#got7 e2l

He sat among the bodies, toying with any that dared come close. His throne, a large obsidian shape, hypnotized anyone who stepped close. They didn’t realize what lurked in the shadows. His appetite was insatiable. Eyes the color of burning coals, skin almost leathery in nature as if soot covered his limbs. But his physique was breathtaking. No one could deny him that.

Jackson was proud, powerful, and gorgeous. Eons of power surged through his bones.

And yet he wanted more. 

He was bored of this world. Nothing challenged him anymore. He sighed heavily as smoke curled from his nostrils. It danced around his head slowly. 

And then she appeared. His eyes rounded for a moment before going back to his neutral expression. Across the rubble, it looked as if she was floating. Through the dust and smoke, she glowed. 

Her eyes set on him as a ghost of a smirk appeared on her face.

So this is who made nations tremble. 

He stood, closing the distance between them instantaneously.

No words needed to be spoken as both their lips sought the other out hungrily. The flame started small as each wrestled for dominance. His fingers dug into her hips, leaving bruises as her nails scratched along his skin, leaving dark, red, angry marks.

It was animalistic, feral, and oh so sensual.

Pulling back to tug on her lip with his teeth, he growled softly.

“Who are you?”

She chuckled, pressing her palm to his chest and shoved him to the ground. Hiking up her dress, she licked her lips as she straddled him.

“Do you desire me?”

He bobbed his head without any hesitation. Something in her voice seemed to lull him into a stupor. He felt heavy…heady. She was the only thing he wanted.

“Who are you?”

She bit down on her lower lip, dragging her nails down his chest and letting them dip to his Orion’s belt. “I think we’re beyond introductions, Jackson.”

The sound of his name on her tongue stirred something in him. She felt his cock twitch against her inner thigh.

“Seems something else is paying attention,” she teased. “I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already gone.”

Jackson gritted his teeth, glaring hard at her. “You think this is funny?”

She tilted her head to the left and then right before answering. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

His hands encompassed her ass cheeks, squeezing them. “I don’t like being considered a joke.”

“I didn’t say that; you did.”

With a hiss, he flipped their positions. Eyes glowing red, he leaned in, placing hot kisses along her neck and jawline.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Yet you put up with it every time.”

Pushing his pants down just enough for his cock to spring out. It slapped against her thigh as he guided it against her bare lips. He grunted, coating the tip in her arousal.

“Just how I remember.”

Her face formed into a scowl as she wrapped her ankles around his lower back, lifting her hips to push him further in.

“Say less. Fuck me. Now.”

Damn, he loved her bossiness. And fuck her, he did. Ignoring the watchful eyes and judgments, their sounds of pleasure filled the air. One hand on his back and the other grounding her in place, she was in a state of bliss.

He rolled over for her to be on top as she bounced harder. Jackson’s eyes rolled back as he matched her rhythm. It was almost too much for him. She squeezed her breasts, still moving on top, her tongue snaked out to coat her lips.

“What’s my name?”

His hips stuttered as he tried to concentrate. “You never-“

“Jackson,” she cooed. “Say it. I know you can.”

“I-I,” he stammered, trying to keep his mind clear.

She rolled her hips, making him groan out. “Fuck…it’s…it’s-“

She moaned as the feeling of the knots in the stomach began to unravel. “G-Go ahead, Jackson…say it.”

“Shit!!! You feel so good hugging my cock, baby. G-Gonna cum in that pretty pussy.”

She slowed her movements as she hissed. “Not unless you say my name!”

“FUCK!!! Y/N!!!!”

She gave one last roll as waves crashed over her body; she screamed into the vast wasteland as it shook the ground. Jackson watched her in awe as his orgasm came just as hard. He cried out as he spilled his seed, filling her to the brim, sitting up to hold onto her until he finished. 

He shuddered, kissing her lips before falling back down. Y/N skin felt ignited as she grabbed his shoulders, pulling him up towards her.

“I win.”

Jackson’s eyes widened in fear. “N-NO!”

Flames burst from his body, licking her skin as she absorbed it. She pushed him down, standing as the vortex opened, dragging him in. She blew a kiss as he yelled before disappearing.

Rolling her shoulders with a sigh, she glanced around the area.

“Amateurs.”

A chill ran through her body as fingers crawled up her neck with a squeeze. Jackson reached in to nip her earlobe with a quiet laugh.

With every day following Jaebum’s dinner with his new agency, his mood kept getting better and better. You loved hearing him sing whenever he was too occupied with whatever he was doing to realize that he wasn’t alone in the room and you loved catching him smile to himself when you were hanging out, even if you were watching a depressing movie.

He was happy. Overjoyed and blisful, even – and you loved everything about it.

But you hated that you couldn’t match his mood.

You still hadn’t told him about the contract you’ve signed and all that it implied. Not because you didn’t want to – well, actually, you didn’t, but this was something you felt like you had to do despite your wishes – but mostly because you’ve never seen Jaebum this happy this many days in a row, and breaking that streak felt like a crime you’d have to go on death row for. You weren’t ready for that.

“How is the planning going?” Jaebum asked you one night when the two of you found yourselves in the kitchen, preparing to have dinner together after work. He was the one doing all the cooking, though, while you sat by the kitchen island, your laptop in front of you; both of you in your usual positions. “For the exhibition, I mean.”

“Oh,” you’d been relatively quiet about the upcoming exhibition, blaming the sudden workload at your own gallery, but you knew you couldn’t escape from talking about it. “It’s… going. I actually haven’t heard from them much. And I didn’t call them myself because I’ve been busy and—”

His phone started to ring. It’s been doing that a lot the past few days and it always rang mid-conversation. Almost as if whoever was calling him waited until you and Jaebum had started to talk so they could dial. You didn’t mind it this time, however, because it saved you from a very awkward and clumsy half-lie.

Somehow, you found yourself suddenly living your whole life inbetween ill-timed phone calls and more and more half-lies.

Sighing, as you waited for Jaebum to finish his call in the hallway, you closed your laptop and decided to take over his job of chopping the vegetables while he was busy.

As soon as you finished with the carrots and moved onto the cabbages, he was back in the kitchen, beaming. God, you’d have been jealous he was doing so well if you weren’t so incredibly happy to see him happy.

“Good news, I’m hoping?” you encouraged.

He nodded. “They want to release “Don’t Touch Me” as a single with an actual music video accompanying it.”

“Oh, God, your debut music video!” you exclaimed, putting the knife down before you hurt yourself because you could not bother looking at the vegetables when Jaebum was standing in front of you, all smiles and glittering eyes. “Do they have any ideas for it? Any particular plot-lines? Shit, this could be your debut as an actor, too.”

“I’m sure they’ll come up with something if I don’t think of anything myself,” he answered, laughing and taking your previous seat by the island. You rotated positions around each other so effortlessly, it felt as though you’d cooked dinner together your whole lives. “But I have the honor of living with a photographer, so I’m hoping she will be the one who tells me if my ideas are too awful to even consider.”

“Hmm,” you grinned. “That sounds quite convenient. Lucky you.”

“Lucky me, indeed,” Jaebum replied with a matching smirk and then leaned over the island to press a kiss to your cheek before standing up to turn the stove on. “Listen, uh—”

“Can you hold on for a moment?” you cut him off, feeling your phone vibrate in your pocket. Of course, you’d get a call right when he had something to tell you. “Someone’s call—oh.”

Jiho had finally reached out. You dipped out of the room – narrowly avoiding Jaebum’s surprised glance at your phone; he was just alarmed by the sudden crestfallen note in your voice when you noticed the caller’s ID – to take the call. You felt guilty immediately after, though. If you’d answered Jiho’s call in Jaebum’s presence, that would have given you an opening to begin the difficult conversation and explain what you had to do in order to get your exhibition.

Clearly, you were still unprepared for that.

“Yeah?” you answered breathlessly once you were in your room, the racing of your thoughts exhausting you not just mentally but physically, too.

“Hi,” Jiho said on the other end of the call. “Is this a bad time?”

You weren’t sure if there was a right time when it came to him.

“No, it’s fine,” you replied.

