Chapter Text

Red Sprites: Massive electrical bursts that appear 30–50 miles above thunderstorms, near the edge of space. They last only milliseconds, which makes them one of the rarest lightning events on Earth, giving rise to a varied range of red flashes flickering in the night sky. They are usually triggered by discharges of positive lightning between an underlying thundercloud and the ground.

Chapter 1: Gun to the Throat

His entrance was barely noticed.

It had been well over a decade since the last time he had set foot on such a massive production. The director’s voice was booming over the bustle of noise and vaguely organised chaos of cables strewn around, cameras rolling on their rails and staff rearranging the set for the next scene; some actors were chatting on the side, trying not to get in the way while their makeup was getting a quick touch-up.

The studio was still vibrating with the energy of the early hour, buzzing with anticipation; producers were handing out schedules, not yet willing to acknowledge the inevitable rework they would have to go through as the day dragged on. Actors moved with a bounce in their step, not yet bored out of their mind waiting for their turn in front of the camera, and the craft service crew had just finished setting up the self-serving corner, not yet hounded for more coffee by swarms of exhausted staff members.

“Oh. This is… busy,” a voice rumbled behind him, tone carefully neutral.

When Yoojin turned his head, he glimpsed a hint of nervousness in his friend’s long face, in the scratching of his nails over the frayed stitching of his satchel, old leather cracking white at the corners. As the one stuck in the role of Han Yoojin’s manager for the past eight years, Yoo Myungwoo had been used to more intimate sets, low-budget drama, seconds-long ads and rarely more than a dozen people in a rented studio at the same time.

“It’s only a couple of weeks,” Yoojin sent him another amused glance. “We’ll soon be back to crappier sets, don’t worry about it.”

“I didn’t mean- it’s a good thing we’re here. Maybe this is the turn your career needed, Yoojin-ah,” Myungwoo smiled, encouragement seeping from his voice to the lines of his face, pulling his expression from anxious to gentle at a moment's notice.

A lot of people, in the industry or online, liked to say that Han Yoojin’s life was one long string of bad luck, yet, since it had allowed him to have Yoo Myungwoo, out of all people, assigned as his manager, maybe his fortune deserved some thanks. They were both treated like shit with little means of escape, and as misery loves company, they easily found support in one another.

When Yoojin had met him, he had been a lanky man, long hair messily tied back, longer limbs moved by nervousness more than will, and very little to make him want to stay afloat. He stood larger now, not only thanks to the bulk accumulated through the years, but with a beginning of self-worth that Yoojin could only envy. However, the kindness in his brown eyes had never changed.

“Oh, hey!” a young woman called when she saw them, black hair pulled high on the top of her head, face round and white, a badge strung around her neck spelling Second Assistant Director and a name he didn't catch in the flurry of her movements. “It’s Han Yoohyun’s brother!”

She gave him a quick once-over, lips falling open as he failed to meet whatever expectation she had. Like every time he was confronted with his little brother’s popularity, pride started swelling deep in his gut, only slightly tainted by the reaction he got in return. For once, it wasn't Yoohyun's reputation that had landed him the role but a good old cold reading audition, not that it would stop people from assuming anyway.

“He has a name,” Myungwo snapped, but Yoojin quickly shushed him.

“Yeah, that would be me,” he said, giving a polite smile, not willing to make waves minutes after entering the studio. That could wait at least half an hour.

“You didn’t need to show up that early, you’ll only start your first scene in the afternoon, we sent you the planning, right?” She shot a glance at Myungwoo, lines marring her forehead.

“We have it, Han Yoojin-ssi just likes to arrive beforehand to observe the set, and, ah, get familiar with the setting. Helps get in character.”

“I see,” the assistant director didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe you can have a costume check then, see if there’s anything we need to adjust. Your agency sent your measurements, but better safe than sorry. Oh, and-” She stopped for a second, and opened a folder on her tablet, eyes quickly scanning up and down before meeting Yoojin’s eyes. “Apparently, you’ve been brushing up on your Mandarin, but we have our accent coach on set with us this morning, so maybe take the opportunity to have a session with him. The dressing room will be to your right.” She gestured to the entrance of a corridor behind her. “You’re free to move around. There’s a really good café a few streets out of the studio if you don’t like what the craft service is providing. We’ll be expecting you on set at two in the afternoon, so we have time for wardrobe and makeup before filming at three. All good with you?”

