Chapter Text
Namjoon was about to light up a cigarette when he first saw him.
Now normally, Namjoon doesn't pay much attention to his surroundings. At least, not when he's just gotten out of the studio. That would imply he's got enough energy to do so, and realistically, all he feels like doing after a long stressful shift of empty ideas and drought creativity is getting home and crashing his bed, hopeful of a good night's sleep that is rarely a given.
However, in retrospect, he could plead some mercy. It would have been weird, otherwise, to not have noticed the objectively handsome, stylish man glaring up into the dead screen of his phone, held high against the streetlights and stomping his foot sporadically into the curb's concrete.
"Please, God, not now..." The man, as Namjoon had consciously deemed objectively handsome, white skin glowing even under the black nocturne sky, dark hair neatly framing his face, grumbled under his breath to no one in particular. Well, not no one, given a frozen Namjoon, lighter halfway up towards the butt of his cigarrette - which refused to light up with the night's chilly soft breeze wafting the flame into thin air -, caught off guard under his thick leather jacket, rarely introverted, not exactly shy Namjoon, had heard him.
"Are you okay?" He asked the stranger, trying to sound approaching and helpful, but the man turned around as if pricked by a thorny bush he'd just backtracked into. Not a face he'd seen before, Namjoon thought.
"Oh, yeah, sorry. Yeah." Namjoon felt almost sorry for interrupting him, but the man didn't seem scared by his interjection, just slightly surprised. Just like that, he returns his gaze to his phone, his bag dangling over one shoulder. Looks designer, just like his collared white shirt and the jacket he's wearing on top of it. "I'm just- I was planning to call an uber, but my phone's dead and I haven't been able to find my charger all day and I thought maybe I could get a taxi, but there's none?"
Namjoon stares at the man for a moment as he exasperatedly struggles with his unresponsive phone and a dramatically empty street that stretches on in front of them. And, immediately, he feels sorry for the guy. If he were to know this place, he'd know not a single car passes by after ten pm. Which is tragic, considering they're not even too far off from the hectic center of Seoul.
The slight burn inside his chest, craving a gust of smoke seems to be put aside when he doubtfully looks between the frantic stranger and the gates of the studio building he's just come out of.
"I mean, I think I might have a charger, if you'd..." He hesitantly points towards the doors with his thumb, and the stranger freezes enough to look towards him with huge eyes. Namjoon doesn't know if the suggestion comes off too weird, in fact, he's used to kind of helping people without really thinking of what other people might make of it. That might have granted him an argument with his neighbor, in the past, after offering his objectively way older than him wife to help fix her draining kitchen faucet, but in Namjoon's defense the leaking had seeped right down into his kitchen and- who would have thought that man would be so pissed at a simple offering?
"Oh, you do?" The stranger's eyebrows raise into his fringe, actually hopeful, and okay. Namjoon would have to look through the haze of his studio's chaotic clutter, but at least he'd be able to save this man's way home. "That would actually be so helpful, yeah. I'm not usually this careless, but it's been such a long day and... yeah."
"Don't worry, you don't need to explain yourself. I always leave my house keys here after a long day, so." He distractedly waves a hand around, hopefully trying to soothe the stranger, but it's not met with the laugh, at least awkward or prompted, he'd expect.
"You work here?" The man immediately asks, taking in the huge building behind them.
"Yes, or. Sometimes." Namjoon scratches the back of his neck. Work, one of his least favorite topics to present to anyone he's just met. He normally doesn't talk about where he works at up until the third date. Date? No, scratch that.
"Are you an actor?" The forward question takes him a bit off guard, but the stranger seems to catch up before Namjoon gets a change to respond, and a slight blush colors his cheekbones. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't ask you that. I just thought I've never seen you in anything. Oh, wait, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that either. Actually, I would really need that charger now. Yeah, if it's still possible, you know, if you're not... Um."
Namjoon's slightly amused, and he stares at the objectively handsome, objectively cute stranger for a moment before he decides to let it up. He's normally on the giving end of socially awkward interactions, it's weird he's even being the decent person now.
"Yeah, of course. Um, do you...?" He asks, hesitantly, gesturing towards the gates, but the stranger doesn't seem hesitant, nor scared, and he absolutely does not look bewildered by Namjoon's invite so he just approaches the double doors and opens them with a card and a soft ping.
The lobby to the building opens up to them almost in complete darkness. The only lights on are the side led light walking up to the elevator, and it isn't really that dark, but Namjoon's used to the bright white headlight from the reception area that is now clearly deserted. Not an uncommon occurrence, given Namjoon regularly inhabits this building up until late hours.
"You can wait here, if you want. I'll go get the charger from my... yeah." He's normally not that shy but Namjoon is unarguably tired, not in his best form, and realistically, hasn't talked to a hot stranger in a while. Okay, nothing about this interaction leads Namjoon to worry about whether this man is hot or not, however - Namjoon's always been very attentive. He can and will notice if a stranger is hot because, why not?
He can't look back at the man though, for whatever reason, but he does hear his agreement, and doesn't check to see him get comfortable in one of the lounge chairs before he's heading straight to the elevator.
His studio brings him a sense of disappointment and shame upon sight. He's grateful he isn't receiving anyone in it because the smell wafting right towards his nostrils reminds him of long uneventful days of producing and recording, of going through a dozen boxes of takeaway food and not permitting himself a moment of cleaning up because every second in this industry counts and-
He returns to the lobby with the charger in his hands.
