little7

My head feels heavy and my tongue feels like sandpaper. I try opening my eyes but my eyelids feel like leads. I’m laying on something soft, a bed most probably. I try to move and only manage to squirm a little, feeling the fabric beneath me to ascertain that it is not a bed but a sofa instead. A leather one, judging by the creaking sounds it makes with every move. Slowly, I can finally open my eyes but my vision is blurry and the room is dark. I blink a few times, trying to get my bearings when I sense that I’m not alone.

As my vision adjusts to the dimness, I notice a figure just below me on the floor, breathing lightly. No, not one, but two of them, laid out on opposite ends. A movement to my left makes me turn to find the figure of a man draped across the other end of the sofa, coming awake. Another man has his head on that one’s lap. A chair scrapes back somewhere to my right and I see three more just waking up, all sitting at a table. Or sleeping on it. As realisation kicks in, I recognise these seven men: BTS.

I wake up with the sun in my eye and feeling hot. I try to remove the blanket but then realise it isn’t why I’m feeling hot; it’s the strong arm wrapping around my middle, pressing me against the front of whoever is still sleeping behind me.

Namjoon.

I hear him snoring lightly and try to remove his arm without waking him. I think about last night, the reason why I had come to sleep with him but can’t quite grasp the logic of it. He stirs then, releasing me as he turns away. I take my chance and sit up, silently tiptoeing out of the room. I take my temperature, jot down the number and go back out again. The house is quiet as I make my way downstairs to the kitchen. Just as I arrive on the bottom landing, the sweet scent of chocolate greets me. I follow it, wondering who is up making breakfast. In the kitchen, I meet with Yoongi who is sitting at the island, pouring over a book. No breakfast of any sort in sight. Not even a drink.

I approach him, the scent getting stronger. Yoongi turns around, a little surprised to find me there but he offers a small nod and a barely audible, “G’morning.”

“Did you have chocolate? Of any kind?” I ask as I take a seat next to him.

He shakes his head. “No. Not yet. Are you hungry?”

Ignoring his question, I lean in towards him, inhaling deeply. “Why do you smell like chocolate and peppermint?”

It is barely the second day when the biggest change happens. The alphas are presenting, all at the same time.

Once again, I’m awakened by a sharp scent. I can’t quite pin it but I can pick out the sour coffee and the tangy cinnamon. I take another whiff and almost gag, this time recognising the smell of zesty lemons or oranges and this sickeningly sweet perfume. I hear loud voices and movements from outside my bedroom door. I glance at the clock on the wall; 5.45AM. I can hear Jin’s and Yoongi’s voices, loud and urgent.

Feeling a little dizzy from the bombardment of different smells, I make my way out of my room to almost bump into Taehyung who has this deep scowl over his face. He is speaking to Jin who is somewhere in Namjoon’s room. “I lock Jiminie and Jungkookie in their rooms but I don’t think we can keep them in there for long.”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “Why? What’s going on?”

Jin peeks out the doorway, concern written all over his face. “Now’s not a good time, sweetheart. Can you please stay in your room?” He then strides across the floor towards Hoseok’s room opposite of mine.

Curiosity peaks inside me and I walk over to Hoseok’s room, the door left slightly ajar. Jin is speaking in a hush tone with the lead dancer. The smell of cinnamon, spicy against my nose, is so strong I’m starting to get a headache. I approach the bed where Hoseok is laying in and see him under the blanket squirming around as if he is in pain. Then his eyes shoot open, looking straight at me and he emits this low growl. A shiver runs up my spine.

Jin rushes to my side. “You need to leave. Now.”

Warning: 18+

I watch expectantly as Yoongi pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his pale but lean body that I didn’t expect. His abdomen, albeit without a pronounced six pack, is sculpted nicely. His pecs are slightly visible, his biceps evident. The omega in me, fully awake now, is gawking at the sight, purring slightly in anticipation as he shucks his pants off, leaving only his black boxers. He chews on his lower lip, thinking, and the sensible part of me throws my gaze to the opposite wall, giving him some privacy. I hear the sound of fabric being removed and then he slips into the water behind me.