“Good. I’ve got an appearance for us,” he said it in a grandiose tone, making it seem as though he was announcing that the two of you were about to headline Coachella. “It’s nothing big. One of my friends – well, alright, acquaintances as of right now, but I’m thinking ahead – is hosting this dinner and I’ve been invited with a plus one. Lots of my colleagues are also attending, and I thought, what’s a better way for you to begin your introductions?”

Dinner was an intimate affair, no matter how many people were in attendance or where it was hosted. It involved a group of people sitting closesly at a table, having hushed conversations over glasses of fancy liquor and plates of food you couldn’t even begin to guess the names of. You hadn’t expected that – you’d only considered photography exhibitions to be the ‘public appearances’ mentioned in your contract.

“Uh,” you stammered, losing your train of thought for a moment. “W-when is it?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“It’s tomorrow?” you repeated, surprised. “Is it—will I always be notified of the events I have to attend with you one day before they happen? Because a heads-up would be nice, I might have plans—”

“This is your job,” Jiho said, and although his words were meant to chastise you for even considering turning him down, he still managed to sound laid-back. The indifference in his voice made your skin crawl – he had to have been acting and you dreaded to think what he really wanted to say. “Surely, you can cancel plans for it.”

“I—”

“But I understand,” he added before you could cut in. “Admittedly, I wasn’t planning on going at all but, after some consideration, I decided this would be a great way for you to get acquainted with some of the more prominent names in photography. I won’t call you about this at the very last minute again. This was my bad. Then again, this dinner is more for you than it is for me or the gallery, so I’d take this chance if I were you.”

You bit your lip. “So, this is a freebie, then? It’s not an official public outing?”

“Don’t worry,” Jiho sounded amused now. “It’s both.”

Getting through the dinner with Jaebum was suddenly a chore because, in your mind, you were already dining with Jiho and the people he’d called his colleagues. In all of the time that you’ve lived with Jaebum, never once did you find your mind wandering out of the room he was in, so this was as unusual for you as it was for him.

“You seem distracted,” Jaebum pointed out when he’d already cleaned his plate and you were still toying with the arugula leaves on yours. “Is everything alright? What was that call about?”

“Nothing, it’s fine,” you said automatically. “I’m just thinking.”

“Not about me, I suppose?”

You raised your eyes to meet his grin and instantly felt the corners of your lips stretch into a matching smile. You looked down to get yourself together and then dared to speak, “can I ask you something? It's kind of weird.”

“Sure,” he shrugged his shoulders.

“What are the lengths you’re willing to go in order to make it as a singer?”

He hesitated as soon as he heard the question. You did warn him that it was going to be weird but he was still confused and not quite sure what you wanted to hear from him.

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly.

“I mean…" you started and then stopped abruptly. You didn't actually know what you wanted to him to tell you, either. "I mean, how far would you consider stepping out of your comfort zone to advance your career?”

Jaebum looked around the room before answering, “well, as far as I have to, I guess.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, yeah. I don’t think any achievements can be gained inside of the comfort zone," he said. "You always have to step out of what you’re used to in order to do something meaningful, but, I mean, that way your comfort zone stretches, you know? I… I wouldn’t have even considered talking about my music to anyone who wasn’t Jackson, and now I-I’m going on meetings where we do nothing but discuss my music.”

“Right," you nodded, swallowing slowly. Jaebum noticed the awkward expression on your face and was already starting to suspect that you'd expected him to answer your question differently when you changed your approach, "but, I mean, if you were given a chance to reach your goals faster, would you take it?”

He thought the answer was obvious, so he frowned. “How do you mean?”

“Let’s say you’re given the opportunity to succeed with a virtually non-existent risk of failure. Except, in order for that to happen, you have to do something that you are—that you’re not entirely comfortable with,” you explained – albeit so vaguely, Jaebum had trouble following you – while tracing the pattern of the tabletop of the kitchen island.

“If you’re asking me if I’m going to sleep with anyone to get a Grammy," Jaebum said, "then the answer is no.”

“I—okay," you laughed in surprise. "Good to know. I didn’t mean—well, I wasn’t talking about something that extreme.”

“Well, as long as I get to keep my dignity, I’d say I’d do pretty much anything.”

“Dignity,” you repeated.

“Yes. This is—it’s going to sound weird, probably, but I like to think of it as if—I’m standing on stage, accepting an award for my music, right? And I have to give a speech. Well, what do I say – am I confident enough to tell everyone the truth of how I got here, accepting this award, or am I too embarrassed to admit to the things I had to do in order to get here?" Jaebum spoke. "Basically, what I mean is, if whatever I’m considering now is going to embarrass me in the future, I’d rather not do it. Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah,” you replied, not finding the right words to tell him that he didn’t just answer the question you’d asked. He also answered all the questions you’d never even dare to ask. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he rewarded you with another smile before pointing out, “you still look down, though.”

“I—yeah, sorry,” you shook your head, knowing there was no place for you to hide from him here. “I’m just—”

But Jaebum was reaching conclusions faster than you could explain yourself as he squinted his eyes, interrupting you, “is the gallery asking you to—do you have to do something you don’t want to do for your exhibition?”

You were afraid to keep eye contact with him all of a sudden, so you lowered your eyes and were in the middle of shaking your head when you reconsidered. What was the point of lying again when you’d just been given another perfect opening to come clean about Jiho?

“N-no—not exactly,” you said, your heart rate picking up speed. “I just have to step out of my comfort zone, like you’ve said. That’s surprisingly difficult to do.”

He nodded, understanding. “Do you want to talk about this?”

“I don’t want to bother you with—”

“Hey, no, don’t,” he cut you off again, waving his hand dismissively. “You’re not bothering me. We share a living space, so I’d say it’d be nice if we shared our mind space, too.”

You watched him for a moment, appreciating the gesture even though you’d have rather had him ignore everything you were about to say. “That was deep. Is that a new song lyric?”

“Not yet, it’s not,” Jaebum replied, immediately catching your attempt to change the topic, “but maybe it will be if you tell me what’s making you upset.”

Your entire body was buzzing – shaking – with nervous electricity. You realized you had to talk – you’d never forgive yourself for lying to him – but you still wanted to find a way to tell him the truth without revealing all of the details, even though, by definition, that wasn’t exactly the truth at all.

“I’m going to have to—there are these—I will—oh, fuck,” you shook your head, covering your face with your hands as you inhaled deeply. You appreciated Jaebum’s patience while you gathered yourself. “Okay. I’m going to have to attend these events for a little while. For promotion.”

“Okay,” Jaebum nodded. “After the exhibition?”

“No,” you said. “Before.”

He paused, the next question escaping him. Instead of inquiring further like he’d planned before, now he just waited for you to continue.

Prompted by his confused—and yet curious—face, you sighed and tried to explain, “I’ve been told it’s a prerequisite. Basically, they want my name to be somewhat known among my fellow photographers so they can, I don’t know, guarantee that my exhibition won’t send them into complete bankruptcy or something.”

“That—” Jaebum started to reply and then stopped. “Okay, actually, I don’t know if that makes sense. I don’t know how galleries usually work.”

“Well, my gallery never really provided a similar service,” you said. “But, then again, my gallery doesn’t specify in photography. The only photography exhibitions we’ve hosted were by photographers that were already relatively popular. I don’t know much about this either, to be honest, but, I guess, it does make some sense.”

“Hmm,” he nodded. “So, these events you’ll have to attend are making you uneasy?”

“Yes. More or less,” you replied, choosing to walk around the gaping hole with Jiho’s name at the bottom, instead of diving into it head-first. “I’m just not sure if that’s fair.”

“Why not?” Jaebum asked, picking up one of the arugula leaves off your plate since it was clear that you weren’t going to finish eating them. “It’s not like you’re getting any special treatment or anything. It wouldn’t be fair if they took you in and hosted your exhibition immediately.”

“That’s true,” you bit your lip. “I guess I’m just uncomfortable with the fact that I’ll have to make a name for myself as a photographer by doing things that aren’t exactly photography-related, you know?”

“Wait,” he stopped chewing. “What do you mean?”

You didn’t understand which part he was suddenly hung up on. “W-what do you mean, what do I mean?”

