Chapter Text
“Holy mother of – “
“I know, Taehyung, I know.” Jimin pats his head patronizingly, an evil smirk on his face. If Taehyung were a little more alert and not currently swooning over his favourite actor less than a metre away!, he would’ve noticed the palm strategically splayed on his back. One moment Jeon Jeongguk is covered in pinkish tint, rose petals falling all around him, and in the next Taehyung is staring at navy sneakers, the fantasy broken. Jimin, Taehyung wants to scream, but the Jeon Jeongguk is looking down at him and he can’t remember why he’s sprawled on the ground anymore. Taehyung lifts his head from the mess of wires he’s currently tangled up in and looks up shyly from his awkward position on the ground, expecting a kind smile and a ‘here, I’ll help you’. Then maybe he’ll finally be given a chance to touch those god-sent hands.
Instead, he finds himself waiting for something that doesn’t come. Jeon Jeongguk’s eyes flicker to him for barely a moment before shifting back to the script in the director’s hands, but that’s about all he gets. Well, at least he can say caught Jeon Jeongguk’s attention for all of one second. The following five before Jimin pulls him up feels like an eternity of embarrassment and Taehyung can feel his cheeks heating up.
He groans as he dusts himself off with Jimin’s help and begins whining about how Jimin is such a dick. You’re an asshat and a massive dick and I don’t know for the life of me what the hell Yoongi-hyung sees in you unless it’s a big dick which you obviously don’t have. His voice reverberates in the studio and it’s the only thing Taehyung hears when he ends his Big Argument Against Jimin’s Assness (BAAJA sounds good, it has a nice ring to it). He realises the entire cast and production staff is staring at him, some in amusement and the more uptight ones, in mortification. They even cover their mouths with their hands and their eyes are so large Taehyung wonders if they’re trying to one-up him. Don’t worry, your eyes are the hugest, says the voice in his head. Big Taehyung shakes his head to fend off Little Taehyung, because Little Taehyung’s wise words are best left to the privacy of his bedroom. Taehyung shrugs and turns his head slowly towards Jimin.
“What did they hear?” Whispering, when done in total silence, really doesn’t make things any better.
“Everything from the first dick,” Jimin enunciates, emphasising the offensive last word.
So much for BAAJA.
The set is bustling by seven in the morning, instructions sailing over Taehyung’s head because he isn’t really a part of this, doesn’t have to actually do anything but sit here and watch until filming starts. He sits on a high chair outside the classroom where he can’t get in anyone’s way, swinging his legs freely as a thousand and one cameras are set up. A distance away on his right is Jimin, barking madly at the lighting assistant to move faster. The poor boy is traumatised as it is, scurrying to and fro and fumbling to set up lights twice his height and thrice his weight. Taehyung hops down from his chair and walks over to help the gangly boy, who’s tall and broad-shouldered but far too scrawny. He doesn’t forget to scold Jimin for being unhelpful, but all the latter does is scowl back at him. Taehyung is appalled but chooses to be the better man, turning back to the boy and flashing him an apologetic smile.
Jeon Jeongguk strolls in punctually when the digital clock reads 9:00AM, red letters blinking and shouts of ‘Jeongguk is here!’ heralding the big star’s arrival. Taehyung grimaces when he sees the navy sneaker step into the school corridor, attached to long legs and a lean torso. He doesn’t even have to look to know it’s Jeongguk – he even knows the actor’s outline from too many hours of trawling the net for pictures of the superstar.
Today is technically Taehyung’s first day and he doesn’t know anyone, save for Jimin, who is now busy adjusting the intensity of the lighting and scolding his boy-assistant again. Yesterday was a mistake, Little Taehyung says, as Big Taehyung watches Jeongguk saunter across the corridor’s length, bending his body at a perfect right angle before smiling brightly at each member of the crew. Stupid Jimin embarrassed him in front of the love of his life, who was too busy to take notice of Taehyung and couldn’t fall in love with him at first sight. Today will be better.
White dress shirt. Check. Clean black pants. Taehyung smoothes sweaty palms over his pants. Check. Lucky pendant. He fumbles to touch the metal star. Check. Everything is perfect and Taehyung feels almost powerful. Until the director walks over, Jeongguk following confidently behind him.
“Jeongguk, meet Taehyung. He’s our scriptwriter.” Taehyung stands up to offer a shaking hand, the tension in his shoulders only dissipating when Jeongguk returns the gesture. I’m holding his hand omgomgomgomgom – The grin he sees when their eyes lock makes him swoon and he’s reminded of why Jeongguk is the nation’s prince. Jeongguk’s grin falters momentarily as if in recognition, but it’s gone as soon as it appeared and he’s exchanging pleasantries with Taehyung in no time. He probably doesn’t remember me, Taehyung thinks. Jeongguk is just like the fan accounts say, friendly but not overeager, eloquent without the added intimidation. Taehyung feels like he’s floating on a cloud because he’s spent days and nights dreaming about how they will someday meet and fall in love, but never really expected anything out of it. Jeongguk is complimenting him now, on a well-written script and a perfect premise. His cloud flies higher when Jeongguk flashes him a blinding smile, perfect white teeth he has only ever seen in his movies. Taehyung thinks he might actually have a chance, unreal as it seems.
