Chapter Text
Taehyung learns the reality of stardom quickly.
Lesson #1: Nobody really cares. Lesson #2: Gossip sells. Lesson #3: Twisting words and lies sells better.
In his short career, two EPs, one album and a handful of features, Taehyung finds out that his music is not why journalists want to talk to him. He’s a singer, he’s received critical recognition, awards and plaques, yet he’s rarely asked about his music. When he is, it’s superficial. Nobody has ever asked him about the creativeness in his melodies, the inspiration behind his lyrics.
He knows he’s listened to because of them. His fans, the ones that truly like his music, write posts about his songs. They try to interpret the intricacies of them. They’ve tweeted at him with questions. But journalists, magazine writers, gossip columnists and the like, they don’t care about any of it.
Taehyung learns quickly that he’s considered mysterious and attractive, and that that is all that matters. That’s what, tied up in suggestive remarks, will sell. Journalists just want gossip. Even if he’s interviewed to promote his music, that is not what they will ask him.
It surprises him when he realises it for the first time. He gets used to it.
As the years go by, nothing really changes. The more famous he becomes, the less questions about his music he gets. It seems the two are proportionally inverse in his world.
It’s a reality that serves him well. They don’t ask about the one thing that matters; he doesn’t pay attention to all the things they think do.
⦿
When he was discovered, he was singing in a small café. He had a gig in this brick walls, hypster heaven place singing famous pop songs and no idea what to do with his life. No future and no interest in it.
The gig paid enough to cover half the rent of the apartment he shared with Jimin, and the tips got him through the rest, groceries and shitty beers and all. There was nothing else to worry about.
He finished University, got the Business and Economics degree his parents had insisted on, and tried to find a job. Nothing felt right or made any sense. No amount of money or benefits sounded appealing enough to force himself to agree to be trapped between four white walls in a sterile office for 12 hours a day.
He had no intention of ending up in a corporation, and even less intention of going back home to his parents. He had no desire to leave Seoul or Jimin. He found temporary jobs that could support his part of their roommateship. He worked in a supermarket, delivered bouquets for a florist, and served expensive cocktails in an obnoxious club. He didn't like any of them.
When the sign in the café near their apartment came up, looking for a part time singer for their evening crowd, he walked in and auditioned.
He knew he could sing, knew he was decent enough. Jimin adored his singing, and once upon a time, his voice had been somebody’s lullaby. He decided he could happily use this skill to get by.
Six months in, he was approached by a producer and asked to audition for a music company. At first, he didn’t want to do it, convinced it was a con and a waste of time.
Jimin made him go.
He’d argued that if the audition didn’t stick, Taehyung could at least meet a bunch of people in the industry and hint at the fact that he wrote lyrics. Taehyung had rolled his eyes and scoffed, his writing was a pastime, not a career. But he still went. He was too scared of Jimin not to.
The producers loved him and signed him on. They were elated when Jimin, by his side the day the contracts were finalised, told them Taehyung could write lyrics. Taehyung shrugged.
Ten months later, his first EP was released.
Fame came fast after that.
In a way, it was unexpected.
As Taehyung worked on his music, sang and wrote and got paid for it, created his EP, he and Jimin had talked about a reality that didn’t belong to them, one that neither could imagine. They had joked, day-dreamed about a bigger apartment and king beds. Neither had thought it would actually happen.
The reality was that the company was small, the two producers that run it were young and just getting started. Taehyung liked it a lot, liked going in everyday and having a space to write and record, someone to discuss beats and melodies and lyrics with. He discovered quickly that this was something that made sense to him, that he could actually do and feel satisfied by.
He hadn’t thought it would last. He’d been sure that the single would come out, then the full EP, and then he would just go back to singing in a cafè and remembering the fun experience fondly.
He’d been very wrong. It had not gone that way at all. He’d exploded.
At first, it was slow. It started with small independent radios playing his single and a bunch of people following his official profile on Twitter.
That bunch turned into dozens of followers a day and hundreds of listens on his Spotify page. Bigger radio stations started playing his EP’s main tracks, and by the time he put out his first full album, a year later, people recognised him on the streets and asked for autographs.
Once fame kicked off, it grew quickly.
Taehyung cared little about it. Fame meant he could buy an apartment for him and one for Jimin. In the same building, two big ones with actual space to live in. Fame meant he could continue making music. That was all that mattered to him. It still is.
