done one, and I’d like to help you. If you want to interview me, of course. I get it if you want something more hard-hitting and grittier than some race car driver.”

“No, no, this is great, Yangyang,” you reassured him, scrambling to open a word document. “Thank you so much!”

“Of course.”

You’d barely named your new document and wrote the basics of your interviewee’s name and occupation when the elevator ding!ed again, informing you that someone else had entered the lounge. Fearing that it was someone else whose fame and popularity was also extremely intimidating to you—if Dong Sicheng walked through that door you were pretty sure that you might actually puke—you kept your eyes trained on your laptop screen.

“Hi, Xiaojun!” Yangyang greeted the newcomer cheerily, and you nearly got whiplash from how hard your head snapped up.

Exactly who you had been hoping to see. Xiao Dejun had walked into the lounge. Accompanied by the one person you had feared entering the lounge the most: Dong Sicheng, whose presence you had registered right as Yangyang gave him a bright hello as well.

“Hi,” you gave them both a half-assed wave, however your gaze never went to Sicheng. You could sense that he was annoyed at you being here.

“What are you two doing here?” Dejun questioned, taking stock of the scene in front of him.

Yangyang answered him, “Y/N needed a subject for her article, so I volunteered.”

“Didn’t your company ban you from interviews after what happened last time?”

“This doesn’t count!” He protested with a near whine.

Your eyes widened at this as panic seized you once again. Scrambling to make an intelligible response first in your head as the three men all waited for your reply, you finally were able to say, “I’m sorry Yangyang, I really don’t want to get you in trouble with your company. But thank you for offering to help me with my article.”

“Interview me instead,” Dejun coolly offered before Yangyang could even dignify your statement with a response.

Once again, you were caught off-guard.

“I don’t do interviews!” Sicheng hissed from where he had taken a seat on one of the couches.

“I didn’t offer for her to interview you, I offered for her to interview me,” the director scoffed. “Just because we’re working on the same movie doesn’t mean we’re the same person.”

Right, Dejun was directing Sicheng’s new drama. You actually just wanted to be able to reminisce and validate all your childhood memories with Dejun, but it seemed like you might get a lot more out of it.

“I’d love to, thanks, Dejun,” you accepted it before the actor could continue their bickering, and you found yourself mirroring the smile that flashed across your old friend’s face.

Quickly, you changed the title of your word document and basic details about your interviewee. This was going to be good, you could sense it.

Yangyang slid out of the seat across from you, nonchalantly opening it up for your friend. He wasted no time in replacing the other man.

“Before we start the real interview, do you think we could just catch up a bit?” He requested, almost seeming sheepish about it.

“Of course. It’ll take me a day or so to prep all my questions anyway.”

Dejun reached forward to close your laptop gently for you. When you raised an eyebrow at this, he admitted, “I could barely see your smile over it.”

“Because you’re short,” Sicheng snorted from the couch.

“Not everybody can be a giant, Sicheng!” Dejun shot back with a sharp bite to his tone. His friend had clearly hit a sore spot for him.

Sure, Dejun might not have gotten extremely tall, but you were pretty sure at least Ten was shorter than him. Maybe. But his less-than-playful reaction to Sicheng’s comment was enough that you made a mental note not to bring it up.

Your old friend took a deep breath before saying, “Do you remember my eighth birthday party?”

Dejun had really started with that? Your eyes widened in horror as you vividly remembered it.

“Unfortunately yes,” you wrinkled your nose in disgust at the memory.

“What’s with the look? I think it was funny.”

“It wasn’t when I got grounded for the next two months.”

“What happened?” Yangyang interrupted, invested in your conversation apparently.

Dejun had just opened his mouth when you kicked his shin, a deadly glare on your face. He yelped, shaking his head, “Can’t say. Y/N might knock out one of my teeth again.”

You argued back defensively, “It was loose and you deserved it anyway!”

“You knocked one of his teeth out? At his birthday?” Even Sicheng seemed interested in this story.

“Yep. I couldn’t pronounce my own name right until it grew back,” Dejun confirmed cheerily, to which you rolled your eyes.

“You didn’t mention the fact that you had pulled my hair first, so the only logical thing to do was push you.”

“Into a table.”

“It should’ve been off the playset.”

“Are you sure you two were friends?” Yangyang asked as he and Sicheng exchanged looks of disbelief.

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Our parents made us apologize and everything was okay after that,” you assured them, giving the man across from you a pointed look with your next statement. “Dejun learned his lesson, never pulled my hair again.”

He teasingly reached out his hand towards your head, and you immediately slapped it away with a glare. Dejun chuckled, relaxing back into his seat again.

“Okay, how about that kickass science project we did in fifth grade?” He offered up a different, slightly better memory for you.

“When Mr. Xu robbed us of the first place trophy we deserved?” You confirmed your knowledge of it, getting fired up again.

“Minghao only won because he was his son!”

“Exactly!” You brought up the next memory, “Oh, do you remember the field trip to the aquarium?”

“Yeah,” Dejun nodded with a knowing smile. “We got lost and they had to shut down the entire place until they found us.”

“And we were in the gift shop—”

“Having a battle with stuffed swordfish,” he finished your sentence, the two of you laughing as you remembered the panic turning to anger when your teacher had finally found you two.

“We weren’t allowed to be field trip buddies again after that.”

In the middle of remembering when you two were twelve and were supposed to be watching Dejun’s little brother Chenle, and you instead lost him for nearly an hour just to find him eating snacks in the pantry, you were interrupted. Sicheng had stood up and cleared his throat.

“Xiaojun, it’s eleven.”

“Oh shit, is it?” He cursed, checking the time on his phone. It was indeed 11:01.

Dejun swiftly opened his phone to the contacts as he apologized, “I’m sorry Y/N, I need to get back to the set. Put your number in so we can set up the interview.”

“Ah, I understand,” you reassured him as you typed in your phone number, already looking forward to the next time you were going to see him.

“Okay, I’ll see you later then,” he gave you a final smile as he took his phone back from you and joined Sicheng on the elevator that the actor was currently holding up for him.

“Bye, Dejun. Bye, Sicheng.”

“Bye!” Your friend replied cheerfully while the actor grumbled something incoherent before the elevator doors closed.

“So… you guys were more than neighbors then?” Yangyang commented as soon as the pair had disappeared from your sight.

You tilted your head as you looked over to him, “What?”

“That night at the lounge, you had said that you two were ‘neighbors.’ I don’t think neighbors covers six years of being inseparable best friends.”

“I hadn’t seen him in eleven years at that point, it took me a second to remember all of that.”

“Got it,” he nodded as a grin flashed across his face. “You two were cute.”

“Excuse me?”

“Seeing old friends reminisce about their childhood is really cute to me. You guys had a lot of cute stories too.”

“Me knocking his tooth out was cute?”

“I was thinking more-so the aquarium story.”

After chatting with Yangyang for a little longer—during which your blood pressure around him finally began to decrease—you excused yourself, your reason being that you had to get started on planning your actual interview with Dejun.

“Wait—” you stopped halfway to the elevator to look back to Yangyang. “So what happened at your last interview that made your company ban you from them?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbled, crossing his arms childishly.

“Alright, okay,” you relented, definitely not close enough with him to press him for more information. “But it wasn’t like… illegal or anything, right?”

“No, not illegal. Just a mess.”

Pressing the button on the elevator, you gave a final goodbye to the racer before taking the smooth ride back down.

As you waited for the bus to get back to your apartment, you called up your mother, thoughts still on Dejun.

She picked up after a couple of rings, “Hello, sweetheart?”

“Hi Mom,” you couldn’t help but grin at her familiar voice, it had been a while since you called her.

“What's up, Y/N?”

“Do you remember the Xiaos? They used to live next to us when I was little.”

“Yeah, they had two sons, Chenle and… I forgot the other boy’s name but he was around your age, you guys were good friends.”

“Dejun.”

“Yeah, that’s it! Why are you asking?”