"Oh my god- you're a lifesaver." The man gets up from the chair immediately upon seeing him, taking the charger with a greeting and thankful bow and it's pretty formal for the exhaustion Namjoon feels but he bows back.
"I'm happy to help. I think there's an outlet behind the desk... Um." He gets around the reception bar unfamiliar with Jimin's regular workplace, but intuitive enough to know he must have an empty outlet right here. Otherwise Jimin's chronic addiction to being online would be impossible. "Here." The stranger's already pushing one end of the charger in his face, so he takes it and plugs it in at the same time the man plugs his phone on the other end.
A noise Namjoon could only describe as a moan escapes the man, and it makes him freeze in the spot, staring wide eyed.
"Oh, my, god. Thank god. Thank you, really. Wow, I can't believe I've been dumb enough to not even take my charger with me." He says in a whiny voice, but relieved and thankful and Namjoon would feel satisfied if the stranger wasn't so... "Honestly, you're a nice guy. I was about to start walking all the way back to Gwacheon."
"What- you can't-" Namjoon steels himself. "Are you not from around?"
The stranger scoffs, the glimpse of a smile gracing his full lips. "I've lived my entire life in Seoul. I'm just not an outgoing person, I guess."
Well, that catches Namjoon's attention. For once, he does consider himself to be an outgoing person, whenever he's not wring dry by work. He knows it's completely impossible to walk to Gwacheon from his studio, but anyways, that's common knowledge.
"And what brings you here, then? Jung-gu isn't exactly a few minutes away."
"Work. Or, hopefully, work." The stranger makes a face, like a grimace, like he doesn't really like what he's just said. But his sight remains on his black screen, now slightly lighten up by the charging battery sign. His bag sits atop the bar beside him. "An interview, I guess? But I don't know, I mean. It seemed kind of a spur of the moment, I didn't even get to charge my phone before I was called over. But a shot in a million, you know?" He does glance up then, and Namjoon thinks that's enough. He's helped, he can leave the stranger alone and come back to his studio, up until eventually his phone's not dead anymore and he finds the lobby to be empty upon returning.
He, however, is a social butterfly. And no matter how tired he feels, he hasn't spoken to a real person in what feels like ages (really, since Jimin went up into his studio to announce his shift was over, and do not miss me! don't stress yourself too much!) and he's curious, too.
"Are you a model?" It's his turn to ask, because what else would a person quite so appealing and good looking be doing in Jung-gu, at midnight?
He scoffs again, even more entertained. "No. I'm an actor. Trying to be, an actor." A corner of his very very plump mouth pulls up, and it's almost disbelieving. Offended? Namjoon hopes he hasn't offend him. But then again, it's been so long since he's talked to someone so attractive he might come off as awkward without even noticing. Oh my god, is he being awkward right now? "And no, there's nothing you've seen me in. Yet."
The curve of his lips is almost teasing, enticing, and Namjoon screws that idea away.
"Well, it was either one of those two." Namjoon thinks there's not much else one could be doing around there. Except for him, clearly, accepting to work on projects with empty scripts and bland storylines. He hesitates. "Yet?"
"I'm kidding, I'm not that confident. Although I'd like to think today went quite well, but you never know with these things. I might as well wait for a phonecall that will never arrive, you know?"
"It's okay to be confident. You actually need to be, in this industry." Namjoon says, from experience. He thinks back to the amount of arguments he'd had just because people have always distrusted his sound. "But, I'm sure you did well today anyways."
"That's very high of you, given we don't even know each other." The stranger scoffs down into his phone, elbows propped up on the bar while intently waiting for his phone to come back on. "But thanks."
The look he gets right after that comment, well. Namjoon is a very, very simple man. The guy is not simply objectively handsome he is, in fact, very pretty. What a redundant thought, he mulls over in his mind. Might as well.
"You wouldn't know, but I have an eye for talent." And this, the slightly awkwardness bubbling up his throat dissipating the moment he chooses to bullshit his way through flirting. Well, it could go either way. It's not too straight-forward, but tantalizing. "I actually got Jeon Jungkook on the road before he even knew he wanted to become a singer."
The stranger gasps out loud, it startles Namjoon enough to jump on the spot.
"Are you kidding? The Jeon Jungkook? Biggest, number one star in the whole of Korea?" The man seems successfully flabbergasted at him, and Namjoon feels just the tiniest pang of pride. "Do you know how many times I cried to his beautiful voice?"
"I can relate." He chuckles slightly, caught off guard but essentially entertained. At least he's forgotten about the amount of unfinished work he still has waiting in his studio.
"That's- huge. How do you even know him? Wait, you don't happen to be his manager, right? No, that wouldn't make any sense." The stranger scratches at his chin. "God, I've been making a fool of myself and you could literally be an ambassador for Universal, for all I know."
It is Namjoon's turn to scoff. "Don't worry, I'm not that important. I only mentioned Jungkook because I know that's much more interesting than what I do."
The man smiles up at him, almost in disbelief, but in a way Namjoon feels a little inadequate, like maybe he's said the wrong thing.
"I doubt that. What's your name?" His gaze doesn't fly off him, and Namjoon realizes there's little space above the desk and between them, for the normal respectful distance he'd normally put between a stranger and himself. The lobby feels warm enough in comparison to the chilly night outside, but it's quiet and empty and a little too dark, and a little too intimate. Weird, really.
