Chapter Text
Jeongguk should not have been surprised, but Taehyung is a natural in front of the camera. He should have known better, really, than to be enraptured by the way Taehyung preens in front of the lens like he was born for it; might as well have been, since he’d been in the public eye since he was born. Taehyung shines against the backdrop of a child’s playroom, lego blocks in the background as he splays out across a rainbow carpet, clutching a furry teddy bear to his chest so tight, chin squished on its forehead.
Jeongguk had thought the concept kind of odd: a grown man of twenty-four, starring in his comeback photoshoot, surrounded by toys and playthings more suited for a ten-year old. But, strangely enough, it works, like some callback to younger days when things were easier.
“Let’s take a break, and we’ll start again in twenty minutes,” the small, bespectacled photographer says.
Taehyung releases the bear from his death grip and stands up, stretching his lithe body.
“He’s good, isn’t he?” Yoongi says. It takes Jeongguk three seconds of awkward silence before he realises the photographer is talking to him.
“Yeah,” Jeongguk nods.
“My mentor worked with him before the scandal blew up, and he only had good things to say about Taehyung.” Yoongi fiddles with his camera for a bit before setting it down on the table and nudging his head in the general direction of Taehyung, who was currently laughing with the stylist noona. “I’ve only met him once before, but he’s always glowing.”
“I see why,” Jeongguk says. “He belongs in front of the camera.”
“He does,” Yoongi agrees. “How is your piece going?”
“This is only the second time we’ve met,” Jeongguk admits. The photoshoot had been going on for an hour, but he hasn’t been able to interact with Taehyung much. Once Taehyung had arrived on set, he’d immediately been pulled by the stylist noona into a chair and made up nice and pretty, a pair of checkered pants and a houndstooth blazer forced over his head, before Jeongguk could so much as say hello. “There’s not that much to go off of, and I’m still trying to figure out what angle to take it.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Yoongi reassures. He pats Jeongguk on the shoulder, a light touch from a senior in a somewhat similar industry. “It’ll be exciting, though. People have been talking about his comeback in the drama, but it’s been pretty mixed.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard.” Jeongguk has. He’s not immune to trawling through Naver comments, seeing what Netizens have to say about the once-child star’s reattempt at stardom.
“Yoongi-hyung, Jeongguk,” a voice calls. Taehyung pads toward them, now in a second outfit: knee-length floral shorts and a plain white t-shirt like he’d just come out from a bathhouse. “What’re you guys up to?”
“Just talking,” Yoongi says.
“About me?”
“About you,” Yoongi deadpans. “How does it feel? Your first photoshoot in, what, five years?”
Jeongguk takes out his notepad in anticipation for Taehyung’s answers, silently thanking Yoongi for asking what he himself should have asked.
“It’s nice,” Taehyung grins, and he shines brighter than the glaring studio lights. “Photoshoots are always fun, and you and your team are super chill.”
“Thanks,” Yoongi says. He holds up his camera and flips through some of the shots from the past hour. “We got some really good ones. When you suggested the theme, we thought it was kinda weird, but I think it suits you. They turned out pretty well."
“That’s great!” Taehyung beams. He turns to Jeongguk so suddenly Jeongguk almost jumps. “And how are you doing, Mr Journalist? All this standing around getting boring yet?”
“I’m good.” Jeongguk affords himself a small smile. “It’s nice just watching everything.” It’s nice just watching you , he thinks, allows himself this one comfort. And it really is, seeing Taehyung prance around in an almost haphazard fashion, lying on the ground one second and then jumping in the air the next.
The rest of the photoshoot goes smoothly. They take occasional breaks, which Taehyung uses to crack jokes with the rest of the staff, and Taehyung changes into two more outfits. Three hours in and Jeongguk is wondering how the light in Taehyung’s eyes still gleams; photoshoots are draining, more so mentally than physically, yet Taehyung does his job the same way any other professional would. That might be the case then, Jeongguk muses, in order to make a good first impression.
