“in elk universum.”

written by stoodoverdaline

 

“I’ll find you.”

“But if—if I didn’t recognize you—”

“It’s okay.”

 

*

 

“So what you’re saying is—”

“We’re holding the audition today, yes.” The sound of papers being shuffled fills the room for a moment, then the person those busy hands belong to look up with an ever-present big smile on her lips. “Well, not really a whole audition. We’ve already scoured through the list and narrow down our possible Even into three.”

“Three,” repeated softly, a gentle furrow of eyebrows.

“Out of fifty participants.” Brisk, proud. Always proud, especially when she releases a surprised gasp because she doesn’t expect the number to be that high, considering the role. “It’s hard but these three—we have a lot of hope. We believe that one of them will be it. After all,” a warmer smile now, “only the best for you, Minjoo. Only the best for Seola.”

Minjoo smiles back, reaching for the paper Doyeon pushes over towards her. Baek Seola, the character Minjoo has played for the last two years. The character Minjoo has worked to embody for the series Bukkeureoun, South Korea’s remake of the Norwegian show titled SKAM. The character Minjoo has poured her heart and soul and time into.

The character she can’t see herself without.

With these thoughts preciously in mind, Minjoo reads the content for a beat, then looks up at the waiting woman before her.

“Did they get the script for this scene too?”

“Mhm.” Doyeon gestures at it, “Think you can do it?”

Minjoo takes a deep breath, then nods. She flashes her director a small smile, “I’ve been Seola for two seasons, Director.” Doyeon grins at that and her confidence builds up. “This is nothing.”

“That’s the words, girl.” Doyeon rises from her seat and checks her wristwatch, “Well, you have thirty minutes and when all is set I’ll call you in.” She extends a fist to Minjoo, and Minjoo bumps it with her own. Doyeon smirks,

“Get ready to meet Seola’s soulmate.”

Minjoo laughs softly, gaze drifting down to the scene printed on the paper in her hold.

“Can’t wait.”

 

*

 

“I’ll come. And then you’ll see.”

“See?”

“You’ll see me and wonder if you know me.”

 

*

 

The first nominee isn’t bad.

She isn’t bad at all. She catches Minjoo’s eyes and her features relax gently like the sun filtering through the blinds in the morning. Minjoo dons Seola’s name and talks in her words and the nominee plays off her without a hitch, citing the words she needs to say and laughs exactly how the script wants her to.

Minjoo doesn’t get her name, because around these parts you don’t really get to know someone’s name until they officially join the crew. The script nears the end and Doyeon finally says cut! and Minjoo looks over at the strict director, trying to read her mood.

Doyeon smiles, and claps. She claps exactly three times and says good job, thanks the nominee and tells Hyewon to show her the way out of the set (“We’ll inform you of the outcome within the week, thank you again!”).

And when they’re both gone, she releases the biggest sigh Minjoo’s ever heard coming from her yet.

“Was it bad?” Minjoo can’t help but ask, too used in checking her performance. Everyone in the crew is their own quality control, the reason why Doyeon treats them well and trusts them a lot the same way they trust her to lead them well.

“No, no,” Doyeon waves her hand, “that was great. Very according to script. I’m just—God, this country. This country makes it hard, huh?” The director whirls around and starts to pace, murmuring to herself a thousand words a second and Minjoo looks helplessly to her side, gaze meeting Kwon Eunbi’s—the main scriptwriter of their series.

“Someone bailed,” Eunbi explains, and Doyeon stops in her track to release a dragged out groan. Eunbi shakes her head, looking at Minjoo again. “Her agency pulls her out—she was auditioning without their knowledge, it seems. And, well, I guess the agency thought she doesn’t need…” Eunbi gestures vaguely, “this, in her portfolio.”

“Bull,” Doyeon curses, voicing Minjoo’s disappointment. “We should expose the company for being homophobic—”

Hyewon pops into the set. “Um, guys? Last participant is here.”

Doyeon swallows the rest of her rant up, and Eunbi considerably relaxes now that they’ve avoided a potential media war. Doyeon covers her face with her palms for a moment, and she’s back on being director Kim the moment she removes her hands.