“These events,” Jaebum repeated, a frown on his face. “You said they’re for promotion. What do you mean, they’re not photography-related?”

Before long, the room had started to burn, your entire body seemingly catching fire. You couldn’t help glancing at your bedroom as you wished to escape.

“No, they are. They’re completely photography-related. I-I just meant that I would prefer it if I became more well-known by taking pictures,” you said, your throat drying under Jaebum’s confused—suspicious?—gaze. “And now I’m basically trying to become a socialite before I can try to become a photographer.”

“Huh,” he leaned back slightly and you weren’t sure what to make of that because, although he looked like he appreciated your explanation, he also looked like he didn’t like what he’d just heard. “Why did you agree to do this if you’re not—if you don’t want to?”

“Because this is my only shot,” you said simply.

“Oh, come on, do you genuinely believe that?” Jaebum asked, skeptical. “You’re a talented photographer, have some—”

“—confidence, yeah,” you finished for him, nodding your head along to the words you’ve heard several times already. “I keep hearing that but, the thing is, at the end of the day, it’s not really all about confidence. I could believe in myself like no other and still be none the wiser because confidence doesn’t guarantee success. It’s good to have it, but all it does is just ensures I feel less awful when, eventually, this doesn’t work out and I fall down on my ass.”

“I don’t—that’s a very negative attitude,” he pointed out the obvious because he didn’t really have any counter-arguments. Easing your mind about something you were worried about was, as he’d come to learn, unexpectedly difficult. “If you were more confident, you could become successful all on your own. You wouldn’t need any… prerequisites or whatever you want to call them.”

“I could never do it on my own,” you disagreed right away. “I mean, is that not what I’ve been trying to do this whole time, anyway? Taking pictures—”

“—and then not submitting them anywhere,” Jaebum cut in, “yeah, that’s not really it. If you believed in yourself more, you could absolutely make a name for yourself on your own terms. You could even find a different gallery, maybe one that offered you a deal that was a little more acceptable for you.”

“But no one else got back to me!” you replied, feeling your irritation grow. He’d made it seem so easy as if you’d been beating yourself up about this completely pointlessly. “I emailed, at least, a dozen galleries – and there aren’t even that many photography-oriented galleries in our country to begin with – and only one—this one—contacted me.”

“But they did contact you,” Jaebum insisted, his voice rising as well. “They saw your potential. If you’d tried again, maybe more would respond and—”

“They wouldn’t,” you cut him off, not allowing him to plant any more seeds of false hope in your mind.

“Why not? Why are you so sure that they wouldn’t?” he asked. “It’s moments like this when you need to find more confidence in yourself.”

You wanted to keep on repeating that this wasn’t the case because you firmly believed that, if you hadn’t known Jiho prior to your meeting with him at his gallery, you wouldn’t have heard from them at all. This was about connections. About popularity. About, well, money.

“The galleries don’t need artists with potential,” you said slowly, your hands at your sides now, your fists clenched. “They need artists that can make them profit. And if I’m not known, I can’t bring them money.”

“Yeah, but you can find other ways to make yourself known if you don’t feel like doing it this way.”

“I—do you know how long that’d take?”

Jaebum didn’t think that was a problem. “Well, how bad do you want this?”

“What?” you frowned.

“If you want to succeed bad enough,” he explained, “why does it matter how long it’d take?”

“Did you not just say you’d take the opportunity to jump-start your career if you could?” you asked, realizing that you were only getting so angry because, for the most part, he was right.

You did want to host your own exhibition—very much so—but the fear of never succeeding might have blinded you. Jiho’s opportunity was the only one you’ve gotten in your life and it felt like the only one you’d ever get.

“Well, yeah, but I thought we were talking about doing something that wasn’t conflicting with my morals, or whatever,” Jaebum replied. “It clearly seems like you’re uncomfortable with this, so why put yourself through it?”

Because I don’t want you to leave me behind, you wanted to tell him but held yourself back.

“Because it’s still an opportunity,” you said softly, sounding even less convincing—what were you even trying to convince him of?—than before. “An opportunity that I might not get otherwise. This gallery—it’s great. It’s fantastic, the things they’ve offered me, it’s—wow.”

“And yet, you still have doubts?” he asked.

“I guess.”

“Then maybe this gallery is not right for you.”

That sounded too simple.

“Maybe not,” you said. “But I don’t think I’ll ever find an ideal gallery, all of them are going to include some responsibilities I might be uncomfortable with. I just have to man up and pull through, I guess.”

He sighed before saying, “you guess a lot.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged, having noticed this as well. “I’ve never been in a position like this before. Obviously, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing, either,” he countered, “but I don’t look like I’m being tortured.”

Somehow, even though he probably didn’t mean it, his words were akin to a painful punch in your stomach. You must have looked like you were getting beaten up by mean bullies on the daily and that was definitely not what a person on the way to success should have looked like.

“That’s right,” you said, the expression of your face suddenly resembling a brick wall. “You don’t.”

“Look—no matter what happens, I’m here for you, okay?” Jaebum continued, more careful this time. He noticed that he must have phrased himself wrong because all light had suddenly gone out of your eyes – and there wasn’t a lot of it there in the first place. “If you decide you don’t want to work with this gallery and would rather wait for a different opportunity—”

“—then what? You’ll hold my hand like I’m a crying child on the first day of kindergarten?”

He was surprised to hear your harsh voice. “I—”

“Shit, sorry, I’m—I didn’t mean to sound so accusing,” you pulled back in your seat, bringing your hands over your face in a desperate attempt to calm yourself down.

“No, it’s okay,” Jaebum said. “I-I don’t really know what to say to help you. You’re better at this than I am. You’re the perfect balance between gentle encouragement and tough love.”

You shook your head, still hiding your face. “No, I’m not.”

“For me, you are. I’m trying to learn how to be the same for you, but, obviously, I’m not doing a very good job,” he spoke and then stopped, waiting for you to look at him. Once you did, however, he looked down. “Whatever you do, I’m here, okay? But tell me if you need me to hold your hand or if you’d rather have me push you towards something you’re not sure about.”

His words were like the quiet shelter in a raging storm that you’d been seeking and yet you didn’t dare to allow them to comfort you just yet. “What if I’m not sure about what I need?”

“Well, then let me just do this,” he stood up and walked over to wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head on your shoulder, before finishing, “and now we can stay like this until you’re sure.”

Feeling the way your heart dropped as soon as he was holding you, you allowed him to overcome your senses as you asked quietly, “what if it’s never?”

“Then we’ll stay like this until we die of starvation,” he replied, pulling away slightly, “let me just grab a chair for myself, too, yeah?”

You chuckled lightly, allowing him to break the hug and sit down next to you instead. His hands remained on you all through this.

“Thank you,” you said, then, meaning it from the bottom of your heart.

“No need,” he replied. “I didn’t do anything.”

“No, you’re here. Thank you for that.”

“I have no choice,” he said. “I live here.”

You groaned with a playful roll of your eyes. “Oh, way to ruin a moment.”

He laughed, pulling you into a hug again. “I’ve told you, I’m learning it all from you.”

Like with most things in your life, your mind tended to focus on the negative instead of sticking with the positive – and the dinner with Jiho was not an exception. You’d survived it, of course, and, if you had to be completely honest, there were even moments when you found yourself enjoying your time there – you couldn’t help but feel starstruck when you realized that you were sitting at the same table with one of the National Geographic photographers – but, at the end of the day, you could not force yourself to say that your night was great. It had its’ moments, but it was not at all great.

You’d had to sit next to Jiho the whole night – and, although that sounded like you were twelve years old and the teacher had forced you to sit next to the boy you’ve disliked more than anyone in maths class, this was not the case at all; Jiho very literally orbited you the entire night, never stepping more than three feet away from you – and, on top of that, you had to endure him cutting up the steak on your plate for you after your shaky hands had accidentally released the knife one time.

Undoubtedly, Jiho acted in an ambiguous way because he wanted the others to get interested – helping a friend out with their meal was nothing short of friendly, of course -- but, at the same time, the close proximity between you two could have easily suggested a more intimate relationship. And his actions towards you were definitely eye-catching because, at the end of the night, when the aforementioned photographer was inviting Jiho to the newest magazine release party in the city – he was, apparently, the author of the cover picture – he asked Jiho to bring you as well.