For most of the people in his industry, though, it’s different.
Taehyung doesn’t think he will ever stop being astonished by the things people in the industry care about. Fame means money and access and invites. Fame means Interviews and appearances and requests. It means attention and curiosity, none of it genuine. It means information. Everyone wants money and connections, everyone wants the network and the open doors, but more than anything else, everyone wants information.
It still shocks him how much information, true or false, sells for. The length people in the industry will go for it. Entertainment thrives on knowing everything about everyone. It’s entertainment for information and information for entertainment. Fans, consumers, are obsessed in much the same manner.
All of it is superficial.
He’s asked all the time about his colleagues and his friends, they chase him to know who he sleeps with, they prey to find out what he’s wearing, what he eats, what he drinks. He’s rarely questioned about what he thinks, what he wants. He’s never asked about what his music means.
He prefers it this way. It requires little effort from him. When he’d just started, he put up walls high enough to keep the gossip out. He had no interest in baring precious parts of him, the most precious of all, to strangers that didn’t really care, that wouldn’t take care.
It’s easy, but not less weird. He’s famous for his music, for his singing, for the songs that he writes. When he’d started, he’d been excited about the prospect of sharing how he made music, how he started and who helped him along the way. About the complexity of the process, the satisfaction of it, the fulfilment it gave him.
All of his excitement is gone now. He’s contemplated stopping with the interviews, he doesn’t see the point anymore. It feels as if he’s already answered all the ridiculous, meaningless questions people have for him.
How many more times can he say that his favourite colour is purple?
He can’t, not yet. Yoongi and Namjoon need him. Taehyung is their star, the artist that helped prove their nose and talent. But they’re still just a small company, trying to do things differently in a very prejudiced, closed-off industry. They need Taehyung to remain visible to help them grow.
Taehyung respects and loves them too much to not give them this small thing they ask of him.
They gave him the opportunity and space to write lyrics, to pour his everything in melodies and beats. They gave him money to not have to work in an office and money to take care of Jimin. They gave him friendship.
Taehyung could repay them with interviews.
After all, it was easy, they didn’t hurt him—they didn’t ask anything that could. They bored him and he got headaches from the saccharine fakeness, but Namjoon and Yoongi trained and prepared him well; Taehyung could handle it.
Once, he would have wanted to talk about the process of writing, of making melodies, about the geniality of his two producers, about the feelings that drove his creativity. Now, he’s made do with his disappointment and his walls. He can put up with telling people he hates bananas for the millionth time, if that’s what makes them happy. He would answer nonsense questions his entire lifetime, if it helped Yoongi and Namjoon’s dream.
⦿
“Vogue wants to interview you. For the cover.”
Taehyung looks away from the screen in front of him, at Namjoon behind him. “Really?”
“Yeh.” Namjoon nods, eyes on his own laptop. His glasses are slipping off the bridge of his nose but he doesn't make a move to adjust them.
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?” Yoongi asks from his spot on the couch. He's flicking through a stack of pages filled with numbers.
Taehyung spins his chair around to face them properly. It's just the three of them in the studio that was assigned to him.
They come here often when they need to work on BMMs–boring business management stuff, as Yoongi refers to it. They picked up the habit when they just started three years ago and never dropped it. Taehyung finds their presence calming. He’s honoured by it too, that they found his space the right one to deal with the sanity of their business. Jimin once pointed out that they probably feel as safe around Taehyung as he does around them. Whatever the reason, Taehyung treasures it. He works on lyrics as they work on the company.
“I mean, what do they want to talk about?”
Namjoon clicks on his mouse. “They haven't sent a draft list of questions yet. We don’t even have the full format, but they said–” he pauses, seemingly looking for something. “Here– They say ‘an all-rounded interview’.” His finger scratches the back of his mouse. “They have asked Baek Beomgyu to do it.”
Taehyung nearly gasps. “Really!? The music critic?”
“Yeh.”
“Isn't that weird?”
Yoongi stops turning pages and snorts.
Namjoon finally looks up from his screen. He stares at him. “I'm so sorry, Tae.”
“Why?”
Namjoon smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I'm sorry you're so jaded about all of this. You're not even excited about the fact you're wanted on the cover of Vogue. I feel it's our fault.”