“You’re not going to believe this but…”

Through the bus ride up until you stepped foot in your apartment, you recalled the strange series of events that led to you reuniting with Xiao Dejun again: from the magazine, to the party, to Ten swapping out your tickets and somehow rigging the raffle, to your first terrifying encounter with the VIP members, all the way up to today, when you were able to get lost in your nostalgia and also set up the interview for your article.

“Wow, honey, that’s wonderful that you got to see Dejun again,” your mom’s smile was evident in her voice as you set your laptop bag onto your kitchen table.

Xuanyi was sitting there, and you took the phone off your ear to put it on speakerphone.

“I just got to my apartment, Mom. Xuanyi’s here too.”

“Hi, Mrs. Y/L/N!” Your roommate greeted your mom excitedly, and you heard a door slam open from down the hall.

“Hello, Xuanyi, how’s your fish? It's named Babyface, right?”

“Is that Momma Y/L/N?” Xiao burst into the kitchen, homing in on your phone on the table before Xuanyi could get a chance to answer.

“Hi, Chengxiao!” Your mother greeted your other roommate too.

Leaving the three of them to chat in the kitchen, you took your laptop from its case and plopped down onto the couch. You had to start planning for this interview.

With a buzzing brain and chest airy with anxiety, you approached the building housed at the address that Dejun had sent to you. Apparently, this was the best time for him to start the interview, on set. You were stopped by a man in front of the set of double doors that seemed to be the only entrance into the building.

“ID, please,” he requested.

Your fingers gripped tightly onto your VIP lounge membership card, which Dejun had instructed you to show at the doors, assuring you that you’d be granted access with it. The guard took only a moment to scrutinize it, stepping back to open the door for you.

“Here you go.”

“Thank you,” you nodded to him, taking light steps into the building.

Your heart leapt to your throat as you were greeted with organized chaos. There were so many people rushing around. You’d never really thought about how many people went into producing a movie but now as you looked over the swarm of employees, it was honestly terrifying. Especially because you couldn’t see Dejun.

Your eyes landed on your next best thing: Sicheng. He was seated in a chair beside a pretty woman, a makeup artist attending to his face. Knowing nobody else, you steeled your nerves and made your way towards him, further into the studio. His hard eyes locked onto you, watching with a raised eyebrow as you continued nearing him.

Stopping in front of him, you willed your voice not to shake as you addressed him, “Hey, Sicheng. Do you know where Dejun is?”

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” He scoffed, gesturing to the makeup artist attending to his eye makeup.

“Oh, sorry for uh—sorry for asking.”

The woman in the chair beside him perked up to address you, “You’re looking for Director Xiaojun?”

“Yes, I am,” you were more than happy to focus on her friendly face rather than the pissed off one of the man next to her.

“He’s on set with Xukun and Junhui right now,” she gestured to a set nearly hidden behind the multitude of cameras and other equipment just off-frame.

How you hadn’t noticed it when you first walked in was beyond you, it was in the center of the chaos. Dejun’s forehead was barely visible over a low lightbox, however the two men that he was gesturing around to had no issue being seen despite the heavy equipment.

“Ah, thank you…” you trailed off, waiting for her to introduce herself.

She gladly did so, “Yuqi. Song Yuqi.”

“You seriously didn’t know her name?” Sicheng interrupted your conversation, making you more ticked off than nervous. He better not keep being like this.

“I’m sorry, I’m not very well-versed in dramas and drama actors.”

“Oh it’s quite alright, I don’t have an ego about it,” Yuqi reassured you. Her eyes drifted to Sicheng for her next statement, “Unlike some co-stars of mine.”

He sneered back at her pointed quip, and you held back a giggle at the truth of it.

“Anyway, thank you again, Yuqi.”

“Hey, what’s your name, by the way?”

“Y/N. Y/L/N Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

With a final polite nod to Sicheng, you refocused your attention to the set, desperately searching for Dejun again. You couldn’t see him, but the other two men were still visible, thankfully. As you got closer, you kept your sights trained on their heads, narrowly avoiding the other crew members bustling around.

Right as you got close enough that you were comfortable calling his name out, a familiar figure blocked your view, cutting you off from your task completely. A familiar figure you weren’t expecting to see here.

“Hi, Y/N!” That same bright smile was on his face.

“Oh, hey, Yangyang,” your gaze dropped to your notebook and pencil that you held even tighter in your grip now. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a guest star!” He informed you proudly.

“You act too?”

“Well, this is actually my acting debut—”

“As a nightclub patron whose only line is ‘One whiskey, please.’” Dejun’s voice was surprisingly tart as he broke into the conversation, appearing right beside you.

You could practically see Yangyang’s chest deflating as this was revealed. Then your eyes flitted over to the much more comfortable area of your friend’s face, your anxiety nearly fading away again. Except for the odd sternness across his features as he addressed the driver.

“This is my interview, Yangyang, remember? Or did that whole conversation go in one ear and out the other?”

The words were supposed to be joking, friendly banter, you assumed. Except they came out just harsh enough that they could be interpreted as a stinging insult.

Yangyang was unfazed, however, jovially pointing out, “These ears are what got me my first sponsporship!”

At your look of confusion, he chuckled, “I’ll tell you the story sometime, Y/N.”

Dejun pointed to the chairs that Sicheng and Yuqi had previously been sitting on, “Makeup needs you, Yangyang.”

The makeup artist waiting there had her hand on her hip, and her unamused expression was clear from where you were standing.

“Oh, of course!” Yangyang started half-jogging away backwards, still facing you. “You’re sticking around for my scene, right, Y/N?”

“Yangyang, watch—!”

Just before you could finish your warning, the racer had crashed into a crew member. That was carrying a tray of coffees. One cup went completely flying from the tray across the room, the others knocked to the ground and immediately crumpled under bodies.

As you watched the horrendous aftermath, Dejun tsked, “He is a hazard to have on set. Never hiring him for another cameo again.”

“How does he function for races or photoshoots then?”

“He’s never this excited for a race or a photoshoot.”

Yangyang was fervently apologizing as a stylist was now out, chastising him for ruining what you guessed was supposed to be his outfit for the scene. Which now had coffee all down the back. Not to mention, it was all over the crew member and the floor as well, and four people were now going to be missing their caffeine.

“Enough with the trainwreck,” Dejun took your attention away from the wreck, leading you towards a group of chairs on the edge of the set.

One was clearly labelled ‘DIRECTOR XIAOJUN,’ another ‘ASSISTANT DIRECTOR LIN,’ and a third on the other side of Dejun’s that was unmarked. He gestured towards it, and you found your eyes widening as you realized that he had reserved it for you.

“I get to sit next to the Director?” You questioned, hesitantly moving to be in front of the chair.

“What better way to get a feel for what I do than to be right there?”

“I won’t be in the way?” You still weren’t sitting in it, eyeing it warily.

“If you were going to be, I wouldn’t have stuck you there.”

“It’s true, Director Xiaojun runs a tight ship!” Someone had popped up beside your friend, startling you into nearly falling into the chair.

With amusement on his features, Dejun gently ushered you to sit down before introducing the man beside him, “Y/N, this is Assistant Director Lin. Assistant Director Lin, this is Y/L/N Y/N, she’ll be interviewing me for the foreseeable future.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Y/L/N,” Assistant Director Lin bowed deeply to you.

You returned it to the best of your ability still in the chair; it was so cramped between the equipment and Dejun that you couldn’t stand up to properly bow to him.

“Oh, you too, Assistant Director Lin.”

He focused his attention back to your friend, “We were ready for the scene, sir, however Mr. Liu’s coffee mishap has set the schedule back a few minutes.”

“Very well. Have Xukun, Sicheng, and Junhui review their lines one more time.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, the assistant director disappeared into the crowd of people.

Assistant Director Lin’s use of ‘sir’ when addressing Dejun, despite most definitely being older than him, as well as formal referral of you and Yangyang had caught you off-guard.

“He’s rather… mannered,” you commented, taking a moment to settle on the adjective you wanted to use.

“I gave up on asking him to stop calling me ‘sir.’ Oh, and he will only respond to ‘Assistant Director Lin’ as well. If I hadn’t been the one to review his resume, I wouldn’t know his given name.”

“What is it?”