They converse for a good ten minutes because Taehyung is apparently the last person to be introduced to Jeongguk, and Taehyung has a hard time trying to ‘play it cool’ so he doesn’t scare away the love of his life, who’s probably used to a lot of unwanted affection. Sasaengs know no boundaries and Taehyung should know – he’s seen Jeongguk’s used boxers on online auctions more than just a couple of times. Not that he bought any…even if temptation was hard to resist. At least he has that strand of Jeongguk’s hair to tide him through his oceans of feels from four years of dedicated fanboying. When Jeongguk so much as blinks at him Taehyung squeals inside and he would rather this amazingly gorgeous man not hear the embarrassing sound.
A loud yell of “standby” interrupts the conversation and Jeongguk waves at Taehyung before quickly striding over to the classroom. He’s already dressed in school uniform and made up, ready to begin filming.
“And…action!”
The first scene has Jeongguk’s character, Kim Seon, meeting the troubled heroine for the first time when they’re both in high school. She’s supposed to be nothing special in the high school orbit, a typical student who cares less about her future than she does sleeping through classes. He’s her popular classmate, the star of the school’s dance team and every girl’s dream. Also, her deskmate. The start of the new school year sees students shuffling into their new classroom as the teacher assigns new seats. “Kim Seon, back row, beside SooJin.” Backpack slung over a shoulder, he walks across the length of the classroom and plops down into his seat. He smiles brightly at her but she ignores him, turning away to place her head cheek-first on the desk.
The scene cuts here, and they film a few more sequences for the pilot episode. Filming proceeds relatively smoothly – there are a couple of NG scenes here and there, but nothing too big crops up. Taehyung can barely contain his excitement throughout the process, watching in awe as the words he clutches in his hands come to life. The script is as much his baby as Jeongguk is and oh what did I do in my past life to deserve this beautiful marriage.
A few more scenes around the school and they wrap up for the day, the director yelling for a cast dinner to “build better relations”. Taehyung groans as Jimin slings an arm over his shoulders, the boy-assistant trailing behind them. Mass gatherings like these only make him uncomfortable, and he can’t get out of it, not when it wouldn’t be polite to opt out.
The barbecue restaurant is hot and stuffy, and all those other things Taehyung hates about going out. Jimin’s lighting assistant, whose name Taehyung finds out is Seokjin, sidles up so close to him Taehyung feels he’s about to suffocate and die. He’s squished into a corner and he can’t stretch his legs unless he entangles them with Seokjin’s and no way he’s doing that because ew, body heat.
“Sorry about that, there’s no space,” Seokjin says softly, as if noticing Taehyung’s predicament. Taehyung decides he might as well make the best of his situation, since he’ll be here for another hour. Or two, he grimaces. It’s not like he hates people, he just doesn’t like large amounts of people he doesn’t know. There’s no time for intimacy when people are yelling and joking loudly and nothing is really funny or has anything to do with him but he has to force a smile because it’s polite to. Another collective roar of laughter sends him smack against the wall, hanging on for dear life. Seokjin hears his sigh and tries as much as he can to shift away and make some space so Taehyung can feel his face again.
“It’s okay, thanks,” he assures Seokjin, who looks so apologetic he’s about to cry. He seems like a nice boy, thoughtful and considerate, more so than stupid Jimin who’s too busy telling a joke and being the life of the party to care about his friend. He could’ve at least sat beside Taehyung. That, and Taehyung can’t even see Jeongguk from where he’s sitting – the actor sits at the next table, back facing him.
Oh well.
Seokjin looks almost as uncomfortable as Taehyung feels and he decides he’ll be nice just this one time.
“How old are you?” Seokjin looks terrified at the question and Taehyung figures this boy is intensely shy. He responds with a soft “24 this year” that Taehyung has trouble hearing at first, until he prods the boy for a louder reply. He has to strain his ears even then – it’s difficult to hear above the rambunctious laughter in the background. “Hyung!” Taehyung shouts in surprise. He would never have thought Seokjin older than him. The noise makes conversation arduous, but Taehyung persists because Seokjin seems pleasant. He learns that Seokjin is working part-time to fund his university studies and that he’s been doing this for only a few days. He’s also planning to major in mass communications so he can work in media in the future, so this is a stepping stone of sorts.
They get to know each other for the next two hours, Taehyung sneaking glances at Jeongguk’s back every now and then. Seokjin notices and by the end of the night feels comfortable enough to tease Taehyung about his fanboy tendencies. Taehyung smacks him playfully and kicks his leg where they’re entangled under the table. They exchange numbers and Seokjin promises to bring Taehyung out for patbingsu like the good hyung he is.
After he sends both Jimin and Seokjin back that night, Taehyung lies in bed and smothers his squeals with his pillow. The Jeongguk posters in his room, plastered all over his four walls with no gaps in between, stare judgingly at him but Taehyung doesn’t care because he met the real thing, the subject of his wet dreams since forever, and also made a new friend in Seokjin.
Today was a good day.
“HURRYHURRYHURRY IT’S STARTING.” Taehyung shoves the microwaved popcorn bag to Jimin and plops down on his bed, ready for an hour of Jeongguk’s ridiculously handsome face. They grab each other’s hands in anticipation when the clock strikes seven and Taehyung is maybe, just maybe, extremely nervous. The intro to the upbeat opening song plays as the main characters and actors are introduced and Taehyung’s heart pounds at double-time.
