Chapter Text
Kim Sujin & Kang Minsu
September 2018
Seokjin was used to well-to-do clients, but Sujin’s affluence took him by surprise. “Let’s talk on the sun deck,” she said, ushering him in like sun decks were something most people had in their Seoul homes.
Sujin wasn’t a chaebol heir or anything of the sort – Seokjin’s clients were not at that level – but he’d looked up her company after their first phone conversation: she had created some kind of a crypto app with a few friends while still in graduate school, which had turned them into buy-a-Rolls-Royce level rich within eighteen months of launching. Seokjin couldn’t imagine that kind of overnight success or wealth.
“Just us today?” he asked as he was led through a spacious, sleek living room onto a well-sized balcony that, as promised, had deck chairs for sun-bathing. The summer had passed, but the autumn day was still warm. The sound of traffic sounded in the distance, and the top-floor balcony gave views to the complex grounds.
“Yes, just us. Minsu is on a work trip,” Sujin said without sounding too regretful. Seokjin was used to grooms who were not particularly bothered by the planning; they mostly just expected to show up on the day.
“And your parents or in-laws?”
“Are a handful,” Sujin said, offering him a humorous smile. “I’ll involve them later, when we’ve already decided on a basic structure.”
“That’s likely wise,” he granted her.
Sujin was a perfect host, fetching a bottled iced americano for him before they sat down on the balcony furniture. She was pleasant in the way successful and wealthy people could afford to be, her voice cheerfully confident and her smiles accompanied by charming dimples. He’d always liked dimples – they gave her a cuteness.
Sujin’s wedding planner Chaewon had recommended Seokjin as the MC; she had shown Sujin a few clips of him on the job. Sujin had been “instantly charmed”, according to Chaewon, likely prompting the comment, “You look just as handsome in real life as on camera!”
“Ah, cameras like me,” he said not-so-modestly, which seemed to delight Sujin. He had the ceremony specifications on his tablet, and soon the Kim Sujin and Kang Minsu wedding was taking shape nicely. How many bows, how many greetings, the attendee list, the order of introductions…
“Do you suppose Minsu-nim might have any surprises planned? The groom doing a surprise dance number, anything like that? Does he plan to have groomsmen?”
He needed to have every minute planned out.
“Goodness no – he’s not romantic like that. And no groomsmen either, although my oppa has promised to help Minsu on the day. And trust me, no one wants to see him dance.”
Seokjin wrote this down with his tablet stylus, but he’d check with Chaewon. Sometimes it was the non-romantic ones who decided to go all out on their wedding days.
“And this list of people to be invited onto the stage for the family portrait – you said you needed to double check it still?”
Sujin read the tablet screen that he held out for her. “Hm, well I… I think that’s it. My oppa, you know, whether he has a plus one or not, that’s the question.”
“A bit of an unclear situation?” he said diplomatically and without judgement.
Sujin laughed. “He both has and does not have a fiancée.”
Seokjin accepted this: Schrödinger’s fiancée.
“But our parents want good family representation on the stage, so I’ll check again with my mother,” Sujin said.
Seokjin had sensed already that this marriage placed ‘showing off the family’ at its centre. He’d figured out, furthermore, that the marriage had been more or less arranged: both families had adult children who needed spouses of similar levels of education and finances. Enter Kim Sujin, twenty-five, a self-made crypto app girl boss, and Kang Minsu, twenty-eight, a corporate lawyer. Their mothers had met through a knitting club and set them up.
Seokjin had no qualms about this marriage being practical. In his time as a professional wedding MC – three years and counting – he’d seen all kinds of marriage arrangements, and being madly in love did not guarantee happiness in the long run any more than a marriage of convenience.
But was Sujin happy to get married? He studied her as they talked. She seemed invested enough, and that was important for a good ceremony. He’d seen the unhappy brides and grooms, too – the ones who were in tears before the ceremony, saying the name of their first love, crying that it should have been him or her. Then, fifteen minutes later, they were on stage smiling next to the spouse they did not love, but they supposed they would have to tolerate.
He needed this wedding to go well. Chaewon recommending him was a good sign, and Sujin had dozens of well-off girlfriends, all likely thinking about when to get married. He wanted their business.
As they were getting to the end of the meeting, Sujin said, “Seokjin-nim, you have such a natural touch for this. Are you married yourself?”