The subtle smell of chocolate fills my nostrils and my tensed shoulders relax. I feel Yoongi’s long fingers brush my upper arms before they settle there, his thumbs tracing circles on my skin. I don’t dare to turn around, never mind moving. But he does. He scoots up closer to me, his legs on either side of me, until my back presses against his chest. I lean into him and he repositions his head so I can turn into his neck. I breathe in his scent, eyes fluttering close as I nudge him. We stay this way for a while, unmoving, only existing in each other’s presence.

I give him a small nuzzle, my lips brushing the skin right where his pulse is beating fast and he takes a sharp inhale of breath. He moves his hands to the back of my neck, guiding me to look up at him. His eyes are hooded, dark with desire. I imagine he’s seeing the same thing in mine as he leans down and ever so gently, like a feather, brushes our lips together. He pulls back slightly, looking at me as if asking for permission to continue. I return his look, holding my breath. I’m not sure if I’m imagining it but I see his lips twitch into a tiny smirk before diving in again, this time locking our lips together, fully and deeply.

Warning: 18+, explicit words and description

I watch as Namjoon enters the room almost dramatically. He looks from Jungkook to Jimin, his face darkening. “I think that’s enough now,” he says in a low gravelly voice. “Time to head on downstairs. We’re having a group meeting.”

Slowly, Jungkook rises from the bed, a pouty look on his face, his lips red and swollen. Jimin gets up too, pulling my shirt down as he did. He gives me a quick peck on the lips and a wry smile before following behind the maknae. Namjoon shakes his head at them as they run past, looking more like a father than a group leader. He waits until the last thundering footsteps of his group members fade downstairs before he turns to look at me, his whole demeanour softening, the strong coffee scent now more warm and delicious.

I prop myself up on my elbows, licking my lips and still tasting Jungkook. My heart is still hammering in my chest and I’m doing my best to quell the horny omega in me, half hoping he will leave, too. But nope, he approaches the bed instead and I sit up. He kneels down to the floor, getting on my eye level. He tucks my hair behind my ear, cupping my face as he did. Then he runs a thumb over my swollen lips. He caresses my bottom lip twice before he slides it into my mouth, the pad of his thumb on my tongue. I suck on it gently before drawing little circles on the pad with the tip of my tongue. He hums in response.

It’s been close to a month now since we all woke up in the living room of this house.

Apart from the relationship dynamics between the eight of us, nothing much has changed. Everyone is still struggling to get used to our new bodies and the chemical imbalance that, if affecting one of us, will surely affect all of us. The Master issued a handful of orders to be carried out, some as mundane as collecting our blood samples through the chute. This, as he mentioned, is to be done once a month. Some of his other orders are mostly in groups between the alphas and the betas, and individually for me as the omega. The weirdest thing he had requested was for us to sleep in a pile to see if it induces any chemical changes in our brains.

Namjoon had argued that it was dangerous and risky since none of us have any actual understanding about our new bodies but the Master had zapped him for talking back. Begrudgingly, we slept in the living room together but, apart from it turning into a normal, fun sleepover, nothing as the Master expected happened. We had, at first, assigned individual spots around the room, but somewhere in the middle of the night, we somehow ended up squished together in an actual pile, with me in the middle surrounded by the betas and the alphas on the outer circle. It was strange if you think about it. But never have I ever felt so peaceful and so happy, so at home ever since we were first brought here.