Kim Seon (that’s Jeongguk) and Soojin meet in school for the first time, when they’re forced to sit together at the start of the year – Seon is intrigued by the girl in the corner who does nothing but sleep, and Soojin doesn’t spare the school’s flower-boy even a single glance. He tries to make conversation with her, but she silences him with a finger placed on her lips, before putting her cheek back on the desk. The scene cuts to Seon’s point of view as he observes her, Jeongguk’s narration streaming in as the music fades.
“I didn’t think you liked me very much, but I didn’t think you hated me either. You were just…aloof, and alone. Not quiet, though. Most quiet people still like company. I should have known, because it was strange that my eyes were always drawn to you. Of all the girls in the class, I thought you were the prettiest, because…you were the saddest.”
The scene freezes to show Seon staring at the back of Soojin’s head as she looks out the window, cheek still pressed against the desk, and the closing music begins to play soon after. Taehyung lets out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, taking a moment to collect himself. Jeongguk doesn’t disappoint, as always, the impeccable top actor of Korea. The cast is good, the cinematography is perfect, and Taehyung is awed at the fact that his words can come to life like this. But that’s not what he’s thinking when tears prick at the corner of his eyes as the ending credits roll. He buries his head in Jimin’s shoulder and tries to blink away the tears, but the sniffling and the wetness on Jimin’s shirt gives him away.
“It’s okay to cry. It’s taken a lot for you to get here,” Taehyung hears Jimin say. A warm pressure makes its way onto his head, tousling his hair affectionately. Only Jimin would know how much the three tiny words on the screen, the ones that no one looks out for, mean to him. It’s recognition, acknowledgement, a beginning. Like life has just now begun.
“I’m gonna screenshot that and frame it up,” Taehyung jokes through his hiccups. Jimin laughs and smacks his head playfully.
The set feels like a second home already, everyone throwing out greetings regardless of whether they know the names of the people they speak to. Taehyung likes the cozy apartment he shares with Jimin very much, but the set feels just as warm and comfortable, the people sometimes more excitable than Jimin. Taehyung watches from the side as the props are cleaned and tidied under the command of the management team, his eyes widening as the cameras are set up. There is one for nearly every angle of the actors’ faces, and even though Taehyung has seen them for the past week, it always feels like the first time.
He suddenly hears a loud thud and instinctively turns to its source. A floor lamp lies on the floor, Seokjin kneeling beside it and frustratedly attempting to heave it up. Taehyung moves forward on automatic and squats down, curling his fingers around the black pole and bumping his shoulders playfully into Seokjin’s.
“What are those broad shoulders for, huh hyung?” Taehyung teases, watching Seokjin’s cheeks turn red in embarrassment. Taehyung prods him in the side, eliciting a frightened jerk, and Taehyung giggles as he directs Seokjin to the lamp head. “1, 2, 3, up – “ Taehyung counts, his voice straining on the last word as he pushes the lamp upright. It’s taller than either of them and twice as heavy. No one could have managed alone. “Next time,” Taehyung says, breathless after they’ve shifted it into position, “ask me for help, hyung.” Seokjin smiles brightly, reaching over to wipe the beads of sweat that have formed on Taehyung’s brow. “Thanks,” he says. Taehyung grins in response.
“Ratings are out!” someone hollers, and before Taehyung registers the statement Jimin appears behind him and Seokjin, pulling them both to where a crowd is forming around the director. Taehyung doesn’t understand what all the fuss is about, but over the top of everyone’s heads he sees Jeongguk standing next to the director, their eyes affixed on a piece of paper. It must be important if even Jeongguk is concerned.
“Why is this important,” Taehyung mumbles to Jimin. “It’s not like we’ll get cancelled if the ratings aren’t good.” Jimin smacks him on the head. “Yeah, but we could get shortened, you know, fewer episodes?” Valid point, but Taehyung is a part of the national audience and he definitely knows what they like to see. What they like to see at this point, is Jeon Jeongguk. Anything with him on board will enjoy explosive popularity, Taehyung’s sure.
“12.7%!” the director announces, and the set erupts in applause and cheers. Jeongguk has a smug grin on his face that would look cocky on anyone else, but makes him look ten times more attractive instead. It might just be Taehyung’s prejudice showing.
“Is that good,” Taehyung whispers to Jimin. Seokjin answers instead, awe colouring his words. “Are you kidding? Any double digit is good for a viewer rating.” Taehyung feels a little proud at the statement. His first script to be made into a drama, and a successful one to boot.
The crowd dissipates after the announcement, Jimin, Seokjin and Taehyung separating to take their places. The director calls for filming to start, and soon the crew and cast fall silent, waiting for their respective cues. Today’s filming focuses on the heroine and the reason behind her indifference to everything else. The actress playing Soojin is beautiful, Taehyung thinks, even if he doesn’t feel an ounce of attraction towards the female species. Beauty is beauty, and from what Taehyung has heard Lee Jieun is just as pretty on the outside as she is on the inside. Taehyung finds himself drawn more to the actress herself than the image he sees from the camera, filtered and modified in a way that makes her look otherworldly.
