Roll the dice

Choi Yerim better known as Choerry bursts into your apartment with a dramatic sigh.

“Why does your birthday have to fall in January?” she laments, dropping onto your couch beside the open pizza box.

You look up from your phone. “Um, pardon?”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile turns mischievous. “I got you something.” She pulls a small box from her jacket pocket and holds it out.

You set your phone aside and take it, feeling the weight in your palm. Inside, nestled in black velvet, are a pair of d12s.

They’re metal—surprisingly hefty—and catch the light as you turn them. Where the 12 and 1 should be, there are instead two drama masks: comedy and tragedy, their expressions frozen in eternal opposition.

“These are amazing,” you say, pulling her into a hug.

Choerry accepts it but pulls back quickly. “You’re always playing that game with Dorado and the others. What’s it called? Sword Liver?”

You laugh. “Dagger Heart.”

“Whatever.” She waves a hand dismissively, but she’s still smiling. “I have to go, but I wanted you to have them before your birthday. Your next session is on your actual birthday, right? And I’ll be out of town.”

“I appreciate it,” you say, turning the dice over in your fingers. The metal is cool and smooth.

Choerry punches your shoulder lightly. “You’re welcome.”

You look up at her. “Where did you find these?”

She pauses, thinking, then claps her hands together. “Oh! That magic shop by the ramen place we always go to.”

You nod as she stands and grabs a slice of pizza from the box, folding it in half. “Right—you’ve got that show in the city tonight.”

“You bet your ass I do.” She takes a bite, already heading toward the door.

“Break a leg,” you call after her. “Do great and stay hydrated.”

She laughs over her shoulder. “You’re not my boyfriend, you know.” But there’s something softer in her voice as she says it, and she glances back once more before closing the door behind her.

The apartment feels suddenly quiet.

“I wish,” you mutter to the empty room.

You look down at the dice in your hand, their comedy and tragedy faces staring up at you. “Should I have another slice of pizza?” you ask them.

Just to see how they roll, you toss them onto the coffee table.

Double twelves. Both tragedy masks face up, their hollow eyes boring into you.

You smile and reach for the pizza box—but your hand stops mid-air.

There are two boxes now.

You blink. Look away. Look back.

Still two boxes. Identical. Side by side where there had definitely, absolutely been only one.

Your heart starts to pound. The apartment suddenly feels too quiet, too still, like the air itself is holding its breath.

“What the hell?” you whisper.

The dice gleam on the table, and for just a second, you swear the tragedy masks are smiling.

You reach for a slice from the new box. The moment you lift the lid, the smell hits you—garlic, basil, that perfect char on the crust. Your favorite.

The exact pizza you always order from Giordano’s, even though you’d gotten plain cheese delivered tonight.

Your eyes drift back to the dice on the table.

“Okay,” you say aloud to the empty apartment. “Okay, this is weird.”

You pull out your phone and call Dorado.

“Yo, what’s up?” His voice is casual, distracted.

“I need you to come over. Now. And, uh…” You hesitate. “Don’t tell Jinsoul you’re coming.”

There’s a pause. You can practically hear him frowning. “…Okay?”

“Just trust me.”

He sighs. “Be there in a bit.”

While you wait, you can’t help yourself. You pick up the dice again, feeling their weight. “Should Dorado come here, or should I go to him?”

You roll.

A three and a two. Five total.

You wait a moment, then grab your keys and head for the door. But when you step outside, there’s a delivery truck blocking your car in completely. The driver’s nowhere to be seen.

“No way,” you mutter.

Back inside, you stare at the dice.

You roll again—testing, experimenting. After a dozen throws, a pattern emerges. Anything six or below seems to result in failure or complications. Seven and above, things work out. Double ones? Disaster. Double twelves? Everything falls into place perfectly.

By the time Dorado knocks, you’ve filled half a notebook page with results.

He walks in looking irritated, running a hand down his face. “This better be good. Jinsoul’s gonna ask where I went.”

“Just watch.” You explain everything—the gift from Choerry, the second pizza box, the blocked car, all of it.

His expression shifts from skeptical to intrigued as you lay out your findings.

Finally, you pick up the dice. “One more test. You know I’ve been wanting to ask Choerry out, right?”

Dorado nods slowly. “Yeah, and I keep telling you to just do it already.”

“Should I ask her?” you say to the dice.

You roll.

Double twelves. Both tragedy masks grinning up at you.

Your phone rings immediately.

You and Dorado lock eyes as you answer. “Hello?”

