Summary: Jimin is an aspiring model and Yoongi is a photographer who believes that some things are worth giving up for the perfect picture framed on the cover of a fashion magazine—even if it means throwing away your humanity in the process.
a/n: yoongi's a bit messed up in this one
Photograph Smiles
People are dreams, a mass of potential held within a single body. People are scientists, inventors of medicine and technology. To Yoongi, people are incomplete pieces of artwork, born into this world to be shaped and refined until they have reached a desired state of perfection.
This process, of course, is not easy. It's often an ongoing journey experienced from childhood to adolescence to adulthood; years and years of concealing flaws and brushing aside blemishes, before a person can reach this particular status. And even then, it still very well might not be good enough.
Min Yoongi lives his life looking through the lens of a camera. He's a photographer by profession, a beauty-seeker by aspiration. He has a knack for finding the inner charm and allure in others and then bringing these characteristics out with the quick stutter of a picture taken from just the right angle.
Being beautiful in a skill that can only be obtained with the help of makeup. Making the rest of the world aware of this glamour is a talent Yoongi has worked relentlessly to cultivate.
His current project is a man who goes by the name of Kim Taehyung. Tall and slightly muscular with a stare that seems to captivate anyone who makes eye contact with him, Yoongi had immediately taken a liking to the tan-skinned model.
Today, they are in Paris and Taehyung is dressed in a silver suit with gold lining at the rims to show off the theme of the rich and wealthy displayed for a world made up of the elites, high class people only. He looks almost unreal. Yoongi levels his camera and gestures for Taehyung to tilt his head to the left as he poses with a clean, practiced smile. There's a flurry of clicks and blinking lights before Yoongi nods at the younger man in satisfaction.
The award-winning smile immediately drops from Taehyung's face when Yoongi stops pointing the camera in his direction. As the model walks off the platform, it is with his head held high, bony ankles jutting out of his expensive, brand name shoes, and with the knowledge that it will be his picture he sees on the cover of the next issue of Paris' most popular fashion magazine.
.
Twenty-two hours later finds Yoongi away in an entirely different continent as he sets up his equipment in the capital of Japan. He's here not for a photoshoot this time, but for the walkway that's been all the buzz in the celebrity world as of the last few weeks.
So far it's been a bunch of lesser known models going down the red carpet, a myriad of no-names that Yoongi snaps a few pictures of but knows that he won't be sending off to any publisher. Deletes the photos almost right after he takes them because none of these people are picture-perfect—not even close. And he's been waiting for a while now, a good portion of the day surrounding so many flashes of cameras that he's honestly surprised that he still has his vision.
It's the last walk that he's been waiting for. The one where highly-anticipated Kim Seokjin, rumoured hottest model of the season, is supposed appear.
When Seokjin finally steps out into view, Yoongi can instantly tell that the makeup artists have done a great job with him. His hair is parted at the side, bangs stretching to just above his eyes. Defined cheekbones sharp enough to cut, hollow concaves on both sides of his face. Perfectly curved eyebrows and plastic nose and thin, thin arms resting on bony hips as he pauses for a spin.
Yoongi inhales. Seokjin is an absolute doll.
With quick work of his fingers, the photographer switches the lens of his camera and points it up at the stage. He only needs a couple of shots, a few snaps—
"Hey," someone taps his shoulder a little too hard and almost makes him lose his balance. Yoongi loses his grip on the camera for a horrifying second as he watches it fall, fall, fall; catches it just before it hits the ground and shatters. "Hey, you're Min Yoongi, right?"
The photographer turns to glare at the stranger, annoying high-pitched voice ringing in his ears. He glances back up at the runway in time to see Seokjin leaving the stage and curses loudly for missing the chance to take the perfect shot.
"Who the fuck are you?"
He's met with a flash of white teeth inches away from his face. Too close. "I'm Park Jimin! I was wondering if I could schedule a photoshoot with you some time? I heard you've worked with many models before and I'm a huge fan of yours."
Yoongi observes this boy and sees: chubby cheeks and uneven eyebrows and a smile that seems too big for his face. Awkward nose and too much emotion in his eyes and a bounce in his step that makes Yoongi think, naive. Overall, Jimin is average-looking. And average is ordinary is ugly. Yoongi almost doesn't believe that someone like him is even part of the modelling industry at all.
"I don't work with wannabe models who still have baby fat on their face."
There's a flash of hurt that crosses Jimin's features for a second but Yoongi can't find it in him to give a shit. He picks up his equipment, already bitter from having lost the opportunity to snap a photo of Seokjin, and walks away without looking back.
.
Occasionally, Yoongi likes to visit and treat himself to the coffee from this small café in a busy Norwegian city. He feels his entire body relax with a single sip of the caffeinated drink and for a few precious moments, he's able to push thoughts of red carpets and catwalks to the back of his mind; inhales and closes his eyes in bliss.
When he opens them again, he finds someone sitting in the seat across from him. Almost splashes hot coffee all over himself when he jerks back, startled.
"Mind if I sit here?" his uninvited guest asks, cheeky and just like how he remembered Jimin to be. Yoongi doesn't respond because, yes, he does mind, but the model only asked after already taking the seat for himself.
Jimin sets down a slice of chocolate cake on the table and begins to eat without a care in the world. "Don't worry, I won't bother you for long. About what you said last time, though—I'm actually a real model, not just a wannabe," Jimin mumbles around bites of food. "I've been in the business for about three years now."