His chest clenched uncomfortably.
“Not yet, no, but I hope to be one day,” he said with an ‘I love marriage’ smile, as this was crucial in his line of work. “But finding an MC for my own wedding, with my standards – now that will be the real challenge,” he said with a wink.
Sujin let out a pleased laugh, just as he’d hoped she would.
He quickly redirected their conversation. “I’ll talk with Chaewon-ssi to—”
The ring tone of an incoming call interrupted them, and Sujin rose to her feet, squinting at her phone. “I’m sorry but I have to take this. Perhaps you can wait inside?”
“Of course.”
He gathered his things – the papers, the tablet, the half-finished iced americano – and he stepped back into the air-conditioned apartment, sliding the door shut. He looked around, arms full, then beelined for the sofa, dumping everything on the coffee table and rearranging his belongings.
He took a steadying breath. Clients often asked about his love life – it seemed natural to pry since they were discussing marriage, and Seokjin was young and handsome and, they thought, clearly in need of a wife.
Had Sujin suspected something?
The glass door muffled Sujin’s voice, with her standing in the corner of the balcony, silky long hair swaying in the warm autumn breeze. She was absorbed in the conversation, looking relaxed but focused.
No, she suspected nothing.
He’d handled that well. He was fine. He was good.
He reached for the tablet, leaning into the couch. He scrolled down his list. Now where had he—
A door in the corner of the living room opened, and a man walked into the room. Seokjin jolted, surprised that he was not alone.
The man was tall, mid-twenties, mid-yawn, with brown-dyed hair sticking out. He was muscular, with an incredibly attractive and well-maintained body. Seokjin knew this because the man was wearing nothing but tight, white boxer briefs around a sturdy, firm-looking waist. The band was black, with ‘Dolce & Gabbana’ written on them. A trail of dark hair led up from the waistband over a taut stomach to a round belly button. The abs were well-defined, the pecs firm, the nipples dark. The thick arms flexed as the man rubbed at his hair and face. “Sujin-ah?” he called out.
Seokjin was distantly aware that he was transfixed.
The boxer briefs were tight around thick thighs, and the pouch was well-filled, showing a heftiness there.
Seokjin knew he was turning bright red.
Then he realised what this was – oh shit fuck shit! He had walked into the middle of an affair! Minsu was on a work trip, and now a half-naked man, pornographic to even look at, had emerged from a bedroom all sleep-rumpled, calling out for Sujin so familiarly.
The man’s eyes landed on him, and they both froze up. The man’s gaze stayed on him, his expression flickering from confusion to something else, maintaining an intense scrutiny. Somehow this made him feel like he was the one half-naked. “Who are you?” The man’s voice was a rumble, coming deep from the chest.
“I, uh. The, um – Kim Seokjin.” He stood up, feeling heat rise to his cheeks – he’d uncovered an affair, and Sujin would fire him for it, and this guy might beat him up for it. Well, it was possible, wasn’t it?
“...Kim Seokjin.” The man repeated the name like he was testing it for something – sounding it out, memorising the syllables. “And who are you?”
He motioned towards the balcony door, making sure to keep his eyes trained on the man’s face – but it felt too obvious, somehow, the way he was trying not to look at the man. “Sujin-nim invited me.”
The man’s eyes flickered from him to where he pointed, then back again. Seokjin could see that the man’s cheeks reddened slightly. Was he embarrassed to be caught?
Before Seokjin could explain more, the balcony door slid open, Sujin re-entering. Seokjin’s heart was racing for reasons he could have explained but chose not to.
“Okay, I’m— Oh, oppa, you’re awake? Only half past noon, are you sure it’s not too early?”
The man smiled sheepishly, dimples appearing – the same dimples Sujin, too, had, the resemblance suddenly uncanny. Her brother. Oh for the love of all gods, thank you. This was just Sujin’s handsome, barely dressed brother.
Seokjin’s mouth felt dry.
The guy snapped his fingers. “Ah, you’re the wedding guy, right? I forgot.”
Wedding guy. Something about the way the man said it informed Seokjin that this was dismissive.
“I told you a dozen times he’d be coming today – oppa, go put some clothes on.” Sujin started pushing the man back towards the bedroom, and the man let himself be pushed despite Sujin being a head and a half shorter than him. “You never listen to me,” Sujin complained.