"Kim Namjoon. But- it won't ring any bells. And you?" He securely says, elusive. The man doesn't seem to buy it, staring back with a twist to his eyebrow and a mirroring curve to his lips.
"Hmm, I don't know about that." He squints at him, and Namjoon feels rightfully observed. The phone lays disregarded on the surface of the bar now. "What do you do here, Namjoon?"
The name slips off his tongue so seductively, Namjoon's silent for a moment. He shakes himself awake. "I'm serious! I doubt you know. Normally people can't point out any of my works. I'm not trying to undermine my own works I'm just- being honest."
The stranger doesn't seem satisfied. "It's okay to be confident, you actually need to be."
Namjoon snaps his tongue and breathes out a laugh in surprise. Unbelievable, pleased surprise. The man looks at him like, now, he is satisfied.
"What a way to use my own words against me. Okay, I see how it is." Namjoon partially does not trust himself to believe this stranger could potentially be flirting back with him. Maybe he should take his mind out of the gutter and simply talk like any normal person does. "Then, I'll let you take a guess."
"Challenge accepted." The man purses his lips in thought. "You're a writer. You have that thoughtful stare in your eyes, and the glasses. Could have fooled anyone, but not me." The arrogant look on his face turns sour when Namjoon chuckles loudly.
"Absolutely wrong. But I'll take it as a compliment." Namjoon has a moment to grasp onto reality and realised he should've left the stranger to wait for his phone to charge on his own, like he thought of at the beginning. The - objectively, subjectively - handsome man fucking pouts. "You know, I guessed it right on the second try. You've got one more shot, but you're already falling behind."
"No you didn't! I corrected you, on your first try. I gave you the answer. If I knew this would have turned into a competition I would've..."
"Actor was my second guess."
The man snaps at him, offended, squints at him, then a small smile is back tugging at his pretty lips. "You're a director. Nobody can be as infuriating as they are."
Namjoon gasps. "What did you just called me?"
"Infuriating. A director?" He guesses to check Namjoon's expressions, and chuckles pleasantly when Namjoon grimaces at the second word. "Okay, maybe not that. But I'm sure you'd be a pain in the ass on set."
"The best directors are. Although I wouldn't know, I'm not one of them."
The actor shares a glint of a playful smile. "It doesn't always pay off. Maybe you were, but got kicked out of that role. Like some sort of korean Orson Welles."
"I'm far from making another Citizen Kane. What else?"
"Many other people in the filmmaking industry can be a pain in the ass on set, though. I've never gotten along with... stylists?" He tries, eyebrows wiggling suggestively, almost in a comical manner. Namjoon thinks his face could be funny too if he were handsome enough to pull it off.
He scoffs. "Now you're just saying whatever."
"Ugh, I know. I'm just trying to guess based off your vibes. They're confusing." The man waves a hand around dismissively and goes to check his phone again.
But, the change of attention from this stranger does not sit right with Namjoon. He kind of likes the way this man's eyes settle on him, big and dark and a little sparkly, and why do they even sparkle? It's not like there's many lights around to reflect on them.
"Well, you lose. Now I get to know your name, I hope?"
The man stares back up, a slight, mischievous smile stretches the corners of his mouth. It's pretty and pouty and Namjoon really hasn't been around many hot people lately. People, in general, for that matter. His job means, he can go days on end locked up by himself in his studio, in an industry that's supposed to be all about the social influence, and connections, and whatnot.
He finds to be not displeased by the realization that he's captivated by the stranger's look, by him. Beyond that, he thinks, he's captivated by whatever weird way of flirting this stranger has.
"Would you look at that? My phone's back on." He teasingly, ever so slowly turns his phone around to show the bright, lighten up screen to Namjoon. And, well.
On any other circumstance, Namjoon would take any of three options: he'd ask for the guy's number, or instagram, to immediately save up his contact because he knows he won't get to see a face like that ever again. Second option, he'd take the guy's phone right out of his hands, save his own contact there, wink his goodbyes, and walk triumphantly away. Confidence is key.
Third option, he takes a step forward and kisses the hell out of that stranger. Chances of seeing him again, are dreadfully few.
But. Other circumstances would involve a club, a bar, a couple of drinks in and loud music, enough to drown out any curious bystanders. Other circumstances would not involve, however, his workplace, a weekday, a whole twelve-hour shift atop his back and another one waiting for him the following day. It is not the right context, the right time, and Namjoon's surely not in his right mind to even think that-
"Oh, no way." The man complains, frowning maddeningly down at his phone again. Just like Namjoon had seen him outside, like, twenty minutes ago?
"What's wrong?"
"I've got no service. God, this is the worst day ever." He frowns almost like he's in pain, clearly unhappy with himself and his own luck. And Namjoon doesn't even think, doesn't even take a moment of silence to go through his next offering-
"Maybe I can give you a ride?"
The stranger looks up again, with wide eyes, taking aback, surely, by Namjoon's helpfulness. He would really do the same with anyone on a similar position, regardless of how much Namjoon would actually like to keep staring into this beautiful human being right in front of him. He'd do it regardless, to this man or his neighbor's very ungrateful wife or anyone who'd need it.
"Huh, yeah, if- if it's not too much to ask."