Two hours later, they call it a day. Yoongi thanks Taehyung with a handshake which the younger turns into a hug, and then Jeongguk is in a cab with Taehyung on their way to a cafe in a quiet area of town.
“What did you think of the photoshoot?” Taehyung asks, squinting a bit as he stares out the window. They had started shooting in the morning and, right now, the afternoon sun is at its strongest.
“Are you the interviewer here or is it me?”
“Come on, humour me a bit.” Taehyung cracks a smile and turns back to Jeongguk. The sunlight strikes, long lashes fanning out into shadows on the planes of his cheekbones. “How was it for you?”
“It was interesting, I guess. I’ve never really been on the set of a photoshoot before.”
“You’re really a young one, aren’t you. Kinda like a sapling,” Taehyung muses. “I didn’t think they’d send a rookie out for a field report.”
Jeongguk bristles. “I’ve been working with The Pacific for almost a year. I’m not a rookie.”
“But this is your first big piece, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes,” Jeongguk admits. “Doesn’t mean I’m inexperienced though.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re not,” Taehyung replies, tone almost comforting. His eyes gleam and Jeongguk can hardly tell what the small tilt of Taehyung’s mouth is supposed to mean. “Photoshoots are always like that. Unless you’re actually behind the camera or in front of it, you’d probably fall asleep standing.”
“It wasn’t boring,” Jeongguk insists. “I had fun watching how everything worked.”
“That’s how I felt the first time I stepped on set, too.” Taehyung presses the side of his forehead to the glass, starting slightly when the cab runs over a road bump. “Being at the studio is always fun.”
“How was it for you, then? Does it feel the same in front of the camera as it did five years ago?”
“I don’t know.” Taehyung’s gaze drops to his hands, pillowed on his thighs, and Jeongguk notes the way his hair falls just so to barely obscure his side profile. He itches for a camera. “I love the camera just like I did back then, but coming back is like meeting an old lover. Comfortable, but not the same.”
Jeongguk barely manages to snap a photo before Taehyung sits back up.
“Did you get a good shot?” Taehyung’s smile is almost sardonic, mocking. He peers over. “Let me see it.” When Jeongguk shows him the photo on his DSLR, Taehyung says, “Looks good. Looks like the album cover for an indie rock band.” And it kind of does, Jeongguk thinks, with the light beaming through a dirty glass window and spilling onto Taehyung’s golden skin, casting shadows on the leather of the car seats.
“You’re photogenic,” Jeongguk says. “You have an affinity for the camera.”
“I thought so too.”
“Thought?”
“Maybe the camera, yes, but not the public eye.” Taehyung shifts again, this time pressing his back against the corner, seat belt twisting to accommodate the semi-foetal position. “Gets a bit much, sometimes.”
“Then why’d you decide to come back?” Jeongguk asks. This is when the piece begins, he thinks, a boy in a man’s body pressed up against the corner of a ratty cab in the middle of Seoul. “Why’d you take up that drama role?”
“That’s a hard question, isn’t it?” A pause, and then a sigh. “I’m asking myself that, too.”
The cafe is small and hidden in a quiet part of town, perfect for their purposes. Jeongguk has never heard of the place but apparently Taehyung is a regular—the moment they enter, the barista greets Taehyung with a hug and a wide smile that creases his eyes.
“Jeongguk, this is Jimin,” Taehyung introduces. The barista nods at Jeongguk, floppy pink hair swaying as he does so. “We’re same age buddies. He makes the best coffee in Seoul.”
“I actually don’t, please don’t get your hopes up,” Jimin rushes out. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too, Jimin-hyung.”
“Already calling me hyung!” Jimin laughs. “Tae, you’ve taught him well.”
Tae , Jeongguk catches. He rolls the sounds over in his mind a few times and thinks he could get used to it.