Yoojin had barely finished nodding that she was already running off, the echo of her voice still lingering in his ears. He looked up to catch a bemused Myungwoo.

“Do you think it’s just her, or is everyone here like that?”

“Maybe it’s because of Sung Hyunje-ssi. I heard he can be a bit hard to deal with, the entire staff must be on edge,” Yoojin hummed, following the producer’s advice and moving toward the dressing room.

They had met, briefly, during the table read that started the week of filming for episode four, but Yoojin was just a guest appearance, a small role that would share a couple of scenes with the man who had no reason to talk to him or pay him any attention outside of their lines. It had been just long enough to make Yoojin seethe in misplaced jealousy that the actor was indeed as handsome as he was on screen, enough to be a threat to Yoohyun’s good looks. That man was too old to have such nice skin; he was probably pouring millions into plastic surgery and fancy skin care products anyway, whereas Yoojin’s little brother was all natural beauty.

“Are you worried?” Myungwoo whispered, picking up on his sombre thoughts.

“It’s okay, I’m pretty sure next year will be the one when the public stops being blinded and Yoohyun will be the one at the top of the 'most handsome celebrities' list.”

“What?”

“What, what?” Yoojin blinked at him, stopping in the corridor.

“No, I meant,” Myungwoo pinched the bridge of his nose, “are you worried about acting with him. He’s a bit intimidating, right?”

“Oh!” Yoojin laughed. “No. I’m fine, acting’s the one thing I’m never worried about.”

 ❖

The props crew was putting down the last statues, fake dust sprinkled on top of the shelves to give the shop a more authentic look, while the lights moved around under the cinematographer’s shouts, flickering in intensity until they reached the moonlight-piercing-through-stained-windows effect they were aiming for.

Thrill was climbing through Yoojin’s spine, shivers spreading through his limbs and chest, drinking the atmosphere of his shop that was being built under his eyes. Every time he was about to start filming, the same sensations coursed through him, shedding his own skin to step into someone else’s life, borrowing a pulse to animate his body even when it didn’t feel like moving on its own.

Here, every sensation was amplified tenfold. The quality of the set dressing, the professionalism of every crew member, the intricacies of his character fusing with his bones—it had been too long since he had been that excited for a role, even such a minor one. This wasn't the best-written show he'd been in, some lines were outright cheesy, but it had budget, a massive audience, and everyone seemed to enjoy working on it.

Sitting on an empty props case, he went over the puppeteer's lines one last time, then stared back at the set, imprinting the atmosphere of the old antique shop under the moonlight in his iris before he closed his eyes, slowly letting his own emotions wash out of him.

He was calm, collected. He had climbed from nothing to this position; police, mob and politics under his thumb, no dirt he couldn't dig. It was his own empire, forged through lies and deceit, blood when necessary. The heart of Seoul's dark underbelly, all controlled by one informant. He knew what was coming, always. Would he truly wait for an enemy behind the makeshift barrier of his counter? Was he honourable enough to stand under the light when a spot in the shadow existed so conveniently?

Brightness pierced his retina as his eyelids fluttered open, almost blinded by the studio light he had managed to forget, and he bit his lower lip.

“Han Yoojin-ssi, you can take your place!” a personal assistant shouted, pointing at the spot behind the counter.

So, evidently, Yoojin walked in the opposite direction. 

“No, no, please, not again-” Myungwoo hissed, trying to push him back toward the set, and then just ending up following him to the director’s seat, expression wavering between pained and defeated.

As a side character, they both knew Yoojin’s place; his role was to not slow down production, to not put anyone behind schedule, which was reserved for the leading roles. A single mistake from him would be costly for his reputation, his manager, and his agency. But still, as he eyed the seat where the assistant was pointing, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to shut up this time either.

No matter how bad the pay, how shitty the lines, how inconsequential the character, Yoojin had never half-assed a role in his life, not even commercials.

“Ah, Director-nim, Writer-nim,” he offered his most placating smile. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to wait by the door instead?”

The main writer had her golden-brown hair tied back in a long braid, round glasses slipping from her nose as she looked up. Evelyn Miller was known for her impeccable command of the Korean language and for how quickly she had turned many of her scripts into successful shows despite being a foreigner. There was no hostility in her gaze, but no interest either. Director Namgung, on the other hand, a chubby older woman in a purple jacket with more salt than pepper in the bun sitting on the back of her neck, had her lips in a flat, disapproving line.