---
It takes him less than five minutes to go get his car keys, and another five to get both of them inside his car. He fumbles with putting the keys in the ignition and shamefully avoids the rearview mirror, or the copilot seat, for that matter, as he successfully turns the engine on, the radio turning on, then off immediately when he stumbles to get rid of it in favor of focusing on driving and the stranger's voice.
"Just so you know, I got my license not too long ago." He drums his fingertips on the steering wheel. He's driving a stranger home at night. A person he doesn't even know the name of. Actually, head a little clearer now, he thinks he shouldn't have been just mindful of the man's sense of danger agreeing to his help. Hell, this total stranger could be a murderer, for all he knows. But that would be very cliché. And Namjoon can defend himself, thank you very much. What happens if the stranger is actually better at defending himself? Well, Namjoon thinks, they're already inside his car. No turning back now.
"As long as you don't try to park in the Han River we'll be fine." If the stranger feels at least a bit intimidated by this as Namjoon feels, he's clearly very good at hiding it. He casually stares as Namjoon takes the car outside the garage, closing the gate behind them and hopping on the deserted avenue.
He's a little self-conscious as he drives, not really a place he's the most comfortable at. Whether his fear comes from the proximity of the stranger beside him or the thought of making a fool of himself while driving in front of a hot guy, he doesn't know.
It's quiet for a moment as they enter the slightly more present traffic of the highway to Seoul. The stranger, still very unnamed, speaks then.
"So how long have you worked here?"
Namjoon is too focused on the road and hopping onto his respective lane to answer right away. "Are you trying to get more information so you can take another guess?"
He hears a scoff from beside him. "No, I'm genuinely interested."
"It's been seven years now." He says, deciding to soften down on the teasing.
"No way." It makes him snap his eyes to the passenger seat, at least if for a moment. The actor looks quite comfortable in his car, as if they hadn't just met. He looks straight ahead with wide eyes and a teasing smile. "Normally it would take anyone at least ten years for their passion to simmer down. You're relatively new- and you're already talking about your own work like it's meaningless?"
Namjoon chuckles lowly, a need of defending himself impending. "I don't feel bad about my own work, and I haven't lost my passion. It's just what this industry does to you."
A moment of silence falls upon them as the golden lights from the highway wash over them in waves through the windscreen. Namjoon repeats his own words inside his head. Has he said anything wrong?
"And what did it do to you?" The man settles confidently with his words, and Namjoon slightly grimaces. Any other circumstance, and he'd slap himself before he was even thinking of over-sharing with a total stranger.
"It's a little deceitful. It doesn't really call to one's artistic or creative side as people normally think." He knows this is probably not the topic to be sharing in that moment, but he can't drive and simultaneously be careful of what to say and what not to say. That's multitasking. Namjoon can barely multitask. And he's a yapper, oh. "See it like this. You get to work in a project that is huge, that involves a great amount of people and manpower. You might be helpful, you might contribute to the general creative image of the product but you aren't really putting yourself out there. You're just following someone else's script."
Another bit of silence obliges Namjoon to turn to his side, trying and catching the best he can from the corner of his side. The man has a disbelieving smirk on his face, stares right at him like he doesn't really agree, and Namjoon knows he just fucked up-
"See? If you were a director, you wouldn't be having any trouble."
"Directors are always shitty people who like to boss everyone around, but will never, for the life of them, manage a camera or a boompole. And they don't know about editing and they love changing the script, even though they probably didn't even wrote it themselves."
"Wow." The stranger concludes. "You surely had some awful experiences."
Namjoon's mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water. No. He's not saying anything more. He's surely fucked up now.
"Of course that's not the case everywhere. I'm sure some people have not lost their passion enough to be bullies on set." His silence is filled by the other's voice, though. Really nice, really soothing voice, by the way. He stares just for a moment to see the actor staring out his own window. "And, even then, I guess I can somewhat understand them. The pressure must be huge. Normally a director's name is the first thing you relate to a movie. If Kang from the Art Department makes a mistake, whose fault do you think it's going to be?"
"Kang's?"
The man scoffs, but it sounds more like a suppressed laugh. "I think the prospect of fame and success can make anyone bearable." He chooses on after a moment, with a low voice, barely above a whisper. "If I get this job, I'd be too focused on the fact that I'm living my dream, rather than on who's trying to win Miss Universe."
"That's the spirit. You're gonna make it far." He says, matter-of-factly, and distantly thinks about having said that same thing to Jungkook some years back. He thinks so, instinctively. He was right then, though.
"I hope so." There's a sigh to his left he can't ignore. "I feel lucky to even be here. College already felt like going to hell and back."
"Hm. I get that." Namjoon distractedly says as he drives off the highway. The lights overhead simmer down there. "I feel like mine took forever."
"I'm sorry- how old are you?"
Namjoon scoffs. "I'm twenty-eight."
He hears the telltale spluttering coming from his left, and he reigns pridefully in it. "Were you in college for like two years or what?"
"I finished high school when I was fifteen."
The second, telltale spluttering comes, in complete disbelief. "Who am I even talking to? Hey, maybe try telling one truth from time to time. I'm starting to get suspicious."
Namjoon shoots one amused smile towards his left, and is met with a similar one. He doesn't take the comment to heart. The moment of, admittedly, a boosted ego and fed pride causes him to completely forget for a rather way too long second that he's behind the wheel, and the grind to his right makes him snap his eyes back to the road and steer slightly away from the curb.