“Wow,” Taehyung breathes, when Jieun – no, Soojin, looks into the camera and starts speaking.
“Pretty, isn’t she,” someone remarks from behind him. Taehyung turns around abruptly, not expecting the interruption, much less for it to be from Jeongguk.
“Y-Yeah,” he stutters. Jeongguk chuckles and slings an arm around Taehyung’s shoulders. This is not real it’s a figment of your imagination Taehyung stop dreaming – Taehyung hears a loud slap and it takes three seconds for him to feel the sting on his right cheek and palm. See? Just a daydream. There’s no way Jeongguk would be so friendly with him, no way at –
“Are you alright?” Jeongguk’s voice filters into his mind, and Taehyung turns to his left. Jeongguk’s face looks as real as ever, and the pressure on Taehyung’s back is definitely real. Oops. Wrong move, Taehyung. But Jeongguk doesn’t stare at him weirdly or back away slowly, instead he looks at Taehyung for a moment and chuckles, and Taehyung has never heard anything more beautiful.
“Wow,” he breathes, slapping a hand over his mouth when the word gets out.
“Like what you see?” Jeongguk smirks, and Taehyung gulps. If he didn’t know better he’d think Jeongguk was flirting with him. Is he flirting? Is he not flirting? It’s a confusing game Taehyung’s bad at playing. Jeongguk seems to notice his discomfort. “So,” Jeongguk says, (attractively) stuffing his hands into his pockets and (very attractively) peering at Taehyung through his bangs. “What’s up?”
“Um,” Taehyung says very articulately. Taehyung’s dreamt of meeting Jeongguk, talking to him and touching him, countless times, and he’s never this hopeless in any of his fantasy scenarios. He’s a dedicated fanboy who desperately wants Jeongguk to fall in love with him damn it. “Sorry, I – I’m a big fan, so this is kinda overwhelming,” Taehyung explains. Jeongguk pats his back and Taehyung reminds himself to breathe. “I wrote this with you in mind, actually,” he says shyly.
“Oh?” Jeongguk quirks an eyebrow up at him and Taehyung feels an impending heart attack.
“Y-Yeah, I thought you’d fit the cold-city-boy aesthetic, until you…find that one person who makes it falter.”
“How are you so sure?” Taehyung feels the arm around his shoulder tighten, a sign that Jeongguk’s tensing up. For a split second an odd fear creeps up on him, and Taehyung wonders if he’s said something he shouldn’t have. But then Jeongguk smiles at him and the feeling is quickly forgotten, in favour of easy conversation and warm smiles.
“That’s a wrap!” the director calls, and Taehyung is immediately surrounded by the cast. They’ve taken to teasing him any chance they get, because apparently he’s so easy, and asking him for advice on the script, once again because he’s easy. Jieun pinches his nose while giggling, and Namjoon makes these horrendously ugly (but also very funny) faces at him while manhandling him this way and that. For a second male lead who’s supposed to be a delinquent, Namjoon seems too much of a fool.
From the corner of his eyes Taehyung sees Jimin shoot him a pitying look as he bustles around the set for clean-up, Yoongi’s laughter in the background. Taehyung sighs. Is this what all scriptwriters go through? They’re all older than him, save for Jeongguk, so Taehyung can’t do anything but allow them to revel in his misery. Come to think of it, Jeongguk is nowhere to be found. Taehyung tiptoes, eyes searching. “You punk,” Yoongi jokes, jumping onto Taehyung’s back after he swats Yoongi’s hand away. Taehyung briefly wonders how Jimin puts up with him.
They stop messing around with him when their managers call for them, leaving Taehyung with happy goodbyes and see-you-tomorrows. Taehyung heaves a sigh of relief as Jimin sidles up to him.
“Rough day?”
“Uh-huh.” It’s been tough, Taehyung having to focus 24/7 so he can pick out the words the cast isn’t saying right, the emotions they aren’t putting across. Taehyung’s lucky the director is a perfectionist who wants exactly that from him, otherwise he’d be branded a nit-picking scriptwriter who doesn’t know his place.
Taehyung feels a pressure on his shoulder as Jimin rests his head in the curve of his neck. He’s tired, Taehyung knows, because while Jimin has always been overly affectionate and generous with his touches, he’s 173cm of boundless energy and will keep going until he collapses.
“Hey.”
Taehyung turns around and feels his heart get knocked out his chest. It’s Jeongguk. No matter how many times Taehyung sees him in the flesh, the impact never lessens.
“Sup,” he manages, through the haze of fatigue.
“Are you busy tonight? I wanted some help with the script.”
“He’s free,” Jimin cuts in. Taehyung looks at Jimin worriedly, wondering how on earth Jimin expects to get home safely with his eyes half-closed. “I’m fine I’m fine, I’ll get home safe,” Jimin insists, pushing Taehyung and waving him away. Taehyung relents, but not before reminding Jimin to text him.
“So…what do you need help with,” Taehyung asks, rubbing his hands together and trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. Jeongguk flashes that megawatt smile of his at Taehyung and he’s scrambling to keep his mind together once again.
“I wanted to ask you about a few scenes?”
“Yeah, sure.” Keep your shit together Taehyung.