“It’s… oh. Uhm—I forgot, actually.”

Meeting his eyes, you couldn’t keep in your laughter for long, giggles coordinated with Dejun’s.

As you sobered up, you went back to the real reason you were here, “Okay, one more question before official interview questions.”

“Shoot,” he sat in his chair finally, resting his arm against the armrest closest to you.

“What should I call you? Xiaojun, or Dejun?”

“Dejun, if you don’t mind.”

“All these people call you Xiaojun. The lounge members—your own friends—call you Xiaojun.”

“Xiaojun’s my professional name.”

“Is this not professional?” You tilted your head to the side, half-teasing him.

“Ah, you know what I mean,” he shook his head, light smile at your poking fun of his words. “You’re… you.”

“What?” The question came out as an airy chuckle, concealing how your heart had stuttered at the simple sentence that could hold so much sentiment.

“You’ve always called me Dejun, I’m not going to force you to start calling me something else now.”

“I’ll call you Xiaojun if that’s what you want.”

“No, I—” he paused, hand touching your arm for a moment. “I want you to call me Dejun.”

“Alright, Dejun. Now that that’s settled—”

A finger had just slipped under the cover of your notebook, primed to flip it to your first page of questions when someone shouted out ‘Ready!’

From directly behind you.

The voice reverberated through you as you whipped around to be faced with Yangyang. Yet again. This time in a different outfit than before. One that didn’t reek of coffee.

“Ready, sir!” Assistant Director Lin had appeared at Dejun’s side again.

This prompted you to look around the set, and you realized than that actors had taken their positions on the set, all the seats behind equipment had been filled by the operators, and everything was ready to go for the scene. You had been too enraptured by your conversation with Dejun that this all happened without your awareness. That was rather embarrassing.

Dejun was not caught off-guard at all, however, instead focusing his sharp eyes to the scene before him. You were pretty sure he was making sure that everyone was where they were supposed to be, without a reference. Did he have all these scenes envisioned and memorized?

Wordlessly, he gave Assistant Director Lin a slight nod, to which the older man leaped into action.

“Quiet on the set!” He yelled out, a hush falling immediately over the entire sea of people.

You eagerly took notes of the process of getting ready for a take, watching as the assistant director took the clapperboard, then moved in front of the camera. He announced the date, scene, and take before snapping it and hurrying off-frame.

The scene started off with Yangyang’s short and sweet line before the camera panned to the actual main characters and their conversation. You didn’t know much about the plot of this drama, but from what you could tell, it was a sci-fi-esque take on a classic love triangle plot. Some rather interesting sub-plots were hinted at in this scene as well, and in the back of your head you hoped that you’d be around to watch them develop.

Except Yangyang kept doing something to mess it up. Either stumbling over his three words, tripping over the carpeting, accidentally hitting a low-hanging boom mic, or forgetting to keep quiet after he went off-camera. Dejun, with a prominent vein in his neck, called for lunch break after a near hour of these mishaps.

You looked at him with a sympathetic grimace as he grumbled, “I know it’s not even 11 AM, but I was one more shitty take away from strangling Liu Yangyang. I’m never letting him within ten miles of my goddamn set again.”

“It was nice of you to give him the opportunity, though. He seems really happy to be able to act,” you tried to put a nice spin on it, earning you a tense smile from your friend.

Dejun changed the subject to a more neutral one, “Unfortunately, a lunch break for the crew doesn’t always mean a lunch break for the Director. I have to go back over the takes to see if there’s anything viable. I also need to talk the lighting guys and set coordinators for the next scene we’re doing today— well, hopefully today.”

Sensing where this was going, you gave him a reassuring half-smile, patting his arm, “You go work, Dejun. I’ll go mingle with the crew. Understand all the people that help produce a movie, you know. It’ll help with the article.”

“Looks like you won’t get the opportunity,” he rolled his eyes at something behind you.

You turned around to see Yangyang approaching the two of you, “Hey Y/N! You going to eat with us?”

“Who’s ‘us?’”

“Me, obviously. And Sicheng.”

“So far not all that appealing.”

“I won’t take that as an insult, and instead continue my list; Yuqi, Xukun, and Junhui as well.”

Looking to Dejun one more time, who seemed reluctant but steadfast on his position of not being able to eat with you, you then shrugged, “Sure, yeah. I’ll eat with you guys.”

Seated at the edge of the table beside Yangyang, with a modest plate of food in front of you, you reviewed your notes briefly. Your ears were still listening to the conversation at the table, trying to figure out the dynamics and waiting for anything that could be pertinent to your article.

“So you’re a reporter, Y/N?” Yuqi’s voice snapped your full attention to the table of actors you were sat at. And the table of actors’ full attention to you.

“Ah, journalism graduate student, actually,” you corrected her gently. “I’m doing my final piece right now, and Dejun offered for me to do an interview with him.”

“Dejun? How exactly do you know our director?” Xukun spoke up, waving around a french fry almost accusingly.

Oh jeez, were you going to tell them the full story? Only one part of it? Which part, though?

The easier one, obviously.

“We were friends as kids.”

“And now?”

“What?”

“You said you were friends when you were kids. So, now what are you?”

You were taken aback by what Xukun was implying, gaze shifting to your plate, “F…riends?”

A thwack followed by a groan from him were audible, and you looked up to see Yuqi glaring at him, her hand poised to smack the back of her co-star’s head again.

“Don’t be a creep!” She hissed, turning sweet again as she returned her gaze to you. “Don’t mind Xukun, he’s too curious for his own good sometimes.”

The actors continued chatting as you listened in on it. You were full before you had finished your food, then got an idea. Excusing yourself from the table, you went to the buffet to fill your plate again, then scanned the room for a moment.

Dejun was still in his director’s chair, reviewing clips on a screen, his mumbles becoming audible as you approached him. He was too enraptured by his work that he didn’t notice you nearing him until you lightly tapped his shoulder. With an eyebrow raised, he looked up at you attentively.

“You haven’t eaten yet, Dejun.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. You’d kept an eye on him during lunch, and he hadn’t moved from his chair the entire time, nobody bringing him food either.

“Oh, thanks, Y/N,” he set his notebook aside to accept the plate of food into his lap.

“So have you been able to get anything useful?” You asked, referring to where the screen was paused over one of the many takes.

“Not really,” Dejun shook his head before stuffing a forkful of macaroni salad into his mouth. He reached forward to press play on a keyboard, the screen kicking into motion.

This was one of the better takes, where Yangyang had tripped over a piece of carpeting on his way out. A small ‘oof’ could be heard, but because this was the camera focused on the other three actors, you couldn’t see him trip.

“Couldn’t you just edit out that audio?” You suggested, not knowing much about editing film, but if Game of Thrones could regularly CGI humongous dragons, you were pretty sure a small noise could be cut out.

“Yeah, but there’s still something off about it.”

“Yangyang’s trying his best.”

“Not talking about him right now, actually,” he chuckled, taking a sip from his water bottle. “I have been a little harsh on him, haven’t I?”

“You might want to try to lighten up a little.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m saying that the feel of the scene isn't right. It's too blue.”

A thoughtful frown on your face, you said, “The scene doesn’t feel sad at all to me.”

“No, I meant literally blue,” Dejun chuckled. “The walls, the chairs, the stools, the bartender's outfit. It’s all too blue.”

He waved over a staff member you were pretty sure was a stylist, who had finished eating around the same time you did and went to her station. She hurried over. You expected him to ask her to switch out the bartender's outfit, but instead he requested that she make the three main actors' outfits more contrasting and less complimentary. Then he gestured for a lighting guy to come over, adjusted a few things there, and finally got a camera operator to adjust his filter setting to make it a little bluer.

“Wait, it was too blue, but you're making the video bluer?” You questioned, hand hovering over your paper as you had been writing this whole process down.

“Yeah, the scene as a whole was too blue. So I’m making the main characters warmer and stand out while turning up the coolness of the background to contrast it. The blueness and monotony of the background fits the dialogue and connotation a lot better than when everything was all blue.”

Despite taking in every word eagerly, you still found yourself at a loss when he had finished his explanation. He shifted in his chair as he chuckled awkwardly, coughing before apologizing, “Sorry if that didn’t make sense.”