"Fuck, shit. I'm sorry. Fuck." His entire body goes rigid, gripping the wheel like he might be able to take it off. He's back on his lane, the road is heavenly deserted, and the danger is past gone. However, he feels shame creep up his spine, and fear, and he doesn't dare look to his side again.
Until a laughs starts ripping out of the actor, easy and contagious and Namjoon can't decide whether it makes him feel slightly relieved or utterly embarrassed.
"You're either a prodigy, or this is your first time on Earth. My guess is on the latter."
He rounds out right into the district of Gwacheon and slows down a bit, enough to give the stranger time to signal where to go. Focusing on this task is ten times a better option than processing what he's just heard.
"For what it seems, your guesses are never right." It occurs to him after a moment, and if both Jimin and Jungkook were here they'd mock him for being so slow. But whatever, right? He's (almost) flawlessly showing off his driving skills, plus being a hero for resolving Unnamed, Pretty Stranger his way home. They can cut him some slack, he hopes.
"Oh, it's this one." He slows down in front of the building his companion signals at, a four or five stories apartment building that looks quite cozy, at least judging from the thriving greenery standing from the flowerpots right beside the entrance.
Reaching their destiny does not feel as fulfilling as it should. Namjoon, instead, feels a wave of deception going through him. How dumb, he thinks. He's just helping a stranger. He's met hot people before too, he can talk to any of them on the daily. He's not really allowed to even feel sorry for cutting this little interaction short. It wasn't even meant to be an interaction at all! Namjoon was just trying to light himself a smoke, so why would he...?
"You're not trying to memorize my address, right?" His eyes snap back to the copilot seat, away from the building. He feels shame again, crippling up his throat, but before he can defend himself the actor gifts him a beautiful, toothy smile. "I wouldn't trust you driving all the way here again, given your current license situation."
And, oh. What a lovely way this man has of flirting- teasing, flirting? Namjoon doesn't know how to take it.
"I-I would never, I'm not that type of person."
The stranger purses his lips, squints his eyes at him. He's only barely sat up straighter, away from the back of his chair. Like he's about to step off but hasn't really gotten to it yet. Namjoon holds his breath a little.
"A composer."
Namjoon blinks. "What?"
"You're a composer. You make music, soundtracks. That's why you work on Jung-gu. That's why your studio building doesn't look like the brightest thing ever."
"I'm sorry-"
"The way you move yourself, too. It's like soulful, like it's going to a particular beat but with a tempo."
"You're making shit up now."
The stranger lets out a loud laugh. "I'm right though, am I?"
Namjoon bites down on his lip, unconsciously. A grin splits without a warning. "Well yeah, congrats."
A small laugh, half an exhale, half a giggle, flows out of the man's proud grin, like he's just won an award and not some foolish play-around that, in any case, he shouldn't even be worrying about.
"I guess I'm out, then." He says, only partially trying to appease his own smile, and Namjoon would really like to go back to his three options. A part of his brain is screaming at him to do something, ask for his phone, a number, to even hold him back just for a second longer, to ask 'do you want to get to know each other?' or even ask for his name, for God's sake!
"What abo-"
The kiss catches him completely off guard, because in no way was he expecting the stranger to make the first move. Is it wrong from him? Surely, yeah. Is he happy he was wrong? Hell yeah.
His lips are incredibly soft and sweet and Namjoon wasted no time playing along with the stranger's movements. He leans just slightly over the middle to meet him halfway, at the same time his lower lip gets tugged between two foreign ones and consequently sends him even closer to the copilot seat, chasing the warmth and wetness that welcomes him in. The feeling is new, exciting, and so fulfilling.
Before Namjoon can start mentally wafting poetry about the softness of the actor's plump lips he feels him pull away, sitting back at his chair and staring right at Namjoon with sparkling eyes and glossy lips, like he's proud and happy with himself.
Really, Namjoon can't blame him. He's happy for himself too.
"Sorry, I had to do that." The stranger's bag, abandoned clumsily between them, slides back onto his shoulder. He doesn't look sorry in the slightest. "Thanks for the ride. Hope you meet only nice people to work with, in the future."
Namjoon very, very dumbly stares, until the man is opening his door. A very, very dumb smile plays on his lips as they tingle and he, an adult man (mind you) feels like a kiss is more than enough now, when he thought he'd have to let him go with a simple goodbye. "Hope you get that job. And I hope your phone's not dead, by then."
He admires as the stranger steps out of his car, bag hanging from his shoulder, jacket and collar still sitting nicely on him even on these late hours. "If it is, I know where to find a charger."
The door closes right behind him and Namjoon can only see his figure walk up the entrance and disappear without a glance back. He'd like to say he only smiles by himself when he's gone, but realizes in pure shame that he hasn't stopped smiling since the pretty man had pulled away and-
Fuck. He didn't get a name.
---
The next project of HYBE, a long film about a post-apocalyptic, submarine world: a single character, a mature script and a team made for success.
씨네21 - March, 2023
The distinct and now familiar sounds of the underwater world was filling up Namjoon's earphones and flowing through his brain like euphoric neurons. However pacific someone else would normally describe the noise of flowing water, whale calls and the random echoing coming from within the tectonic plates, Namjoon was, ironically, as tense as a rock. Unmoving, and quiet, and he hoped he could simply disengage himself from the real context around him. However traveling dimensions was still not possible and so, no matter how much time he'd spent listening to the tracks Yoongi had sent him - to contextualize, to submerge in the movie's intended style - Namjoon was dreadfully conscious of his surroundings. Very airy, dry, mainland surroundings.