“No, it wouldn’t. Please, huh, Han Yoojin-ssi was it-”

“Let me just explain, from his perspective, whatever Peter is coming for, it’s not good, right? I feel like, rather than passively waiting for Peter to make the first move, he’d want to keep the upper hand. Catching him by surprise would reverse the balance of power nicely and make him feel in control of the exch-”

Evelyn Miller started tilting her head curiously while irritation grew on the director’s face.

“Han Yoojin-ssi, this is one scene, please don’t make it complicated.”

“We can keep the same lines, it won’t take more time, let me just try-”

“Everyone in place!” the coordination producer cut him off with a shout.

“You should have come to us earlier, or even during the table read if you had any complaints.”

“This isn’t a complaint, just a suggestion, with his background and paranoia-”

“Han Yoojin-ssi, I said no-”

“I like it,” a pleasant voice cut through the chaos.

For a few seconds, everyone around the director stayed silent, gazes drawn several centimetres above Yoojin’s head.

“What?” Yoojin twisted his neck, watching the tall silhouette of the lead actor standing right behind him, a vaguely curious glint in his eyes.

Briefly, he was glad that his irritation cushioned the full effect of that face so close to him. His hair was so pale it was hard to even pinpoint the colour, all the saturation instead converging in his eyes, shining with a gold that verged on unnatural, but what made Yoojin swallow was his build, easily towering at least twenty centimetres above him, the trademark red coat and suit of his character doing very little to hide his bulk.

“I think Han Yoojin-ssi’s suggestion would make for a more dynamic and well-paced entrance,” Sung Hyunje hummed, tilting his head at the writer tapping her pen against her lower lip. “We could play around the light placement for a more dramatic cinematography that would have a much clearer impact, rather than a still camera plan. I would enjoy playing this version more.”

Without any back talking or fuss, just a low hum of consideration, a few mumbles exchanged between the writer and director, the change was accepted.

Of course, that’s how it was, being the top dog in the industry, Yoojin almost snorted. He knew he was supposed to be grateful, but the fact that his voice even needed backup to be heard and considered just irked him even more. The man had done nothing to deserve it, really, but Yoojin couldn’t hold back an irritated glance at this handsome face.

“Thanks. But I didn’t need help,” he grunted as they both moved back toward the set.

“I wasn’t helping you,” Sung Hyunje blinked at him, the only sign of surprise on his otherwise neutrally polite expression. If he was offended by his lack of gratitude or coarse tone, he didn’t let it show.

“Your arguments weren’t as good as mine either. I just don’t have… this,” he made a broad gesture to Sung Hyunje’s face before pointing at his own, much more average features.

“Are you insinuating I am only being listened to because of my face?” The lead actor’s carefully polite voice dipped into amusement. “That’s very bold.”

Evidently, that wasn’t true. Sung Hyunje had been playing Detective Peter Sprites for over two years now. On top of being one of the most famous actors in the industry, he was familiar with Director Namgung, which was always a huge help when trying to push for a change. The man was loaded, famous, talented, experienced, and good-looking. Of course, his words had more weight than anything Yoojin could ever hope for. But he wasn’t about to admit to any of that.

“Anyway, there’s no need to back me up next time, Sung Hyunje-ssi.” Yoojin stepped on the stage, and a wardrobe staff member quickly adjusted his cheongsam above his white pants, making sure the slit fell nicely on the side of his leg. “I really wouldn’t want to put you in a difficult situation.” He smiled as brightly as he could.

“I will be the judge of what a difficult situation is to me.” His gaze ran up and down Yoojin’s body. “Are you Han Yoohyun-ssi’s brother by any chance?”

“What’s it to you?”

At this stage, Yoojin was aware he was blatantly rude for reasons known only to him, but it was impossible to stop. Not only had this guy been the main obstacle between Yoohyun and the number one actor position in Korea, but the way he had barged in the middle of Yoojin’s argument like a knight in shining armour defending the little guy didn't sit well with him. Yoojin didn’t need protection. Even the lack of offence from Sung Hyunje irked him; the man looked at him with vague amusement, the corner of his lips pulled up, like watching a small dog trying to bite his ankle.