Before disappearing, the man looked at him once more with an interested stare. Seokjin turned away, quickly. He hoped he hadn’t looked too closely. He hadn’t meant to – the man had appeared out of nowhere, looking like…
He swallowed, fingers twitching.
Sujin rearranged her hair returning to him. “Sorry about him; he’s a pain in my butt.”
“No need to apologise. He, uh, lives with you?”
“More like he’s in-between places, I guess. Anyway, where were we?”
For the remainder of the meeting Seokjin kept listening out for sounds from the bedroom and was disappointed when the man stayed out of sight.
* * *
The brother re-emerged when Seokjin and Sujin were by the apartment door, exchanging goodbyes.
“Wait, I’m heading out too,” the man said, now wearing long-sleeved running clothes with a headband to keep the brown hair out of his face. Sujin looked at her brother tying his shoelaces with an air of frustration.
“Can you pick up some groceries while you’re out?”
“Sure.”
“Will you really? I’ll message you what I need. You won’t forget?”
“If I said sure, I meant it.”
Sujin crossed her arms, her lack of trust palpable. Seokjin’s own older brother often talked to him with an annoyed air too, but here the younger one had adopted that tone.
The man straightened up and motioned for Seokjin to head out first.
In the lift to the ground floor, Seokjin kept his eyes trained on the floor numbers illuminating one after another.
“Namjoon.”
He looked at the man next to him, at his high cheek bones, dragon-shaped eyes, and plush lips. He was a few centimetres taller than him. “Sorry?”
“Kim Namjoon. Nice to meet you.” A reserved but dimpled smile.
His chest felt tight. God, he needed to get a grip.
He gave a shallow bow. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Another two floors. “Will it be a good wedding, then?”
“Hm? Oh, definitely. Very elegant and very modern.”
Namjoon let out a small huff that sounded doubtful.
Seokjin didn’t know what to make of that. “What?”
“Nothing. Just that it’s like watching a car crash, that’s all.”
Seokjin was rarely rendered speechless, but Namjoon managed it.
The doors opened to the ground floor lobby. Namjoon, again, motioned for him to exit first, and he took a few steps, ready to bid a clumsy goodbye when Namjoon beat him to it, placing a hand on his arm – a brief but firm press there. Their eyes met. Seokjin’s felt his throat close up.
“See you around,” Namjoon said.
Namjoon crossed to the main doors in a few strides and was soon out of the building, disappearing for his run. Seokjin stayed still, looking after him – heart hammering, the press of Namjoon’s hand on his arm lingering.
Seokjin would often think back to that day – when Namjoon derailed his life with one, brief touch.
* * *
The Kim & Kang ceremony would be relatively straightforward, so Seokjin wasn’t sure why he spent the next few weeks fretting about it. He wanted each detail to be perfect, with his MC speeches perfectly tailored for the couple.
Couples marrying out of love had dozens of cute stories to share; a couple like Minsu and Sujin didn’t have these. It was Seokjin’s job to obscure that fact and sell them as the greatest love story of the century or, failing that, at least convince the audience of their compatibility.
Minsu and Sujin both liked hiking – great, he could stretch that into meaning they were practically soulmates.
He headed out to Apgujeong on a Tuesday afternoon for the ceremony rehearsal. The wedding hall was a brief walk from the subway station, and one of the nicer and more in-demand venues in the area. He had done a few weddings there before.
A few blocks before the venue, he stopped at a convenience store for a quick lunch. He was at the ready-made meals section when his phone vibrated – a message on KakaoTalk. hey, been thinking about you lately… what’s up? He suppressed a noise of annoyance. Four months of silence since they’d hooked up, and now this guy was interested again?
“He fucking wishes,” he muttered, heading to the counter with a ready-made dosirak.
His meal was soon in the microwave in the corner of the shop, and he was back on his phone, worrying on his bottom lip and looking at the message. The guy had been nice enough, and the sex had been okay. Seokjin had messaged the guy a few days after their hook up with, hey how’s your week going? and never received a reply which, truthfully, he had mostly expected.
But even so, he had some pride.
He hastily put his phone away, looking around – perhaps someone could sense his sad, little gay crisis – and, to his surprise, he recognised the man sitting on a window seat eating cup noodles: Kim Namjoon.
He had to process this for a few moments.
