Chapter Text
“Noona. Noona. Noona.” Jungkook steps in front of you, waving a tattooed hand in front of your face. “Manager-nim!” Finally actually hearing him, you snap out of your focus.
“Sorry, Jungkookie,” you say apologetically, tapping your phone screen off. “Next week’s schedule is going through another round of last-minute changes, the suppliers for the merch restock are stalling due to logistics issues, and –” you cut yourself off. Jungkook looks at you, clearly amused, but he is also hopping from foot to foot in impatience. He’s evidently been waiting some time to catch your attention.
“My shoot’s done,” he says, his voice bubbling over. “So I can go now, right? I wanna go boxing.” He throws a few air punches, makes cute little pow-pow-pow sounds with his pouty mouth. “Think I can fit in a couple rounds before I go home.”
Done already? Have you lost track of time so quickly? You shoot a startled glance around the set. Sure enough, the photographers are huddled around the monitors, glancing through the day’s pictures. Muffled conversations echo around the room as your crew efficiently breaks the set down and packs it away into neatly labelled crates to be stored in the vast HYBE warehouses. Mentally, you begin ticking off the tasks that have to be done to shut down the set properly – and Jungkook blows out a breath, once again reminding you of his insistent presence. You reach out a hand to ruffle his hair affectionately, but the playful maknae ducks and weaves, grinning, as if you’re about to land a blow on his face. He definitely has boxing on the brain.
“Go!” You laugh and flap your hand at him. “Just go. I’ll see you tomorrow…?” – but already Jungkook is headed for the door, waving enthusiastically back at you as he hurries off. You shake your head in amusement. Jungkook’s twenty-fifth birthday may be just around the corner, but sometimes you worry that having spent nearly his entire life as an idol, he has grown up sheltered and protected from the real world just a little too much. He is mature beyond his years, but the boys – your boys – by necessity live in a cocoon, a bubble universe that seems almost separate, running parallel to the real world and occasionally overlapping, but still plainly discrete.
You sigh and shake your head as you head over to the photographers to join in their animated discussion. Chae-sun clicks busily through the files. As always, her work is impeccable, the photos practically flawless. There are nods, comments from the staff as they point out which pictures work best with the ‘Rest and Relax’ theme you’ve chosen. The photographs flash by in reverse order: Jungkookie sprawled on a couch, looking almost louche. Tae perched on a bar stool in a waistcoated suit (he had insisted). Jimin, draped casually and elegantly against the wall. Hobi in his trademark baggy white shirt, somehow managing to look suave as he does warm-up stretches. Yoongi strumming his black guitar, delicate bony hands in focus, while Jin adorably feigns sleep in silk pajamas, with a video game controller dangling from his fingers. Pride swamps you – the boys do such good work. And when Chae-sun moves to the next set of pictures, your heart stops just for a minute as the image of Namjoon fills the screen. He poses with a book – what else? – his dragon eyes staring intensely over the pages. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath as the other staff members, unaware of your internal hiccups, scribble their final notes. You don’t realize your lips have curved in appreciation. That picture, you think dreamily. For a moment you envision a giant version of it hanging in your office above your table. That one’s your favorite, for sure.
“Ah, I look good there, don’t I?” A murmur, deep and throaty, sounds in your ear and you squeak and jump as goosebumps unfurl on your arm.
“Kim Namjoon! Pa-bo,” you scold, but your tone is warm even as you smack his arm in retaliation. Your hand practically bounces off his taut bicep. He grins wickedly at you. You remember something Taehyung once said smugly: “Noona can never stay angry at us” and you roll your eyes good-naturedly. You’d protested, even then, but everyone knows it is one of the irrefutable facts of life. The sun rises in the east. The moon controls the tides. Bangtan Sonyeondan have you wrapped around their little fingers. Lucky for you the boys reciprocate your love and are incredibly responsible and professional, never abusing the privilege even as they gleefully make full use of your deep affection for them.
“Why did you come back? You’ve got the entire evening off. You should enjoy it.”
“Yes, I know that,” Namjoon admits. “I just, ah, I really want to finish this song. I saw Jungkook leaving and he said you guys were shutting down the set already. I thought I’d come and see if there was anything I could do to help.”
Classic Namjoon. Always so thoughtful. You shake your head as your lips curve into a smile.
“We have it covered. You really should take the night off, Namu.” At the sound of your pet name for him, the corner of his lips quirk upwards. Around you the staff are putting the finishing touches on packing up. The room is pretty much down to its bare bones.
“We’re all done,” one staff member calls out. “That’s it, manager-nim.”
“Thank you!” you reply with genuine feeling. “You guys. You’ve done such a great job. Please, enjoy the rest of the evening? We’ll resume the schedule tomorrow.” Even Chae-sun and her assistants are done and have started putting their things away. The staff members nod and smile at Namjoon, bowing as one by one they all file out of the room. He acknowledges and thanks each one, polite and respectful to a fault. He always makes you proud.
“Great job today, Namjoon-sshi,” Chae-sun exclaims, then turns to you. “I’ll have the final edits ready for you in a week or so,” she estimates. “Shouldn’t take too long. The boys are pros, obviously.” There is warm admiration in her voice.
Namjoon snorts. “After so many years! We’d better be pros,” he jokes back, then tells her seriously, “really, it’s because you’re so good at your job.”
Chae-sun bats her eyelids at him playfully before she pushes her equipment trolley out the door, and for a moment a strange feeling zaps its way through your chest. It takes you awhile to identify it, and when you do you raise your eyebrows at your own silliness. Jealousy? Really? You wrinkle your brow a little at the completely unreasonable feeling. Chae-sun has known the boys almost as long as you have, and she’s married with a toddler. You’re being absolutely ridiculous. It isn’t as if you have any claim on Namjoon, anyway – or any of the boys, for that matter. Laughing a little at your own presumptuousness, you take one last look around the room to make sure nothing is left, then turn on your heel to leave – only to collide straight into a very broad, very firm chest. Namjoon hadn’t headed out with Chae-sun like you thought he had.
“Whoa, noona,” Namjoon says, but he doesn’t step back; he just instinctively grabs hold of your upper arms in a gentle grip to stop you from falling over. For a moment you are barely a hairsbreadth apart as you stare into each other’s eyes: his, suddenly hooded and dark; yours, you are sure, are wider than a startled rabbit’s. Your lips part slightly, unconsciously. You know your heart has involuntarily begun to hammer and you’re certain that with the silence of the now-empty room, he can probably hear it banging against your ribs like a buk drum. How is it that you’ve looked into these eyes a hundred, a thousand times, but lately you haven’t been able to quell the feelings crackling under your skin?
Then, as suddenly as it happened, the electric current is broken. Namjoon simply turns and slings an arm around your shoulder as he propels you towards the lift lobby. You bite your lip and remind yourself firmly not to be a complete girl. You’re his manager. He’s your client. That’s all there is to it.
“I’m going up to my studio,” he says. “I really need to get this guide finished while I can. Are you going home?”
You make a rueful sound, huffing the air out with a sigh. “Home? Home?? I live in the HYBE building,” you say. “Right here, in Yongsan, Seoul.” You fling your arms out dramatically. “This is home. Honey! I’m home!”
Namjoon cracks up. “You and me both, noona, so don’t you dare yell at me for staying late in the office.” He takes his arm off your shoulder to press the lift button, and a fleeting sense of regret trickles through you. There’s now a cold nothing where the solid weight of his arm used to be. He gets off at his floor and turns to salute you casually. You wave back.
“Don’t work too late, ya?” he calls out just before the doors close.