Location : Byeol Photo Studio, Gangnam district, Seoul
Date : July 19
Time : 11:30 am

Click. Click. Click.

The camera clicked thrice before the dark eyes peering into the viewfinder of the camera locked onto the model's face, gleaming with satisfaction.

"There you go... Beautiful."

His words complacent and his expression content, he — a man thriving in his late forties — turned the camera in his hand; his mind perched on capturing a beautiful portrait of the ethereal model in front of him, his index finger itching to click that one perfect final shot.

"Okay, last shot. Let's try to make it magical."

As soon as those words left the photographer's mouth, the model who stood in front of the camera changed his pose; his right hand on his hip and the other on his chest, resting elegantly under the cream-coloured collar of his shirt. His face now showed composure — his lips relaxed, his cheeks smooth and the frizzy strands of his brown hair covering a part of his serene coffee eyes, not too much, just the right amount.

The lights flashed and the camera clicked.

"And, that's a wrap," the middle-aged man who sat in front of the computer screen beside the photographer chuckled gleefully, because for the first time in his life he felt like he had the easiest job in the world.

The photographer, without no hesitation as any, quickly made his way to the model who stood dazed in front of the pastel grey backdrop, to offer the latter a hearty handshake which left the younger even more dazed.

"I see a bright future for you, Mr. Kim. You're a natural!" The sheer enthusiasm blaring through the man's words made the young man's heart thump, his coffee eyes shone with a starry glint.

Sure enough, words like these from one of the best fashion photographers of South Korea was a remarkable achievement for somebody who had started modelling barely an year ago, and as for the young male, he felt as if he was on cloud nine.

The model quickly reciprocated the smile on the photographer's face, a much wider version of it. Words refused to pour out of his tinted lips, but a quick 'thank you sir' covered it up for the time being; a breath of relief and joy falling from his lungs unknowingly.

"Mr. Kim, you can give these shots a quick review if you want," another familiar voice called out, the art director of the shoot; his face — illuminated by the screen in front of him — adorned with an approving smile.

The model nodded and along with the photographer approached the screen together, where dozens of photographs were being displayed one by one, each one better than its previous counterpart. They analysed the shots; the photographer seemed very content, and so did the director but the model, not so much.

"They're really good sir. But I think I could go again—"

The young man's words were abruptly cut off by the director as he placed a firm hand on the former's shoulder, smiling reassuringly.

"No need Mr. Kim. I got exactly what I wanted. Your next shoot starts in twenty minutes, am I right?"

"Yes sir."

"Then go on, don't give your manager an anxiety attack again," the director tapped lightly on the model's forearm, leaving a unique box-like smile on the younger's face.

"Sure sir," the model said as he bowed to both the director and the photographer, before striding to the fitting room hastily. His next shoot would start in less than half an hour and he was nowhere nearby the studio where that was happening.

This was his life, or what his life had turned into after he had decided to take up modelling as his career. It was never a passion of his, just something that had approached him in the long run of fate. And as someone who used to feel like he was underwater all day all night, he thought it could bring about a change in his life, and it did. But being a model was definitely not an easy job; it had its perks, yes, as well as its downsides — his private life was nearly inexistent, his schedule was hectic, every day was meetings, photos and fake smiles.

Repetition was what he hated the most. Every day was the same, the people were the same, their words were the same. As he scurried across the floor, he couldn't help but notice how this studio too went through the same routine after a shoot was done — the fluorescent lights being switched off, people hurrying across the room as if the sky was falling, how he felt excited but tired at the same time.

Even though he was not even close to being experienced in his field, he had talent. His impeccable grace and striking God-like features had put him in a position that was thought to be unachievable by other models of his grounding; the sudden fame changing his whole lifestyle, and he was struggling to fit in.

Constant praises and harsh criticisms ruled his present life, while the lack of time left him exhausted. From an outsider perspective, he had it all — fame, money, recognition — but inside, he didn't know whether he deserved it all.

After all, he was just a simple young boy from a small town, with a dark past — a part of which he wanted to forget and a part, he wanted to keep.

But he was thankful. Thankful that at least now, he felt like he had a purpose in his life.

And a distraction from his past.

Stepping into the fitting room, he found his manager leaning on to the wall opposite to the tall shiny mirrors, shoulders tense, scribbling something furiously on to his blue notepad; the creases on his forehead suggesting the fact that his anxiety was indeed kicking in.