This time Namjoon was fully clothed, as society demanded, but this did not prevent Seokjin from remembering the contours of his half-dressed body, the curves of the muscles, the fullness of the boxer briefs – looking like the exact kind of faceless, nameless man you pictured in bed with you during a quick midnight jerk-off.
In the well-lit 7-Eleven, Namjoon looked much less overwhelming, wearing a dark blue denim jacket and loose fitting beige slacks, quietly reading a book. He was so inconspicuous that Seokjin could easily have walked past him without looking twice – which would be a mistake, given how handsome Namjoon was upon inspection.
Namjoon hadn’t seen him yet.
Seokjin’s first instinct was to leave before Namjoon could spot him: like watching a car crash… Who the hell said that about their sibling’s wedding?
But, he took a deep breath. It wasn’t his first rodeo with difficult family members. Jealousy, bitterness – these feelings often overshadowed weddings. With Namjoon, he wasn’t quite sure what the issue was. Sujin had said something about a fiancée… Maybe Namjoon was fighting with his girlfriend and was taking it out on others.
Maybe Seokjin should find out, for the sake of the ceremony.
This, at least, is what he told himself when he took out his food and approached Namjoon.
“This seat taken?”
Namjoon looked up, mouth parting slightly in surprise. His lips looked pinkish red, swollen by the spicy noodles. Seokjin’s eyes stayed on them only briefly.
“Feel free,” Namjoon said, closing the book like he’d been expecting company all along. It was some kind of a travel book, with a picture of a train crossing an Alpine meadow. “I take it we’re heading to the same place?”
“I’m pretty sure we are,” he said, taking his seat and placing down the dosirak with the banchan, rice, and fried pork in their containers. “So,” he said, imagining taking control of the conversation – a skill any MC had to have – but Namjoon was faster.
Namjoon asked him if the wedding preparations were complete and if he’d already had weddings to MC that week. He answered the questions politely but without trusting Namjoon’s interest to be sincere. He kept waiting for his chance to find out about Namjoon instead of the other way around. Maybe Namjoon and Sujin didn’t get along – there had been some tension in the air for sure. Maybe Namjoon’s girlfriend had kicked him out, resulting him in staying with his younger sister? Or perhaps—
“And what do you make of Minsu?” Namjoon asked, unexpectedly. Seokjin’s chopsticks stilled on the way to pick up more pork. “I figure, you see a lot of grooms. You probably develop a sixth sense about them. Will he treat Sujin well, do you think?”
So that was it: Namjoon didn’t care for his future brother-in-law.
Seokjin hesitated before deciding he could handle that. “Certainly, Minsu seems perfectly normal.”
A half-ironic smile crossed Namjoon’s face. “Normal.”
“Typical,” he corrected himself, but no, that was not right either. “I mean that he’s perfectly—”
“Average,” Namjoon finished for him, taking a sip of the iced coffee he had almost finished. Seokjin had no immediate comeback, and that was as good as admitting he agreed. Namjoon’s eyes fixed on the people passing the shop front, all of them in black jackets and coats. “Minsu is okay looking with a thick pay check – and with the personality of stale cardboard.”
“Can cardboard be stale?”
“I thought so. Can it not?”
“I don’t think so, but I catch your meaning.”
They shared a smile that felt like it signalled some kind of a common understanding. Seokjin knew that was unprofessional of him, but it made Namjoon’s dimples appear, and he couldn’t be mad at that. Namjoon had nice eyes, inviting and intelligent.
Namjoon’s gaze dropped from his eyes to his lips. Seokjin held his breath.
“So how did you get into it?”
He refocused. “The what?”
“The wedding MCing. It seems like a peculiar profession.”
“Oh.” He looked around the shop, eyes washing over the cashier and the few people buying their triangle kimbaps. “Well, I already did MCing in high school, when we had events and things. I was good at it, or decent enough, or good-looking enough for teachers to ask me to take on the job. When I went to university, I ended up doing it, too, at club events and things like that, and when I enlisted, same thing – I was the MC for all the events we had at the base. And when I returned to civilian life, I thought how could I do this professionally, I guess. Because I was good at it, and I enjoyed it. And it’s nice, you know, being a part of such a special moment in people’s lives, so working as a wedding MC is rewarding.”
Namjoon had been studying him, face one of concentration. “Huh,” he said, and this was all. Seokjin shifted in his seat, wondering how the man had gotten so much information out of him so quickly.