Jeongguk grins at the affirmation and pulls Taehyung by the forearm, leading him across the set and into the narrow corridor where the waiting rooms are. ‘Jeon Jeongguk’, the sign on the door reads. Taehyung feels a little light-headed. Before he can even catch his breath, he finds himself seated beside Jeongguk, their thighs touching as his mind goes blank.
“…is it supposed to be a wistful tone, or is it something else?” Jeongguk’s voice filters into his head only then and Taehyung looks at him with wide eyes.
“Which scene,” he says sheepishly, willing the heat in his face to subside. Jeongguk replies almost immediately.
“The one where she tells him the truth and rejects him afterwards.” Jeongguk looks at Taehyung expectantly, like a brilliant soliloquy will stream from his mouth. But Taehyung’s having a hard time remembering to breathe when Jeongguk’s eyes are so intense, much less speak eloquently.
“Uh,” he tries. What was he thinking when he wrote that scene again? About…hopelessness, and anger, when the person you love thinks you aren’t worth the truth, and tells you only because he needs a reason to leave you, because he doesn’t believe your love is strong enough. The memories come flooding back and Taehyung drops his head into his hands. “Not wistful,” he says shakily. This is not about you, Taehyung reminds himself. “More hopeless, and angry, because H – Soojin thinks that’s all Seon is worth…that his love can’t overcome her problems.” Taehyung looks up once his hands stop trembling, hoping that the explanation was enough, because he doesn’t know what else to say.
The look on Jeongguk’s face is strange, somewhere between curious and offended, and Taehyung wonders if he’s said something wrong again. But the expression disappears as soon as Taehyung is beginning to understand it, and he forgets it completely when Jeongguk smiles.
They go through the rest of the scenes Jeongguk will be filming for the remainder of the week, Taehyung patiently explaining each emotion while Jeongguk listens intently. When Jeongguk closes the script, Taehyung feels almost regretful that it ended so quickly. Jeongguk is attentive and diligent, and it would be a pleasure to work with anyone with those traits, even if they weren’t the national superstar. It’s the first thing he really knows about Jeongguk, not something he’s heard through the grapevine.
Jeongguk slips his phone into Taehyung’s hand, and it’s the cold metal that jolts him from his thoughts. He sends a questioning look Jeongguk’s way.
“Your number,” Jeongguk says amusedly.
“O-Oh,” Taehyung replies, eyes widening in understanding. He keys in the numbers, taking much longer than usual out of embarrassment, making mistakes and having to backspace. He hands the phone to Jeongguk once he’s done, unable to help the grin accompanying it. Taehyung had thought Jeongguk attractive and friendly before, but this is…different, less superficial.
“Thanks,” Jeongguk says, suavely sliding the phone out of Taehyung’s hand. Taehyung would swoon at the action, but he’s too exhausted and Jeongguk doesn’t feel so unreachable anymore.
“I’ll text you.”
“So. How was loverboy?” The suggestive look on Jimin’s face is too much, and Taehyung roughly shoves it out of his sight.
“He just needed help with the script,” Taehyung mumbles. Jimin looks at him incredulously.
“You were alone in a private room with Jeon Jeongguk, for two whole hours, and you didn’t try to jump him?! I’m disappointed, Kim Taehyung. You’ve been lusting after his ass for what, four years? What happened to the four years of pent-up sexual frustration?”
“Four years and running, Jimin. And I’m fully capable of keeping myself in check for two hours. What do you think I am, a whore? I like him, yeah, but I don’t know him enough to like like him.” Taehyung can’t bring himself to be exasperated at Jimin, since Jimin technically did give him the opportunity to get closer to Jeongguk. Which worked out just fine.
“Like like?” Jimin scoffs. “First off we’re not chodings, Tae. Second, if you want it you gotta fight for it. Like me and Yoongi,” Jimin says proudly, puffing out his chest.
“Invalid. You found out from me that he was crushing on you and threw yourself at him! Besides, who says I want a thing with Jeongguk?” Jimin doesn’t say a thing, just points at the wall above Taehyung’s bed, completely plastered with Jeongguk’s face, no space in between the posters. “I can admire someone but not like them, Jimin.”
Jimin points to a particularly incriminating poster, one of Jeongguk in a leopard-print shirt, an orange beanie pulled over his head. It’s nothing special, just a casual, fun photoshoot for Ceci magazine. But the messy heart drawn around Jeongguk’s face and the ‘MINE’ written in white marker is a giveaway. So Taehyung likes Jeongguk a little too much, gets a little possessive whenever tabloids claim he’s in a relationship with another actress.
“It doesn’t mean anything though. He’s a celebrity, I idolise him, that’s it.” Taehyung’s hand moves absentmindedly to his neck, traces the familiar metal of his lucky pendant. It’s a habit he hasn’t been able to kick since first year of high school. Jimin is uncharacteristically silent all of a sudden, no sarcastic comebacks to pummel him with.
“You still keep that,” Jimin says quietly. Taehyung freezes and hastily stuffs the pendant into his shirt. But the damage is done, Jimin’s subtle disappointment hanging in the air like the bad odour of week-old pizza under the bed.
“It’s out of habit,” Taehyung tries.
“Is it really?”
