Chapter Text
“You know, one might think that after almost two years you’d learn how to do it.”
Taehyung is standing in the doorway, leaning against the door with his arms folded and a cheeky grin dancing on his lips. Yoongi just rolls his eyes at him, briefly wondering how long had Taehyung been watching him (and hoping it wasn’t too long), before mumbling:
“You know, after two years one might think that you’d give me a break.”
“Never,” Taehyung says and pushes himself off the door. Yoongi locks eyes with him in the mirror, watching as Taehyung walks up to him, stopping right behind, so close that Yoongi can feel the familiar heat of his body on his back.
“Let me,” Taehyung says, reaching around his shoulders.
“Why are you here anyway?” Yoongi asks, following the sharp movement of Taehyung's fingers in the mirror. “Isn't it, like, bad luck to see the groom before the wedding?”
“The bride,” Taehyung corrects him, giving the bow tie a gentle tug to see if it's fixed. “You're thinking of seeing the bride. And I’m pretty sure it doesn't apply in our situation.”
“Fair point,” Yoongi sighs, turning around in his arms. Taehyung looks down at him, slightly tilting his head, before pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.
“What was that for?” Yoongi wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, trying to sound disgusted but failing miserably.
“For good luck,” Taehyung beams at him. “You know, neither of us is a bride, but… just in case.”
“Good thinking,” Yoongi says, sneaking his hand around Taehyung's neck, pulling him down. “I’m going to need all the luck in the world if I’m really going to marry you in twenty minutes.”
“Please,” Taehyung huffs, but he doesn’t even try to hide his smile. “You love me.”
“I guess I do,” Yoongi whispers against his lips. “I really do.”
*
The sound of the phone ringing cuts through Yoongi's dreams like a knife.
For a few seconds his mind goes into overdrive, trying to figure out where he is and what is happening. Finally, he manages to make the connection between being awake and the annoying sound of his ringtone and he groans, blindly reaching for his phone, knocking off the bottle of the water standing on his nightstand.
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, grabbing his phone and unlocking it. He presses it to his ear, mumbling: “What do you want?”
“Good morning to you too, sunshine!”
The voice of his assistant is way too loud and cheerful for this hour. Yoongi has half a mind to hang up, but in the end, after an internal struggle, he leans back on his pillow, rubbing his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah. What’s up?”
“That meeting you have today?”
Yoongi sits up a bit straighter.
“What meeting?”
“See, that's what happens when all you do with your phone is play Candy Crush,” Minho sighs heavily. “I left you a voicemail, your meeting got rescheduled to nine a.m. today.”
“You know I hate phone calls,” Yoongi groans, glancing at the clock and pushing the covers aside. “In this age, texting is the way to go. WhatsApp. Kakaotalk. Facebook Messenger, if you really have to.”
He can hear his agent taking a deep breath over the line and he presses his phone against his shoulder, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for the jeans lying pooled on the floor.
“Well, it’s not like you answer those either, so.”
“That’s why I pay you a small fortune,” Yoongi says, pulling the jeans over his legs. “You’re supposed to be a miracle worker.”
“I am, which is why the meeting’s at nine instead of seven. Now get ready, do you want me to call the cab?”
“No, I’ll take the subway, it’s faster.”
“Okay. See you there, boss.”
Yoongi locks his phone and shoves it into his pocket, scanning the room for a clean t-shirt that doesn’t look like it had been ripped straight out of a dog’s throat.
He manages to brush his teeth and wash his face, grab a cup of coffee (Taehyung had always scolded him for drinking coffee on an empty stomach, but some habits died harder than others) before stumbling out of his apartment. He quickly greets the doorkeeper, a young kid who was always waiting for him with an umbrella Yoongi forgot to bring upstairs, walking out of the building.