“Ah, what do you do?”
Namjoon shrugged. “Policy advisor.”
“Oh. Cool. At a big company?”
“Kind of as a freelancer.”
Well, that sounded like a fake job, but sure.
He checked his watch. “We should get going.”
They finished their snacks and drinks and stood up to leave.
Namjoon led them to the door, holding it open and letting him go first. Seokjin thought, for a brief second, that Namjoon pressed a hand to his lower back as he passed to guide him – but the touch was so light, so fleeting, that it might have been a figment of his imagination.
Outside they fell into step with each other, the late September day overcast and dull.
“So I take it you’re, ah, not exactly looking forward to the wedding?” he asked as they stopped to wait for the light to turn. He was determined to get some information out of Namjoon, to relax his racing heart.
Namjoon shrugged, hands in jacket pockets, with the paperback sticking out. “Sujin is too young to be getting married. I’m two years older than her, and I know I’m not ready – so I can’t imagine how she could be.”
Sujin was twenty-five, which made Namjoon twenty-seven. Most people thought that was old enough for marriage.
Namjoon looked restless. “But we have to get this wedding business done so we can get to the end result of it all.”
“Kids?” he asked, because that usually was the goal with these things.
“The divorce,” Namjoon corrected, nonchalantly, smirking at Seokjin’s surprise. “You’re not expecting their marriage to last, are you?”
“Well, it’s not my place to…”
“Yeah. Not mine either, turns out. Oh, it’s green.”
They crossed the street and walked up to the automatic doors of the wedding hall complex, with Seokjin settling on a professional silence.
* * *
They had the wedding hall booked for forty minutes, longer than the ceremony itself would take, and Seokjin used every minute to coach the bride, groom, and the wider wedding party on when and where to enter, how to get to their seats, when to greet each other, when to exit. Namjoon didn’t put up a fight during this practice but neither was he overflowing with good will. Namjoon did not have any real role in the ceremonies either, but the parents had brought him along anyway.
The Kim siblings had inherited the dimples from their mother, Seokjin noted with some distraction. She seemed kind but was also the great matriarch, correcting Sujin’s posture. “You can’t slouch on the wedding day – think of the pictures!” Sujin’s posture was perfectly straight after this. The mother wasn’t the cold snob of the old dynasties but she was trying to project class and wealth to match her daughter’s success in life. It was still an uneasy fit for her, but Seokjin could see her trying.
Perhaps Namjoon’s minimal role in the proceedings left him too idle because he stared at Seokjin for most of the rehearsal from the banquet table. Seokjin told himself not to fixate on it.
“Namjoon-ah, keep this all in mind,” his mother said, motioning around the grandiose, high-ceilinged hall that seated two-hundred people at round tables. A raised platform ran through the middle, leading onto a spacious stage where the MC’s stand also was. The hall was decorated in shades of white, from the table cloths to the wall hangings to the stage backdrop. Mrs. Kim looked at her son meaningfully. “It’ll be you next, so you need to know what you like.”
“That’s hardly a concern for now,” Namjoon said, but his mother looked like she disagreed.
Seokjin noted that Namjoon’s supposed fiancée, who may or may not be in the family picture, had not come to the rehearsal. But if Sujin’s wedding went well, perhaps they would ask Seokjin to MC Namjoon’s wedding too, whenever that time came.
The rehearsal was over quickly – they would return in four days for the wedding itself. Sujin and Minsu seemed happy, and so did the two sets of parents. Seokjin exhaled, relieved this had gone smoothly.
As the wedding party filed out and dispersed, Seokjin lost sight of Namjoon and wished they had gotten a chance to say goodbye.
Minsu approached him in the sparkling lobby where the receptionists directed arrivals to the correct wedding: there were seven halls of different sizes to choose from. “Seokjin-ssi, what are you doing tomorrow night?”
Drinking beer on the couch and playing video games for five hours, he wanted to say, but he tried to give clients as little information about his personal life as possible. Never mind that he’d given Kim Namjoon his unextraordinary life story only an hour earlier.
Or, perhaps, if he messaged back that guy…
“Nothing special,” he decided to say.
Minsu beamed. He was going out celebrating the wedding “with the boys”, as he phrased it. Seokjin should come! Come on, Minsu insisted – hadn’t Seokjin said he wanted some personal anecdotes to include as MC? Well, what better way than to hit the town with him?