“I heard about you,” Sung Hyunje tilted his head. “You have a… reputation.”

"I hope I am living up to it, then. I would hate to disappoint an actor as esteemed as Sung Hyunje-ssi.”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

Fuck, pulling even a fake gun under that guy’s jaw would feel so, so good.

 ❖

Dust floated in the moon beams filtering through the windows; the only other source of light was a small beacon of orange at the back of the antique shop, barely grazing blue-painted vases and lacquered boxes from its spot on the counter.

The old wood creaked in the night, the boutique breathing and groaning, alive despite the late hour. The chair behind the counter was empty, as if its owner had disappeared into the night, and the door only rattled a few times as long fingers worked the lock from the outside. The small bell attached to the frame chimed, and a cone of white light spilt from a flashlight, landing on the used wooden boards.

With careful steps, a tall man in a red coat moved inside, the door closing behind him, his flashlight darting from a bronze statue guarding the entrance, fangs at eye-level, to a display of hand-painted plates. Before his foot could touch the floor again, a cold muzzle dug under his chin.

“Good evening.” The voice was low and cordial, as if inviting an acquaintance over for tea instead of pressing a gun to the throat of an intruder. "Anything I can help you with?" The safety clicked as it was thumbed off.

The man in the red coat couldn’t turn his head, but his eyes darted to the side, catching the silhouette of a man slinking out of the shadow pooling by the dragon’s statue.

"I was just browsing, thank you, but now that you're here, I wouldn't be against some advice," he replied with the smile of a man used to being held at gunpoint. Despite the casual tone, his gestures were careful, eyes calculating.

"Well, thank you for supporting local businesses…" The shop owner's free hand slid into the red coat in an almost intimate gesture, deftly grabbing the badge from its inner pocket. “Detective Peter Sprites.” The words rolled off his tongue in exaggerated English. "Your patronage is appreciated."

"I was hoping for a little more of a reaction," the detective cocked his head to the side. "Are you used to being visited by policemen in the middle of the night?"

With a tilt of his lips, the antique dealer stood on his toes, voice lowering in a whisper as he crowded the detective. 

"I don't kiss and tell."

It punched an exhale from the detective's chest, amused or surprised, it was hard to tell in the dark.

The orange lamp on the counter couldn’t reach them, the flashlight only catching the hem of white pants peeking from the slit of a black cheongsam dress, while the moonlight streaming through the window ran over a crown of black hair and gave a silver hue to Peter Sprites' golden eyes.

"It would save me an internal investigation and a lot of time if you were kind enough to tell me who tipped you off about my visit," Peter's voice stayed low, as if unwilling to disturb the peace of the shop even after being caught. "I might even be inclined to share how I happened to learn who you are."

"How sweet of you," he cooed, and gave a few mocking taps of his gun against the side of the man's throat. "But I'll have to refuse your so very generous offer, I already know who sold me off, and they've been dealt with. Now all I have to do is get rid of you, and the Puppeteer identity is safe again."

A shiver ran through the detective's spine, a quick bob of his throat the only sign he was a twitch of a finger away from death. His hands rose slowly, the flashlight briefly passing over a pretty white face and two dark eyes trained on him.

“Maybe we should talk. I wouldn't want to leave you with a pool of blood to clean. Especially so late at night, it would be quite rude of me."

"How could I refuse such a good-looking, well-mannered intruder?" he smiled, moonlight catching on white teeth. "Let's get to know each other, then. I assume you came here for information about the library murder."

"To my knowledge, it was a casino. One that you own." He raised an elegant eyebrow.

"But you didn't come to arrest me," the puppeteer whispered, running the muzzle of his Colt along the detective's jaw, holding his gaze.

For a few seconds, no one spoke, the air contracted and expanded with the breath of both men, and the soft creaking of wood. Despite the darkness shrouding the entrance of the shop, they kept guessing at each other's faces, refusing to be the first one to drop the staring contest.

"I didn't."

"And what would your coworkers say if they saw you colluding with an illegal casino owner so late at night? Mmmh," the amused hum almost dipped into a singsong tone, "are all Western detectives like you, or are you just that special?"

"We both know you aren't just a casino owner, and I have never been one to stick to strictly conventional means." he took a step forward, digging the gun just a little further into his throat. “A murderer is out there, and if striking a deal with you means people stop dying, I will do it.”