“As long as it makes sense to you,” you shrugged, watching as the crew went to follow his orders.

After your first day on set, you’d gotten a lot of good information, but you couldn’t figure out what direction you wanted the article to go in. While Dejun was becoming a rather popular director, it wouldn’t do your writing skills any justice to write it out in a simple Q & A format, not to mention that he wasn’t popular enough that the average person would want to read it. A ‘Day in the Life’-type piece felt too trite, not to mention that it would only require you being with him for one day. And you definitely didn’t want to spend only one day with Dejun.

That was a rather selfish reason, you could admit to yourself as you transferred your notes to your word document that night, a fond and almost bittersweet smile coming to your lips as you recalled the day’s events through your transcribing.

A buzzing came from beside your notebook, and you looked over at your lit-up phone screen for a moment. It was an incoming call, the name making you a little more excited than it should have. You accepted the call, putting Dejun on speakerphone so you could return your fingers to the keys.

“Hey, Dejun,” you greeted him, peering at the time on your laptop inquisitively. “It’s almost two a.m., why the hell are you awake?”

“Oh, did I wake you up?” He asked sheepishly.

“No, I was already awake. But why are you awake?”

“I just got back from a late dinner.”

“Very late.”

“Yes.”

“Anyway, what’s up?” You figured he had a real reason for calling you, rather than to tell you about his very late dinner.

“Oh, uh tomorrow I have a nighttime shoot, so I figured we could get lunch, maybe? To continue the interview, you know.”

Your hopes fell out of your mouth with a disappointed sigh, “I can’t, Kunhang and Yangyang already invited me out to get lunch and I said yes. Maybe I could tag along to the shoot again? If it wouldn’t be a bother to you, of course.”

“When did he ask you to lunch?” Dejun focused on the first half of your response, rather than answering the actual question you had asked him.

“Yangyang? Oh, since you had stay after the shoot, I ended up walking out with him. Kunhang was already picking him up anyway, and it was kind of a spur of the moment thing but they mentioned that they were getting lunch tomorrow and I should come with them,” you explained. “I think I’m finally getting more comfortable around Yangyang.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the natural response when you mean a famous person for the first time in your life is to be super nervous. I can’t help it! Social anxiety. But he’s really nice, and since Kunhang is coming too, I think I’ll be alright. I wasn’t acting too weird today around him, was I, Dejun?”

“No, you seemed fine,” his voice was strangely hollow as he replied. “So you’re coming to the shoot, then?”

“If I wouldn’t be a bother to you.”

“You won’t, I’d really like having you there, Y/N. It’s going to be a cool scene, Sicheng jumps off a bridge.”

“Oh thank god.”

Dejun’s giggles through the phone speakers brought an affectionate simper to your face.

“So what time and where?”

“I’ll text you the details.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

You expected that next he’d hang up, but instead, he asked, “So why are you up this late?”

And you were glad that he did, not quite wanting to hang up yet, and more than happy to keep talking to him, “Typing up my notes from today.”

“Oh! Sorry, am I distracting you?”

“No, you’re okay. I’m almost done anyway, and it’s nice talking to you, Dejun.”

As you finished up the rest of your notes, you chatted with Dejun about this and that, and eventually fell asleep in your bed, cozy under your blanket and still on call with him.

In the morning, you woke up with a faint smile across your face and pleasant feeling already in your chest. Until you saw that your phone was at 8 percent battery. You’d forgotten to plug it in before crashing in the middle of your call with Dejun. And it was almost eleven in the morning. Yangyang and Kunhang were supposed to be picking you up for lunch at noon. Fantastic.

You left your phone plugged in as you scrambled to take a shower, dry your hair, find an outfit, all while fielding questions from your roommates. They just so happened to both be home the time that you were getting picked up for lunch by a famous F1 racer and his less famous robot builder friend, both of whom you had met at the VIP lounge you swore you’d never go back to or interact with the members of again. So yeah, you had some questions to answer.

Right as you yanked a shoe on, your phone buzzed from your nightstand. Chengxiao, who was already at the head of your bed anyway, rushed to grab it.

“It’s Yangyang!”

“Put him on speakerphone.”

You couldn’t even try to take the phone from her or make the call private, you still had another shoe and sock to get on, as well as a wallet to find in the mess of your living room. Not to mention that you imagined it was him calling to let you know that they were here, giving you even less time to rush out there.

As soon as she had accepted the call and deftly put it on speakerphone, you were greeted by the garish sound of yells, thankful that the phone hadn’t been pressed up against your ear; you would’ve lost some hearing.

“Hi Y/N!” Yangyang yelled in sync with Kunhang’s unenthusiastic deadpan. The call must be on Bluetooth in the driver’s car.

“Hi, guys,” you replied as you stood up, taking your phone from Chengxiao and unplugging it to take it out to the living room.

Chengxiao, and Xuanyi—who had been watching with amusement from your desk—followed you out there.

“We’re here!” Yangyang announced.

“I’ll be down in a sec—”

He cut you off, “No, we’ll come up and get you! What’s your apartment number?”

Your roommates looked at each other and you with wide eyes, presumably because they were about to come up to your humble apartment.

Normally, you would’ve insisted on just taking the short elevator ride down, but this would give you more time to search for your wallet that was definitely fucking hiding from you or something.

“601.”

“Okay! Be up in a bit!”

With that, they hung up.

You were still digging through your couch cushions when a resounding knock came at your front door. With a groan, you had to give up your search, not wanting either of your roommates to get the door. You held them back with a pointed look as you opened it wide enough for you fit your face and a knee through it, but not wide enough for your roommates to see all of them. The two men were waiting there patiently, greeting you with wide grins.

“Hey, I’m really sorry, but I can’t find my wallet, so if you could just give me a minute—”

“I’ll pay for you!” Yangyang immediately offered.

“No, I couldn’t—”

“He’s paying for me,” Kunhang interrupted you this time, a slight snicker accompanying his words.

“Yeah, it’s fine!” The other man reassured you. “It’s not like I can’t afford it.”

You knew he was just trying to jest to make you feel less guilty, but somehow that comment made you even more-so. Looking like a gold-digger or exploitative person was not what you wanted.

After a second of deliberation, you sighed, “Okay, sure.”

Looking over your shoulder, you threw a goodbye to your roommates, “Bye Xiao! Bye Yi! Remember, I’m coming back late, please don’t hit me with a frying pan!”

“We don’t have pans,” Xuanyi pointed out.

“Right. See ya!” And with that, you shut the door behind you, now in the hallway with Yangyang and Kunhang.

At the restaurant, you finished putting in your order, taking a sip of your drink as you sat beside Yangyang, Kunhang across the table from you two.

“So, what are you doing after this that’s going to make you so late to getting home?” Yangyang questioned, waiting for you to finish swallowing.

“Oh, I’m going to Dejun’s filming again, to continue the interview. It’s a night shoot,” you explained. “Originally, he had suggested lunch, but since I was already getting it with you guys, we settled on the set again.”

Yangyang tilted his head to the side as he replied, “We would’ve been okay with you cancelling on us. It’s for your article, after all. That’s work stuff, we get that.”

“Thanks, I just hate being wishy-washy and flaky. If I make a plan, I like to stick to it.”

That was true, but in all honesty, you kind of forgot that seeing Dejun wasn’t just hanging out with your old friend again, it was for an interview, for your article that would determine pretty much your entire career. You needed to start getting serious about it, quick.

Speaking of cancelling things for work, in between finishing your entrees and your dessert arriving, Yangyang had gotten a phone call from his manager. Emergency meeting at his agency, he had to leave ASAP. Couldn’t even wait for his dessert to take it to-go or anything, instead offering it up to the two of you that were left, as well as throwing down some bills that you were sure would pay the bill and tip at least three times over. But you couldn’t debate that with him as he rushed out.

When your desserts arrived, you got an idea, requesting the waiter put Yangyang’s in a to-go box. You’d bring it to Dejun.

“What are we gonna do with all this money?” You questioned after the waiter had made you change, and you’d set down a sizeable tip, still left over with a lot of money.