When morning came, Jin found a message in the chute that read “Good work, everyone. Your reward is together with the grocery delivery today. Enjoy.” This has become quite common; the Master would send us gifts - clothes, items, special food - to ‘reward’ us for obeyed orders. It makes us feel like pets. Jin had thrown the paper straight into the trashcan but had groaned loudly enough to have us all piled into the kitchen to see two grocery bags by the locked back door, one of which Jin had carried off towards the kitchen island to put them away. Jin shook his head disapprovingly when we asked about the other bag and Jungkook had approached it. He rummaged through and produced a box and held it up, a confused look on his face.

Hoseok squinted. “A neck massager?”

Warning: 18+

With his mouth clasp over mine, his tongue running lines in my mouth, he lifts me by the waist, spins us around and places me on top of the kitchen island. I lock my ankles together around him, pressing him close. The kisses are hot and wet and desperate. His hands roam my face, my head, my neck and finally rests on my sides again, gripping tight as if I might melt away if he doesn’t. He bites my lip and I moan and we continue to kiss open-mouthed. He trails his tongue down my neck, sucking on my skin at every interval.

I can hear him pant, the low rumble in his chest. I’m right at the edge of the island top and with his crotch pressing just above my core, I can feel him growing through his sweatpants. The omega is more than awake now, almost aching for Jimin, aching for more. Jimin’s hands are dancing at the hem of my t-shirt, bunching and scrunching them up, his nails dragging against my skin with every movement. Impatient, I guide one of his hands up to my breast and he immediately kneads it over the cotton material, happy to know there is no bra in between. I lean into his touch, feeling the familiar burn in my abdomen. I palm at his erection and over the sweatpants, I can feel that he too is free of any boxers. The omega purrs ecstatically.

Warning: 18+

“I’ve looked everywhere but I can’t seem to find it!”

We all look up to find an upset Jungkook storming down the stairs at Jin’s heels, Jin carrying a mountain of laundry. Jin, barely seeing his footings, says nonchalantly, “Maybe it’s in this pile, then, JK. I’ll let you know if I find it.” He almost misses a step, stumbling a little but Jungkook’s reflex catches him by the shirt collar and steadies him. They continue down the stairs and make towards the laundry room through the kitchen, their voices still carrying.

“But I’ve checked, hyung!” Jungkook whines. “It’s not there!”

Their voices fade into the distance. Cuddling in the crook of Hoseok’s arm, I look up at him, arching my eyebrows. He shrugs, eyes never leaving the TV screen. I continue to focus on the movie again; How to Train Your Dragon, on DVD. Seriously, who watches DVDs anymore? But of course, it’s one of those things that remind me that we are captives.

News of my…nest spread throughout the house by the next morning. I had come down to the kitchen to find that there was a change in the air, a change in the way the boys looked at me, treated me. I felt it in the way Yoongi pulled out the chair next to him with one hand, patted the seat to signal for me to sit. I felt it in the way Jimin’s eyes flitted towards me every time he thought I wasn’t looking, or how Namjoon barely spoke a word but sipped at his coffee silently, pretending not to notice the change in the pack, or how Taehyung insisted on making small snacks throughout the day specifically for me. I noticed there was apprehension in the way Hoseok carried himself around me, the nervous way Jungkook spoke to me like a teenager talking to a girl for the first time. The boys - BTS, the biggest group in the world, the seven heartthrobs who have won multiple awards internationally - have transformed into their own version of helicopter parents since the day Jin made the discovery. I remember the conversation that same night that followed.

“Sweetheart,” Jin had said as he set me down very carefully on the edge of the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me RJ’s with you? I wouldn’t be so worried about it.”

I had stared at RJ, wracking my brain trying to remember how it got there in the first place. I returned Jin’s look with an empty one, not fully comprehending what was happening, which in turn became frustrating because obviously I had done it myself because how else would it be there on my bed in my room? Jin softened, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Just as carefully as he had put me down, he sat next to me, taking care not to touch or mess up the pile. “You’re nesting, sweetie.” He gestured to the pile of towels and pillows and the missing-now-found items of the members. “This is what it is. You’re building a nest.”