Doyeon yells across the set, “Have you filled her in about what she needs to do?!”

“Yeah,” Hyewon yells back. Someone from the audio team flinches and Minjoo winces in sympathy. These people can be so loud sometimes. (All the time, but Minjoo is in the mood to be generous.)

“Well then!” Doyeon makes a gesture of beckoning Hyewon in. Hyewon gives her a salute and disappears again and Minjoo knows that the next time she comes back, Hyewon will bring in the next—and apparently last—candidate of Minjoo’s acting partner.

“Back in your place, Min,” Doyeon instructs, and Minjoo nods, walking off to the space a few cameras are shooting towards. She lets the thoughts of the bailing nominee fade—if it weren’t meant to be, then it wouldn’t come to be. Besides—isn’t it why this series is here? To give a hand in bettering the way South Korea perceives their views on love.

She leans against the wall, eyes on the ground and she thinks of Seola, thinks of what she would do, what’s written in the script. The scene Doyeon has chosen is a simple one; it’s a short back and forth the two characters will have on their first meeting. Seola has just stepped out of the convenience store, feeling sour because her favourite brand of americano has been sold out—it’s the sole reason she even dropped by the store, in the first place. She’s mentioned to her friends that she needed caffeine, and yet—

“That’s a long face for a bright day,” a voice says.

Minjoo pauses, and when she slowly lifts her gaze, looks over—there stands a girl only slightly taller than herself, smile cutely dimpled and two hands posing as though she’s holding two invisible cans. She’s wearing a simple white shirt and long jeans and Minjoo dons Seola once again,

“It isn’t even that bright.” She glances down at the other’s hands, and frowns for a moment before looking away. “Lucky prick,” she huffs under her breath.

“Sorry?” The query is lightly spoken, disbelief colouring the tone but also amusement—she can almost hear the smile in it. “Did you just call me a prick? Wow, someone’s in need of caffeine.”

Minjoo rolls her eyes and moves to look at the other again, mouth opening to fire off a biting remark—

Except one hand is suddenly in front of her face, curled fingers tilted towards her as though offering her the invisible can of coffee the other’s holding.

“Want one, then?” At Minjoo’s furrowed eyebrows, a nonchalant explanation follows— “It was a buy one get one free, so you can take it.”

Minjoo closes her eyes briefly, then opens them with a shake of her head. She crosses her arms disapprovingly and tilts her head,

“There were no such offers.” The other raises an eyebrow and Minjoo sighs, “Stop lying, I’d know. I checked this brand earlier and there was no such sign.”

Then the other makes to grin, pulling the offering hand back—only to then make a motion of throwing the invisible can towards her, Minjoo straightening in surprise to grab it out of air.

“You got me,” the other says. “I just love to buy things in pairs. You scored full marks! That coffee’s your reward, uh—” the other squints, gesturing vaguely.

Asking for a name.

“Baek Seola,” Minjoo breathes out.

The grin quietens down into a lop-sided smile, a pair of eyes catching her own and gleaming gently under the lighting of the set.

“Kim Norae,” the other says, “nice to meet you.”

“—and cut!” Doyeon’s voice breaks through the acting bubble and Minjoo takes a sharp intake of breath, stepping back. She lets go of Seola the same time she uncurls her fingers from the invisible can of americano, and when she lets herself to look around, Doyeon’s already approaching them with a slow clap.

“That was great!” Doyeon exclaims. “Very impressive.”

“Ah, really?” A soft, sheepish laughter and Minjoo can’t not look at the owner of the voice, the last nominee of Kim Norae. It’s only now that she notices the thin sheen of sweat running down the latter’s temple. “I hope I didn’t come off too nervous—”

“No, no. You were brilliant,” Doyeon bursts happily, and Minjoo is reminded of her own audition for Baek Seola—the first time she’s ever seen Doyeon glows this brightly. Doyeon looks over at her as though she knows what Minjoo’s thinking, “You’re great too, Min, but that’s a given.”

Minjoo takes in the compliment with a smile, giving a glance at the nominee. “I was lucky to have a great help.”

She earns a smile back, and then Doyeon grabs the nominee’s attention once again and thanks her and walks her off set, still talking. For a fleeting second—or longer, but let her pretend—Minjoo wonders about the nominee’s name.