“I’ll give it to him the next time I see him,” Kunhang stuffed it in his pocket.

“You’re going to keep it.”

“Yep,” he stood up, cracking his back before leading the way out of the restaurant. “So where am I dropping you?”

“You don’t have to walk me, I’m sure you have something to do, I can take the bus.”

“Nope, Yangyang texted me to make sure you got to the shoot fine, and unfortunately I owe him one. So, where am I dropping you?”

You checked the time as you stopped in front of the subway entrance. It was only a little after three, Dejun didn’t want you at the address until six, and if your mental map was correct, it was only a twenty-minute ride to get there.

“Uh, I guess my apartment,” you sighed, following Kunhang’s lead and walking down into the entrance. “Dejun doesn’t want me at the shoot until six, I’ll take the bus from there I guess.”

“Hmm… call him.”

“Why?”

“Do it, say that lunch is over.”

“And?”

“My point will be proven.”

“What point?”

“Call him.”

Begrudgingly, you did so, hoping you weren’t interrupting anything important. The phone rang twice before Dejun picked up.

“Hey, Y/N,” he greeted you brightly. “What’s up?”

“Oh, uhm, lunch is over,” you stated, looking at the robot builder in confusion, still wondering what point he was trying to prove.

“You can come to the set now, if you’d like. I’m here already.”

Kunhang gestured victoriously at your phone as the subway car pulled up.

“Sure, yeah. Be there in a bit.”

“Bye.”

After hanging up, you read off the address to Kunhang as you tried to determine what point he was talking about.

“So… what did that prove?”

“Dejun’s a workaholic.”

“Oh.”

For some reason you were disappointed, kind of hoping that he was hinting at something else.

“A workaholic that makes a lot of exceptions for you.”

There it is. A few words whose implications made your stomach flip and your cheeks blush like a dumb schoolgirl with a crush. Oh god, a crush. Do you have one Dejun? You weren’t eight anymore, but that’s how you felt around him. It'd only been a couple of days, there was no way.

You needed more information.

“What do you mean? What exceptions?”

“Other than Sicheng and Yangyang, none of us have been allowed to step foot on Dejun’s set.”

“You’ve never visited him at a shooting?”

“Nope.”

“Well, it’s an interview, I’m sure that’s why he’s made an exception.”

“He’s done interviews before. At their offices.”

“What are you trying to say, Wong Kunhang?” You finally snapped.

This back and forth was killing you, especially because you had just sworn to yourself a couple hours ago that you were going to be serious and professional with this article. Which was going to be hard if you had a… a… crush on Dejun.

He had a shit-eating grin on his face as he shrugged, “Nothing.”

“You’re not very helpful.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Kunhang slowed to a stop a bit far away from the address Dejun had given you. Mainly because the address was a blocked-off bridge that had lights, cameras, sound equipment, police barricades and security cars in a radius around it.

“I would offer to walk you the rest of the way, but it looks like you don’t need me to,” Kunhang gestured towards a figure making its way towards you two.

Stepping away from your companion, you gave him a farewell, “Thanks for the company, Kunhang. I actually had a really good time.”

"Don’t sound so surprised. I’m a peach,” he scoffed before taking off down the street.

You met Dejun halfway, notepad and pencil out at the ready.

“Hey, Dejun. Thanks for letting me on set early, I hope it’s not a bother to you.”

“Y/N, you’re never a bother to me, stop saying that,” he reassured you, words sending pangs straight to your heart.

Professionalism, Y/N. Serious journalist doing an interview here.

“Right.”

He started leading you back towards the actual set, “So just Kunhang dropped you off? I thought you were out with him and Yang.”

“Yep, Yangyang had to leave lunch early. Speaking of—” you held out the small to-go box for him. “Brought you dessert.”

Okay, not so professional. Now was friend-time. When you got past the greetings you could start interview-time.

“Thanks, Y/N!” Dejun accepted it, opening the lid to peer in curiously, “Tiramisu. That’s Yangyang’s favorite dessert.”

“Yeah, he left lunch before he could get his dessert, might as well not waste it.”

Your friend had a strange look on his face before it broke into a smile, “His loss, my gain.”

As you took in your surroundings, you wrote down a few key notes. No actors yet, just the supporting crew. Although most of them were just hanging around, presumably either on break or already finished their part for setting up today. Dejun kept walking past the cameras, past his director’s chair, and past the groups of folding chairs holding staff members.

You briefly wondered where he was leading you, until he slowed to a stop right in the middle of the bridge, swinging a leg up to sit on the ledge of it. Still holding onto the boxed tiramisu.

He gleefully found the plastic fork you had also tucked into the box, taking a bite of it before addressing you, half-chewed dessert still in his mouth, “You just going to stand there?”

“Will I die if I fall off?”

“Probably not.”

“Alright,” you shrugged, hopping up beside him.

However, the bridge was curved, and you had ended up on one of the steeper parts of it, immediately feeling off-balance. Instinctively, you scooted towards a flatter portion of the ledge. Which just so happened to be where Dejun was. Before you could scramble back to your more precarious position, your friend had linked his arm through yours then continued to eat.

Now accidentally pressed up against his side, arms connected, and with your feet dangling over the almost peaceful river below, you were quickly beginning to realize just how hard it was going to be for you to be professional.

“Just like at your seventh birthday,” he stated, the memory coming back to you suddenly.

The two of you sitting at the top of the slides on your playset, your arms linked together, and one giant piece of cake with two forks sticking out of it between the two of you. You were pretty there was a picture of it somewhere in your parents’ house.

“Yeah, except we’re eight times higher and there’s no slide.”

“I don’t remember you being such a buzzkill.”

“We haven’t seen each other in eleven years ago, Dejun. People change.”

You weren’t sure why your words sounded much harsher than you meant, or why your chest hurt so much when you saw the momentary flash of upset across his face.

Quickly, you went to smooth over the moment with another memory, “You used to be the buzzkill out of the two of us, actually. Remember when your brother was born?”

“What?”

“I called him cute and you pouted for two hours until I said that you were cuter.”

“That’s not being a buzzkill.”

“Right, that’s being a needy bitch.”

“I was six!”

You giggled at his indignation of you calling six-year-old him a needy bitch, bumping your shoulder against his affectionately.

He shook his head at you before taking another bite of the tiramisu.

After Dejun finished the dessert, the two of you managed to get off the ledge without falling off the bridge itself, walking to find a garbage can for his trash. You brought your notebook and pencil back out, forcing yourself to refocus back on the interview. This was your entire future, you reminded yourself.

Scanning the questions you’d made from your previous notes, you picked one that had stood out to you, “So, colors are pretty important to you as a director?”

“Yeah, they are.”

At his full stop there, you raised your eyebrows a little, gesturing for him to expand on his answer. He sighed, as if he didn’t want to tell you anything more. After walking a little further from the set, he relented.

“Uhm, moods, feelings, people, and moments all have a—have a… color to me.”

This piqued your interest, and you listened intently as he somewhat reluctantly continued on.

“As a director, colors can affect people’s perceptions as much as dialogue. And I see it in my everyday life, too.”

“Kind of like synesthesia?”

He tilted his head back and forth with a thoughtful frown as he tried to find the words to describe it to you, “It’s not necessarily synesthesia. I don’t see them or have an actual sensory experience of the colors. I just kind of… feel them. Make an association between them and the person or moment.”

“I still don’t quite grasp it,” you admitted, much to his disappointment. “Give me an example! Uhm… what color is Yangyang to you?”

“Yang is electric green.”

“Why?”

Dejun’s lips had a smile tugging at them as he explained, “Partially for the paint job of his older car but also for his excitable but sometimes overwhelming personality.”

“Hendery?”

“Lilac.”

You couldn’t hide your surprise at his choice, making him chuckle before he explained.

“Because despite his rough personality, he has a certain softness to him when he wants. And he always makes the LEDs in his robots purple for some strange reason.”

“Ten?”

“Ten’s… emerald. It’s a pretty regal color for someone I’ve always considered to be a rather regal person. But in the right light it turns much lighter, like how Ten can flip the switch between serious surgeon and sometimes bothersome friend.”