Taehyung and Jeongguk both get iced americanos, something to soothe the summer. The place is empty save for the two of them, which means they get the best seats, a booth tucked in the corner next to a glass window adorned with cacti on the ledge. A few passersby walk past every now and then, but Taehyung has his back against the wall and called dibs on the blind spot.
“I’ll just start first, then,” Jeongguk says. He gets his recorder and notebook out when Taehyung nods. “Today, you had a photoshoot with Min Yoongi, your first photoshoot in five years. How was the experience for you?”
“You literally just asked me this in the cab, but alright,” Taehyung laughs. He leans back, long body spread out, and sips on his coffee. “It was fun. I’ve worked with Yoongi-hyung’s mentor before and I see the similarities; he has an eye for composition and theme, maybe a little quiet, but I enjoyed working with him and his team a lot.”
“Min Yoongi does have a diverse portfolio,” Jeongguk agrees. He likes photography so he has heard the name floating around before and has seen a couple of photos, but never really looked much into Yoongi’s work. Maybe he will start soon. “What about for yourself? It’s been a while since you were in front of a camera.”
A silence passes before Taehyung answers. “I don’t know. Mixed feelings, I guess? I loved being photographed and filmed, still kind of do in some way, but being in front of the lens again—it’s like being reminded of the fact that I was in the public eye, still am, and probably will always be.”
“That’s what it is like as a celebrity, then.”
“It is,” Taehyung nods, a little solemnly. “You can never really escape. You never really belong to yourself.”
“Why do you think you continue to pursue it?”
“Going straight for the jugular, aren’t you?” Taehyung purses his lips. “I don’t know. Like I said just now, I’m still trying to answer that question. But I think there’s something magical about being an actor; you’re kind of like an artist, part of a bigger picture, a bigger production. You put on a mask and, for a few hours, you are someone else. And I don’t think anything else can really ever replace that for me.”
“Do you think it’d be possible to pursue art, then, without being in the public eye?”
“Art, maybe, but maybe not for acting. Not when actors have their entire careers and experiences defined by how the public views them.”
“You don’t get a lot of privacy, then.”
“No, I don’t.” Taehyung breathes. “I was used to that, to not having my own space, but the past five years being cast out of the public eye was like a breath of fresh air. It was like a dream.” In his voice is wistfulness and some sort of longing. “Then Seokjin-hyung called me up and I couldn’t say no, and now I’m afraid I won’t be able to leave my life in the hands of other people any more.”
Is there any proper reply to something like this? Taehyung is baring his heart, wearing it on his sleeve, the burden of being a celebrity something he carries on his shoulder and cannot set down even if he wished. On one hand, Jeongguk wants to applaud Taehyung for his openness; on the other, he wants to set Taehyung down in a room with pillows and soft toys, and tell him that it is fine to have the world to himself and just himself, if only for a while.
“I’m sorry, that got kind of sad,” Taehyung laughs. The faraway look in his eyes is gone, replaced by sparkling mischief.
“Don’t apologise,” Jeongguk says, words coming out as a whisper against his will. “It’s the reality for celebrities like you.”
“It is,” Taehyung smiles, a note of resignation on the curve of his mouth. “Well, that went downhill real quick. Sorry about that.”
“Ugh, don’t apologise,” Jeongguk groans. “Please.”
“Alright, alright.” Taehyung laughs again, a chime in the four walls of the tiny cafe. “Hey, for the next meeting, do you want to do samgyeopsal? I know a good place that just opened nearby.”
Jeongguk thinks about it and almost starts salivating. “Sure, that works for me,” he replies, trying not to show that he really, really loves samgyeopsal. “When would be good for you?”
“Maybe on Thursday? We can have dinner and then I have a meeting with the drama production team, and you can come tag along.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” Jeongguk agrees.
The day ends when they leave the cafe, and Jeongguk can’t help but feel that despite having spent more than six hours with Taehyung, he does not know him all that much better. There is something behind the laughter and the sparkling eyes, the constant fidgeting and faraway looks. And there is a sure, burning determination in Jeongguk to find out just who is Kim Taehyung.