“You need to come, it’s all on me, anyway – I’ve even convinced my brother-in-law to tag along.”
Hanging out with a bunch of straight boys…
Yet, inexplicably, Seokjin ended up saying yes.
* * *
The bar was on the fourth floor of a commercial building in Myeongdong, with low-set red lights, wooden chairs and tables, and trendy clientele that veered to thirty and over. With all the imported liquor, the prices were higher, keeping younger people away.
“Order whatever you want!” Minsu shouted over the noise, arm over his shoulders, beaming at him with alcohol-soaked eyes. Seokjin nodded his thanks and read down the drinks menu at the bar. He’d arrived late on purpose, thereby intending to shorten how long he needed to stay – this meant everyone was already drunk.
Minsu’s party of almost ten were sitting around two tables pushed together, making a racket in the middle of the bar. Seokjin had been introduced to them, but he didn’t remember anyone’s name. Two drinks, just to be polite, and then he’d go home.
Namjoon hadn’t been at the table.
Seokjin ordered a highball, and Minsu got another whisky. “On my tab, put it on my tab!”
Minsu leaned backwards, grinning, arm still around his shoulders. “Shit, you really are a handsome son of a bitch. You know that, right?”
“Well, it’s not often phrased like that, but yes.”
“A chick magnet! I’d use you for a wing man if I hadn’t already registered the marriage.”
Sujin and Minsu, as was typical, had finalised the paperwork for their marriage weeks before the wedding. They already were husband and wife in the legal sense.
When they got back to the table, Namjoon was there. Where had he been earlier? Someone had pulled up an extra chair by Namjoon. Seokjin sat down; Namjoon offered his glass of beer to his highball – the glasses touched. “건배,” Namjoon said.
It was crammed around the table; their legs pressed together.
Seokjin had never messaged that one-time hook-up of his back. Maybe he should have.
Minsu and his friends were obsessed with Formula 1 and talked loudly about going to the Japanese Grand Prix in the new year. Seokjin tried to relax and get into the conversation – he was good with people, had to be as the entry level requirement for his job. But he was on edge, trying to figure out how to join the conversation. Namjoon, who had been chatty with him one-on-one, barely said a word either. Most of the people at the table were corporate lawyers. Enough said.
Alcohol, however, helped, and after two highballs he was feeling pretty good. He was chatting to the guy on his other side, and some of Minsu’s other lawyer friends had joined their conversation, too.
Soon he had them listening to his stories with big drunken smiles, with him insisting that he had once caught a sixty-two kilo bluefin tuna on a fishing trip.
“You better show us a picture!”
“Ah, I wish I could but I don’t have one!”
“What, you catch something like that but don’t take pictures?”
“He’s lying! It’s obvious he’s lying!”
“Me? I’ve never lied in my life!” he defended, realising a second too late he had said it in a cutesy way, tone teasing and lips pouting. Alcohol made him flirty and flamboyant. So far this made the corporate lawyers laugh.
“You want another drink?” Namjoon asked, reminding him of their proximity just as he’d started to relax.
“Sure – thanks,” he said, returning to the conversation but tracking Namjoon’s movements in the back of his mind. He knew better – should know better. Crushing on a straight guy at his age? Low-key pathetic.
Soon a third highball was placed in front of him, but someone had taken Namjoon’s seat, and so Namjoon ended up on the other side of the table. That was better, he decided.
As the conversations grew more restless, the lawyers wanted to know if it was easy getting laid in Seokjin’s line of work – he was a handsome guy at weddings that were full of desperate single women, all upset that a friend had gotten married before them. Surely he reaped the rewards?
Seokjin could have told them that in his experience it was men who, at the end of it all, were more desperate to get married than women were. He did not say this, however, instead offering a sly smile. “I don’t kiss and tell.” This earned oohs and aahs. He hoped this was a good recovery from letting his guard down too much.
“We’re in the wrong line of work, fellas!”
“Speak for yourself,” a divorce lawyer said with a cocky grin. “Nothing like a woman scorned...”
Seokjin downed half of his drink, hoping this would wash away the sour taste in his mouth. For the most part he’d become immune to lying, but sometimes a childish conscience reared its head inside him.
Namjoon was studying him steadily but when their eyes met, Namjoon quickly looked away.