“I’m not a bird,” I replied, perplexed. Jin had pursed his lips in an attempt not to laugh and, irritated, I scowled, crossing my arms, and puffing. Jin had pulled me into him and apologised and said that we would talk about it next time. When we had sat around the kitchen island the next morning, I felt like a teenager being sat down by my parents to have the talk. Granted only Namjoon, Yoongi and Jin were present, I still remember how the heat had crept up my neck when the situation was explained. Yoongi mentioned that the reason I might not remember doing it or taking the members' stuff was probably because of the switch.

“What’s a switch?” I had asked as I sat in between him and Namjoon as Jin busied himself with tea.

Yoongi licked his lip. “It’s when your omega takes over fully. It only happens once or twice as our bodies struggle to get used to this change. And omega’s heat is a big shift especially for the human body. Once it adjusts, I don’t think these blank spaces will happen again.”

“And you know this how exactly?” asked Namjoon, narrowing his eyes.

“The research papers,” replied Yoongi shrugging. “They’re theoretical, mostly, but I guess some can be useful.”

Namjoon grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. “You’ll be alright. We’ll help you get through this.”

Jin had tutted at that as he came back over and placed a cup of steaming tea in front of me. “Not you, Joon-ah. The alphas shouldn’t be near her. That’s not a good idea.” He turned to Yoongi. “Right?”

a/n 1: starting on a little bit of mc's background before we go on to more heated stuff

Warning: 18±

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A few years ago, I had decided to put my all into my writing.

I have been writing on and off since ten years old, heavily influenced by the Harry Potter series and then, a little bit of Cecelia Ahern mix of fantasies and romance. Her book, A Place Called Here, had left such a big impression on me that I wish so much to be able to create something of similar value. And then I learnt about Jodi Picoult, how she paints vividly the turmoils of laws and life and illness, be it psychological or physical. I wanted to write to move people like she had moved me. When I grew out of romance genres, mystery and science fiction, sprinkled in with a bit of history, got under my skin, consuming them up like I was hungry for more words to build the world of stories in my head.

Reading is one thing, but writing is a whole different adventure altogether, most of them ending in dead ends and blocks. I would get an idea and fixate on it, putting in long hours writing chapters upon chapters. And then the idea would fizzle out, replaced with something that had piqued my interest somewhere along the way and I would jump on that one, abandoning the previous characters I had taken time to build. It was a vicious cycle I could never break out of. The only way to finish was to keep things short; one shot stories that would begin and end on the same day. I was good at that, better than the long novels I yearn to create. One was made into a short film in university, among friends who love the film world but lack an original creator. Another was spun into a radio drama, to which I had directed and produced myself for an assignment. They were short so they were fun. But they weren’t what I wanted.

As a diver, this is my best and worst attribute as a writer. I would plunge into a story head first, diving in deep to unravel my characters and spin my story, creating smooth flows and then bursts of undertows that could either take my readers away on an adventure or drown them in my characters’ world. There’s a certain pull to these kinds of stories, a certain kind of interest that hooks you in and carries you away as you explore the sporadic events, discovering layers upon layers of the heroes or villains. But the flaw is too big. Sometimes when you plunge into a story you have no idea the depth of, you’d just…drown. And if the writer doesn’t survive to tell the tale, the story dies along with her. That was the case with all the stories I have ever written, only a folder in my laptop that marked their graves, their final resting place.

Warning: 18+

It’s hard. Fuck, it’s excruatingly painful.