Taehyung and Jimin religiously watch the drama every weekend, huddling up together in the living room under a thick blanket as they wait for the latest episode to come on. The apartment is cool in fall but it gets a little too cold in the evenings, and Taehyung refuses to waste money on extra heating. Instead he equips himself and Jimin with a massive bottle of hot water each, which they hug tightly to their chests.
The ratings are increasing with each episode, and so does Taehyung’s confidence. “Your ego will destroy our ceiling one day,” Jimin tells him. Taehyung doesn’t really care, he’s just glad everything’s working out and he’s finally proving himself. The episode Jeongguk asked him about is showing soon, and Taehyung is more than excited to see the results. Granted, Jeongguk could probably do just as well without his help, but Taehyung just feels more important knowing that he played a part.
The opening song plays and Taehyung and Jimin are instantly riveted, forgoing their playful banter to focus on the television. The episode cycles through Soojin’s history – the look of horror on her parents’ faces the day she turned 5 but looked 20, when she took the high-school entrance exam with her face covered, the mask hiding the 14-year-old face beneath. She ages neither forwards nor backwards, but haphazardly, whatever her body chooses. Sometimes she’s 34 for 3 months, sometimes she’s 18 for a whole year. Birthdays and schooldays are spent the same way – alone and in silence.
The day after Seon kisses her in the storage room, when both of them are on cleaning duty, she turns 50 and disappears from school for 2 weeks. She spends that time helping out in her parents’ restaurant as the newly-hired ahjumma. On the 15th day she turns 16, and she figures she looks old enough to pass off as a high-schooler. She expects Seon to ignore her, since he’s gotten what he wants from whatever social experiment he’s trying to pull, but instead he doesn’t stop talking to her and pulls her aside when it’s clear she’s avoiding him.
The confession scene is what Taehyung’s been waiting for, and his fingers tighten around the now-lukewarm bottle of water resting in his lap. When Seon confesses, eyes bright with so much hope, only to be told the truth and rejected, Jeongguk’s face is pained, his features tensed and almost ugly. Taehyung’s fingers dig into the plastic of the bottle. Had he looked like this then? Hurt and anger mutilating his face, yet so painfully beautiful?
“I’m not giving up, I’ll prove it to you.” That’s when it hits Taehyung, hard but slow, and the corner of his eyes prick with tears. Jeongguk is fantastic at what he does, digging out the emotions Taehyung had thought gone for a long time. He’s surprised to find he doesn’t mind, and that must be a start. Jimin is silent beside him, as if understanding Taehyung’s current turmoil. Although, he does extend a hand to hold Taehyung’s, the pleasant warmth a much-appreciated comfort.
Taehyung doesn’t see it coming. He thought Jeongguk said it out of courtesy, a polite exchange since Taehyung had given him his number and it was only right that he did the same. But the text that comes in immediately after the scene, as the ending credits roll, definitely says otherwise.
Did I do good, hyung?
Taehyung is confused when he sees the text, wonders who the unknown number belongs to. It takes a while for him to figure out that it can only be Jeongguk.
You were great.
“Here,” someone says above Taehyung, and a can of his favourite coffee falls into his lap. He looks up and sees Jeongguk. As usual, Jeongguk looks good, like every bit of the popular actor he is. Taehyung doesn’t scramble out of his chair, nor does he blush to the tips of his ears at the proximity, since he’s been around Jeongguk a lot more recently. Jeongguk’s constantly texting or talking to him about the script, and Taehyung never fails to reply. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what it is, but it seems as if Jeongguk’s becoming more and more human to Taehyung. It’s not that the admiration’s not there, it still is, but toned down to the occasional skip of his heartbeat, nothing too obvious.
“Thanks,” he says, sending Jeongguk a grateful smile. “You were…” Taehyung cycles through a dozen words in his mind. Fantastic, amazing, terrific, fabulous. Nothing seems good enough to describe Jeongguk. “…great. Really really good,” Taehyung says earnestly. He’d almost cried watching Jeongguk’s scene in the rain earlier, when Seon waited for hours outside Soojin’s house. Taehyung knows how it feels like to wait for something in vain, and Jeongguk definitely did the scene justice.
Jeongguk’s ears look suspiciously red. “Nah, it’s because you helped me out,” he says. Before Taehyung can respond, Namjoon bounds up to them in clumsy fashion, tripping over the wires and sending the lights toppling. “Namjoon!” someone says in exasperation. It must be Seokjin, Taehyung thinks, and he laughs at the lighting assistant’s misfortune.
“Hey Taehyung, I was – you know what, never mind.” Namjoon turns to Jeongguk and points an accusing finger at him. “You! Stop taking up all of his time,” he jokes, before running off to get help elsewhere.
“He’s cute,” Taehyung says, laughing. Jeongguk looks at him weirdly, and it is instinct that makes Taehyung exclaim “what!” defensively.
“Nothing,” Jeongguk mumbles, seeming oddly sullen. Taehyung grabs his forearm and swings it playfully.
“Tired?” It’s a given that Jeongguk would be tired, after 5 hours of filming. Lunch break is only an hour long, insufficient time to recharge for another 5 or more hours of nonstop filming. Actors and actresses have it tough, Taehyung empathises. Jeongguk doesn’t reply, eyes fixed down on Taehyung’s hand on his arm. Did I do something wrong again, Taehyung wonders, fingers loosening. Jeongguk is always touchy with him, but it’s the first time Taehyung’s initiated anything.