You were glad to receive an opportunity to attend an event that sounded much more official than this dinner but the fact that you’d only attend it as Jiho’s plus one still clouded your mood. You wanted to go there as a photographer. Not as the girl Jiho had cut her steak up for.

When you got back to your apartment later that night, you took your shoes off in the hall and sighed yet again – somehow, no matter how many times you exhaled, you still couldn’t seem to get rid of the nasty dust that had gathered in your lungs overnight. You were more than ready to head to bed and lose yourself in peaceful slumber where you didn’t have to worry about ruining your reputation before you even developed one, but then you noticed the creak in the door of Jaebum’s bedroom.

It was dark inside but the streelights outside of his bedroom window illuminated his bed enough for you to see his sleeping features through the gap in the door. You’d only approached to close the door so you wouldn’t wake him while you showered and prepared for bed but you stopped short once you saw him.

He was smiling in his sleep.

And just this sight alone was enough to make you smile too, forgetting whatever existential crisis you’d already braced yourself for. For a moment there, it really felt like, even if you’d return to your bedroom later and the previous anxiety and disappointment would return with you, you would make it. You’d pull through because it’d be worth it. 

You’d survive anything because you believed that, one day, you’d get to wake up in the middle of the night to see Jaebum’s smiling face right next to yours – and you’d realize you’d been smiling in your sleep, too.

Jaebum still had his arms wrapped tightly around you when your alarm went off the next morning. His grip felt a little like what sleeping in the very center of hell must have felt like and yet, you’d have rather burned alive than complained. For the first few minutes after waking up, your anxiety didn’t even realize that it was supposed to work overtime today to prepare you for your interview, because waking up with Jaebum right next to you felt so calming.

It was very difficult to remember your responsibilities but, after spending another few moments content in his arms, – moments you knew you’d regret as soon as you left the motel and had to run to the gallery – you finally managed to pull out of his grip and sit up. Your skin shivered immediately – the motel room, when Jaebum wasn’t holding you, was surprisingly cold – and you went to find a sweater you’ve taken just in case before you headed for the shower.

As you rearranged your overnight bag in search of your make-up bag, Jaebum’s phone on the nightstand right next to you began to buzz. You couldn’t understand how the sound didn’t wake him up. He actually didn’t seem to hear it at all because when you stood up another moment later, Jaebum’s eyes were still closed and his breathing was just as slow, even though his phone continued to go off.

Thinking that something happened, you leaned closer to check if this was an emergency and if you should have woken him up for this, but retreated as soon as you saw Jackson’s name on the screen, along with a very aggressive, “CALL ME AS SOON AS YOU SEE THIS!!!!!” as one of the text messages, followed by a dozen identical ones.

You couldn’t tell what Jackson’s reasons for trying to reach Jaebum this early were, but you didn’t investigate further. This would have been an invasion of Jaebum’s privacy that you hoped you’d never have to resort to. Clearly, since Jackson didn’t bother calling and settled on endless texts instead, this wasn’t that big of a deal, and, therefore, it could wait until Jaebum saw the texts himself.

Glancing at his sleeping features one more time, you smiled to yourself out of reflex, and then headed for the bathroom to prepare for the day ahead.

It took you longer to gather the courage to leave the motel room – Jaebum was still asleep and, therefore, was unable to push you out of the door – than it took for you to find the gallery on foot. You didn’t want to bother with a taxi so you’d left early, expecting to get lost at least a few times on your way there – granted, you’ve miscalculated just how relatively small this city was – but you had Google Maps open on your phone for all of the fifteen minutes that it took you to reach the gallery. Needless to say, you stood outside of their door twenty minutes before your interview was supposed to start.

The gallery was not in a very large building even though it stood in-between two 20-floor giants – most likely the tallest buildings in this whole city – and looked decidedly out of place. When you opened the doors, however, you realized that this was only the first impression because, once you were inside, you saw that just the entrance desk and the waiting area alone took up as much space as half of the first floor of your gallery back home. The size of this place fit right in with the vibes of the city center.

As you waited for the receptionist to finish her phone call and let you know what to do, you looked around. It was certainly a photography-oriented place, contrary to the gallery you worked in - they only specialized in photography exhibitions once in a blue moon. Here, however, even without any exhibitions currently taking place, the walls were decorated by still-life moments captured by photographers whose names you've read up on before you came. You felt comfortable here – and, paradoxically, insecure, too – but that was soon to change.

“Miss?” the receptionist called on you another few minutes later. You raised your head and met her kind smile. “Please, come this way. They are ready for you. The whole team rarely ever gathers for interviews such as these, but we have everyone waiting for you today.”

You were suddenly very hot. “The whole team?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, leading you past the doors labeled “STAFF ONLY” and walking down the hall. The walls here were decorated with works of photography, too. “Usually, it's only our agents that attend the interviews. Or, well, in the case of up-and-coming photographers such as yourself, it's just one scouting agent. But the owner is here, too. And so are all three of our agents.”

“Oh,” you swallowed, not having prepared to impress such a huge group of important people. “I'm starting to feel the pressure.”

“Oh, don't!” she whipped her head to look at you and stopped outside of a sleek black double door at the end of the hall. “You should be honored. It is obvious that the gallery is interested in you, especially.”

You couldn't understand why that was – you hadn’t studied on campus here and you certainly hadn't made a name for yourself with your photography yet – but then the receptionist opened the door for you and you had to do a double-take at the sight of the room in front of you. You'd been warned to expect at least four people inside, but there was only one. And yet, the sight of him explained the special interested in you and, at the same time, it made it clear that you were absolutely not going to get an exhibition here.

“It's nice to see you again,” Jiho spoke, standing up from his seat on the far right of the meeting room where he'd been reading something on his tablet. “I hope you don't mind, I've asked the rest of my team to join us later so you would hopefully feel less intimidated.”

“You, uh... Y-you knew I was coming?” you asked, so deeply uncomfortable and distracted, you couldn't find one spot to rest your eyes on.

The sound of the door closing as the receptionist left you and him alone sent nervous shivers down your spine.

“Yes, well, your application had your name on it,” Jiho explained, this way revealing to you that the reason why he had called you in the car on your way over here could have been this. “Although, your last name did have a typo, so I wasn't sure if it was really you but all of my doubts were cleared when I saw your portfolio. Normally, it's just me holding interviews with our candidates – or, sometimes, it’s me and Luke, one of the senior agents here – but I gathered the whole team here today.”

You dared to look at him. “Why?”  

“Because I know how much potential you have,” he replied. “And I think this exhibition – if you don't mind hosting it here – shouldn't be a one-night event. I think we can make it last the whole weekend at the very least. And that’s just for starters.”

“I'm not sure I’m following your train of thought.”

“Sit, please,” he offered, pointing at the chair next to him.

You strongly debated leaving but, after having come all the way here, it wouldn’t have made sense to just drop everything and run. You had to, at least, endure this interview. So, you sat down next to him and desperately tried to stop your hands from shaking so much. When Jiho had mentioned – all of these days ago – that he came from a town six hours from here, you should have really kept in mind to avoid all places within the ratio of his potential hometown.

“Usually, when working with amateur photographers, we offer them a chance to hold their exhibition here for one night,” Jiho explained then. “We might buy some of their works for the gallery, and, of course, other people who are interested are able to contact the photographers through us later, too. But it's just this one night we’re offering. They present their work, interact with the guests, maybe earn a profit if these guests express an interest in buying something. And then, if they're thinking about another exhibition, they have to go through the same process again; they have to send us the updated resumes, go through the interviews and so on.”

“I see,” you nodded slowly. He seemed to have been describing an extremely short-term contract. “You don't guarantee them a future. It's just one night.”

“Right,” he said. “But that's not what I—we—want for you. I'm thinking it's possible for you to hold a successful weekend exhibition here. Three days, at the very least: Friday through Sunday.”