"Bogum hyung, did you see my shoot?" the young man asked his manager grabbing a bottle of water, excited to hear what the older's opinion was.

A low pitched hum was heard from the other, a hum that lacked interest.

"And, how was it?"

Bogum still didn't look up from his notepad, jotting down something that seemed to be very important, but nodded his head ever so slightly, only managing to say, "it was amazing, Mr. Kim."

His words felt so flat.

"Don't call me that." The young man's coffee eyes suddenly fell, as he repeated a sentence he has told his manager nearly a million times, maybe more than a million.

Bogum lifted his gaze from the illegible words on his notepad to the other's gloomy face, a forced sigh falling from his lungs.

"Okay Taehyung, you did great, as always," the older spoke enunciating the younger's name clearly, reminiscing all those moments where the latter had asked him to call him by his name. 'Feels so distant', was what the younger used to say, whenever he used to address the latter with the respect he was obliged to give him.

The young man's face seemed to brighten upon hearing his own name, but a sad smile was all he could manage. Bogum smiled too; he knew that it was hard for Taehyung to catch up with his busy schedule, but as his manager, he had to make sure that the younger did his best.

"Now go change, will you? We have a shoot in eighteen minutes," Bogum huffed as he took a quick glance down to his watch and wiping a bead of sweat that trickled down his forehead, after which he resumed scribbling on to his notepad with a higher vigour than before.

Taehyung moved towards the changing room seeing the state Bogum was in; the poor man was sweating in an air-conditioned room. He quickly changed out of his current outfit — a simple but expensive beige suit — to some casual clothes and got out, when somebody informed him that his manager was already outside waiting by the car.

Oh dear God.

The small headache crawling through the sides of his forehead didn't stop him, not even half his day was done. He ran out to the parking lot to eventually find his manager waiting by the car his modelling agency had provided him with, with a restless look plastered on his face.

As much as he wanted to take a break, he didn't want to deal with his manager's anxiety again, so, he did his best to keep the man stress-free.

Not that it actually worked.

The moment Bogum saw Taehyung approaching, he started speaking, explaining everything frantically about the next shoot — the concept, the outfits, the set, the theme — before they had even gotten inside the car. Taehyung hummed in response to every single word of his until they heard someone yelling from a distance.

"Hey! Stop there!"

It was the security guard of the studio, shouting and chasing after somebody in a dark grey hoodie — his face hidden in the shadows — running towards them as fast as his legs could carry him.

"I said stop there you—!" The shouts of the security officer resonated through the air, while Bogum suddenly grabbed Taehyung by his hand.

"Get in," he urged, scared that the stranger running towards them was a stalker.

Taehyung was getting quite popular these days, and it was not wrong if one had suspected that he had stalkers of all kinds. There had had been times when he had gotten mobbed by people on the streets, leading to a situation where he could never go out alone.

And he hated that.

Assuming that the stranger running towards him was a psycho stalker of such, he quickly proceeded to get inside the car, when suddenly the guard caught the running man a few feet away from where the car was parked.

"TAEHYUNG! IT'S ME!"

The eerily familiar voice that called out through the rough commotion behind him made him freeze in his actions. He quickly turned around, his eyes lighting up with curiosity. The buff security guard had the stranger by the collar now even though the man resisted with all his strength trying to squirm out of his hands.

The security guard skillfully immobilized the intruder by grabbing both of his hands and securing them behind the latter's back, while the man still persisted on freedom.

But Taehyung felt confused. Something about that voice was so striking, that he started moving closer to where the guard had the man in a strong hold. He knew that voice; an old acquaintance perhaps?

He walked quite close to the ruckus and was about to tell the security officer to go easy on the intruder and maybe even talk with him, when he caught a glance of the man's face, just a part of it, a very quick one. He abruptly paused in his step, not sure whether to believe what he saw or more precisely, who he saw.

He waited, to get a clear view of the intruder's face and when he did, he recognized the person in front of him, his heart suddenly dropping down to his gut, mind blanking out.

[A/N]

I'm back y'all.

Life has been so hard due to college and corona, but I wanted to publish this book since for so long now and it's finally out!!! I wanna know your honest opinions on this chapter, and trust me y'all, this is not gonna be a smooth ride.

I hope you guys will like this book and I'm so excited to get on with it!

Love,
PAPRIKA ♡