As Minsu’s friends bragged about women, their attention turned to Namjoon – a topic that interested Seokjin. “Minsu tells me you have a wife lined up,” one of them said, nudging Namjoon’s side. “Is she pretty? Has she had work done? You need to be careful with that, you know, my friend’s kids are some ugly bastards. Completely took him by surprise! Turned out the wife had her whole face redone when she finished high school.”
“The only way around genetics is to start saving up for your kids to have their faces done, too,” Minsu interceded, receiving agreeing nods. “But my cheonam here has a cute one picked out for him – don’t you, Namjoon-ah?”
Namjoon’s jaw tightened – he said nothing.
“Aish, you still have growing up to do,” Minsu said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Namjoon finished his drink. People’s drunken attention, like waves when the tide retreated, moved on from him, finding new targets.
When Namjoon stood up and left the table without a word, no one even noticed.
But Seokjin did.
* * *
Namjoon was leaning against the wall outside the building, cigarette between his lips. Seokjin halted, his four highballs buzzing in his head. He’d called it at that, turning down the persistent invites for him to come clubbing, to act as a wingman for the few guys who were still single.
The night air smelled sugary sweet, a late-night doughnut shop next door. A short queue of inebriated youngsters was there.
Namjoon was talking to a pretty girl in her early twenties, both of them smoking. Namjoon’s gaze shifted from her to him. He nodded to Seokjin in recognition. He walked over as if called.
“I’m heading home,” he explained.
“Already?” Namjoon asked.
The girl stubbed her cigarette out with the heel of her shoe. “Maybe I’ll see you inside,” she said to Namjoon without sounding too bothered either way, her eyes dragging along the length of Seokjin’s body as she made her way back into the building. A girl like that got to choose who to take home.
Namjoon sucked on the cigarette, watching her go. Would Namjoon pick her up? If yes, what would that future wife of his say?
“Is it carnage?” Namjoon asked, with a singular nod upwards.
The windows of the bar flashed several floors above them, in multicolour and silhouettes.
“It’s getting close to being that, yeah.”
Namjoon blew out smoke, tongue brushing over his lips. “Alright.”
Do you want to come with me, floated across his mind, unbidden and startling. Girls like that one – they can give you a good time, sure. But boys, you know, they can do the same if not more. Maybe you just haven’t tried it with a boy yet, but you should. Maybe with me. He swallowed thickly.
“Do you know why people pay MCs like you?”
Namjoon’s words bridged the restless street and brought the world back into focus.
He frowned. Was it a trick question? “Yeah, of course – they hire me to have a smooth, well-run ceremony.”
Namjoon smiled like he’d caught Seokjin saying the wrong thing.
“What?” he asked, annoyed and feeling himself flush.
Namjoon stood up straighter, flicking the cigarette. “They pay you not to waste people’s time.”
Seokjin felt heat rise up to his neck.
“Once, on a cycling trip, I stayed two days in a Kyrgyz village, taking part in a local wedding. Since I happened to be there, they of course invited me to come along. The hospitality – the sense of community… It was something I’ll never forget. But here we pay people like you to keep a wedding to forty minutes, because asking anyone for more time than that is an inconvenience. After that, we all need to go back to our jobs – and it didn’t use to be like that, you know, back in the day when we had actual communities. But we modernised too fast and every minute became accounted for. So you should get married, sure, but god forbid you ask people to spend more than thirty minutes celebrating that when there’s capitalism to be served.”
“Well, I—”
“And so,” Namjoon continued, “we pay people like you – someone with a perfect, handsome face – to distract us from the fact that we don’t want to give our loved ones more than thirty minutes on the so-called most important day of their lives. We pay you to make something heartless sound and look luxurious. Don’t you think that’s fucked up?”
Seokjin was very good at comebacks but he had not expected this kind of a personal attack. Namjoon exhaled smoke, looking smug, but perhaps also like he expected Seokjin to agree. He did not agree.
“I take this to mean you won’t hire me for your wedding,” he said.
The smugness faded from Namjoon’s eyes. Seokjin had hit the right target.
Namjoon looked away, jaw tight. “No. I don’t suppose I will.”
“What a loss that will be for me,” Seokjin said, which was one of the most elegant ways he had ever said ‘fuck you’ to someone.
He walked away without looking back – but he knew that Namjoon was watching him depart, and that, as far as he was concerned, meant that he had won.