Chapter Text
War sat under the bright dressing room lights while the stylist fussed with his hair for what felt like the tenth time. He wasn’t even sure what look they were going for anymore at this point. The room buzzed with low chatter, cameras clicking somewhere outside, assistants rushing in and out with racks of clothes. Normal chaos.
He caught Yin’s reflection in the mirror, posted in the corner like a shadow, arms crossed and gaze sweeping the room like he was supervising a military operation instead of a fashion shoot.
Since that night, Yin had completely reset. Back to that unflappable, maybe-on-the-spectrum Yin who spoke like a spreadsheet and blinked twice for yes.
And was possibly built in a lab without a serotonin receptor and recharged by ignoring him.
War’s playful streak came back in a rush. Maybe it was the lighting, maybe it was the tragic comedy of watching his own type in 4K playing a real-life screensaver labeled do not disturb.
But War’s finger twitched to disturb anyway.
He snatched up the makeup brush when the stylist finished the touchups, still dusted in blush, and got to his feet. Yin’s eyes found him immediately, tracking his approach. There was a flicker of alertness in them. The look nearly knocked War off his rhythm, but he’d come too far to let common sense ruin the moment.
“Hi,” he said, soft and drawn out, as he sauntered closer.
Something eased in Yin’s stance, that ever-present tension in his shoulders ebbing slightly, like he realized War wasn’t approaching with a crisis, but rather bringing his usual chaos. His brows, however, stayed lightly knit.
“Everything alright?”
“Uh-huh.” War blinked up at him, lowering his voice with faux innocence. “I just wanna put some makeup on you, that’s all.
The effect was immediate. Yin’s composure cracked clean down the middle. His eyes widened comically, that cool professionalism dissolving into sheer disbelief. War could’ve sworn his heart did a somersault.
“We’re in public,” Yin managed finally, like that explained everything.
War’s grin turned crooked, eyes alight with mischief, heart jackhammering for no good reason. “So you’re saying you’d let me if we weren’t?”
Yin stared, visibly calculating where exactly he’d gone wrong in life. “That’s not what I said.”
“That’s what my ears decided you meant.” War countered, stepping closer, brandishing the brush like a weapon of mass destruction.
War lifted the brush toward his face, and Yin leaned back so fast he might as well have just read his own obituary. "I don't think so."
“Hold still,” War laughed. sneaking in a quick stroke over Yin’s cheek before he could lean away again. “It’ll bring out your cheekbones!”
Yin’s hand flew to his cheek as he took a startled step back, his whole frame one giant Spanish exclamation mark preceding his words; "¡Absolutely not!"
War gasped, hand to his chest. “Wow. That’s homophobic.”
“You think that’s homophobic?” Yin looked genuinely thrown, before offense gave way to an incredulous, almost affectionate laugh. “You’d have been a campfire story by day two where I trained.”
“Please, I’d have had the whole base wrapped around my finger before anyone lit a fire.” War leaned back with a smug little tilt to his chin, twirling the brush between his fingers like it was proof of his point.
“You sound proud of that.” Yin leveled him with a look.
“Is that supposed to be criticism, or are you flirting really badly?”
Yin’s lips parted like he might respond, but nothing came; he only pressed them shut again and looked away, as if he’d rather not dignify that with an answer.
War’s stomach did a small, anxious flip as the silence stretched between them. Maybe he’d misread the mood. Maybe he’d pushed a little too hard. He hadn’t wanted to make Yin uncomfortable, not at all, he’d only wanted to break the ice, to keep the door ajar so it wouldn’t seal shut and lock him out for good.
Yet all he could feel was the sting of guilt, for pushing someone who had carefully armored every part of his life against intrusion.
“Yin, I—” he started, softer now, but a voice from the doorway cut through the air.
“War! They’re ready for you!”
He glanced toward the door, then back at Yin, whose face offered him nothing. War hesitated, thumb twitching on the brush still in his hand, before forcing a small, lopsided smile.
“Let’s go. Shall we?” he spoke, backing away.
War turned toward the set, pulse uneven. Not from what he’d said, but from what he hadn’t.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Photoshoots were usually War’s playground. The one part of his job that didn’t feel like work — Lights, lenses, people moving in rhythm with him while he turned himself into something worth the flash. He thrived in it. It came to him like breathing.
But not today.
Today, his mind kept drifting somewhere else. Half his smiles were late to appear, half his eyes never made it to the lens. The photographer had to keep guiding him; “Chin up, War. Softer smile. Look left.” And he’d obey automatically on muscle memory. The whole time, his thoughts stayed stubbornly knotted around one person standing in the corner, watching everything and nothing at once.
Yin didn’t belong in rooms like these. He slipped in like a key fitting into a lock and suddenly everything else felt incidental. Normally, that presence anchored War, gave him something solid to orbit around. But after what happened in the dressing room, War couldn’t stop replaying it. Couldn’t stop wondering if he’d gone too far with his teasing.
If his unreadable quiet had been discomfort, not indifference.
By the time the car door shut behind them, War had already decided he needed to say something. To apologise, maybe. To fix whatever awkward silence had settled between them since earlier.
But now, sitting beside him in the dim hum of traffic, he couldn’t even find a starting point.