“And it is,” Yoongi agrees. He’s not smiling.
“You should be excited about this. This is a big, big deal. You deserve it, too. You shouldn’t feel weird that a reputable magazine, a capable journalist, wants to talk to you.”
Yoongi nods. “Anyone else would see this as a hard earned reward. Which it is. But we’ve ruined it with all the fucking interviews you’ve done for us.”
“It’s not your fault that they ask ridiculous questions!” Taehyung argues. He doesn’t like to see Namjoon and Yoongi upset, or beating themselves down.
Namjoon shakes his head. “I'm sorry, Tae,” he repeats. “But I'm not sorry about what I’m going to say next. I'll insist you say yes to this one.” He glances at Yoongi, who nods, then settles back on Taehyung. “We're getting to a point now, with the girl group, and the two soloists, where you won’t have to pull us all through and you will be able to start saying no. I want that day for you, and when it comes, I’ll turn everyone away on your behalf. But this is very big for you, and if Baek does it, it could actually be a good piece. We can insist that you will only do it if questions on your artistry are included. You'll be on the cover of Vogue. Not many artists this young get this chance. I think it's something you should do for yourself first, beyond us.”
Taehyung smiles at them, so sweet and caring. Even when solemn, their affection seeps through. “I'm not a model,” he states.
“Could be,” Yoongi retorts.
Taehyung snorts at his serious tone.
Namjoon agrees with Yoongi. “You could. And you work hard. And you love music.”
“And you're talented,” Yoongi adds.
Taehyung does nothing to hide his blush, but he scoffs. “You're biassed, because you like me.”
This time, Namjoon’s smile stretches to his dimples and shines in his eyes. “Do this, Tae.”
Taehyung lifts his shoulders. “You're the boss.”
⦿
The shoot ends up being quite fun.
The clothes are pretty, the set is fascinating. The people sorting out the lights and the props are nice, and so are the artists doing his makeup and the stylists. The photographer and his team are direct, ordering him around to 'stand there' and ‘look here’ and ‘move like this', but at the end of the session they seem content with the results, thanking him and covering him in praise.
Throughout it all, Jimin 'uhs' and 'wows', while Namjoon smiles wide, dimples never disappearing from his cheeks.
Neither of them are supposed to be here, but they are.
Namjoon insisted on accompanying him, even if he isn't Taehyung’s manager anymore. He used to take on that role, because they couldn’t afford to pay anyone else. Taehyung and him would sit together and figure out his schedule, and Namjoon would be by his side at every event, interview, shoot, ensuring he was being heard, making sure he wasn’t cold, taking care of his stuff, bringing him food and drinks. He doesn't have time for that now that the company is growing. Now that there's more people he can help write lyrics and produce music for. Now that he's actually doing what he was born to do.
For some reason that chokes Taehyung up if he thinks too hard about it, Namjoon thinks today is special and wants to be here with him.
Taehyung's actual manager is getting a 'day off', sitting on a chair at the back, catching up on work on his tablet, while Namjoon stands upfront and monitors the shoot.
Jimin stands next to him. He insisted on coming today too. No matter that he has absolutely no excuse for being here and that the only reason he’s been able to sneak in is because both Namjoon and Yoongi have huge soft spots for him and say yes to all his requests. Taehyung has tried to discourage him, explaining that, as he doesn't work for GARM Ent., and he is only the friend of an artist, no matter how ‘bestest’, emailing the two CEOs, who are very busy, to ask for stuff and to join work engagements, is certainly not the best practice. It’s futile. Jimin does as he pleases and gets what he wants.
So he's here today, scowling at anybody who he thinks is not being kind enough to Taehyung and whispering praises in his ears anytime there’s a break. All around, being the best friend anyone could ever wish for.
Once the shoot is over and they’re waiting for the interview’s set to be prepared, they stay close to Taehyung and keep him company. They both fling compliments at him, a stream of them, and Taehyung only gets away when his name is finally called from the other side of the room.
He’s led to a sofa where Baek Beomgyu is already waiting for him.
For the first time in a long time, Taehyung’s nerves spike up.
This is a big time music critic, with a capital C. Baek is well-known and respected in the industry. He’s what some define as ‘old school’, famous for writing thoughtful, researched pieces.