Your eyebrows shot up as you suddenly remembered, “He was wearing an emerald suit jacket at the party I met everyone at.”

“An interesting coincidence.”

“Kun?”

“Kun’s sky blue.”

Thinking that maybe you could guess this reason, you blurted out, “Because he’s a pilot?”

“No, not because he’s a pilot,” your friend countered simply. “But, because the first time we ever talked in boarding school, I had just spilled my drink on my white shirt in the cafeteria and Kun offered me his sky blue sweater to cover it up with. Both Kun and kindness have always been sky blue to me ever since.”

“That’s really sweet, Dejun,” you squeezed his arm momentarily, the comment about kindness being the same color as Kun to him making your heart melt. “And what about Sicheng?”

“Sicheng’s a cool and light gray. Even though we don’t always get along, I still have a deep respect for him. And he has a certain personality that only some people can like, a lot like the color gray.”

“Aw—”

“If you tell him any of that, I’ll drop kick you to the moon.”

“Noted.”

Now out of VIP members, but eager to keep hearing these entrancing and mesmerizing descriptions of people as colors, you asked, “Chenle?”

A distinct smirk was on Dejun’s face now, “My little brother is pink, always has been. When our mom was pregnant with him, they thought he would be a girl and painted his whole room pink. When he was born, he obviously wasn’t a girl, but they kept that color on the wall anyway. And I’ll never forget the way it matched his rosy pink cheeks the first night we took him home from the hospital.”

You wanted to ask him what color you were to him, but nerves suddenly overtook you, closing your throat and choking that idea from you. Whatever kind words he’d say to justify his color pick for you would surely do your heart in for good.

So instead, you moved on to your next interview question.

Some time had passed before the actors began showing up and the sun started setting. The two of you were at the end of your questions, and you picked up on the fact that Dejun had gradually become less and less focused on answering them over the past thirty minutes. He seemed agitated about something, eyes constantly scanning the entrance and faces surrounding the set, brow furrowing deeply, and mouth etched into a small frown.

“What’s wrong, Dejun?” You asked bluntly, not needing to dance around the subject.

“Sicheng is late,” he informed you as he checked his phone for the tenth time in the past two minutes.

“How late?”

“Four minutes.”

“That’s not too bad, right?”

“This is the fourth time he’s done it during this production.”

“Oh.”

Knowing that you couldn’t add anything worthwhile to the situation, you decided to keep your mouth shut, looking for Sicheng as well.

A sleek black car pulled up much closer to the set than Yangyang had dared, and the back door was thrown open. None other than Dong Sicheng stepped out, eyes focused rather unenthusiastically on his phone screen.

Wherever he was supposed to go, he wouldn’t be able to, as Dejun barked out, “Dong Sicheng! I need to speak with you for a moment.”

Xukun and Yuqi, two other actors who had started towards the newcomer exchanged looks of ‘yikes’ before abruptly pivoting on their heel away from the whole spectacle that was about to go down. You expected Dejun to take the conversation on the outskirts away from the rest of the crew, or at least ask you to leave.

Instead, right as you stood to dismiss yourself from the vicinity, the director grabbed your hand with his, eyes never leaving Sicheng’s approaching figure as he pleaded quietly to you, “Stay, please.”

“Why?”

“So I don’t punch him.”

“Oh.”

Yet again, a stunned and useless reply.

Sicheng narrowed his eyes at you as he came to a stop in front of the standing Dejun and you, seated in your chair beside the director’s chair. You averted your eyes from him, and he apparently decided not to address your presence, judging by the fact that he went right into it.

“Yes, Director Xiaojun?” There was a mocking obedience in his voice, which irked you, who it wasn’t even aimed at.

“You’re late. Again.”

“It was five minutes.”

“It’s not about being late, Sicheng!” Dejun snapped. His chest heaved with a couple deep breaths as he was obviously trying to keep his composure at the obstinate actor.

There was a beat of silence, and you snuck a glance at Sicheng’s face. It was unimpressed, a clear challenge to Dejun, a snarky invitation to continue the argument.

And he did.

“This is about the blatant disrespect you have for me, your costars, and the crew who all have busted their asses for this production.”

“If I’m so disrespectful, why don’t you just fire me, then?”

“If your daddy didn’t own my ass, I would’ve kicked yours off my set Day One!”

At the mention of his father, Sicheng’s hands balled into fists, a vein becoming prominent across his forehead. It was now that you decided to interject, standing between them, facing Sicheng with Dejun almost protectively behind you.

“You two should take a breather,” you suggested quietly, looking to him with begging eyes.

As Sicheng took a step back, he spat out, “Thanks, Xiaojun.”

“For what?” He shot back over your shoulder.

“Now I know that this was just a pity role.”

Xukun and Yuqi had hesitantly been inching their way towards the three of you and decided now to usher their co-star away. You waited until he had been sat down in a chair by the makeup table to turn back to your friend behind you.

Taking a moment to organize your own thoughts, you simply requested, “Explain.”

And he did.

“Back in school—boarding school—I used to make these stupid little short films, with my friends as the characters. Sicheng’s dad at the time was an executive producer, and somehow he saw some of the films. I guess he really liked them, because he landed me an assistant director job right after graduation. With it, I was able to pay my way through college. Now, Mr. Dong’s actually owner of the studio, and is an executive producer on this film.”

“Why would Sicheng be pissed about that?”

“I don’t know. I just know that his dad has never hired him for a role or even asked him to read for one. Sicheng had to break into the business all on his own, which is part of why I have such respect for him: he wasn’t handed his career from his producer dad like a lot of people assume.”

“Have you told him that?”

Dejun was frowning again as he realized, “No, I haven’t told him that. And his dad didn’t even want Sicheng to read for the movie, but I insisted on it. Not because I pity him, but because he’s a good actor that would be a valuable addition to the cast. It had nothing to do with Mr. Dong.”

“And have you told him that?”

“No. But I really should, shouldn’t I?”

“I’ll go get him,” you offered, patting his cheek with a subtle smile on your face.

Approaching Sicheng, Xukun, and Yuqi, you directed your question only to Sicheng, “Are you ready to talk?”

His response was to stand up, looking to you as if asking you to lead the way.

Walking back to Dejun with Sicheng in tow, you took your seat once again. Neither objected to you staying.

“Did you know that I only showed your films to my dad hoping that he’d see how well I acted?” Sicheng blurted out, a biting edge still in his tone.

Dejun’s eyebrows shot up, “I didn’t.”

“That backfired on me, clearly.”

Feeling the tension go up again, you looked at the director insistently.

He understood your cue, voice tight as he said, “This wasn’t a pity role, Sicheng. I sought you out for this role specifically because I respect you as an actor and a person and felt that you’d be an irreplaceable part of the cast. Not because of your dad. And what I said earlier about how I would have kicked you off the set if it weren’t for your dad was out of line, untrue, and I only said it because I knew it’d piss you off. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Sicheng admitted somewhat reluctantly after several seconds of uncomfortable silence. “I made the assumption that this was a pity role, and I’ve been holding a grudge against you because of how well my dad treated you in comparison to me, when it wasn’t even your fault. And I acted accordingly: being disrespectful to you... my co-stars… and the crew. An ass. I was an ass for no good reason.”

You had bated breath as Dejun stuck a hand out to Sicheng, watching intently as he accepted it, the two shaking hands politely. And you swore you could hear the entire crew let out a unanimous sigh of relief.

“Y/N!” Xuanyi’s head popped into your room as you put the finishing touches on your article, startling you into smashing your keyboard as you flinched.

You erased the accidental characters as you tried to control your heart rate, “Yeah, Yi?”

“There’s someone here to see you.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

The voice brought immediate joy to you without you even needing to look up from your laptop to see who it was. Xuanyi had disappeared from your doorway, leaving Dejun there, hesitantly standing in the threshold. You weren’t too terribly surprised at him coming by, he’d visited your apartment plenty of times in the time you’d been interviewing him.

“Dejun! Come on in,” you waved him in. “You’re here on a rare day that I don’t have dirty clothes strewn around.”