He loves riding the subway, watching the passengers. There's something calming in being one of the people who have places to be, things to do; a sense of unity amongst anonymity. When they still could, he and Taehyung would play a game, trying to guess where each of the passengers was headed to, what kind of job they had. Taehyung was brilliant at it, coming up with the most creative and sometimes ridiculous ideas, causing Yoongi to burst into chuckles and earning him a few glares. But that was a long time ago; Taehyung's career soon took off and having his face plastered all over the billboards meant no more buses or subways if they didn't want to be recognized. Yoongi supposes that's one of the good things about being on the other side of the camera. He became quite famous too, if the contracts and awards were anything to go by, but everyone was more interested in his photos rather than his face. Still, whenever he got asked for an autograph or to comment on some excited kid’s portfolio, he made sure to be as kind and involved as he could. His success was still slightly unexplainable to him, he knew that there were many people much more talented and hardworking than him, which is why he’d sworn to himself to work even harder and not take anything for granted. He could still remember his internship days, slaving over the most mundane tasks and staying up until the sunrise to finish his personal projects before taking a shower and going back to the studio. Some part of him missed those days, missed being younger and full of cautious hope. Now he got flown in private jets to the most picturesque locations and he loved it, he loved it with every fiber of his being. But there was something that made him feel sentimental over the memories of that tiny, one bedroom apartment he had shared with Taehyung and how they both cried when Yoongi got his first solo exhibition (the newspaper clippings of the reviews for that one still hung over his desk, where Taehyung had proudly put it up).
Shaking the memories out of his head, he gets off the subway and maneuvers his way through the crowds to the building where his meeting is supposed to take place. The building is huge, all glass and metal, a modern look for a fashion brand that became the biggest competition for the best known and most prestigious names in a matter of years. Yoongi still had no idea what made them decide to hire him as their main photographer (or to have a main photographer in the first place), but he was more than willing to count his blessings. The contract allows him to work on other fashion projects if the board agrees with it, and, in exchange, Yoongi promised to drop everything and do their photoshoots whenever they need him to. He started working for them a few years ago and so far everything had been running smoothly; the board gives him a free hand when it comes to his photos and ideas, and in return, Yoongi does everything in his power to make sure they’re pleased. A win-win situation if he had ever seen one. Of course, it meant that he was also a sort of a spokesperson for them, but really, all he cared about was that he could take photos, as simple as that.
“Yoongi!”
Yoongi spins around, the heavy hand of his assistant-slash-agent on his shoulder pulling him out of his thoughts. Minho beams at him, but Yoongi knows him well enough to see that there’s just a slight hint of panic in his eyes and that causes his stomach to drop.
“What happened?”
“What… why would anything happen?”
Yoongi squints at him and Minho lets out a heavy sigh.
“Okay, listen… So you know how they told us this is a concept meeting?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says slowly, his eyes never leaving Minho’s face.
“Well, turns out they want to start shooting next week, and –”
“What?” Yoongi almost chokes on air. “But that’s impossible! We need to scout for locations. We need models, a producer–”
“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say they already have that covered, I just wanted to give you a heads up, so you don’t murder that poor kid who’s going to tell you all that.”
“How considerate of you,” Yoongi mumbles, walking up to the welcome desk. “Well, at least it’ll be over soon, they’re saving us a lot of work.”
“That’s the spirit!” Minho pats his shoulder with enough force to dislocate a few joints. He turns to the receptionist, sending her his most charming smile, and says:
“Song Minho and Min Yoongi, for the meeting about the new summer campaign.”
The girl nods and starts typing something into the computer, sending Yoongi curious glances. He absent-mindedly fixes the collar of his t-shirt, thanking any god that would listen that most of the people here were already used to his peculiar fashion sense.
The receptionist sends them over to one of the conference rooms and they both take their seats, Yoongi immediately reaching for the freshly brewed pot of coffee. He doesn’t even have the chance to pour himself a cup, because the door flies open and a young, worriedly cheerful man walks in.
“Hi!” he says, grabbing Yoongi’s hand over the table and shaking it. “I’m Jeff, the new head of marketing, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you!”
“Likewise,” Yoongi says, exchanging quick glances with Minho. New people usually meant new approaches and Yoongi has a nagging feeling he knows who’s responsible for the rush with the photoshoot.
Jeff sends Minho a nod and sits opposite them, placing his briefcase right next to him. He leans over conspiratorially and winks.