That’s what Namjoon is thinking as he sits on guard by the foot of the stairs, right in front of your bedroom door, fighting his alpha for dominance, struggling to maintain the last bit of sanity he still has. He needs to do this. Has to do this, for the sake of his pack. He could barely convince Taehyung to keep Jimin locked up in his room, the younger member standing and staring at the closed door as they both listened to the moans and groans from inside, the scent of the omega almost bringing them to their knees. Namjoon had had to bark his orders, literally, before Taehyung finally scurried upstairs, slamming Jimin’s bedroom door behind him. Next was Jungkook, ambling down the stairs like a drunk person, nostrils flaring, eyes wild. Namjoon had to bare his teeth at the maknae but Hoseok, who was barely in control of his own alpha dragged the youngest back up the stairs, giving the pack alpha a hard look as if he was worried that Namjoon himself might not be able to keep a tight leash on the animal inside him. But Namjoon only grimaced apologetically at his friend.

By hook or by crook, he has to stay intact and in touch, but as the night progresses, as the omega’s pheromones come in waves after waves, Namjoon wonders how long he will be able to keep his wits about him. He hopes that the betas would be enough for the omega, at least to weaken her heat, at least for tonight. When Jin enters her, Namjoon could feel it happening, smell it in the air and he almost howls out in both pain and anger and probably jealousy, too. His alpha is almost frothing at the mouth, furious that he isn’t able to tear down the damn door and does his job. His alpha knows the betas won’t be enough for the omega, but Namjoon quels the thought down, gulping down air as he struggles to breathe to steady himself, glancing at the cracked wall next to him from when he had put it there last night. He shakes his head. Gotta do better than that, he thinks.

Yoongi had come to him last night with the suggestion and Namjoon had almost lost it. The idea of any of them touching you like that, being intimate with you like that drove him crazy. He convinced himself that he was against the idea due to the pack’s safety, that if the pack crossed the line, there would be no turning back. Namjoon understands that they don’t have a choice, that that free will have been taken from them the moment this fucking experiment started but the actual culprit isn’t here so Yoongi became the victim of his anger. He had lashed out, growling and spitting bitter words to the beta in the confined of his room, his voice just a shy of a shout. When he was done, he had plopped down on the bed, hands in his hair, breathing heavily. Yoongi, who had the decency to keep quiet throughout the meltdown, had approached him and put an arm around his shoulder. The beta’s scent had been the balm on his hurt heart and he had let the tears fall freely, the frustration turning into silent acquiescence.

“We need you to handle the others,” Yoongi had said, his voice almost inaudible. “Taehyungie won’t be able to do this by himself. Can we count on you for this?”

Warning: 18+

The first time I actually talked to Kim Namjoon was during a team dinner.

We had all decided to go out for some BBQ and one of the staff had recommended this little mom and pop’s place that was pretty secluded and small. The chief had reserved the whole place for the night, all twelve tables in the small store, and the owners, an elderly couple in their sixties, had come down to help out, too. There were a total of five staff that night and they were running around like headless chickens. I almost felt bad. But the food was amazing and they did their best to serve our huge party. The owners became even more flustered when BTS arrived with their entourage fifteen minutes later, nonstop bowing and showing their appreciation for coming to their little space.

Sometime during the evening, Namjoon had occupied the seat next to mine, casually sipping on a beer and he went, “So why’d you make me like that?”

I had stared at him, uncomprehending. “Sorry?”

He laughed, putting his beer down, running a finger over his cupid bow, his cap low over his eyes. “My character in the Seven Petals. Why’d you make him dominating and intimidating like that? I don’t know if I can pull it off, you know.”

It was my turn to laugh. “You think you can’t be intimidating?” He nodded, an amused smile playing on his lips. I tilted my head at him. “You have no idea the effects you have on people, do you, Kim Namjoon?”

“What do you mean?”

Namjoon approaches Yoongi and he hands the piece of paper. Well, torn piece of paper. Namjoon studies it, turning the paper this way and that before looking back up to his friend. “I still don’t get it.”

Yoongi points to something on the paper. I finish tying up the drawstrings of my pants and go over to them to see what he’s pointing at. “See this metal pipe thing? I think this particular part is the reading corner downstairs.”