“Lucky me,” he smiled as he approached your desk where you were seated.

“I’m actually finishing up our article now. You can give it a read in a few minutes, if you want.”

“You’re done with it? Already?”

“I know,” you mimicked his surprised tone teasingly. “I’ve only been following you around like a lost puppy for the past seven weeks, Dejun.”

His amusement at your statement didn’t last long as he asked very seriously, “Are you sure you have enough information?”

“Your history and fight with Sicheng would’ve been enough. I also have a bit from beforehand and everything that’s happened since in the past five weeks.”

“You included the fight?”

“Mostly the good parts, I brushed over the actual fight itself and focused on when you two were in boarding school, and the make-up afterwards. Sicheng filled in some gaps for me.”

“He let you interview him?”

“He’s become a lot more pleasant since you two had your heart-to-heart,” you informed him, still seeing the conflict on his face, however. “I can take it out if you want me to, but I really think you should read it first. It’s only my second draft, I have a couple more meetings with my professor before I submit it.”

Dejun sighed as he looked to his feet, and you knew something was up. Realizing that you hadn’t invited him over, or been given a heads-up that he was visiting, you gazed at him curiously. This wasn’t about you including the fight in the article.

“Why’d you drop by, Dejun?”

“It doesn’t really matter now, since the interview’s over,” he mumbled.

“Tell me anyway.”

“Well—” he took a short, sharp breath. “The movie’s filming on-site in our hometown. And I was going to ask you to come with me there, but you don’t need any more information so—”

“I’ll go,” you interrupted him, feeling the giddiness creep through your veins at the thought of it. “If I won’t be a bother.”

Dejun’s eyes sparkled as he grinned, “Y/N, you’re never a bother.”

“So I can go? Even if it won’t technically be for the interview?”

“Of course you can.”

“Cool. When do we leave?”

“Saturday, and we’ll be there through Tuesday.”

“You’re my ride.”

“Duh.”

The first couple hours the crew spent in your hometown was just for them to get settled in at the hotels, but you insisted that you and Dejun stay at your parents’ house instead. However, you didn’t tell your parents you were coming home beforehand, wanting to give them a little surprise.

As you threw open the front door to your childhood home, your small suitcase and Dejun behind you, you called out, “Mom! Dad! I’m home!”

“Oh! Y/N?” Your mom’s voice yelled back from the living room. “You didn’t tell me you were coming to visit.”

You led the way further into the house, “Yeah, sorry! And I’ve got a Dejun in tow, too!”

“Xiao Dejun? That’s rather coincidental,” she replied as you finally made it to where her voice had been coming from.

And saw why it was coincidental. Chenle was sitting on your couch, cup of tea in his hand and wide eyes taking in the picture before him. You stopped in your tracks, Dejun stubbing his foot on your suitcase as he bumped into you, expletives stopping short as he too noticed his brother.

“Hey, Chenle,” he greeted his little brother curiously.

Your mother thankfully provided an explanation, “After you had called me about reconnecting with Dejun, Y/N, I decided to ring up Mrs. Xiao again. We got to chatting, and she mentioned how Chenle had an upcoming school break while her and her husband would be on a trip. And rather than having to cancel or change their reservations, I offered for him to stay with us instead.”

“Oh,” said Dejun.

“So he’s in your bedroom, Y/N.”

This time it was your turn to say, “Oh.”

“I can take the couch if Y/N is planning to stay here—” Chenle went to offer, but your mother cut him off sternly.

“Over my dead body, Chenle. That is not how we treat guests in this household. Right, Y/N?”

“Right,” you echoed, already dreading where you were going to sleep these next three nights. The terribly uncomfortable couch her and the younger boy were currently perched on. Your neck ached just thinking about it.

“The studio provided us with rooms,” Dejun rejoined the conversation. “We were stopping by on our way to the hotel.”

The studio hadn’t reserved you a room, as you specifically said that you were going to be staying at your parents’ house. And after you convinced Dejun that he could stay there as well—on the accursed couch, admittedly—he’d offered his own room to a cameraman that had previously been assigned a pullout couch in a room he was sharing with two other crew members. Neither of you had rooms.

He lied.

“Studio?” Your dad was suddenly there, and you realized with a start that he had been in the kitchen this whole time, hearing everything.

“Yes, Mr. Y/L/N, I’m a director, and the movie I’m working on is filming here. The cast and crew were provided with hotel rooms.”

Chenle piped up inquisitively, “Y/N, you’re in the cast and crew?”

“Not quite. I was interviewing Dejun,” you answered the younger brother absentmindedly, mind preoccupied with what the hell Dejun was trying to say.

“Was?” The boy had an expectant look on his face, seeming proud that he’d caught on to your choice of words.

Knowing where your family’s minds would go, you sputtered out, “Am, am. I am currently interviewing Dejun. Sorry, I’m tired from the drive.”

Great, now you were lying. No, not lying. You were… fibbing.

“We should get going anyway,” Dejun informed everyone. “My Assistant Director is going to go crazy if we’re not checked in within the next twenty minutes.”

Another fib.

“Assistant Director Lin is intense,” you agreed.

Not a fib.

“Will you two be available for dinner at least?” Your mom inquired, and you looked to Dejun. So far, he had all the right answers.

He coolly answered, “Y/N might if she doesn’t get roped into another cast dinner. All the stars are rather enthralled by her. I’m afraid that I have director things to do tonight.”

“It was good seeing you again, Dejun,” she stood to give her goodbyes. “Please stop by again before you all leave.”

You approached Chenle, who had also stood for your departure. Cocking your head to the side, you scrutinized him for a moment, “You’ve grown too much, LeLe.”

He had a wistful smile on his face at the childhood nickname you called him, “Nobody’s called me that in…”

“Eleven years?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, watching as your mom was still saying goodbye to his brother. “So are you really just interviewing Dejun or—”

“Interviewing,” you cut him off pointedly. “I’m a journalism grad student.”

Your father saved you from whatever Chenle was about to say next, giving you a tight hug goodbye.

As your father returned to the kitchen, Chenle was still there, informing you, “I’m leaving tomorrow morning, Y/N. Do you think you’ll be back before then?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, make sure Dejun brings you to my graduation in a couple months, then.”

“I will,” you promised, hugging the young boy. “It was good seeing you again, LeLe.”

“You too, Y/N.”

Finally, you and Dejun were on the sidewalk outside your house, and you were able to vocalize your thoughts.

“Dejun—”

“I know.”

“We have nowhere to stay.”

“It’s a relatively small town, we should still be able to get a couple rooms at the hotel,” he reassured you, hailing down a taxi. “I’ll pay, since I got us both into this mess.”

“Actually, I did,” you corrected him.

The hotel had exactly one room left. Apparently, the cast and crew of the movie took up most of the rooms, while press and fans who had heard the movie was shooting there took up the rest.

Thankfully, it had two beds, so your heart was safe from the ‘we’re sharing a hotel room but oh no there’s one bed and we’re both too stubborn to let the other take the couch or floor so now we’re sharing a bed’ cliché. Chenle had only reminded you of the unfortunate crush you had on Dejun. Except it was more than a crush now, it was a genuine fondness, affection, and adoration for the man. You didn’t feel like a schoolgirl around him anymore, you felt like someone who was in a hopelessly one-sided romance.

You set your suitcase on one side of your bed as you sat down on the other. A groan unintentionally passed your lips, “I really am tired.”

“Take a nap,” Dejun suggested from where he was setting his toiletries in the bathroom.

“Don’t we have to go to set in like an hour?”

“You don’t have to do anything. Interview’s over, this isn’t a business trip for you.”

You caught his eye in the mirror, a teasing smirk splitting your lips, “Oh, then it’s for pleasure?”

He laughed, breaking eye contact and the momentary tension to organize his shampoo and conditioner on the counter, “You need a nap, Y/N.”

“Fine,” you relented, flopping all the way down onto your mattress.