Knowing your lack of experience in exhibitions, Jiho was truly offering you a treasure chest. You couldn't understand why. In all of the times that you've known him, he had expressed his admiration for your work only once or twice, choosing instead to give you advice about what you could have done better. You’d learned that he was never one to freely share compliments, so this confused you.

“Why?” you asked again. “Why am I receiving this different treatment?”

“We must have two different sets of eyes if you have to ask me that,” he smiled. You didn't. “You're good. Very good. You have a lot of potential for growth. That's exactly what we're looking for here. At this current time, the gallery only sponsors two young photographers. That's where I started out, too, and, well, in three weeks, I'm having my second exhibition in the capital city.”

“Congratulations,” you said in a dry tone but he didn’t seem to pay attention to it and nodded politely.

“Thank you,” he said. “I hope you see that getting recognized by one gallery is already enough to jump-start your career. I stayed here because these people have helped me become who I am today, but getting their sponsorship does not necessarily mean you have to continue to work here. It's an open agreement.”

You were hesitant – and so desperate to find a way to turn back the time before you’d allowed yourself to believe that turning your dreams into reality was actually possible for you – but you still asked, “what does that imply, exactly?”

“It means that we're flexible. We'll never give you specific orders or find gigs for you. But we will sponsor you and whatever photoshoots you're interested in doing, and, most importantly, we’ll provide you with the opportunity to exhibit your work here again. If you should accept this opportunity,” Jiho explained and you closed your eyes momentarily, exhaling your frustration. You’d have been over the moon to get an offer like this at any other gallery. “As long as there’s mutual interest, we supply the money, you deliver the art.”

“Without any interviews?”

He nodded. “Without any interviews.”

“Sounds like this is based an awful lot on trust, though,” you pointed out.

“It is,” Jiho didn’t deny it. “We need to be able to trust the artists we're working with. I'd have never offered you this if I didn't trust you.”

Perhaps accidentally, he focused all of his attention on the offers of the gallery, avoiding the question you’d asked him twice already. You dreaded to know why he was really excluding you from the bunch of other applicants for an exhibition here and yet you couldn’t resist not finding out the real reason because this was simply too good to be true. There had to be a hidden intention here.

“So, you're offering me a three-day exhibition and a sponsorship,” you concluded, “even though I’m barely an amateur. Why?”

“Because you have potential,” he repeated himself.

“I can't help but feel like there's a catch,” you admitted, unable to conceal the suspicion in your voice.

Jiho smiled at this, not offended in the slightest.

“Perceptive as always,” he said and you cringed. Clearly, perception was not your strong suit or you would have figured out why a gallery so far away from your own city was offering you an exhibition. Moreover, you’d have seen through Jiho’s intentions from the moment you had first laid your eyes on him, and this meeting would have been far less awkward. “The only catch is that the gallery needs a stronger guarantee that you will succeed.”

“How can I guarantee that?”

“By making a name for yourself before your first exhibition,” he said simply. “It's smooth sailing from then on. You just need more people to know who you are and your exhibition will automatically succeed.”

“Critically acclaimed exhibitions aren't always hosted by famous photographers,” you said. “Sometimes, they’re hosted by unknown artists.”

“Of course. But “sometimes” is not a word we use when we agree to work with young photographers because we need guarantees. As I’ve said, the agreements we reach with our artists are based on mutual trust. We don't measure success in, uh, critical terms here,” Jiho spoke. “We focus on advertising. The gallery is making a name for itself through its' exhibitions. If our photographers are being talked about, the gallery is being talked about. That’s success to us. Consequently, the more popular the gallery is, the more success it can bring to its’ artists and vice versa. It's a win-win situation.”

That explained Jiho's need to have popular – beautiful – faces at his exhibitions. He wasn’t interested in getting recognized by the critics – at least, not as much as he was interested in gathering more attention – he just needed to become a household name.

“Alright,” you said, swallowing thickly. “And how do you suppose I can make a name for myself before I have an exhibition?”

“I'm here to help you with that.”

You could feel his answer in your chest but you still asked, “how?”

“I've started working on my own career by allowing Luke, the agent I'd mentioned before, to mentor me. He took me everywhere with him leading up to my debut as a photographer,” Jiho told you. He’d somehow – probably on purpose – skipped out on this part when he was telling you about his photography origins the first time you’d met. “He introduced me to so many people, we couldn't fit them all in here when the day of my exhibition arrived. I was an instant success because Luke believed in me. He became my first social connection, and the strongest one I had at the time, too.”

You weren’t looking at him because you knew he’d be waiting for your eyes to start glittering. He’d expect you to perk up at this and perhaps even agree to everything immediately. But this didn’t sound right. None of it did. It sounded too easy. Too fake. Those “success overnight” stories didn’t actually happen overnight and you wanted to believe that they happened because of someone’s hard-work and not because of various PR stunts.

“I can do that for you,” Jiho added gently after you didn’t reply.

“Why me, specifically?” you asked for the upteenth time, more confused by each of his explanations. “It can’t just be potential. There are lots of promising photographers out there.”

“There are. But they all lack something,” Jiho explained. “I’m offering this because I believe in you. I've already told you that this always works both ways - it would never be just me bringing you recognition. Both of us would be noticed. The press adores finding tendencies. Us two getting spotted at several events in a row? We'd be the talk of the photography world before we even realized it.”

“I… I don’t know,” you were already shaking your head before you could even open your mouth. “I don’t think that’s a—”

“Listen, if there are any personal affairs you’re worried about, I can explain the situation,” he cut in. “I mean, if you’re worried your boyfriend wouldn’t approve—”

“N-no,” you stopped him. You had a feeling Jaebum would have ended Jiho’s life on the spot if he saw him. God knows what he’d do if Jiho actually tried to explain this plan to him. “No. There’s no one to explain anything to.”

“Well, then I’m afraid I don’t really understand your hesitation,” Jiho said, chuckling awkwardly, “I know you’re smart enough to realize how crucial this is for the rest of your career. You know offers like these don’t fall out of the sky with every rainfall,” he paused, giving you time to consider the weight of his words. They were heavy, sure, but instead of pressing you down, they just made you want to run away to escape them faster. “But, of course, I’d never force you to do something you aren’t comfortable doing. The rest of my team will tell you the same thing when we meet up with them for a tour of the gallery later.”

“I—”

“You don’t have to give me an answer right now,” he continued, not letting you get a word in. “I think I’ve already told you that I took the job here because I want to help young, starting photographers.”

“Have you personally offered this to any other applicants?” you asked.

“No. None of them showed as much potential.”

You feared that potential had very little part in this. “Do… uh, do looks matter when it comes to this?”

“You’re a photographer,” he smiled. “You tell me.”

“Right,” you exhaled slowly before admitting, “I don’t want the reason why I’m hosting an exhibition to be my relationship with one of the agents of the gallery – because that’s what the media will think. That’s—I’m not sure that would be good for my reputation.”

“That would never be the reason,” Jiho disagreed but he wasn’t very convincing. “But even if it was, your reputation wouldn’t be damaged. Whatever the media assumes, we don’t interfere. You can’t destroy your reputation if you don’t even say anything, right? And that’s exactly how it goes – the more we’re seen together and the more we stay quiet about the nature of our relationship, the eager everyone will be to figure out what’s going on here. The press is the best at making a big deal out of nothing and it’s all just a game of publicity. By the time the exhibition happens, you won’t just be a promising amateur who takes pictures occassionally. You’ll be a promising photographer. People will know who you are and they will want to see what you’ve got.”

“That kind of media attention, though… it brings rumors,” you insisted, still having a hard time grasping his reasons for being so set on this as the right way to bring you success. “Being seen together causes speculation. Maybe people will even realize that what we’re doing is just for publicity. It will paint us both in a negative light to the point where it won’t even matter why we were actually together. It won’t matter that we never confirmed or denied anything. How is that going to help any of our careers?”

Jiho – chuckling lightly at your innocence because he liked to think that he was an old dog in this business – leaned in closer before he spoke, “let me teach you something vital about this: as long as people are talking, you’re doing great. You have a big heart and you care a lot about your appearance in the eyes of others but, the truth is, any kind of publicity is good publicity. It’s what brings you the recognition you seek. You don’t have to hope and pray to become one of the few popular photographers who became popular just because they’re that good. There are barely any people who could say that so it’s just unrealistic, really. But nor hope, nor prayer has anything to do with what we’re offering you. Our offer guarantees you become popular.”