(Then thinks, I’ll know soon enough anyway.)

“Her mood is up again, thank goodness.”

Minjoo blinks, only then realizing that she’s been staring at the nominee’s back as the two walk away. She turns to look at Hyewon, who beams at her.

“How does it feel? You’re the first out of the cast to try out the script.”

“It’s very us,” Minjoo honestly says, smiling. “I like the tone, it’s familiar. It feels like coming back home.”

Hyewon laughs, loops an arm around Minjoo’s shoulders. “You should thank Eunbi for that,” she says, continuing with shameless awe in her words— “brilliant woman, that one.” Then, now speaking in a whisper, “What do you think about your Kim Norae-to-be?”

“It’s unfortunate that one of them bailed out,” Minjoo poses, then she halts for a prolonged breath. “But, I—okay, this is gonna sound a little… controversial maybe, and biased. But I think the winner won’t change either way.”

“Oooh,” Hyewon teases. “Did Seola speak to you? What did she say?”

Minjoo laughs, shaking her head. Sometimes the cast jokes that their characters have spoken to them; a defense often thrown in whenever they do an adlib or improvise a scene. Doyeon loves it, however, often using it back at them whenever they’re having a difficulty to get into a mood or a delivery. Let Seola speak to you, Min, Doyeon would say over the megaphone, sending yet another audio crew into a flinch.

“You know,” Minjoo finally says, glancing at Hyewon, “the script doesn’t have any line about buy one get one free.”

Hyewon raises an eyebrow at her, and Minjoo untangles herself from Hyewon’s arm. When Hyewon said that Minjoo was the first in the cast to read the script, she was counting herself, too. “Then, that means—”

“She added it in herself,” Minjoo nods. “We were supposed to just go straight to the buying in pairs line, but she added it in herself.” Doyeon enters the set again, with a bounce in her steps and Minjoo just watches as the director goes to the cameramen to re-watch the recorded section.

A smile crosses her lips, light and easy—like a sure breath, a simple blink.

“So yes, I think Seola has found her Norae today.”

 

*

 

“You would want to give up on me.”

“No. Not a chance. Don’t you know me? Please. You know me.”

“But—”

 

*

 

Ahn Yujin.

That’s the name of the nominee—the name of Kim Norae’s decided actress, per yesterday. Minjoo had stared at Doyeon after she said the name, and a smile crossed her lips the moment Doyeon displayed Ahn Yujin’s picture, letting her to confirm that it was the ‘buy one get one’ Norae—Hyewon’s word.

“Seola thought so too!”

“Oh?” Honda Hitomi, the actress of Hong Dahee—one of Seola’s flatmates—shot her a curious, amused look then. “I guess it means we can expect great things from them.”

“What do you mean? You know Min compliments people too easily,” Choi Yena commented, actress of Choi Sunghee, Seola’s other flatmate.

“Not Seola, though,” Kim Chaewon chimed in. Actress of Im Gowon, Seola’s last flatmate. “Seola doesn’t really hand out compliments. So if it’s Seola who said it, then.” She rolled her shoulders in a shrug.

“I swear at this rate you guys are gonna develop a second personality when the series is over,” Eunbi said, passing by. Her remark earned a round of laughter, and she just rolled her eyes fondly at them— “Just don’t send the hospital bills to me, please and thanks.”

Minjoo bites back a snort at the memory, shaking her head. She returns her attention to the script before her, ears back open to listen to what Doyeon is saying. They’re holding a script reading today, and it means Ahn Yujin is here, too.

She’s sitting only two chairs away from Minjoo, in fact.

(And from the look of it, Yena has befriended her in the span of two hours, too, despite of the scepticism she had aired about the casting yesterday.

Figures.)

“And that concludes the general outline of this season,” Doyeon says, clasping her fingers. “Our predicted duration of filming is four months, but it could be shorter or longer than that. We’ll hold the table read in—” Doyeon checks her wristwatch, eyebrows raising. “After lunch would be better, I think. That’s two hours away, so.” Doyeon looks up to the cast again and smiles, “I’ll leave you guys to socialize and discuss within yourself. Lunch will be held in this very same location, but ‘till then, go scatter. Chop chop!”