“How can you tell?” I squint down at the part on the paper his finger lands on. “I can tell it’s a living room, but that’s about it. The walls are weird though, like-”

“Like there’s a double layer,” finishes Namjoon, leaning in so close that his nose almost brushes Yoongi’s knuckle.

“It’s not quite a living room,” Yoongi says, “it’s a corner of one. See this angle here where two walls meet? And I think this here,” he points to the edge of the paper, “if we find the rest of the drawing, I’m positive it’s the doorway. The one that leads to the kitchen.”

We are silent as we all scrutinise the small piece of paper, trying to see what Yoongi explained. I trace the part labeled steel pipe, the one thing that’s apparent to me from before, and the image suddenly clicks together. “The metal chute. The one that travels throughout the house.”

“Exactly,” Yoongi agrees.

I shake my head. “But why would the CAD drawing of the house be here? It doesn’t make sense.”

Namjoon takes the piece of paper in between two fingers, holding it up. “Well, it is torn. I doubt it was put there.” He scowls. “You think the rest of it will be somewhere in the house, too?”

Yoongi’s turn to shake his head, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Highly unlikely. But we should keep an eye out, just in case. I think…”

Yoongi makes eye contact with me as he looks up and for some reason I know what he was going to say. A childhood of having to look at building plans and house blueprints scattered around the living room or even the kitchen counters, the special occasions of when my dad would let me watch him spent hours pouring over one, help to let me recognise that this particular CAD drawing has an unnatural design; the double layer of the wall, the built in metal pipes that match the message chutes. It’s not like everyday you stumble upon a house that has that mechanic - we have smartphones now, what the hell with this Victorian bullshit. What Yoongi wanted to say is that, if we find the rest of the drawing, there’s a chance we can also find a way out of here.

“We should keep this between us first,” says Namjoon, going over to my journal and slipping the paper somewhere in between the pages with the book closed.

“Wait, what? Why?”

Warning: 18+, just a tiny hint of dom hoseok ahem

The morning after, as usual, a delivery came along with the groceries.

What wasn’t usual was me finding it before any of the other guys. It was one of those huge paper shopping bags with no label. Inside were four things each with a name written on it: mine, Yoongi’s, Jin’s and Namjoon’s. On top of them was a letter. Disgusted, I opened the envelope and read the content.

Congratulations on your first knot!

I’m excited to inform you that this has been the first successful milestone to the experiment. A really big one. It proves a lot of my working theories. Thanks to all of you, this experiment is going down the right path. I cannot even begin to tell you how much this means to me. I cannot wait to introduce this experiment to the world!

But alas, we still have a lot of work to do. A lot of other milestones to get to and achieve but I believe in the power of our teamwork. We are going to make history together!

p/s: Enjoy the gifts. I picked them out specifically for each of you that participated as a thank you :)

I felt like throwing up, the paper shaking in my hand. The words became a blur as angry tears filled my eyes. I was gripping the letter so hard it crumpled but all I was seeing was red. This person is the most fucked up guy I’ve ever had the unfortunate luck to come across. He put us through hell, changed our realities, not to forget kidnapping us for fuck’s sake, and talks about teamwork?! How delusional was he?! And that stupid smiley face at the end…what the fuck!

A warm hand grabbed my shoulder from behind before it encircled me in a hug. I held on to that arm, mostly for support because I felt like I might topple over, but partly because I felt like I might scream and just literally lose my sanity. The familiar comforting scent of a beta pierced my nose and I fought hard not to breathe it in, mainly because I was fuming mad and I didn’t want to calm down. I wanted to be angry because if I’m angry then I don’t have to feel all the other emotions; dejected, pathetic, hopeless, worthless, brokenhearted.

Taehyung’s long fingers reached for the letter in my hand and plucked it out. He must’ve already read it from over my shoulders as he easily crumpled it up and let it fall to the floor. He then continued to embrace me like that, arms around me with my back to him as I seethed and raged. It wasn’t long until those turned into quiet sobs as the anger subsided. He held on anyways, gently rocking us, secreting calming scents in bucket loads until it felt like I was dunked straight into a soothing concoction. When the tears finally let up, when my emotions were finally stabilised, he turned me around to face him.