Taehyung has seen him at industry events, but they’ve not actually met him nor spoken to each other. He doesn’t know what to expect, has no clue what Baek will want to talk about. Namjoon was told by the Vogue team that they wanted to do a profile feature, reassured that the focus would be on Taehyung’s music and how he came to it.
On one hand, Taehyung is relieved, a little excited even at the possibility of talking about his songs. On the other hand, he is scared, worried about how to do it. He’s never had to talk in detail about the truest parts of himself. He doesn’t actually know how much or what he’s ready to share. He isn’t sure he can trust the situation.
When interviews actually focus on his music, usually, it’s about the release dates, or the tour dates, or the music videos. Sometimes about the theme of the album, other times about the chorus of the title track, but never much and never more. It’s brief, superficial questions, where Taehyung can tell the interviewer doesn't care and is only asking so he can move on to his love life.
Taehyung has never been made to feel comfortable talking about the thinking and the process behind his music. He wonders if this will be different. He’s sceptical.
Baek Beomgyu is important and serious, but this is Vogue after all. It's fashion, not music. Everyone has a price, and this is a video interview. How many people are actually going to want to watch him geek out about music?
“Hi,” Beomgyu welcomes him. He stands up, offering his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Taehyung shakes it, bowing. “Hi. It’s a pleasure.”
“Shall we take a seat?” Beongyu offers.
Taehyung sits in one of the corners of the sofa. It’s bright red.
Beomgyu turns to the video crew. “Are we ready?”
The director gives the go ahead.
“Would you like something to drink?”
Taehyung smiles. “Water is fine, thank you.”
Somebody pours them two glasses and disappears.
Beomgyu settles in the opposite corner of the couch and crosses his legs. He produces a notepad from the sofa’s cushions. “Thank you so much for giving me the time to talk to you,” he says.
Taehyung feels shy. “Of course. Thank you for wanting to.”
“I'm a very big fan.” Beomgyu’s tone is kind. It sounds honest.
Taehyung bows his head. “Thank you. So am I.”
Beomgyu smiles wide.
“I'm a little surprised,” Taehyung can't help but add.
Beomgyu seems taken aback. His eyebrows raise. “Why?”
“You're very respected. I'm just… Me.” Taehyung flops his wrist in the air to underline his point.
Beomgyu lets out a raspy chuckle. “I'm sure your fans wouldn't agree.”
“Maybe,” Taehyung concedes, with a smile and a shoulder raise. He supposes that is accurate. “It doesn’t make what I said less true.”
“Well, thank you.” Beomgyu chortles. “That is not how I expected this interview to start.” He gives Taehyung a wide smile. He reaches for his glass, takes a sip of water, then places it back. “Are you okay with me starting? I have quite a few questions.”
“Of course.” Taehyung shifts back on his side of the sofa, to a more comfortable position. He feels shy.
“I would like to talk a little about how you discovered music and your experience with it. Then about your work. But, first of all, really, I want to start by commending you on the maturity of your music and especially your lyrics. You're 26...?”
“27.”
“27. Yeah, and you've written two EPs and one album, and in all of them, the way you write is... There's something very careful about it. Your lyrics are strong, in a way, because they force you to stop and listen to them, but gentle too. They’re… Thoughtful and beautiful. I can't think of many artists that at 27 can do that.”
Oh.
Oh. Oh.
This is music talk. Straight to the point and completely unveiling.
“Thank you,” Taehyung says. He is sure he's blushing. “I– I think that’s an accurate description of what I want to convey. But I don't do it alone.”
“Still, you're the main lyricist in the credits of your albums.”
Taehyung nods. That’s true. The production is more of a collaboration, the lyrics are mostly his.
“I suppose that when you say you don’t do it alone, you’re alluding to the work you do with Suga and RM, for the melody and production. You work with them a lot.”
Taehyung’s smile is a reflex. “Yes. I don't put anything out if it doesn't have their signature on or sign off. Even features with other artists, we work on them together. They're geniuses. I consider myself very lucky.”
Beomgyu nods. “Yes, indeed. I don’t have any qualms agreeing with you there. They’re talented artists.”
“Unbelievably talented,” Taehyung underlines. They are, he's not shy to admit it.
“An underdog story, right?” Beomgyu glances at the paper in his hand. “They founded their own company and you were the first artist they signed on.”
“Yes, that's right.”