The table erupts into chatters at that, chairs squeaking as people rise from their seats. Doyeon catches Minjoo’s gaze, and jerks her jaw vaguely to the direction of Ahn Yujin. Get to know her, talk to her, Minjoo reads the words Doyeon mouths.

So she nods and rises from her seat, turning to where Ahn Yujin would be sitting. Her eyes meet Yena’s first, who proceeds to cough and seemingly excuse herself from the latter’s presence.

Minjoo approaches her and taps on her shoulder, and Ahn Yujin looks up. The latter’s eyes widen at Minjoo’s little wave, and then it softens—her gaze, the twist of , her features. Minjoo hasn’t ever noticed the way someone’s face softens so wholly before. Then s smile works its way across Ahn Yujin’s lips,

“Oh, hey.” A shift, chair moving back a bit. It creates a little more space between them, but Minjoo doesn’t pay it a second thought. “Kim Minjoo, right?”

Minjoo inclines her head, smiles. Says, “Nice to meet you again. And just Minjoo, please.”

“Then—” Ahn Yujin swallows, and her smile imperceptibly widens. “You can call me Yujin.”

“I hope Yena didn’t bother you too much,”

“Ah, no.” At the name, Yujin laughs lightly and glances to the direction Yena had scurried off to earlier. “She’s hilarious. It surprises me just how much of an Eskild she is—I mean at the same time I feel like I shouldn’t be surprised.” Yujin looks back at her and grins, “She plays Sunghee so well.”

“Right?” Minjoo takes a breath then says, “What do you think about some bonding time?” Yujin raises an eyebrow and Minjoo hastily rectifies, “Doy—Director wanted us to get to know each other.”

“Only because Director wanted, then?” Yujin asks.

The glint in the other’s eyes is mischievous, but still, Minjoo feels herself flush. “No, no! I want to, too. I’ve been wanting to know your name since the—” she gestures vaguely, then bites down at her bottom lip. (Have first-meetings always felt this awkward? Or—well, second meetings.

It’s technically their second time meeting each other.)

In spite of Minjoo’s scramble, Yujin only stares at her with a smile. There’s no laughter or a bemused look, only a smile with the previous mischievous glint gone. Minjoo blinks, and considers for a hot second if she should say more—thereby risking oversharing—

“Me too,” Yujin quietly says, and all thoughts cease.

Minjoo blinks again.

“I’ve been wanting to know you too,” Yujin continues, glancing to the script on the table and resting one hand on top of it. “So everything feels a tad surreal right now.”

For a moment, the words sound heavy to her ears. But Yujin must’ve meant that she’s been wanting to know Minjoo since the audition too, because what else could it mean? Minjoo isn’t exactly hidden—Seola has been a recurring character in the first two seasons. She had attended some interviews, too, and participated in Bukkeureoun’s first annual fan-meeting last year.

So she lets the words sink in without dwelling on them beyond the flicker of warmth at being on the receiving end of it. Then she says,

“There’s a cafeteria on the third floor, would you like to chat there while we buy snacks?”

And Yujin gives her a dimpled smile, the curve of her eyes happy. “Snacks. The best way to someone’s heart.” Minjoo lets out a disbelieving snort and Yujin laughs, getting up and reaching for her script.

“I approve. Lead the way, please; I’m new here.”

That’s how they find themselves occupying a table in the cafeteria a few minutes later, an hour and forty-five minutes still left on the clock. Minjoo orders a tall glass of iced americano and some fries while Yujin buys a sandwich and boba. 

“I didn’t know you actually like americano,” Yujin comments.

“Yeah,” Minjoo replies, thinking of how Seola likes the brand of americano she herself loves. “Our scriptwriter loves to incorporate our own quirks into the characters we got assigned with,” she explains, the memory of Eunbi holding an extensive interview with her causing her to snicker.

“I bet she’d talk to you about Norae soon enough, and then you’ll understand what I mean.”

“Exciting,” Yujin says, obviously meaning it because her face is light up and her dimples are shown. She has bunny teeth, Minjoo absently notes, and it makes her smile cuter.