He’d made up his mind to talk. But what about? That he’d misjudged how far was too far with someone who measured every inch? That sometimes he didn’t know how else to reach him except by pressing buttons to see which ones lit up?
Or should he admit what that teasing really was — that it wasn’t malice or playfulness but something embarrassingly physical? What was War supposed to tell him? That he got warm in places he wouldn’t admit aloud every time Yin so much as looked at him?
Or worse, that he liked him — not in the scripted, cinematic way he’d built a career out of pretending to understand, but with the simple pull of wanting to see and be seen by him, not for what he did, but for who he turned into around him. Of wanting to rest against him for once, to stop performing, to just be.
To fit him into that private corner of his future which was already written out for him.
He sank a little lower in his seat, pressing a thumb against his temple as if that might push the thoughts back where they belonged. The car was too quiet. Yin was beside him, gaze turned to the dark window.
War opened his mouth, testing the start of a sentence. “Yin, I w—”
And then Yin’s phone rang.
A short, clean sound that cut straight through the tension, saving him and ruining him in the same breath.
War wasn’t trying to listen, but it was impossible not to. He could tell instantly it wasn’t the routine updates. Yin’s posture stiffened a fraction, his replies pared down to quiet acknowledgments, and then he fell into silence altogether. By the time the line went dead, War already knew it wasn’t good news.
After a beat, Yin pulled the device away, setting it face down on his palm like he needed that extra moment to separate duty from whatever the call had dropped into his lap. When he finally spoke, he did so quietly and gently.
“Beam will be at the apartment when we get back.”
“Why?” War pressed, heartbeat in his throat. “Do you know what happened?”
“Your stalker wrecked his car. Left a note.”
There was something in the way Yin handed him the words, gentle, almost apologetic, as though he’d tried to find a way around them first.
I wish I didn’t have to tell you.
Cold dread sank through War. The fragile thoughts he’d been circling — the maybe-conversation he’d almost started with Yin — scattered like dust. The stalker wasn’t just watching anymore.They were closing in.
Targeting the people around him.
He didn’t even register the car pulling into the parking lot. Everything blurred until the sound of the door opening snapped things back into focus — and with it, Yin, who’d bent slightly, holding out his hand, palm up. War stared for half a beat before taking it, letting himself be guided out into the air.
Beam stood under the muted white light of the parking lot, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other braced on the battered hood of his red Jaguar. The vehicle looked like it had been dragged through hell; long, savage lines carved into the paint, both doors caved in, glass spiderwebbed but holding.
The pattern of it made War’s stomach turn. There was intent in the destruction. You could see it in every careful line that the psycho took their time.
To his right, Yin was already on guard, not stepping forward but standing just enough in front of him that War could feel the edge of protection radiating off him like heat.
Beam tore himself from the wreck with a kind of brittle calm, his expression cracking into a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “So that’s why you’ve got a guard dog now.”
“Watch it.” War’s eyes hardened. “His name’s Yin.”
“Yeah, how could I ever forget?” a sharp glint of hurt flashing across his features before he exhaled through his nose. The tension in him broke. “Sorry,” he muttered after a beat. “Guess I’m just…” His hand swept vaguely toward the car. “on edge, ever since I found my baby like this.”
War couldn’t care less for that right now. His eyes seeked Yin first, to check on him, but he was already looking back, smiling like there was something in War worth softening for. The reflexive curl of War’s own smile met it before he could think. He probably looked like an idiot. But God, he’d never seen someone so lit from within, so bright it blurred the rest of the world in his periphery.
“There was also a note tucked under the wiper.” War’s eyes snapped back to Beam as the dread floored it through his ribs and crushed his tiny butterflies. Beam reached into his jacket, and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
Yin took the note from Beam’s grasp before War could even decide what to do with his hands.
“I’ll handle it,” he said simply as he flicked the folded paper open with a finger, eyes scanning the lines in silence. Whatever he read locked his features in quiet strain.
War felt the room shrink around them. “What is it?” he asked. Yin didn’t look up.
“Yin,” War pressed, stepping closer, pulse hammering now. “I need to see it.”
Yin’s voice was quiet but firm. “I’ve been instructed to confiscate any letters,” He folded the note neatly, thumb brushing over the crease once before moving to tuck it into his jacket.
War’s hand shot out, curling around Yin’s wrist. There was no real strength behind it, just a plea disguised as touch. And it was enough to stop him.
He drew in a slow breath, released it with quiet resignation. “You don’t want to see it, War.”
Beam crossed his arms, chin lifting just slightly. “He has every right to know. If you don’t show him, I will.”
“If it’s meant for me, then it’s mine to handle.” His tone didn’t falter, though his hand did, trembling against Yin’s sleeve. “I need to see what he— they used Beam for, to make me look.”
Yin’s hand stayed a moment too long, like he was deciding whether to stop this before it happened. Then he let go of it, the note slipping free like the decision hurt to make.
War wished he’d left him wondering.
Twinkle, twinkle, little War,
Slut who spreads his legs for all.
Tall or short, it’s all the same,
Every night a brand new name.
Twinkle, twinkle, little bitch,
Close your legs or someone’s dead.