It's not like he dislikes the task: he could, in theory, sit for hours on end barely with his headphones on and his eyes closed. He likes the concept, likes the storyline of the new project Yoongi's presented him with. But it isn't easy, getting the right inspiration. And he's done this exact thing for the last week or so, still waiting before he starts writing, because he really wants to be able to put this exact sound onto the soundtrack, but his piano doesn't sound like water and his guitar can't mimic a whale call and it's only stressing him out.
"-building could be burning down and you wouldn't even notice." One side of his headphones is stretched away from his ear and he gets only half of it along with the reprimand in Jimin's voice.
He recomposes from the startled jump his body gives in response.
"Good. That's exactly what I need when I'm trying to work." The headphones snap back onto his head, a little twisted, but before he can push them off Yoongi appears in his vision right in front of him, sitting patiently on his leather couch. "How long have you been here?" He asks, bewildered.
Yoongi lets out an exasperated sigh, resting his head on his hand boredly. "Way too long."
"I let him up like half an hour ago. And before you say anything," Jimin appears from behind him, with an index finger up and a warning stare, "I did call. But you haven't been answering the phone in the last two hours."
"Well," Namjoon blinks, resignedly taking his headphones off and laying them over the console.
"You're committed, that's good." Yoongi says, gives a slice of a truce. Then, the hint of a teasing smile, and Namjoon knows there is no such thing as a truce. "Are you already familiar with the language of the whales?"
"Oh my god, hyung!" Jimin goes, excitedly sitting down beside Yoongi. "What are they saying these days?"
Namjoon snaps his eyes to the ceiling, rocks back on his gaming chair. "It's part of my job to be familiarized with the concept art before I start producing."
"The concept art is an audio I got from Spotify. I'd rather you talk with the director like she's been intending to do so for the last week."
Namjoon stares back at him with wide eyes, taken aback. His sight ping-pongs between Yoongi and Jimin, until the latter shrugs helplessly. "I told you you should call her back."
The groan he lets out would absolutely reverberate if they were anywhere but his soundproof studio. In theory, Namjoon knows there are things he shouldn't be postponing. However, and given a rather unfortunate history of bad experiences he hates talking to directors because first: they'll always try to tell him how to do his job with an impossible process and insensitive deadlines and second: he'd rather spend that time actually getting some work done.
"I don't talk to directors until after they're done shooting."
Yoongi crosses his arms. "Which might work with any drama you've done before. But not with an actual A-listed, Cannes belonging film."
"Are you serious?" Jimin snaps up at that, comfortably pulling his knees closer to his chest and his slipper-clad feet over Namjoon's refined leather couch. "You're going Cannes?"
Namjoon forgoes the damaging of his furniture in favor of shaking his head erratically. "We don't know about that yet."
"You can tag along with the production team if you'd like." Is Yoongi's almost simultaneous answer, looking at his receptionist like Namjoon's not even in the room anymore.
"Fuck yeah! I've always wanted to go to Italy."
"That's not..."
"Okay." Namjoon loudly clasps his hands together, as if only to intervene with the exclusive moment between the other two. "My participation still depends on whether I can write something that's good enough. And in order to do so I need to get to work and, respectfully, I can't do that with you here. Although I appreciate the company and care..."
"Namjoon." Yoongi cuts through, leveling him with a cold stern look, elbows going to rest over his knees. "This might be our biggest project yet. I know you've got your history about people trying to get too involved in your process and all that. You're traumatized. I get it."
Namjoon frowns. "I'm not traumatized."
"But I need you to have a firm, stable communication line with her. Things don't work in this industry otherwise." He tiredly says.
"I know that."
"Then why aren't you answering her calls?!" Yoongi finally snaps at him exasperatedly, and Namjoon only stiffens up in his chair. Even Jimin, who had seemed even slightly amused now stares wide eyed at the short man beside him.
The tension lasts for a total of three seconds - but felt like twenty minutes, according to Namjoon - until Jimin jumps up from his couch, decidedly interceding between the composer and the producer.
"I'll arrange a meeting for today. I'll put her through when you're done getting acquainted with the whales."
Namjoon's untimely clumsy mind takes a second too late to catch up, as Jimin confidently strides to the door like everything's solved, Yoongi trailing behind him.
"Love working with you man." A firm hand falls on his shoulder, Yoongi looking down on him in an effort to reconcile. He doesn't wait for an answer, as Namjoon's mouth still hangs open.
"Wait, I can't today. I have to be home by five!" The door closes behind the two former intruders before he gets to worry his thoughts out loud, and lastly he's left in the complete, almost artificial silence of the studio.
He's only finally clocking out after a few extra uneventful hours, leaving behind his inspirational audios, a few notebooks and folders between his arms as he swings open the door to sit behind the steering wheel.
He's already running late. He can feel the hot breath whispering behind himself and the chill running down his spine. Nothing like Tuesdays, he thinks to himself in irony. The folders all but graciously plop down on the copilot seat and he starts the car with a huff, the radio automatically turning on as he'd left it.
Now, Namjoon hates not being on time. He normally distrusts people who are late to anything, because why would someone ever have such difficulties reading time on a watch or a phone? He remembers gifting Yoongi once a wristwatch, the man's particular sense of time completely destroyed when they first met. Yoongi would be way too early one day, an hour late the next day. He'd be up texting him about deadlines at four in the god-awful morning hours, and then be completely silent during Namjoon's actual working hours.