“So,” Minjoo starts. “How did you know Bukkeureoun? Actually—did you know of SKAM beforehand?”

“Ah. I actually watched WTFock first as it aired,” Yujin answers, leaning back on her chair. Minjoo raises an eyebrow in interest; WTFock is the Belgian remake of SKAM, and she doesn’t expect it to be Yujin’s answer. Yujin seems to get her surprise because she then elaborates, “It was their second season. I think it was aired back in April two years ago? I caught wind of it through tumblr—now don’t laugh at me,” Yujin playfully warns, and Minjoo huffs out a laugh. “I know, tumblr. Who use it anymore? I do. I don’t regret it either—that’s how I got to know of WTFock and SKAM, after all.”

“Was it confusing, when you first discovered it?”

“Was it for you?”

Minjoo tilts her head. “Not really. It was… fascinating. There are idol groups with much more confusing mechanism out there—” Yujin laughs at that, and Minjoo grins. “Yeah. In comparison, SKAM is—exciting. The clips drop in real-time, and we loosely follow the structure of the original series.”

“But changing enough to make it feel like South Korea’s own,” Yujin nods, beaming. “The next season I watched is SKAM Espana’s. Their second season—but also their Evak’s. I got to know about it after it finished airing—so I binged the whole season for a week.” Yujin pauses for a long beat, smile turning secretive.

“What?”

“You aren’t allowed to speak this to anyone,” Yujin cautions, “but I cried. And went on to binge the original SKAM season of Isak and Even. And then cried some more.”

Minjoo bites back a smile, shelving the information for later. “When did you discover our remake?”

“When season two was announced last March.” Yujin stares off to the side, recalling the moments. “It felt like a dream come true, to find out that we have our own remake. And then—and then I discovered that our William is a woman. Our Noora is a woman. And they would get together. I binged the first season and—” Yujin throws her arms up, flailing for a bit. “Everything was done so beautifully, so I have high hopes for the second season. I trust you guys. So when—when I heard the news about the audition for season three a few months later, I couldn’t not sign up.”

Minjoo lets out an airy laugh, a pleasant feeling settling over her at getting to hear such a high praise for their show. “Well, you’re a part of it now.”

“Surreal, I tell you.”

“Why the Even character?” Minjoo asks, and the flailing stops. For a moment Minjoo is reminded of the bailing nominee, of the agency pulling them out. She has had a fleeting thought that maybe Yujin is there because she doesn’t know of SKAM and their third seasons beforehand, only coming with the knowledge that Bukkeureoun is rising in popularity and it translates to good money.

But Yujin clearly knows. Of SKAM, of Isak and Even—the original third season that inadvertently kicked off the popularity and resulted in the series being remade in seven different countries—South Korea being the eighth.

Yujin slowly lowers her hands and tilts her head,

“Why the Isak character for you?”

Minjoo pauses, blinking in surprise. She leans back on her seat and considers the question—this is the second time Yujin turns the query around on her, but she doesn’t mind. It’s just interesting.

After a beat, Minjoo clasps her fingers atop the table and says,

“I auditioned for a general role.” She thinks of the audition three years ago, her agency signing herself and Kriesha Chu up even though they were originally slated to join an idol group survival show.

“The Isak character got assigned to me. Doyeon gave Seola to me.”

Yujin takes a look at her then says, “But Seola grows on you.”

“I grow with her.”

“Fair enough,” Yujin smiles. “You suit her—she suits you. Our Director has a good eye.”

“Are you indirectly praising yourself since our Director chose you too?”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Yujin grins, and at that moment their orders come. The conversation halts in favour of taking sips from their respective drinks, tasting the fries and taking a bite of the sandwich.

“I find myself relating to the Evens the most.”

Minjoo swallows down the fries she’s munching. “Yeah?”

“Mmm.”

“How much?”

Yujin looks at her, the secretive smile once again making a comeback.

“Now that’s for me to know,” she simply says, “and for you to figure out.”