For thirty minutes, they go over every part of Taehyung’s career and work. Beomgyu asks him how he found out he loved music and when he started writing, and how he got discovered, about his first EP and the process behind his works. Taehyung talks about writing his first song when he was 16 and gives him snippets into his, their, creative process–how they tackle lyrics and harmony, melodies and rhythm.
The questions come, one after the other, and the answers flow naturally. It's an easy conversation, where he truly feels in his element. Beomgyu radiates genuineness and Taehyung is comfortable.
He’s happy talking. He doesn't struggle with what to reply, how much to give away, he just responds to what he's asked, content to recall what his life is about, why he gets up in the morning, this gift he shares with his friends. Music was never the path he thought he’d walk on, but he will be forever grateful that it is. There are days, where it really feels that he was made to do this and this alone. This is his life, this is his future.
“I think I'm nearly at the end of my list,” Beomgyu says, checking the notepad he's been glancing at every so often. “Just a few more curiosities to satisfy. One of the questions I have is about the feelings laced into your music… In each piece of work I'm hit by the melancholy I hear, even in your lead singles, which are usually big pop anthems, I always sense a feeling of nostalgia... I've always wondered if that's the way your voice makes me feel or if it’s something you purposely want to transmit?”
Taehyung is stunned. “I–” He tries, but fails to come up with words.
Beomgyu waits for a few seconds, but when Taehyung still isn't saying anything, he speaks kindly. “Sorry if that's too personal. I don't want you to have to reveal all the secrets of your art... I won't quiz you more about this.”
Taehyung shakes his head. He smiles. “No,” he says. “It's not that. It's personal, of course, but I don't mind talking about it... I– Just– It's just not something people usually pick up on…”
To be exact, only three people have commented on the nostalgia in his music. One that knows, two that didn't press further.
"There's definitely a sense of loss in my writing that I want reflected in the song too.”
Beomgyu nods, seemingly considering the words. “You do that well. For whoever wants to perceive it, it’s there, but it’s not overpowering. It doesn’t spoil the song.”
Taehyung thanks him.
“One more question. Then I promise I'll let you go.”
Taehyung takes a sip of water, waiting for it. He’s grown increasingly curious about each question. Beomgyu has surprised him with his understanding and his interest.
“I've gushed about your lyrical talent a lot already, but I truly think there's a depth to your words, that is entirely captivating, very rare, that should be recognised... And it really shows in all your works... What I would like to understand better, is: where do the lyrics and where does the nostalgic tone come from? I guess what I’m asking is, what is your inspiration?”
The question shocks him. This is something only his fans have asked him openly about before. He’s never been given a chance to answer. Yet, the answer is so simple.
Explaining the steps behind making his albums had taken several minutes, because the process is long and not straightforward at all. Explaining this, though, will only take one second. The answer is one. One name, really.
“It's not very original,” Taehyung states.
Beomgyu smiles, an eyebrow raising.
“It's your everyday story. I fell in love and they left. The nostalgia is for them,” Taehyung shrugs. “I just got my heart broken, and it stuck.”
If Beomgyu was not expecting that answer, he doesn't show it. He continues to smile jovially. “I see. A true artist then, creating from pain.”
“I guess you could say so.” Taehyung chuckles at himself. “Or you could say I’m monotonous. My inspiration is just that feeling, and more generally, that person.”
This time, Beomgyu's thoughts show. He's surprised. “Is the pain the source of all your inspiration?”
Taehyung hesitates for only a second. He doesn’t see any harm in admitting a truth that won’t change. “All of it.”
Beomgyu’s smile is kind. “Then, we– I– have them to thank for your music. And to hate for the hurt they caused you.”
“No.” Taehyung chuckles. He shakes his head, amused. “No need to hate. I have no regrets."
“Truly?” Beomgyu’s curious gaze appears again. “I don't know if I'd be so magnanimous to someone that broke my heart.”
“I don’t think I could ever hate them.” Taehyung sighs. He hopes the microphone didn’t pick up on that. “There are certain situations where hate is not needed. There’s no space for hate for someone like him.” The name slips out too easily. “Jeongguk. He was the one I was the best with.”
“The one that got away.”
Taehyung blinks, smile shy but real. “The memory I don't mess with.”
There’s a small pause, silence between them, before Beomgyu moves on to his final questions.