“Well, you see, people die every day, so I care very little but…” the badge was slid back in its pocket, a white hand darting to grab the tall man by his tie. “The way you know of me, I know of you, Peter Sprites-ssi.”

Slowly, the puppeteer walked back, pulling Peter with him by his tie, step by step, until they both stood between the tall vases by the counter, under the glow from the lamp, orange spilling on the detective's pale hair and pulling his eyes into warmer hues. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the man in front of him for even a second. His back to the light, the puppeteer raised his white gun, old-fashioned and decorated in silver swirls, dragging it along the lines of that handsome face.

“And I think you could help me, too.”

With careful gestures, Peter lowered one of his hands still held above his head, closing his fingers one by one around the puppeteer's wrist while the man looked at him curiously. Instead of pushing the Colt away, he pressed it down to his chest, muzzle catching on the buttons of his shirt, stopping it right above his heart. Caution had disappeared from his face as he leaned forward.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Cut!”

With a sharp inhale, Yoojin was brought back to his body. Suddenly, the shop was a TV set, cameras and mics everywhere around him, the voice of the director and crew buzzing in the background. He wasn’t an informant managing several illegal businesses from his antique shop, but just Han Yoojin, a regular guy in a tight cheongsam that made him feel a little self-conscious, standing a tad too close to the lead actor, still holding his wrist.

He always hated that part, when his own skin felt ill-fitting, slammed back into his body after managing to escape for a few minutes or hours, almost unsure of the way he was supposed to move or talk.

“That was an… interesting interpretation.” Sung Hyunje clearly didn’t have any of those issues, raising an eyebrow at the fingers twisted into his tie. "The 'I don't kiss and tell' ad-lib? Very bold, once again.”

Who did this guy think he was? Did Yoojin even ask for his opinion?

"I'm glad it didn't make you break character; it must be all your long years of experience, Sung Hyunje-ssi." Yoojin smiled, releasing the tie and straightening it before patting the man's chest, using every bit of his character still lingering in him. He would crawl away in shame for his boldness later.

“You were so much more charming as the Puppeteer,” Sung Hyunje sighed before stepping back, a new glint in his eyes. “I hope we will see lots of each other.”

Within the next second, before Yoojin could open his mouth, the set was invaded by the props crew, rearranging the shop while the actors were being ushered further away. Feeling the heavy weight of eyes burning his back, Yoojin glanced back toward the director’s chair.

The old woman stood behind the camera, hands clasped behind her back, stretching the fabric of her jacket to expose the bright red shirt beneath, eyes darting quickly from the screen to Yoojin, her head lightly shaking. A churning sensation built up in Yoojin’s stomach. He thought he had done pretty well, finding it unexpectedly easy to bounce off Sung Hyunje’s acting, but the strange look made worry gnaw at his guts.

“Yoojin-ah!” Myungwoo appeared beside him, shoving an Americano from the self-serving corner in his hand, a large smile on his face. “That was very nice! I didn't imagine it could look like this when I read over your part. Seems like you had fun."

Yoojin grabbed the drink, letting it warm his hand instead of drinking it. Acting generally wasn't about fun these days, but he did feel good right now.

"I guess it's playing someone just on the limit between villain and ally, laying it on thick with the evil lines, swinging a gun around, and well," he added reluctantly, "Sung Hyunje-ssi is, he's actually a decent actor, it wasn't too bad having a scene with him, I was really immersed at least. Not as good as our Yoohyun-ie, but not bad for an old man past his prime."

It was a nice break from more emotional characters or the experimental, strange roles he'd been cast in from film student projects or independent productions. There wasn't too much to think about, just enjoy the ride of a low-stakes role in a fast-paced criminal show, and the lead actor's face was a nice bonus.

"You two played up that tension really nicely, I think it's gonna look great on camera; the director probably didn't expect so much for such a small scene. Sung Hyunje-ssi seemed to be really into it as well.”

Slowly taking the first sip of his bitter drink, Yoojin let the words wash over him, warmth bubbling from his manager and friend’s enthusiasm.

They still had a few takes of the same scene for some over-the-shoulder shots, but he had wrapped his first scene in a single shot, and part of him was already itching to go back into the Puppeteer’s skin.