I remember someone asking me if Seven Petals is a polyamory genre and I had looked at this guy as if he had grown another head.

“No,” I had told him. “I don’t believe in that.”

He insisted that it could be a hit with the young readers, or viewers once this goes on air and that a lot of online fictions nowadays, the popular ones, focus on that type of relationships. I had fought the urge to roll my eyes and, in the nicest way possible, reiterated that Seven Petals will not go down that path, that the story itself isn’t even a romance and is more revolving on friendships, and did he even read it? I wasn’t going to change the story when the script was already halfway through finished just to feed into some guy’s weird fetish. “Poly relationships rarely even work in real life,” I said under my breath.

It was one of those team meetings without BTS but it was still a large room with a large number of people, close to thirty. The guy who had spoken was somewhere in the back and I couldn’t quite make him out - blame it on my shortsightedness and my laziness to update my contact lens prescription. If he had been sitting that far out, that would mean that he must be an assistant or an intern.

Mr Choi had redirected the attention up front again and we continued to discuss in further details of the characters’ characteristics and attributes. The question had come up when there was a mention of making one of the guys fall in love with the main character. I was open to the idea of one of them having a secret crush but for the characters to fall in love will be a little difficult considering the plot. If it does happen, it would only happen at the end, when the story wraps up. Most of everyone nodded silently. Except for that guy, whoever he was.

After the meeting, Ginny had come up to me and asked why I shot down the poly idea given that he was right, it is the trending idea at the moment, especially when it comes to multiple people being in the spotlight. I laughed. “Poly is only for people who wants to cheat openly, unsatisfied with their love life but too chicken to get the fuck off.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Well, okay, Ms Bitter.”

“It’s brilliant, isn’t it? Just fucking brilliant!”

I watched, an amused smile playing on my lips, as Mr Choi threw his hands up into the air before they rested on his head again, running through his hair with excitement, his face so bright it was hard to look away.

We received news today that a private investor had wanted to be a part of the production of our drama series with a ‘gift’ fund of half a million dollars with the promise of the other half once we sign an NDA with them, an NDA to keep the name of the organisation under wraps. I find that a bit strange but it seems they don’t want to be named and that their involvement was purely out of love for the story.

“He’s a big fan of yours,” Mr Choi had added later on with a wink and a heavy pat on my shoulder that almost buckled my knees. “Go ahead and sign the papers,” he said as he left the room in a hurry, thrilled to share the news with everyone else, me being the first to know. I could still hear him whooping in the hallways.

I turn back to my Macbook, scripts of the first episode with penciled-in edits and scribbles, the drafts dog-eared in places, were placed next to it for my reference as I go through re-editing and cleaning up the documents on type. This should be the final version, the one we will stick with until recording starts. On top of it was the manila envelope Mr Choi had left with me; the NDA document. I haven’t opened it yet. I picked it up and turned it back and forth, the papers inside feeling thick and hefty. Must be a long document.

I sighed and opened it, pulling out the agreement and unfolding it. The first page is your typical NDA introduction - the title, the named parties involved, followed by the definition of the agreement, the exclusion of the agreement, the obligation of the receiving party under the agreement (that would be us) and the time period the agreement is to be upheld. I flipped to the next page where there were four more points to the NDA as most NDAs go, but instead of it ending there with the signature points at the bottom, there was a note that mentioned there was some other extra information in the following pages to be noted, including conditions from the investor.

I turned the page again and was met with long texts in fine prints and immediately my vision began to swim. I skipped through the pages, about ten of them, until I finally found the signature points right at the last page and groaned, rolling my eyes. I was looking for my pen somewhere under the stack of papers when the door swung open. I looked up and paused.

“Do you have a minute?”