The confusion must show on his face, because Jeongguk grabs his hand before he can fully retract it, lacing Taehyung’s fingers through his own. It’s warm and a little wet. Taehyung isn’t too fond of physical contact, unless it’s with Jimin. He’d been touchy once, but that was a long time ago. Their intertwined hands should feel too intimate for a scriptwriter and an actor working on the same set, but from past experiences Taehyung figures Jeongguk just likes physical affection. He’s just being friendly, Taehyung tells his pounding heart.
“Yeah, just tired,” Jeongguk replies belatedly.
“We’re friends, right,” Taehyung says offhandedly, not noticing when Jeongguk stills. “You can whine if you’re tired.”
“Friends,” Jeongguk says, the word lingering on his tongue.
They lapse into comfortable silence. At one point Taehyung eyes the canned coffee in his lap, craving his caffeine fix for the next 5 hours. But he can’t open it without letting go of Jeongguk’s hand. Later, Taehyung decides. I’ll drink it later.
Jieun approaches him after filming wraps up. “Guess what,” she says, lifting her eyebrows for emphasis. Taehyung’s so well-acquainted with her enthusiasm that he instinctively copies her expression, aiming it back at her. “We broke the ratings record for our timeslot!!!” Jieun spins around, clapping her hands excitedly. Taehyung can’t help but laugh.
“That’s great. Must be your stellar acting,” he jokes. Jieun slaps him on the arm and throws him a dirty look.
“Anyway, we’re having an after-party. You, as scriptwriter extraordinaire, who has contributed significantly to this milestone, have no choice but to attend,” she says pompously. Taehyung wants to refuse, but Jieun turns on her heel and stalks off before he can put in a word. He sighs once she’s gone, resigned to his inevitable fate. At least Jimin and Seokjin, maybe Jeongguk, will be there.
“Hyung,” someone says from behind him. Speak of the devil. Jeongguk’s changed out of the high school uniform and into a casual button-down and jeans, but he still doesn’t look a day past 20. “Do you need a lift?” Jeongguk asks, rubbing his palm across the back of his neck. If Taehyung didn’t know better, he’d think the actor was nervous. But the thought is gone as soon as it came, because Jeongguk has been confident from the start, all suave and acutely aware of his suaveness.
Taehyung doesn’t need a lift to the meat grill place they’re going for the celebratory dinner. All he wants to do is go home, take a nice long bath and dive into bed. “Actually, I-“
“I could send you home instead,” Jeongguk cuts in quickly. “I mean, if you’re not going.” I chose the right actor to stan, Taehyung thinks proudly, suddenly aware of the dull thudding in his chest. Jeongguk’s been nothing but nice.
“Yeah, I’d like that,” he says, nodding. The smile that forms on Jeongguk’s face is much wider than Taehyung’s used to seeing, pinching the corner of his eyes and putting his bunny teeth on show. It’s so much better than the professional smiles he reserves for photoshoots and dramas, Taehyung can’t help himself. “Can I take a photo,” he blurts out, hand reaching for the phone in his back pocket. Jeongguk’s face falls momentarily, and Taehyung catches a glimpse of distress before the smile is back.
“Sure,” Jeongguk says, posing for the camera. Taehyung quickly snaps a shot. They say the real thing is always better, and it must be true, because the picture that shows up on the screen doesn’t look that different from the posters plastered on Taehyung’s wall. He realises disappointedly that the crinkles at the edge of Jeongguk’s eyes are gone, and the smile is much more practised.
“Come on,” Jeongguk says gently, holding Taehyung by the elbow and guiding him to the waiting rooms. On the way there, he keys in Taehyung’s address into his phone for directions.
They grab their things quickly and head to the basement, where the parking lots are. Jeongguk leads Taehyung to his car, a black and sleek model Taehyung’s sure must cost a bomb. He knows close to nothing about cars, seeing as he doesn’t even have a driving license, but the heavy smell of leather hits him when Jeongguk opens the door for him. Yeah, definitely expensive.
It’s strange, because Jeongguk has always been at lengths to make Taehyung feel comfortable, but this time is different. As soon as the door on Jeongguk’s side closes, Taehyung feels trapped in, the air stale and unmoving between them. The ride home is silent, and Taehyung has never seen Jeongguk like this, quiet and expressionless as he navigates on the road. It can’t be the extra concentration needed when driving – Jeongguk steers the wheel easily with one hand. What is it then, Taehyung wonders, as he contemplates making conversation. Was Jeongguk always like this?
“We’re here,” Jeongguk says suddenly. Taehyung blinks.
“R-right,” he says. He’d forgotten that the apartment was only 10 minutes away. “Thanks?” he says sheepishly, unused to this Jeongguk. He moves to open the door, but Jeongguk stops him.
“Can I – can I come up, for tea, or something? I mean, if you’re tired it’s fine, but I thought that maybe – “
“Yes, Jeongguk, sure,” Taehyung interrupts. Jeongguk must be tired, he guesses. Seeing Jeongguk hesitant and uncertain is new, and it brings out some kind of emotion Taehyung’s not keen on exploring. But this is a co-worker (who happens to be a celebrity, what are the odds) who just sent him home, of course Taehyung can fulfil a simple request.