It was your last day in your hometown. The past few days had been split between visiting your parents and hanging out with Dejun and the rest of the cast and crew. Not an even split. Admittedly, you were more often at Dejun’s side than not, fully relishing the fact that since there was no reason whatsoever to be professional, you could truly enjoy every moment with him. Not as interviewer-interviewee, but as… friends. A freeing but restraining thought, because you wanted to be something other than friends.

When you woke up that morning, you half expected Dejun to be gone, the past couple mornings had been early morning shoots, he would probably be down at breakfast already. Instead, he was in the bathroom, which you knew by the blinding light invading your tired eyes. You had to squint at him as you realized that he was washing his face, grabbing a pillow to chuck at him. It missed, hitting the doorframe instead. But it did get his attention.

“Close the fucking door,” you moaned, pulling the covers up over your face.

He instead shut the light off. “Did I wake you up?”

“Probably.”

“Sorry, sorry,” his voice traveled across the room as he did, now at his own bed.

You ignored his apology, rolling over and opening your eyes to look at him in anticipation, “So what’s the schedule for today?”

“Breakfast, driving, the aquarium, on-site lunch, drive back, dinner.”

“Ooh, you’re filming a scene at the aquarium?”

“Nope,” Dejun declared, piquing your interest. “Filming finished yesterday.”

“Wh—”

“Just you and me, Y/N. Some good nostalgia to finish off the trip with.”

You felt your chest swell at ‘just you and me,’ suppressing what would surely be a lovestruck grin threatening to expose your real feelings as you replied, “Are we going to have a stuffed swordfish fight again?”

“We at least won’t have Mrs. Chen giving us detention,” he answered. “Now come on, I want to be on the road in forty-five minutes.”

The aquarium was nearly as magical as you remember it being when you were a kid. Maybe because you hadn’t returned since that field trip, meaning that it was almost brand-new to you again.

You excitedly pressed your visitor sticker to your shirt, grabbing Dejun’s hand to tug him further into the building, “We’re finally field trip buddies again!”

“Finally,” he chuckled, squeezing your hand back.

You continued pulling him from display to display, careful to read the panels by the tanks before moving on to the next one. There wasn’t a single thought going through your mind that wasn’t about the sea life in front of you or the man still holding your hand. It was supposed to be just for a moment at the beginning, reminiscent of when you had to hold hands when you went off as field trip buddies. But neither of you let go.

The next display ahead of you was a tunnel under a tank, the majesty of it immediately surrounding you. The blue water reflected ethereal patterns across Dejun’s features as he looked around in wonder, reaching his free hand out towards the glass as a school of fish passed by. You couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful than that, you thought to yourself quite clichély, watching his elegant fingers follow the orange fishes’ path across the tank. They swam right by you, which you barely processed in the edge of your field of vision as you were still entranced by the man in front of you.

Dejun noticed this. There’s no way he couldn’t have, you were staring at him like he was the most wonderful thing you’d ever seen, and you weren’t even trying to hide it. Why? Maybe you were finally over trying to keep it to yourself, or you were lulled into a sense of security from the closeness of the tunnel, or the feeling of his fingers laced with yours had made you forget that you weren’t actually in a relationship.

“Y/N.”

Your name sounded incredibly loud as he said it, the tunnel completely void of any other patrons, and the water around you absolutely silent.

“Dejun.”

His name sounded incredibly loud as you said it, the tunnel completely void of any other patrons, and the water around you absolutely silent.

“I want to tell you something.”

“Go ahead.”

“I don’t want us to stop seeing each other now that the interview is over.”

“Of course we’ll see each other.”

“Because we’re friends?”

Through a wincing smile, you agreed, “Of course.”

“But I… want us to stop seeing each other… as friends.”

“Then as what?” You asked, needing to hear him say it, so you don’t assume the wrong thing and get your hopes crushed.

“Now that the interview’s over, it wouldn’t be unprofessional for me to ask you out, right?” He questioned, a sheepish smile coming to his face as he nervously scratched at the back of his neck.

“The article hasn’t been finished nor submitted or published, that could still be considered unprofessional.”

“Oh.”

“Fuck professionalism,” you snorted, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

A grin came to Dejun’s face as his other hand came to settle on the back of your neck, waiting to see if you’d stop what was about to happen. You didn’t. In fact, you sped it up, grabbing a fistful of his shirt to pull his lips closer to yours. There was no way to tell who had finally closed the distance, who had locked whose lips onto whose.

Not that it mattered, because you were kissing Xiao Dejun, and nothing else could ever matter to you again.

His mouth was passionate but tender against yours, and you felt dizzy with either lack of oxygen or happiness when you two pulled back from it.

“Bright yellow,” he stated.

With your faces and bodies still so close, you couldn’t process much in that moment, an airy “What?” being your response.

“Our first kiss. It’s bright yellow.”

Right, his colors.

“Oh?” You kissed him again, slightly shorter than the last, “And what about our second kiss?”

“Still yellow.”

Another kiss.

“Third?”

“Oh, a little less yellow maybe? I’d need another kiss for comparison.”

You were more than happy to comply.

Letting yourself into Dejun’s apartment like he’d instructed you to, you didn’t expect to hear a soft guitar melody to be floating to you from his bedroom. You followed the tune to see him sitting cross-legged on his bed, guitar in his arms and fingers deftly pressing down the chords.

He didn’t seem to be aware that you were there, eyes closed peacefully as he got lost in the music and mouth sometimes opening to let out a matching harmony. As you watched him play with his relaxed focus, you couldn’t believe that he was yours. You must have been a saint in a past life or something.

Dejun played what seemed to be the final note, and you finally let your presence be known, “Beautiful! Encore!”

His eyes snapped open, blush rising quickly across his cheeks as he set the guitar aside, “Oh, that was nothing.”

“I meant the guitarist, not the song.”

He chuckled, patting the space beside him for you to plop yourself down.

“Have you ever thought about acting?” You asked as he pecked your cheek in greeting.

“Not really, why?”

“Because you’re really pretty, a camera would be blessed to film you.”

“Y/N, oh my god, you can’t say stuff like this and not expect me to kiss you.”

“I know,” you grinned victoriously as his lips neared your own.

Right before they met, however, he suddenly pulled back, leaving you glaring and pouting at him. He pinched your jutted out lower lip teasingly, seeming very smug all of a sudden. Probably proud of himself for being such a tease after you got him flustered with your earlier flirting.

“You’ve never asked me what color you are to me. Why?”

“Honestly?” You reached out to take his hand in yours, letting his rub his thumb soothing patterns across your knuckles. “I’m afraid of what it’ll be, what you’ll say about me with it.”

“It’s nothing bad.”

“I know it’ll be really sweet, and that’s what I’m afraid of. That it’ll make me fall so deeply in love with you I’ll melt into a puddle.”

“Let me tell you, please.”

“Fine, fine,” you conceded. “What color am I to you?”

“A rainbow,” he declared, seeming very proud of his answer.

“That’s not a color, Dejun.”

“No, wait, listen. You’re every color to me, Y/N. You make me feel every emotion, every color; there’s so much dimension to you that you could never be confined to one color, and you make me feel whole and complete. Like how a rainbow is only complete with all the colors.”

Your cheeks were wet, you could barely see Dejun in front of you, and your mouth trembled. This bitch had really made you fucking cry over a goddamn rainbow.

Dejun chuckled lightly as he cradled you to his chest, stroking your hair gently and pressing adoring kisses to the crown of your head, “Oh, love.”

Love. That’s what you felt. Love for him, and he made you feel loved.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Dejun,” you mumbled, hugging him tightly. “But how dare you make me cry about a fucking rainbow, Xiao Dejun.”

For some reason, just then, as he continued holding you to his chest, a small chuckle bubbling through at your accusation, a childhood memory popped into your brain. Your very first one with him, “Do you remember when we first met? When you were moving in?”

“Of course, how could I possibly forget the worst day of my life?”

“I’m going to kick your teeth in one of these days,” you hissed, wiping at your wet cheeks with the sleeves of Dejun’s hoodie you’d claimed as your own some time ago.

“You’ve said that since we were five, and you still haven’t,” he giggled in your ear, lifting your chin up so your lips could finally meet his for the first—but not last—time that night.

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