Minjoo gives her a bemused look, but Yujin changes the topic into asking about her fries—and Minjoo is forced to defend her precious fries from Yujin’s pleas of a taste, the secretive remark fading into a mute wonder in the back of Minjoo’s mind as their chatters resurface on the table,

a feeling like they’ve known each other for longer than a day flickering past her.

(Then again, she thinks, this must be why Yena befriended her within two hours of sitting next to each other.)

 

*

 

“Maybe I can try whacking your head with something heavy?”

“I will whack your head with something heavy!”

“I’m just joking, just joking—God, you’re still so pretty even when you’re mad.”

“…shut up.”

 

*

 

 

“What are you reading?”

Minjoo looks up, squinting a little as Yujin fills her view with the sun bright shining behind her. She turns back to her phone after, letting out a hum as she shifts to the side and makes room for the other to sit,

“Just the internet. It’s fun to read fans’ responses as the clips drop.” Their season two—that have been filmed since January but has just started to air last month—is currently on its fifth week. The clips are dropped on real-time; the scene of two characters talking at Monday morning gets released at Monday morning, and an instagram post gets updated in the character’s account by the social media team in-between clips. The clips will then be compiled into a full episode, posted every Friday.

Yujin purses her lips, arms crossing in front of her chest. “So my suffering is fun to you?”

“What—oh.” Minjoo blinks, then bursts into giggles. She waves at Yujin’s protesting hey!, taking in a quick breath— “Sorry. Sorry, I forgot you’re following this season like other fans would.”

“Hmmph. I feel laughed at now.”

“I never laugh at the posts! I said it’s fun. It’s interesting to read their thoughts, how they perceive the clips and how their thoughts grow and change over the season.” Minjoo raises a finger and pokes the younger in the cheek.

(“I turned 18 last September, international-wise,” Yujin said over lunch two days ago, and Minjoo’s eyes became round. “What? Do I look old?”

“No, I just—” Minjoo didn’t know why she’s surprised. She was, after all, casted as Seola exactly at the same age of the character at the time. Perhaps it was because Yujin exuded talent and confidence like she had done this acting thing for years.

“Oh,” Yujin said when Minjoo finally got around into speaking her thoughts. “Maybe having done CFs helped? I’m used to cameras.”

“You have done CFs?????”)

Yujin turns to face her, the finger Minjoo keeps pressed against her cheek moving along with her motion. “I hope you never discovered my tumblr.”

Minjoo lifts an eyebrow. “Now you’re making me want to search for it,” she says, even though she doesn’t really search reactions from tumblr, because the posts in there are mostly in English and she isn’t that good with it.

Yujin hums, wrapping her fingers around Minjoo’s wrist and pulling her hand down. “What do you read on the net aside from fans’ reactions?”

Minjoo glances at her phone. “Uh, news?”

“What’s on the news today?” And before Minjoo can think on it Yujin adds, “I hope there’s no horrifying things like—a bar burning up in flames on New Year out of negligence on monthly electrical inspection, for example.”

Minjoo blinks. “First off all, it’s November,” she says, holding up a finger. “Second of all, that’s oddly specific.”

Yujin looks at her for a long moment, the smile on her face thin and her gaze heavy.

“Yeah?” Yujin finally heaves out after a full minute. “I guess so,” she says, looking down to the script she’s bringing and flipping it open, not waiting for Minjoo’s reply. “So our table-reading today would cover episode eight to last?”

Minjoo furrows her brows, but she can’t logic out the oddness Yujin’s remark might have. So instead she pulls her own script closer to herself and mirrors Yujin’s action, opening it to where they’ve left it off yesterday. She then nods,

“Yes. And if everything goes well, filming should start this weekend.”

“God, I can’t believe I’m getting spoiled on Dahee and Gowon’s relationships—this wasn’t in the job description! I’m supposed to follow their journey through season two peacefully instead of getting a vision of their future from this script! It should’ve come with a warning—”

Minjoo huffs out a laugh, lightly shoving at Yujin’s shoulder. “You’re such a dork,” she says, and Yujin’s grin is wide and satisfied—

(and so Minjoo lets the previous moment pass.)

“No but really, is there a way for me to not be on set when they film their scenes? Pretty please?”