You expected nothing less from him. Media attention was his main priority. Reputation was on a different level that was, clearly, nowhere near as important as popularity.

You’ve heard of the scandals the famous Hollywood photographers sometimes got involved in – it was all a part of “show business” – and you never wanted to become like them. However, at the end of the day, you really did not know what the inside of this world looked like. Perhaps Jiho was right to look at you with pity – your fear and your innocence when it came to similar manipulations might have been the very reason why it had taken you so long to send your portfolio to any gallery and this same innocence also threatened to become the reason why your career never advanced.

Your moral compass kept vibrating and telling you that this was not something you should have gotten involved in, but you knew that most of your values – and your ability to tell right from wrong – stemmed from fear and general conformity. You were starting to see that you lacked boldness and perhaps you lacked determination, too. Jiho was right, there were so few people who were magically rewarded with opportunities to become world-renowned artists on their own terms. Barely anyone was good enough -- and interesting enough -- to achieve immediate critical success with no outside help whatsoever. The rest of the world had to work hard to achieve popularity and success. They had to break out of their own shells. Step out of their comfort zones.

You didn’t think you had it in you to break the chains that were the norm for you. You didn’t think you’d manage to forcefully start your career Jiho’s way, but you didn’t want to fade into oblivion by waiting around for an opportunity to do this your way, either.

“I need some time to think,” you decided, your throat as dry as sandpaper.

“By all means,” Jiho leaned back in his seat. “Let me check with the rest of the team, then, alright? And then we’ll show you around and introduce you to this place. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

You didn’t feel up for a tour anymore. “Uh, I—”

“You can get back to us with your answer as soon as you reach a decision,” Jiho said, already standing up from his seat and pulling his phone out of his pocket. “The sooner the better, though. You know how this works.”

He smiled at you in this specific way that let you know that, although he was generous enough to offer you an opportunity to host an exhibition – even if it might have irreversibly stained your reputation – he wasn’t going to sit around waiting for your answer for too long. Perhaps the only reason why he was offering you some time to think at all, was because you and him already knew each other. Perhaps, when it came to others – not that there were any, according to him – he demanded an answer right away.

His smile told you that he thought he was doing you a huge favor. He thought he was offering to create a career for you. He thought he’d crafted the perfect conditions for you to succeed – the kind of conditions that no other gallery—no other agent—was ever going to offer you unless you magically became more well-known some other way.

And, with anxiety pooling in your stomach, you feared that Jiho was right. This was a favor that no one else was going to offer you. But it felt an awful lot like a crossroad contract – you may not have been selling your soul just yet, but you still worried you were about to make a deal with the devil.

When you left the gallery an hour later, your mood was even worse. The place was fantastic. And with each story the owner of the gallery told you – God, he was such a pleasant man; if it’d been him talking to you in that room, you’d have said yes right away – you kept falling in love with it more and more.

Three of your professors from college have actually hosted exhibitions here in the past, and one of them was even sponsored by the gallery for a few years before he took up the teaching position. It was like you were meant to come here. Like you were meant to start your career here.

And yet, you’d left without giving them an answer because responding in the affirmative would have meant stomping on all of your beliefs and agreeing to play their game with no rules. At the same time, dismissing the offer would have meant throwing your entire future away. Neither answer seemed appropriate and you’d never thought offers that could not be refused actually existed outside of Mafia books but now you knew they were real.

You’d hoped to clear your mind and settle on a decision that made more sense as you walked home from the gallery – it wasn’t hard: either you lost yourself or you lost your future –but you found yourself standing outside of the door of your motel room with your mind still buzzing with loud repetitive thoughts, lists of pros and cons, and dread, dread, dread.

But then you finally managed to open the door and, within moments, Jaebum was leaping from his bed and pushing you against the nearest wall.

“Thank God you’re back!” he exclaimed, his hands on either side of you, his face close. The excitement in his eyes was like nothing you’ve seen before and you couldn’t find it in you to worry if you’d closed the door after you entered.

“I—alright there, golden retriever,” you pressed your hands to his chest – noticing his rapid heartbeat and concluding that if he’d had a tail, he’d have been wagging it all over the place right now – and gave him a look. “Did something—”

“Yes!” he said. “Jackson called.”

“Okay,” you said, already having guessed that he might call, given the number of text messages you’d seen him send to Jaebum this morning. “What did he—”

“He said a representative of some entertainment agency had reached out to him. I don’t even know the label but Jackson does,” Jaebum continued, reading through your questions before you could finish asking them. Seeing him this energized with glee was, actually, slightly alarming. You could not deduce anything that he was going to say or do next. “Apparently, this representative would like to meet me face-to-face. They’re thinking of signing me.”

“They—” your eyes went wide. “Oh my God!”

“My point exactly!” he agreed, removing his hands from the wall on either side of you to clap them together. “I don’t—I didn’t even—shit, he said they contacted him last night but my phone was dying, so I didn’t get his call. But—fuck me, they want to meet me.”

“Shit,” you were laughing suddenly, your own anxiety long forgotten as your chest swelled with joy. “Jaebum, this is amazing. This is a huge step—no, a leap—towards becoming a real, actual singer. A-as a profession, not just a hobby.”

“I know,” his hands were on his cheeks as he turned around, walking a circle around the room due to his inability to stay still. “God, I know. I seriously can’t believe this.”

“You deserve this,” you reminded him, deciding to intervene and remove his hands from his face, taking them into yours instead, before he walked into a wall in this blind euphoria. “Did you agree on a date? When are you meeting these people?”

“I don’t know yet,” Jaebum replied. You may have stopped him from pacing around the room but his heart was very much still having a fieldtrip inside of his chest – it would have screamed, too, if only it could. “Jackson’s handling it. They just wanted to know if I’d be interested a-and now they know that I am—”

“How could you not be interested?” you cut him off and then realized, “unless you get a different offer.”

He shook his head. “Oh, no. This already doesn’t seem real. Another offer would mean I’ve entered a parallel universe where I’m actually, you know, lucky.”

“Luck has nothing to do with this,” you said, letting go of his hands and stepping closer to hug him instead. “It was pure talent. I’m so proud of you.”

“Shit,” he exhaled into your hair, wrapping his arms around your waist and staying still for a good minute before finally remembering, “fuck—h-how was your meeting? Did it go well?”

He’d pulled away to ask this – you wished he hadn’t because then he wouldn’t have seen your face as you lied to him. Telling him the truth was simply not an option after you’ve seen this side of him – this hopeful, overjoyed side of him that you were sure you’d only be lucky enough to witness once in your life.

“It was fine,” you said, choosing your words carefully but trying your best to sound realistic. You nodded for more effect, too, wanting to change the topic but deciding not to because Jaebum’s expectant eyes weren’t going to let you get away with it. “They’re, uh—they’re considering me. Some tough competition, probably. But the gallery’s wonderful, they gave me a tour.”

He nodded along to every word you said and you thanked his good mood for temporarily clouding his mind or else he would have seen through your fabricated smile immediately. You didn’t want him to know the truth – to know the lengths you’d have to go in order to make your dream come true – because his road to his goals wasn’t as complicated as yours was. He’d waited long enough to start his singing career but once he dared to take a step forwards, he found himself steady on his feet. His bravery was paying off.

You, on the other hand? Maybe you should have waited longer because the steps you’ve taken so far were minimal and so very shaky, it was a miracle you hadn’t fallen off the ledge yet.

“I’m sure you’ll hear from them again soon,” Jaebum told you, his voice genuine. You couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your stomach, the labels “failure” clouding your mind. He believed in you a lot more than you believed in yourself in that moment. “You simply have to. They can’t let someone like you go away.”

“I—” you started to say but Jaebum – his arms still around you – pulled you closer to him, prolonging the hug. His embrace made you forget what you were going to say. “Yeah. I hope they do.”