They head up to Taehyung and Jimin’s shared apartment for tea, but Taehyung ends up making coffee instead, because Jeongguk falls asleep as soon as he hits the sofa (and Taehyung would take coffee over tea any day). Taehyung doesn’t wake him up, instead he watches him quietly, tracing the curve of his eyes and the slope of his nose. For once he doesn’t see the smouldering eyes and flawless complexion, the perfectly matured face that entrances hundreds of thousands. All Taehyung sees are the little bumps on Jeongguk’s forehead, the darker blemishes littered across his cheeks. The 20-year-old beneath all the gloss, an adult-child.
Jeongguk rouses from sleep after god-knows-how-long, and Taehyung’s barely pushed the cup of now-cold coffee to him before Jimin makes his entrance with a loud holler of “I’m home!”. Jeongguk frowns slightly at the noise, but the expression gives way to a polite smile when Jimin greets him warily. Jimin sends a suspicious glance Taehyung’s way, pointing at the two of them alternately. Oh no, Taehyung knows that look.
“Okay, time for you to go, Jeongguk. Up, up, out you go,” Taehyung says frantically, practically hauling Jeongguk up by the arm and pushing him out the door. “I’ll text you,” he whispers at the dazed look on Jeongguk’s face, before slamming the door on him. When he turns to walk back to the couch, Jimin is standing at the dining table, staring him down with arms crossed and one hip jutting out. Taehyung knows he won’t be getting a good night’s sleep.
“So…Jeongguk, huh. You and Jeongguk,” Jimin says, dropping himself onto the couch and stretching out his arms. Taehyung groans.
“No such thing, Jim.” Taehyung swats a hand at Jimin to make his point.
“Then explain why you two weren’t at the dinner but here cuddling instead?” Taehyung blinks.
“We were not cuddling!” I would like us to be cuddling, Taehyung thinks. Wait, what? He shakes his head to get rid of the thought.
“Uh, same difference.”
Taehyung sighs and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. Sure, Jeongguk is tall, good-looking, gentlemanly, Taehyung’s ideal type through and through. But he never knows what’s going on in that handsome head of his. He sees glimpses of emotion aside from the usual politeness, sometimes, but it stops there and Taehyung can never quite get under Jeongguk’s skin. So, no, there’s no way he can like someone he doesn’t know. Not even if said person texts him and talks to him daily and buys him his favourite coffee and sends him home and asks to come up for tea. It’s not like Jeongguk likes him, anyway.
“Hey, earth to Taehyung. Are you still in there?” Taehyung snaps back to reality, looking Jimin in the eyes so the latter knows that he’s present and listening. Jimin has his brows furrowed together and his nose crinkled in a manner Taehyung identifies as hesitant, and he fervently hopes his best friend won’t mention Jeongguk again. Jimin mentions someone else instead.
“What if, you know, he comes back?”
“You mean,” Taehyung says, caught off-guard. He pauses. “H-Hoseok?” The word is hard to get out, its taste unfamiliar and bitter on his tongue. It’s been a long time since Taehyung’s heard or said the name, whispering it into the nook of a slim, smooth neck as bony legs tangled with his under the blanket. Bile rises in his throat and Taehyung breathes deeply before swallowing it down.
“He wouldn’t.” Taehyung’s sure.
Jeongguk has never been good with people. Superficially, he’s alright, friendly and capable of maintaining eye contact, holding a conversation. Anything deeper, and he’s at a total loss, losing speech ability and his sanity, really. He has the emotional capability of a 10-year-old. It’s good though, for his career – his impeccable manners make him the ideal man, and the unwillingness to talk feelings makes him apparently mysterious, according to female fans.
“Mysterious my ass,” Jeongguk says to no one in particular. Maybe if he were better at expressing his feelings they would actually get through.
“What’s got your panties in a bunch, Jeon.” Jeongguk realises belatedly that his manager’s in the room too.
“Nothing, hyung. Just thinking.”
“You’re always thinking. Stop thinking and start doing.” Oh, how Jeongguk wishes he could. His manager opens his mouth to speak again. “Anyway, what’s up with you and that scriptwriter? Everyone’s been talking about how close you two are.”
“Nothing’s up, that’s what.” The words come out bitter than he intended, and Jeongguk doesn’t realise how tight his fists are clenched until the nails dig into the skin of his palm, leaving red crescent marks in its wake.
“Whoa, take a chill pill, boy.”
“Yeah, yeah I know. But really, nothing’s going on between us, hyung. We aren’t even friends.” I would like us to be, Jeongguk thinks. But Taehyung’s always looking at him like he’s some trophy or something, with hearts in his eyes and a whole lot of fawning. And the picture-taking, too. That sure was rude. Jeongguk doesn’t need further proof that Taehyung’s starstruck by Actor Jeongguk, not Real Jeongguk. He doesn’t even know Real Jeongguk.
“I got close to him because he’s the scriptwriter…So if there’s anything I need help with he’s just a call away. Practical purposes, convenience’s sake, you know?” Maybe if Jeongguk repeats this over and over again he’ll start to believe it’s the only reason he’s so drawn to Taehyung.
“Yeah, whatever you say. Just remember to stay mysterious, kid. That’s what sells.”
Neither of them notice the slight gap in the door.