“Let’s get straight to the point, shall we? That way we can all grab a lunch and let our hair down in an hour. So, the concept for this is that we’re trying to reach a younger target,” he starts, pulling out a bunch of folders from his briefcase and placing them on the table. “Mostly young adults, people in their mid-twenties. Our customers are mostly older, with stable, good paying jobs, but we want to start making them loyal earlier than that. We want the photos to be fresh, hip, but with a hint of class? Aesthetic, that’s what the kids call it.”
Oh boy.
Yoongi closes his eyes, counting to five in his head. Usually it’s much more different than this, with graphs, presentations, numbers and pie-charts. Starting off a meeting with so little information meant that they were counting on Yoongi to do all the heavy lifting; to come up with something that’s going to make the campaign a hit. Of course, he’d be given the requirements and everything else later, but clearly the company was counting on him to carry them with a strike of genius. This could go two ways; Yoongi could do something amazing, something that would capture the attention of the public and elevate the campaign to the highest levels, or it could be a total miss and Yoongi’d be the one to blame for that. It’s not really his job to come up with the concepts themselves, rather their execution –sure, but no one is going to care about that when the campaign is a disaster. He’s really, truly lucky that he loves the challenges. It doesn’t mean that he can’t allow himself one tiny jab.
“So, if we’re doing this pretty much backwards, does it mean the location, the producer and all that is already taken care of? The photos too, perhaps?”
Jeff blinks a few times and Yoongi almost feels bad for him. Clearly, being the new one is tough as it is and Yoongi acting bratty isn’t going to make his life any easier. He sighs, rubbing his forehead and waves his hand.
“Sorry, I didn’t have my breakfast and I’m grumpy. But... usually, we discuss the concept way earlier, like with the autumn collection? That was done –”
“I know,” Jeff cuts him off, looking very apologetic. “The thing is, we managed to book an amazing model, a rising star really, so this might seem a little rushed, but we all know you’re more than capable of working in such conditions, I mean is there anything you can’t do?”
“Lot of things,” Yoongi says darkly. “But okay. Okay. So, the location?”
Jeff immediately lights up.
“Oh, you’re going to love this! We want to keep the campaign a secret, so the board president is allowing us to use his private island in the Maldives for a week.”
Yoongi can see out of the corner of his eye the way Minho flinches in his seat. He can’t blame him, spending a week on a private island sounds like a dream and that just fuels his suspicion that something is going to go horribly wrong soon.
“All right,” he says cautiously. “So when can I see the collection? Who’s going to be the producer? When are we leaving?”
“Hey, hey,” Jeff puts his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Boy, you sure got a lot of questions. Wouldn’t you rather see the model first? He’s truly an eye-candy, at least that’s what my gay colleagues say. I wouldn’t know, to be quite honest, but he’s really in right now.”
Yoongi tries his hardest not to roll his eyes, so to hide it he nods shortly, mouthing “sure”. Jeff opens one of the files, takes out the photos and places them in front of Yoongi in a broad gesture.
When Yoongi was twelve years old, he got into a nasty fight with Jin. He couldn’t even remember what they were arguing about, but he could remember that they were standing at the top of some stairs very well. He could also vividly remember the way Jin had pushed him; later he said that he didn’t mean to do it that hard, but it still ended up with Yoongi falling down the stairs, his head thumping against the wood so hard he blacked out for a few seconds.
The memory comes back to him, because suddenly he feels as if someone had slammed his head against something hard; dizzy, slightly out of breath, and very disoriented. He hears the sharp intake of breath coming from Minho, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the photos. He can feel his throat closing up, his heart fighting to make it’s way to his mouth, and he barely notices that Jeff is still talking.
“Oh, that must be him! Please come in!”
Yoongi’s head snaps up as he watches, his insides twisting sharply, as no one else but Kim Taehyung walks through the door.
“Hello,” Taehyung says cheerfully and freezes when his eyes lock with Yoongi’s. Yoongi's mind goes completely blank. His mouth feels so dry he tries to swallow, but his body simply doesn’t want to cooperate with him; Taehyung’s gaze paralyzing every nerve, making him feel like a deer in headlights. Through the static noise in his ears he hears Jeff ask in a slightly concerned tone:
“Um, you two know each other?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi manages to say after what feels like eternity. He takes a deep breath, watching Taehyung’s face go expressionless, and adds:
“We were married once.”