But also, he hates the consequential image he gives by being late. He's not irresponsible. He's very much aware of the implications that come with being an adult, and takes serious caution while taking on his duties. He even earned a Best Attendance certificate in high school and all throughout college, thank you very much.
The highlight of this year surely comes with Kwon Myun's new film, a story about an unexpected friendship between a Museum's janitor and a young businessman...
Namjoon clicks his tongue in annoyance, quickly changing the station on his radio. Nothing would so successfully pull him out of his minute rage than hearing about his competition. Honestly, Namjoon would always rather not know. Unawareness is the peace of a nescient mind, but in this case he'll treat himself.
The radio now fills his car with eAeon's new song as he takes his turn into the highway. Busy hours on a Tuesday normally make for heavy traffic and clogging lanes, but they also make for longer rides and although he knows he's late, he's finally starting to learn how to appreciate the smooth drive on his way back home, as he's no longer afraid of sitting behind the steering wheel. The jammed line on his way to get off the highway does not affect his appeased mind as it would have on any other moment, although the line is so slow it takes him to an almost stop, and in any case if he stomps on the brakes with a startle and a deathly grip on the wheel is not due to traffic.
No, in this case, the billboard rising just above him and beside the highway is to blame, as Namjoon stares up at it through his windscreen like he's just seen a ghost.
Above the honing cars and busy city life of the rush hour, the poster for Kwon Myun's new film, in all its advertising glory, rises against the sky like some sort of disrespectful oath to fame. Regardless, it isn't really the movie's title or the showy campaign that get his attention initially, but one of the huge faces displayed in the foreground. Not a ghost, but a face he surely knows. Wide round eyes, pale skin, full, soft, plum lips. An objectively beautiful face.
Namjoon is sure he's seen that same face somewhat of a year ago, stressing down on the sidewalk at night and then smiling at him in gratitude, and then laughing at a dumb joke he'd made and then inside this very car with kissed-red lips and-
Well, Namjoon is not the type to easily fall in love. No, that's a lie. He does easily fall in love. But not in this case, not realistically. He can fall in love after a first date. He can profess true love after a third date. He can (has) been dumb enough to follow The Most Stupid Man on Earth around like a lost puppy just because they've gotten to a fifth date.
This isn't quite like that. However, Namjoon would be lying if he were to say he didn't spend the three immediate following months trying and failing to get the name of that beautiful stranger. And he would be lying if he said he hadn't thought of encountering him again. He'd lie if he said he hadn't stepped out onto the sidewalk at least a few times after, looking around to hopefully find a familiar face.
Now, however, he stares bewildered at the ghostly face, the underline caption blurred out of the disarranged collared shirt he wears: Kim Seokjin.
Namjoon's head suddenly bangs harshly against the steering wheel, and he's obliged to shut his eyes closed as a sting shoots from his forehead. He grunts and gasps and takes a hand to his damaged forehead, and only then realizes the incredibly impatient driver right behind him has tailed him enough to cause an impact, and there's no blood on his fingers but a fire bubbling up his chest just as he realizes he's been completely distracted by a billboard while driving and then-
A second hit, even if this time Namjoon's somewhat prepared and it's lesser than, but the airbag explodes in front of him and now, now he's in trouble.
---
"You're late." The judgemental statement does not wait for him to arrive. No matter how fast he trudges through the carpeted hallway floors with busy hands and a pile of notebooks in his arms, the venom-filled stare from the open door does not pity him at all and he reaches his fate with a huff and a downcast look.
"You don't say." He mutters under his breath.
"What?"
"I can't stay?" He shamefully tries for, but judging by the distrustful glare he gets when he looks up, he guesses he's failed. The man before him leans on the door frame, sight bored and jaded as he normally looks as of late, and Namjoon doesn't really worry about getting his forgiveness, but he does worry about his image as a responsible adult. And he hates being late. "I'm sorry. Some asshole bumped me on my way here and I had to take my car to get serviced."
Jihoon, ever so kind, rolls his eyes at him. "I don't care to hear about your lack of driving skills. You're late. Do you think it's fair for her to wait for you for that long?"
Namjoon blinks. "I know. It wasn't my fault."
He gets a blank stare in return, unbothered and uncaring. It no longer affects Namjoon in any way, not after months of being emotionally detached from each other. However changed their dynamics are, though, Jihoon pretty much looks the same: neat hair styled back, matching his uniquely formal sense of style. Always standing on the most performative side of the industry, always trying to look more elegant and mature than he actually was.
"What happened to your forehead?" The Most Stupid Man on Earth grimaces at him, irrationally does not wait for an answer and pushes off the wall with not a single extra glance in Namjoon's direction, and maybe on earlier times it would have made Namjoon's blood boil with repressed anger. Right now, though, given as he's already used to it, a sigh is the best he can manage in response, struggling to get a hold of all his stuff as he walks in.
The effort of keeping everything from tumbling down is wasted when Jihoon plops a bag right on his arms.
"Here's her stuff. Make sure she's at least bathed before I have to go get her."
Namjoon doesn't have time to argue back about how he's always very attentive and caring when Fiona comes rushing down towards him, huffing and barking and chaotically happy at seeing him again.