“I mean yes, that can be arranged, but you’ve literally been listening to the script—”

Yujin gasps, comically dropping her script and putting her head between her palms. “Noooooooooo—"

Minjoo laughs.

 

*

 

“Soulmate?”

“I… I’m sorry. I guess being my soulmate is that bad of a thought.”

“No—no, no, but the mark—”

 

*

 

“I didn’t know you guys film things out of order.”

Minjoo looks over to her side, where Yujin is intently watching the replay of Hitomi and Chaewon’s scene. The latter is sipping on wintermelon milk tea (with milk foam and pearls and less ice, Hyewon’s treat, an apology after Yujin aired her grievances at having been fed spoilers to her—it was all in a jest but hey, I’m not about to pass up on free drink, Yujin said, giving her a thumb up.

Minjoo personally just feared the speed in which they became buddies, and seeing Eunbi’s look of horror in witnessing this whole ordeal, the main scriptwriter seemed to share the same sentiment.)

“Mhm,” Minjoo finally says, nodding. “That’s why Doyeon often sits us down again, reminds us of what comes before and after. To make sure we still have a good grasp on the plot.” Right at that moment Doyeon yells something that suspiciously sounds like ‘Jinyoung oh my God get your head straight and focus,’ and Minjoo snickers.

“Well, in some cases she yells, too.”

“Director yells a lot,” Yujin comments. 

“She yells all the time,” Minjoo corrects her. “She yells when she’s happy with your job, yells when you up, yells when you nail a scene, yells when you’re not where you’re supposed to be, yells when the pizza delivery is late—”

Yujin laughs, shaking her head.

“Don’t tell her I said that, though,” Minjoo says, giving her a grin.

“I’ll think about it,” Yujin teases, and Minjoo lightly shoves at her shoulder, protesting the reply. Yujin laughs, then glances back at the monitor. What she sees makes her put one hand up, “Wait—hold on—this is the start of their break-up, right? Hold on.”

Minjoo looks at the screen in time to see Hitomi slowly untangling her fingers from Chaewon’s hold. Her brows furrow and she glances at Yujin,

“I thought you don’t want spoilers?”

“No, no, listen. I just got a great idea, see, what if I, you know, write fics for their pairing and put this scene in the story—I’d be the new Nostradamus and—”

“I’m pretty sure that’s against our contract—”

“Well it’s not like the team would read through every single fanfics—”

“The moment the fandom erupts about you being Nostradamus they’ll know where to look,”

“Drat,” Yujin huffs, taking a sip of her half-empty wintermelon milk tea. “I thought I’ve hit the social media fame jackpot.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble,” Minjoo laughs.

It’s only been a few weeks since she first met Yujin, and they’ve only filmed three scenes together—in order, because Norae is supposed to have a change in hairstyle in the middle of the season—but she finds herself at ease being around the younger girl, both in set and out. It’s a bit fascinating because Yujin isn’t the only new addition to the cast; Kim Wooseok is one, too, and Minjoo isn’t as quick in warming up to him the way she is with Yujin.

“Hey,” Yujin says, and Minjoo dips out of her own thoughts to blink at her. “Another round of five questions?” Yujin grins.

Five questions is a method they have established to get the conversation going even when they run out of topics. It falls in line with the intent of getting to know each other better, too, and it’s almost embarrassing how relieved Minjoo felt when Yujin seemed so taken with the method—she’s had less than stellar experience with it before.

“Sure,” Minjoo says, “you go first.”

Yujin tilts her head. “Do you break your noodles or just put it to the pot whole?”

Minjoo gapes, then huffs out a laugh. “Damn, Yujin. Trying to get me cancelled on your first question?”

“Wha—” Yujin blinks, and it’s her turn to gape. “You—you break your noodles? You?!”

“Hey!”

“This is the worst betrayal ever—”

“Please, it’s only noodles—”

Yujin puts one palm over her heart, feigning the most painful ache. “Only noodles, she said!”

“My turn,” Minjoo huffs, having decided to let Yujin ride out her dramatics alone. “What snack do you wish to get filmed eating?”

“Is that even a question? Tteokbokki,” Yujin easily replies, her earlier noodles theatrics dropped and forgotten. Minjoo snorts—she should’ve expected the answ