The moment hangs in the air, though. At least, in Taehyung’s air.
He doesn’t mind being honest. He doesn’t think Beomgyu will twist his words. There’s a video, and even if he wanted to, there’d be little to twist, all the information laid out clearly. He doesn’t regret saying the name out loud; It never was a secret, never will be. It is the absolute truth. His fans, those that care, finally have an answer.
“Thank you for your time,” Beomgyu says once the interview is over, shaking his hand. “I want my article to reflect all that you shared. There'll be the video too, of course.”
“Thank you for listening.” Taehyung bows. He still can't fully comprehend why this famous critic is being so nice to him.
Beomgyu leaves after bowing too, and Taehyung starts getting rid of the microphone attached to his clothes.
“Tae.” It's Namjoon.
“Hey.” Taehyung unplugs the microphone from its cable. “How did it go?”
Namjoon takes so long to reply that Taehyung manages to slide the cable out of his clothes and pass it to a staff member that's tidying up around him. He turns to his friend and Jimin, standing next to him.
“Was it that bad?”
“No.” Namjoon shakes his head. “It's just– Tae... I had no idea.” It's the way he says it that clues Taehyung in.
Oh. Right. He's never mentioned Jeongguk before explicitly.
"Did I share too much?"
Jimin snorts, but Namjoon is quick to reassure him. “No, no. Unless you feel that way. If you do, we can veto that part of the video and article before they come out, so that you are comfortable…” He shakes his head. “I just meant, I didn't know... The inspiration was one person.”
Taehyung nods.
“I never wanted to pressure you into sharing because feelings are complex and can be painful, and– You're good at hiding them.”
It's not really about hiding. Taehyung doesn't talk about Jeongguk because there's nothing to say that he doesn’t say in his songs. Jeongguk is from another life. What he feels is in his music. The rest is in the past.
“You think it's okay I said that?”
“Whatever you want to say, or not say, about your music, will always be okay.” Namjoon squeezes his shoulder. “It'll make some noise, but it was a good interview. We can make sure you’re insulated from the noise, like always.”
Taehyung smiles at him.
When Namjoon goes to salute the Vogue staff and ensure all is taken care of and they can leave, Jimin comes closer.
“Don't even,” Taehyung warns him. He flops back on the sofa.
Jimin slumps next to him. “I wasn't gonna say anything.”
“Right.”
They sit in silence for a few minutes, until Jimin can no longer hold back.
“You didn't need to be so nice about him.”
Taehyung bites his bottom lip, holding back his snort. “Jimin,” he says simply.
“I just think th–”
“I know what you think,” Taehyung tells him.
“You don't listen to me though,” Jimin argues.
Taehyung sighs. “How many times do we need to have this conversation?”
“Until he's forgotten in the trash bin where he belongs.”
“Jimin,” Taehyung chides him. There's no bite in his words, he's heard Jimin say far worse and knows where this is coming from. He thinks it's sad how Jimin would happily be the conductor of the ‘hate Jeongguk’ train now, when they used to love each other so much. It's sad that such a friendship was destroyed. But Jimin is Jimin, and he stands by Taehyung’s side without reason.
“You don't deserve to be broken hearted because of him, Tae.” Jimin's head drops to his shoulder.
Jimin wants him to move on. But it's not that simple.
It's not that bad, either.
Taehyung doesn't know if he'll ever be able to move on. He's pretty sure he won't. He felt, feels , too strongly about Jeongguk. Having your heart broken, though, is not as bad as people make broken hearts to be. Eventually, the overwhelming sense of loss decreases, until it's a dull ache and it becomes a part of you.
Taehyung accepts it, cherishes it even. It's proof that what he had was real.
He has the memories, but with those, sometimes he wonders if he conjured them from a dream. The pain of loss, it's evidence, is a reminder that those moments happened, that he lived them, that he loved.
He's okay with it. He's not angry, he's not upset. He doesn't want to be. He was lucky enough to fall hard, to love deeply, to be enveloped by the emotion. He knows people go lifetimes without ever knowing what it truly means to love, but he knows, and could never regret knowing.
It's okay that Jeongguk stopped feeling, or maybe never really had, the same way. He’d never promised he did or would.
“It's okay, Jimin.” Taehyung links their fingers. “I wasn't the one for him.”