He lets the pile of stuff tumble from his arms in favor of catching Fiona's excited jump at him. His notebooks splatter around Jihoon's living room and he somewhat gladly bashes on his annoyed grunt.
Their dog, a mix between a bernese mountain dog and whatever his undefined fog father was (probably a retriever, given her chaotic ever-lasting energy), Fiona, licks at his face and the growing bruise on his forehead, and it makes Namjoon forget slightly about his troubled way over. Until Jihoon stomps his foot on the ground.
"I have to get to set in like-" Namjoon only catches him staring boredly at his phone, "five minutes."
"Right, sure." Namjoon stands up with a grunt. Not like he doesn't know a shooting only ever begins when the director arrives. Jihoon has always been quite like that: the star of the show, the egocentric type. It's rather unfortunate he hasn't been able to separate completely from him. But co-parenting a dog sounded like a great idea when they were still together, and an awful circumstance when they broke up not longer than a year and a half ago. But giving up his parenting duties was not on the table, even if he were ready to break his own heart by parting permanently away from Fiona, he would never risk breaking Jungkoook's heart. The poor kid had taken a liking to Fiona even bigger than to himself, and with the hectic schedule that came with being an artist it was impossible for him to take care of his own dog, and so he'd regularly visit Namjoon whenever Fiona was around, and so.
Namjoon, responsible adult, not rancorous nor childish about past exes, had few options when he agreed to share custody of their dog child.
After managing to pick his stuff up off Jihoon's carpeted entrance, at Jihoon's awfully fancy apartment, Namjoon obligatorily decides to wander all the way back to his own apartment, the thought of his car sitting sadly damaged on some workshop across town enough to make him a little teary. Although it does wonders to appease Fiona's contempt enough for her to go straight to Namjoon's couch once they're home.
He forgoes the idea of cooking something altogether and reheats some leftovers he finds in his fridge. He eats in automatic and in silence, and decides to treat himself by ignoring any work emails or texts he knows are still pending. He plugs his earphones on and plays Yoongi's - disappointingly improvised - audios as he lays sideways on the couch, head close to using Fiona's fluffiness as his pillow.
Namjoon regularly spends a decent amount of time on social media. Being a composer means he isn't necessarily on the famous side of the film industry. In reality, very few people can recognize him on a contextualized environment, even less by sight. He doesn't frequent any sets, often opting to work in his secluded studio. However, he maintains a decently social life. His Instagram page is filled with photos of Fiona, or friendly get-togethers, or pictures he likes to take whenever he visits the art gallery or a plaza. He doesn't have many followers, mostly people he knows, friends and family, and maybe a very little percentage of people that have seen his name credited in films and have particular interest in the role he develops in.
This is good, though. Namjoon's never been entertained by the thought of a celebrity life, not unlike Jihoon, per example. Which was at last, a defining topic. While Jihoon had always wanted his name to be visible in every single aspect of his own projects, Namjoon finds peace in working on the sidelines. His passion is, after all, music, and not the spotlights or the media or the fancy film festivals.
Being able to contribute to a story with his own sound has always been the best part of his job, and it only gets better when he's met with a well-planned, enticing project to work in.
The rush of a wave crashing against shore meets his ears, the sound satisfying and soothing, although not calling to creativity yet. He scrolls through his feed for a while longer, until a name pops literally out of nowhere, in his mind.
Seokjin.
The word tags along the image of the man staring down at him from the billboard. The same man he'd seen a year ago. God, it's been that long? Namjoon would be ashamed to think he's even remembered his face. Nothing but a suggestive conversation and a kiss had happened and yet, the thought of that night had somewhat permeated itself into his brain. He had spent the following weeks, at least, thinking about him. About meeting him again. Hopefully fate would take the stranger back onto his sidewalk. But it hadn't happened and Namjoon would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little disappointed.
But putting a name to the stranger's face is gratifying, he thinks. Maybe he's not interested anymore, but getting to scratch his curiosity and finally appease it had been maybe even better than reuniting. Like solving a case in Chronicles of Crime. And yeah, maybe the name sounds sweet when he tries it off his tongue, not as sweet as his mouth had been but, Namjoon's an adult person who is not lovestruck with a stranger because of a single kiss.
That's exactly why he finds himself typing in his name in the search bar. For research purposes, only.
He finds him dramatically fast. Only then does he realize, well. He got the job. Maybe not the same one he'd been called for that same day they met, but he was actually working as an actor, which weirdly made Namjoon smile a little. Okay, he's been happy for a stranger before. He's an empath. He's even cried at watching an older woman spill all her coffee right outside the coffee shop he frequents, once. That one still hurts. He'd try buying the woman a new one, but when he'd finally pushed the door open, warm and recently served coffee cup in one hand, the woman was already gone.
He sadly frowns as the profile opens up on his screen. Disappointingly, he finds, the account is private. He can only see the name, the profile picture, and a short caption: food reviewer in Gwaechon, since 1992. His account isn't verified yet, and it makes sense. The movie is still not out, and for what he's heard, hasn't finished shooting yet. The only photo he gets access to solidifies the name, the face and the proud feeling of solving the crime.
Both objectively and subjectively handsome Seokjin stares at camera behind a huge ice cream cone like he's been caught, rosy lips circled around a spoon and the same designer bag hanging from his shoulder.
If Namjoon had any doubts, he thinks they're all cleared up now. He feels somewhat thankful for the traffic on his way home, and for the billboard right above that highway.