Chapter Text
Five Years Later
It’s been a long time since Yeonjun’s been in Gangnam, and he hasn’t missed it one bit. It all used to seem exciting: the advertisements blinking on giant screens, the tourists with their faces red from skin treatments, the suits taking smoke breaks. All of the commercialism no longer appeals to Yeonjun, but that’s exactly what calls him here today.
The event is in the Kyobo Flagship Store: the largest bookstore in Seoul. Yeonjun’s nervous. He’s an artist, but he’s not a performer anymore. And the crowd is larger than he expected. Where were all of these readers four years ago, when Yeonjun’s substack and book instagram barely reached a soul?
The host, an older omega and adept public speaker, is introducing Yeonjun as an artist whose work examines the resurgence of traditional subgender roles. Yeonjun doesn’t know how much he likes that description. He doesn’t want to be a political author who is defined by his identity, but that’s what he’s currently known as. Well, there’s always his second book.
“Now, I’ll welcome this year’s winner of the Munhakdogne New Writer Award, Choi Yeonjun!”
That’s Yeonjun’s cue. He enters to quiet applause and settles down in his chair, unable to really look at the guests. Yeonjun wants his work to be famous, not himself. But events like these bolster sales, so says his publisher.
Yeonjun thanks everyone for coming and begins what he’s planned: a reading from his debut novel and a small excerpt of a short story he has yet to publish. When he first begins reading, his voice shakes. He slowly finds confidence in the familiarity of Junhee, the omega that Yeonjun spent years molding into the old version of himself, then left for dead in a bloody bathtub.
Reading about Junhee still scares Yeonjun. It makes him feel like that person again, that trapped omega. It took so much of him to leave that life behind, but to write this novel, he had to revisit it day after day. Yeonjun’s hardly the first to write about life in a golden cage, hardly the first to finally unlock the door and venture out into the world. But, God, was it hard.
His back ached from sleeping on Jimin’s couch for a year and a half. He hadn’t expected to be there for so long, but he just couldn’t find a writing job that paid enough for him to move out. At times, he was tempted to try his hand at copywriting or marketing or anything with a decent salary, but Jimin urged against it. “Don’t sell your soul for a nine-to-five,” he said. “You’ll get complacent and forget about writing.”
Besides, Yeonjun had just left behind a comfortable but passionless life. He didn’t need to go backward.
In his first year alone, Yeonjun sometimes became so discouraged that he regretted his divorce. Perhaps he truly was meant to be a stay-at-home omega, he thought dismally. He had been so good at it, after all. He’d still have his beautiful apartment, his Michelin star restaurants, his Pilates classes, his parents. He mourned Juwon and Soobin both.
But Jimin was always there to tell him to keep trying, to keep pushing, it would all work out. And hey, at least he wasn’t working in a room salon, right? At least their mom still called them in the middle of the night, on a second cellphone their father didn’t know existed, right? It was all okay.
If it weren't for Jimin, Yeonjun would have ended up exactly like Junhee. Yeonjun has never once forgotten that.
Yeonjun ends his reading to more applause. As shy as the event makes him, he can’t deny the ego boost from all this praise. Finally, twelve years after presenting as an omega, he’s a true author. The Munhakdongne New Writer Award has caused a surge in his book sales, and major publishing houses are contacting him about his next work. Yes, Yeonjun’s feeling quite proud of himself lately.
He answers a few questions about his writing process, the themes he wants to explore in future work, and the lenses through which his writing can be examined. Then, the signings begin, and everyone forms a line.
Beomgyu already has a copy of Yeonjun’s book, but he showed up today to be supportive. As Yeonjun signs his book, Beomgyu whispers, “I’m selling this online,” and Yeonjun rolls his eyes.
The line snakes along, each attendee sliding their book forward on the table for him to sign. He looks up, says hello, looks down to sign the book, then freezes. Was that…?
Yeonjun looks up again, and he sees him. Sweet eyes, lips like a bow. He’s still unspeakably handsome.
“Soobin,” Yeonjun whispers. His smile is true, and his book is open.
“Hi, hyung.”