The only proof of the complicated situation you were in was the sigh that passed your lips but disappeared before Jaebum could feel it on his neck. Good. You didn’t want him to know about your own predicament. You didn’t want to rain on his parade – you knew how long he’d wanted this and how much courage it had taken for him to fight for it.

“This is finally working out,” he whispered into your neck. Your skin shivered but you didn’t think it was because his lips brushed against your neck with each word he spoke. “I’m so glad we’re in this together.”

“Jaebum,” you said shakily. You didn’t know why – it must have been your heart, seeking the comfort of his words, which it couldn’t get if Jaebum didn’t know the truth – and you regretted it as soon as his name escaped your lips.

Noticing the edge in your voice, he pulled away to look at you. “What?”

“I’m—” you swallowed, concealing that tears that had welled up in your eyes with a careful smile. You couldn’t do this. Shaking your head, you told him the honest truth, “I’m really glad you’re here with me.”

Tuesday came too soon. Although, to be fair, it could have been months or even years away, and it would have still come too soon. The only upside to what would otherwise shape out to be a gloomy day, was the fact that you and Jaebum had to leave the house at the same time, so both of you were in the bathroom together, pushing each other as you fought for a place by the sink. Normally, Jaebum only started to work in the afternoon – that’s why he’d never interrupted your morning routine before – but today he was heading out to Jackson’s studio before going to the meeting with the agency representatives that had contacted him.

So now, as Jaebum brushed his teeth and you applied mascara to your lashes, you watched the smile spread on your face in the reflection of the mirror because you realized that you truly enjoyed starting your morning like this. Especially when Jaebum attempted to explain the “prophecy” he’d had in his dream last night with a mouth full of toothpaste.

“You need to slow down,” you told him, bringing the mascara brush over your lashes one final time. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“I’m tehhing ‘uh—” he continued, pausing to spit the toothpaste out after he realized he was still speaking gibberish. He wiped his mouth and then repeated himself, “I’m telling you, that dream was good. It promises a bright future for us both. So, stop looking like you’re on your way to your funeral.”

“I—I don’t look like I’m on my way to my funeral,” you denied, startled by his observation.

“No, you do. I noticed your anxious expression as soon as I saw you this morning,” Jaebum insisted, rinsing his mouth out with water from the tap.

You put the cap back on the mascara and glanced at your reflection one more time. The crinkles on your forehead weren’t as prominent as they’d been last night – you were slowly coming to terms with seeing Jiho today – but the puffy bags under your eyes certainly were even despite the cold water you’d washed your face with in an attempt to look more awake.

“I’m just nervous,” you decided to admit finally. “Making decisions that will affect your future in a great way isn’t easy.”

Jaebum was washing his face but stopped as soon as you said this, turning to look at you but not lifting his head from the sink.

“Are you having doubts about this?” he asked.

The goosebumps that ran down your arms seemed to originate in your very core.

“N-no, not like that,” you said, aware that anything else you might add would turn out to be a lie because, no matter which way you looked at it, having doubts about this was precisely what you were doing. “I’m just nervous.”

That was as truthful as you could be without ruining both of your days and revealing the details of your potential exhibition to Jaebum. He seemed content with your response – as he sighed and turned the tap off before straightening up and turning to you – but somehow that just made you feel even guiltier.

Withholding information was, technically, still a form of lying.

“I’m nervous, too,” he said, his gentle words piercing your heart in ten different spots. “But we’re doing this together, right? You’re not alone. I’m here with you. Maybe not physically but my mind is always with you.”

He took your hand as he said this, intertwining his fingers with yours and this way holding the frayed bits of your soul together in his grip. It was incredibly unfair for Jaebum to be the only person able to calm you down by telling you that everything you were about to do wasn’t actually evil – it was just you, working towards your goal – because he was also the only person to whom you couldn’t explicitly reveal the real nature of today’s meeting.

“Right,” you said, holding his hand in yours tighter, your fingertips whispering the apologies on his palm. “Good luck today. Text me as soon as your meeting ends.”

“I will,” he nodded, pulling you in so he could wrap his arms around you for one last hug before the two of you left the peacefulness of your bathroom and headed out into the chaos outside. “You too, okay? If you put your signature on anything, I have to be the first person you tell.”

You inhaled shakily – Jaebum smelled like mint toothpaste and aftershave – and hugged him back. “There’s no one else I’d want to tell.”

Jiho was already waiting for you when you arrived at the restaurant you’d agreed on beforehand. He stood up when he saw you approach and you tried to refrain yourself from imagining what his face would look like if you just turned around right now. If you left like your heart was telling you to leave.

“Hi. It’s good to see you again,” he addressed you first. He did everything first, except sit down by the table – he waited until you did before returning to his seat opposite you. “How have you been?”

“Good,” you lied because that was what people did when asked this question. “And you?”

“Me too,” Jiho replied. “Would you like to order right away or should I ask for the menu?”

You glanced at him – purposefully not looking at him longer than it was necessary – and cleared your throat. “No, it’s alright. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

You didn’t come here to eat but you put up with the overly pretentious way Jiho raised his hand, clicking his fingers and smiling at the waitress when she looked his way. She didn’t look as annoyed as she must have felt when she approached your table.

You waited until Jiho ordered your meals, and then waited until the waitress brought you your drinks before he thought that enough time had passed for the pleasantries and it was finally to talk business.

“So, I take it you’ve thought about our offer,” he said, talking on behalf of the whole gallery and thus reminding you what a big deal this was. You weren’t just dealing with a photographer whom you didn’t particularly like. You were dealing with a gallery at the very least, and your whole career at most.

“I have,” you said, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. “Do you have the terms and conditions on paper? Or is this agreement also based on trust?”

Jiho chuckled, shaking his head and revealing the briefcase that he’d leaned against the leg of the table. “No, there’s a contract. Unfortunately, matters like these can’t be handled based on trust. But I’ve already told you that a lot of trust is involved. We believe the artists we work with and we appreciate it if they believe us, too.”

You wondered if he sounded as official back when you’d met him at the gallery. Now he might as well have been in law school, only doing photography on the side.

“Right,” you watched him pull a few sheets of paper out of his briefacse. He looked them over and then passed them to you.

“As I’ve said,” he spoke then, “don’t think of this contract as a liability. It’s more of a formality or a… helpful way for us to keep track of the artists we work with. It’s more like you’re signing an attendance slip, really.”

You bit your lip as you read the legal terms you weren’t sure you recognized.

“There’s no expiration date,” you said, raising your head, “or so you’ve mentioned. But doesn’t that make the contract, well, void?”

“No. The date is not a legal necessity,” Jiho replied. “The expiration date is up for consideration. That means, as long as both parties – that is you and us, the gallery – are successfully cooperating and living up to the requirements listed in the contract, we can keep working together.”

“If there’s no date,” you continued, “then I’m allowed to leave whenever I want?”

“Well,” he chuckled, “we’re definitely not going to be holding you with us against your will if that’s what you mean. The only time that you can’t leave is if we’ve already received the photographs for your exhibition because that’s usually the final step in the organizational process and, obviously, if you suddenly pulled out, we’d suffer a great loss of profit—and talent, of course. That is—I think—the only rule regarding the dates that this contract entails.”

You’d finished reading the first page while he talked and paused before continuing. The amount of new information and the difficult words on paper were starting to make your head hurt.

“Okay, so that’s my side of the deal,” you said after considering his words for a minute. “What about you? I’m assuming you’re also able to put an end to the contract whenever you desire?”

“Yes, but the same exception applies to us,” Jiho said. “We can’t end the contract if your pictures have been approved and your exhibition at our gallery is already one step away.”

“But you can end it before then? If, for example, we reach an agreement about what sort of exhibition this will be, and you give me—I don’t know—a theme I must follow in my photographs, you’re allowed to end the contract while I’m in the middle of shooting the pictures?”

“Legally, yes,” he replied with a solemn expression and then glanced over at the page you’d begun to read. “But we always have our artists’ best interest at heart as long as they also have ours. We’re not looking to sabotage anything.”

You scoffed and then cleared your throat to hide the mocking sound. “So, it’s, once again, based on trust.”

“Basically, yes.”

