Even professionals encountered difficulties in their line of work. Award winning author, Kim Jaejoong, was facing his worst nightmare (besides his editor, Shim Changmin, that is) - Writers Block. What he didnt expect, though, was to solve it hands on. Literally. ForewordFiction in FictionWILL YOU STAND WHEN IT ALL BURNS DOWN? Even professionals encountered difficulties in their line of work. Award winning author, Kim Jaejoong, was facing his worst nightmare (besides his editor, Shim Changmin, that is) - Writers Block. What he didnt expect, though, was to solve it hands on. Literally.  Warnings: dragons and other flying creatures, too many hours spent on mmorpgs, general drama, sappiness, and failing at romance.Jaejoong felt his shoulders shaking with irrational laughter. The sound eerily echoed through the dungeons, bouncing against the cold stone floors and walls. There he was, wiping blood off his bruised lip, and he was still worrying over a fucking manuscript. A manuscript which wouldn’t even matter soon, because he, and everyone else there, would die. And he doubted that he could finish his book if he was dead. Briefly, he pondered if that was a good excuse not to hand in the manuscript to Changmin. But knowing him, he would probably shake Jaejoong awake in his grave and force him to finish it. The laughter slowly dissolved and the shaking in his shoulders became due to silent sobs. The salty tears dripped past his chapped lips, which were turned into a pained grimace. Suddenly, more than anything, Jaejoong wished that he could return home. He would sit down and force himself to finish that manuscript with whatever it took and hand it in to Changmin on time. He wished he could feel the comforting warmth of the man’s hands, anything. Anything, just so he could feel a little bit of familiarity. Something to bring him down to earth and not make him feel as if he was going insane. Something that would prove he was not truly so far away from everything he knew. “You know,” Jaejoong startled at the voice. He hadn’t even heard anyone come in, “criminals don’t usually shed tears over their crimes.” The writer quickly turned away as he tried to subtly rub at his eyes with the back of his palm. “I never said I was one.”