“Hey!” Choerry’s voice is bright, excited. “So Jinsoul just told me Dorado came to see you—anyway, listen, we got two extra backstage passes for tonight’s show. You and Dorado should come! I can leave them at will-call.”

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Choerry has never invited you to one of her performances. Not once. You’ve asked before, and she always said it made her too nervous having friends in the audience.

Dorado's eyes go wide. He mouths, What the hell?

“I… yeah. Yeah, we’ll be there,” you manage.

“Awesome! Gotta go, we’re about to do sound check. See you after!” She hangs up before you can respond.

You lower the phone slowly, staring at the dice on the table.

Dorado breaks the silence. “Yeah,” he says, his voice quiet and serious. “Those dice are definitely magic.”

You meet Dorado’s eyes. “I know, right?”

The drive to the venue feels longer than it should. You sit in the passenger seat of Dorado’s car, the dice heavy in your jacket pocket. Your leg won’t stop bouncing. Every few minutes, you touch the dice through the fabric, reassuring yourself they’re still there.

“You’re gonna wear a hole in your jeans,” Dorado says without looking away from the road.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re terrified.”

You don’t argue.

The venue is bigger than you expected—a converted warehouse with a line wrapping around the block. But Dorado pulls into a side lot marked for staff, and you follow him to a back entrance where a security guard checks his clipboard.

“Dorado and Tobi?” the guard asks.

You nod, surprised to see your names at the very top of the list.

“Go ahead.”

You barely make it past the door before you hear her voice.

“You made it!”

You turn. Choerry and Haseul are walking toward you, both dressed for the stage.

Haseul immediately wraps Dorado in a hug. “Hey, Tobi,” she says over Dorado’s shoulder. “Long time.”

You manage a shrug, but your attention is already elsewhere.

Choerry looks incredible. Her hair is styled in loose waves that frame her face perfectly, and stage makeup brings out the warmth in her eyes.

She’s wearing something that catches the backstage lights—something that makes her look like she belongs somewhere far more glamorous than your apartment couch.

She catches you staring and blushes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

The moment stretches between you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Dorado and Haseul exchange a glance before quietly stepping back.

Choerry opens her mouth to say something, but a voice calls from deeper backstage: “Choerry! Two minutes!”

Her eyes widen. “I—I have to—” She steps forward suddenly and kisses you on the cheek, her lips warm and quick. “We’ll talk after. Promise.”

Then she’s gone, pulled away by the current of backstage chaos.

You stand frozen, your hand drifting up to touch your cheek.

Dorado appears at your shoulder. “Huh,” he says, grinning. “Didn’t see that coming.”

You’re still too stunned to respond.

The two of you find a spot in the corner with a decent view of the stage. The lights drop, the crowd roars, and the music starts.

Choerry moves across the stage with a confidence you’ve never seen before—commanding, radiant, completely in her element.

You can’t take your eyes off her.

Halfway through the set, Dorado leans close. “Test the dice again.”

You glance at him. “Now?”

“Why not?”

You hesitate, then pull them from your pocket. Keeping them low, shielded by your body, you whisper,

“Will I get to spend tonight with Choerry?”

You roll.

A six and a two. Eight total.

A success—but the higher number is on the despair die.

Your stomach tightens. You slip the dice back into your pocket and try to focus on the performance, pushing the unease aside.

Choerry spins beneath a spotlight, her smile brilliant, her voice soaring. You smile too, letting yourself get lost in it.

You don’t see the stage light overhead begin to flicker.

But Dorado does.

“Move!” He slams into you, shoving you sideways just as the light fixture tears free from its rigging.

It clips the side of your head as you fall—not a direct hit, but enough. Pain explodes white-hot across your temple, and you hit the ground hard. Warm blood runs down the side of your face.

“Shit—Tobi, you okay?” Dorado’s already pulling you up, his hands steadying you.

You blink through the haze of pain.

Your vision swims, but you nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m—”

Dorado yanks off his flannel and presses it against your head. “Hold this. Keep pressure.”

On stage, the music falters. You look up and see Choerry frozen mid-step, staring directly at you. The color drains from her face.

The band keeps playing, but she’s barely moving now, her eyes locked on the blood streaming down your face.

The moment the final song ends and the lights go down, she’s running.

She doesn’t even wait for the curtain call.

“Oh my God—” She’s at your side, her hands hovering over you, afraid to touch. “I saw everything. We’re leaving. Right now. Back to your place.”

Her voice is shaking.