You hummed in response – trying to hide your skepticism – and continued to read, all while hoping that Jaebum’s meeting was far less uncertain – and awkward – than yours.

The contract had listed all that Jiho had just told you and more but, even despite being eight and a half pages long – you were merely skimming by page three – it was truly more of an attendance slip like Jiho had said before. All they required of you, basically, was for your loyalty but that didn’t make you legally liable to only exhibit your works at Jiho’s gallery, so, technically, while you worked with them, you could also be working with other galleries as well. Although, you doubted if that would have showcased your unbreakable loyalty. Even with a contract that provided you with so much freedom, it was best not to test the limits of their generosity.

It was most definitely unbelievable how you’ve been offered a contract that was barely like an actual contract, and you weren’t sure if you should have felt lucky or not. The contract listed all that Jiho had mentioned the last time you’d seen him: one of the conditions for you to host your own exhibition was to make a name for yourself first; but the papers you’ve been given didn’t specify how long that’d take – you guessed you’d have to trust Jiho on that as well.

However, at the same time, the contract also listed all the benefits you’d get. An unlimited number of exhibitions if the “relationship between both parties remained successful” and as much exposure as it was possible with the funds of the gallery.

It looked like you wouldn’t have to do anything, just sit back and watch everything play out in front of your eyes, maybe follow a couple of orders and sip a few glasses of champagne at photography events.

“Before the exhibition,” you started slowly. Jiho stopped chewing – your meals had arrived when you were in the middle of page five – and looked at you. “The contract says I have to make a name for myself. You’ve mentioned that before, too.”

“Yes, well, it’s just an ominous way for us to tell you that exhibitions are, usually, more successful if they’re hosted by artists that are recognized in the business,” he explained again. “This is the part you’re still clinging to, I see. We’re not demanding you to turn into someone you’re not just to become more well known, you know. I already told you, all you’d have to do is just—”

“—attend a few events with you,” you finished for him. “Yeah. You did tell me.”

He sat back in his seat, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “Is that going to be such a huge problem? It’s not—well, it’s not dating. We’re just two business associates enjoying ourselves in a completely professional setting.”

You almost cringed when he mentioned dating – you’d hoped you would never have to talk to Jiho about dating ever again – but then shook your head instead.

“We’re two business associates, hoping that the media will assume we’re in a relationship,” you corrected him.

“Not necessarily,” Jiho disagreed. “What they assume is their problem. The contract says so, too—did you see? This… ah, PR stunt, if you will, never crosses any lines that the other party might be uncomfortable with. If you think a certain event I’m planning to take you to is inappropriate, you tell me, and we sit down to reach a compromise.”

It sounded easy and simple – he could explain it while dipping his toast into the sauce from his pasta – but your mind still worked overtime. You haven’t even touched your food.

“Our goal is to make an ambiguous appearance,” Jiho added after a moment.

Your frown deepened. He’d already explained this to you but now that you were about to really do this, you needed to know everything.

“What does that mean, specifically?” you asked.

“It means that we show up to these events but we make no attempts to explain the essence of our relationship to anyone,” he said, essentially repeating all that he’d already told you when you met him last weekend. “The less we talk, the more the media talks for us. The less we tell them, the more they want to talk to us. And the more they want to talk to us, the faster you make a name for yourself.”

“So, you’re saying we wouldn’t have to spend the entirety of the next year, attending various different phorography events?”

“God, no, definitely not the whole year,” Jiho shook his head, a smile appearing on his features. “I’d like to think I’m somewhat well-known by now to gather the attention that we need sooner than that. It’s just a few back-to-back events and you’re basically a household name already. Believe me, it won’t take long.”

You’d decided to stop questioning why it was you they were interested in – Jiho had already tried to convince you it’s because he saw potential in you – and, instead, you focused on the contract in front of you again.

A few events. That’s no more than a few weeks. Maybe a month. You could do it. You could stand next to Jiho and drown your dignity in champagne as you waited for the photography world to recognize you so you could have your exhibition. This seemed absolutely backwards to you – you still believed you were supposed to make a name for yourself by exhibiting your works instead of by being someone’s “business associate” – but this was what was going to bring you to your end goal.

You were still learning how this business worked. This side of it that you were exposed to was based largely on trust and, more and more it was starting to look as though you would have no choice but to trust that, by taking your hand and guiding you through the deep waters of the photography world, Jiho wasn’t going to drown you.

“I’ll give you some time to think,” he said after he’d finished his meal and you’d managed to swallow a few bites of yours, “and head to the bathroom for a quick second, alright?”

You nodded and then, as soon as he left, immediately considered standing up and leaving. Ghosting him in the middle of the meeting wouldn’t just be rude, it would also be the final point in your relationship with him. He’d never offer you to work together again. He’d never contact you again.

Maybe that was the right thing to do.

You lowered your head, scanning over the words written on the blindingly white sheets of paper in front of you. The contract was what dreams were made of – artists would kill for a deal like this – and physically pulling away from it was difficult. You’d prove your loyalty to Jaebum if you stood up and, most importantly, you wouldn’t step on your own morals – you could continue to believe that it was possible to make it as a photographer even without having strong connections.

But maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe becoming what you’ve always wanted to become required a few sacrifices along the way and, maybe making sacrifices meant grabbing that triggered moral compass inside of your chest, squeezing it tight, and then throwing it out because you were no longer going to follow it. Your heart wanted you to wait and see. But how were you supposed to know that waiting was really the right choice? You’ve waited around long enough already – no magic happened. No opportunities to prove yourself arose.

Jaebum was bold. It took him a long time, but he got here. He was so close to his goals, you could smell it.  And if you didn’t walk alongside him on the road to success, you may end up being left behind while he got lost in the confusing – and yet more satisfying with each turn – maze of success. He’d grab his dream and shape it into reality that was still there, all his to touch and experience, when he woke up, while you continued to sleep.

You needed to be bold. If this was going to be the only way for you to get an exhibition, well, then maybe you were supposed to take it because God knew how long it’d be before you got an opportunity like this again. And it wasn’t like you’d have to sell your heart and soul to Jiho for it – you’d just have to appear with him at some public events, which was – as you further tried to justify to yourself – something that a lot of enterpreneurs did. They hung out together platonically but the simple picture of the two of them together brought them both money and recognition.

It wasn’t even about the money in your case; it was all about getting your work seen and recognized. And if that wasn’t possible to achieve without getting your name seen and recognized first, then so be it. You were a conformist at heart, so perhaps it was time you conformed to the rules of this new world, instead of sticking to the old rules you’ve lived by your whole life.

A change in life required a change in mind.

Being seen together in public with a photographer that’s steadily growing more and more popular wasn’t a crime. It was something that could shape the public’s perception of you a certain way – even if it’s in a way that you didn’t exactly approve of – but, as of right now, the public had no perception of you at all and that was hardly better.

Just as you bit your lip, your heart tearing itself into pieces, your phone buzzed inside of your handbag. The wheels in your mind stopped turning for just a second when you saw Jaebum’s name on the screen.

The exclamation points were so out of character for him that, for a moment, you thought Jackson had stolen his phone. But, at the end of the day, it didn’t matter who was the one that had typed the text – Jaebum had done it. He’d signed a contract with a recording agency.

Your entire chest pulsated with pride as you nearly teared up, excited to tell him how proud of him you were again. And then again because just once wasn’t enough. And then again because twice wasn’t enough, either.

You were so happy for him that, for the most blissful of moments, you completely forgot about the contract waiting for you and the owner of it that had just returned to your table.

When you raised your head, however, the decision was already made. It was the exclamation points in Jaebum’s text and the elation suddenly budding in your chest that had convinced you. You wanted to reply to Jaebum with enthusiasm that matched his. You wanted a double reason to celebrate.

“Alright,” you said, clenching your jaw as you waited for Jiho to sit back down opposite you. “Have you got a pen?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jiho pulled one out from the inner pocket of his outrageously expensive-looking jacket. He nodded in the direction of the contract as he passed the pen to you. “Are you going to sign it?”

You took it from him carefully so as not to touch his hand, the edges of your vision blurring as you lowered your head and responded through chapped lips, “yes.”