“Choerry, I’m fine—”

“You’re bleeding.” Her eyes are glassy, furious—not at you, but at the universe. “We’re going. Now.”

The ride back is quiet. Choerry grips the steering wheel too tight, her knuckles white under the passing streetlights. You keep the flannel pressed to your head, watching her out of the corner of your eye.

When you pull into your complex, she frowns at the delivery truck still blocking your spot.

“That’s been there for hours,” you mutter.

“Weird,” she says, but she’s already distracted, pulling into a guest spot instead.

Inside your apartment, she immediately heads for the bathroom. “I’m getting proper bandages. Sit down and don’t move.”

You lower yourself onto the couch, listening to her rummage through your medicine cabinet. The moment you’re alone, you pull out the dice.

Your hands are shaking slightly—adrenaline or nerves, you’re not sure.

“Should I tell Choerry how I feel tonight?” you whisper.

You roll.

A one and a two. Three total.

Your heart sinks. You pocket the dice quickly as Choerry returns with your first aid kit, her makeup smudged, still wearing her stage outfit. She kneels in front of you, peeling away Dorado’s flannel to examine the wound.

“It’s not that deep,” she says, but her voice wavers. She starts cleaning it with shaking hands.

Then she stands abruptly and starts pacing, arms wrapped around herself.

“I shouldn’t have invited you,” she mutters, half to herself. “I shouldn’t have—God, what was I thinking? You could’ve been seriously hurt. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have—”

“Choerry—”

“—invited you backstage when there’s equipment everywhere, and the rigging in that place is ancient, I should’ve known—”

“Choerry—”

“—something like this could happen, and you got hurt because of me, because I wanted you there—”

“Choerry!” You stand up, wincing at the sudden movement. “Stop.”

She freezes mid-step, eyes wide.

You take a breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. “Sit down. Please.”

She does, perching on the edge of the couch beside you, her hands twisting in her lap.

“I had a great time tonight,” you say quietly. “Even with the whole… almost dying thing.”

She flinches at “dying,” but doesn’t pull away when you shift closer.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. Then, so quietly you almost miss it, she asks, “Why?”

You turn to look at her, confused.

“Why what?”

“Why did you come? Why do you…” She gestures vaguely, unable to finish the question?

Something in her voice—fragile and uncertain—cracks something open in your chest.

“Because I like you, dummy,” you say before you can stop yourself.

The words hang in the air between you.

Choerry goes completely still. Her expression shifts—surprise, then something unreadable, something that makes your stomach drop.

She stares at you for what feels like an eternity.

“I… I don’t know,” she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper.

The rejection lands like a physical blow.

“Okay,” you say, forcing the word out. You reach for the ice pack she brought, pressing it against your forehead so you have somewhere else to look.

“Okay.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

As the two of you sat there you thought about rolling the dice then in a rare burst of emotional boldness you leaned over and kissed Choerry. At first she is shocked and whimpers into the kiss but as she finds herself relaxing she eases into the kiss.

You break it and she smiles at you. She kisses you. You smiled back before taking her to your bedroom.

You gently drop Choerry on your bed. Her eyes alight with lust and need as you stare at her.

“Im gonna fuck the shit out of you,” you declare. Choerry smirks as you pounce on her. The two of you rushed to get undressed. She smiles happily as you rip her bra off. You smile then latch onto her left breast Choerry moans into your ear delighted as she starts grinding on you. Her lower lips are desperately sodden as she continues to push you closer onto her chest before randomly pushing you off.

“Fuck” she says before pinning you to the bed. She smiles as she slides down onto your shaft.

She is unbelievably tight as her walls vice grip you cum inside her overly excited. She moans happily as her release hits her. She looks down under you then says, can you go again. Her eyes are wild and enticing so you flip her over and ram her from

Behind. Her pretty ass bounces as you thrust and she moans. “Fuck me, fuck me” she repeats like a mantra.

You pull her up by her hair and say, “your mine”

Choerry groans in agreement saying, “I'm yours! fuck! keep fucking me!” so you oblige. You grip her tiny waist as she sucks you in deeper and deeper the wet sounds of her pussy being ruined. You begin to feel your balls starting to seize and so you ram harder into Choerry before you fill her again, and she reaches her peak again. She passes out on your cock as you fill her. You smile before getting up from your bed to get a snack. You go to your living room and grab a remaining slice of the extra pizza before looking at the dice again.

On a whim, you roll them asking if you should Choerry all night. They come up double 12s. You laugh and say, “well then I guess it's my lucky day,”