Yoongi pauses and raises an eyebrow at him. After a while he asks, "Did you do something with your nose?"
"Oh—um, yeah," Jimin shrugs, almost embarrassed. "I adjusted it a little with plastic surgery a few weeks back. It's a pretty popular thing to do right now so I thought, you know, why not?"
The photographer stares at him for a few seconds longer before nodding just once. "Not bad. It looks good on you."
Jimin beams.
.
The next time they meet is by chance on a short connecting flight from Los Angeles to New York. It's been who-knows-how-long since their last encounter as the days have long been lost on Yoongi with one trip across the world after another. He quickly learns that sleep is impossible with Jimin, who had insisted on trading seats with someone just so he could be next to Yoongi, constantly fidgeting on the spot despite not actually saying anything.
Eventually, the younger boy seems to swallow his anxiety and turns to Yoongi abruptly, all too fast. "Are you heading to the Spring Fashion Show too?"
Yoongi flickers his gaze in Jimin's direction for a second before turning his head back to look out the window. "What else would I be doing in New York?"
"Oh," Jimin nods. "Yeah, me too."
It's quiet for a little while after that, mostly because Yoongi doesn't make an effort to continue the conversation. The photographer sneaks a glance in the younger's direction, takes in the fact that something about the model beside him looks different. Less baby fat decorating his body, flatter stomach. Thinner overall.
"I, um, started dieting," Jimin says and Yoongi wonders for a second if his staring had been too obvious. "I think it's coming along pretty well and I've lost a lot of weight in the past couple of weeks. No one likes an overweight model, right?"
Yoongi raises an eyebrow at this information and doesn't comment on how Jimin is already below the normal weight range; simply hums because just being skinny isn't enough for this career. "Seems like it's working."
The way Jimin's entire face lights up completely at the nonchalant compliment, as if he's drunk off praises from other people, makes Yoongi think that maybe the younger boy is made for something as shallow as the fashion industry, after all.
When the flight attendants come by with carts carrying their afternoon meal, they both accept the food politely and eat dry pasta while making small talk. At one point, the topic of photoshoots is brought up and Yoongi hesitantly takes out his camera from the storage overhead to let Jimin play with the different settings. There's fascination in Jimin's eyes as Yoongi watches him closely to make sure that his equipment doesn't get fucked up.
A click startles Yoongi and he notices that Jimin has the camera pointed at him. "You look pretty, hyung."
The older boy takes the camera back, shaking his head because he doubts Jimin even knows what that word really means. Pretty is sunken cheekbones and fragile fingers held upright by two sticks of celery. Pretty is a face layered with rich, brand-name makeup products and extravagant clothing hanging off narrow shoulders.
He levels the camera to Jimin's height and looks through the lens, but doesn't press the button. "One day, I'll take photos of you, too. When you're pretty enough." When you weight half as much as you do now; when you eat nothing but envy and drink only jealousy.
Jimin agrees eagerly, holding Yoongi to the promise wrapped around his stick-thin arms.
Later, after they've finished their meal and Yoongi's put his camera away, Jimin excuses himself to go to the washroom. Yoongi knows without asking that the younger boy will be hunched over the toilet seat, jamming two fingers down his throat to force the calories out of his body, along with maybe a little bit of blood and a little bit of humanity. Not necessarily because airplane food tastes bad, but because this is one of the first steps to surviving in their kind of world. Starving for beauty is nothing new and Yoongi barely bats an eye.
A faint scent of vomit lingers around them when Jimin returns to his seat, looking slightly pale. Yoongi doesn't say anything when he notices Jimin swaying unsteadily beside him, gagging silently every now and then as if he might throw up some more, except there's nothing left in his system to discard.
The rest of the flight is relatively quiet. At some point, Yoongi finds himself locking his hands with Jimin's to provide the younger boy with reassurance that he's doing the right thing. That there may be potential in him, despite what Yoongi initially said the first time they met.
Somewhere a couple of kilometers above the ground in the vast space of North America, Yoongi finds himself looking forward to the day he can point a camera at Jimin and call him worthy of a spot on the cover of a Vogue magazine.
.
They kiss for the first time during a break between shows, a few rare days of quiet in contrast to the rush they're both used to. It's one-sided, Jimin leaning forward in the middle of the busy streets of London, and Yoongi lets him but doesn't kiss back.
"S-sorry," Jimin stumbles away, shocked for a moment. There's a flurry of apologies that come out of his mouth after that and doesn't stop until Yoongi grabs him by the shoulder. "I've always wanted to do that, actually," the younger boy confesses.
Yoongi shrugs. "It's fine." Doesn't say anything about the implications of love or infatuation or how he himself can't fall for anything short of beauty.
They resume walking, joining the flow of the rest of the population, and Yoongi thinks he hears Jimin murmur, like a promise to himself, "One day, I'll become pretty enough for you."
.
The start of autumn brings fallen leaves and an afterparty to a runway show Yoongi never really expected himself to attend. Everything is a blur of alcohol and drunken bodies and impulsive hook-ups in the hotel right next to the venue, but when you've stuck around in modelling for long enough, you come to realize that bad decisions are just part of the job.
No one cares who ends up at the party, whether you're a manager or designer or a photographer, like Yoongi. These things are nothing more than a gathering of masked faces hidden behind glittery eyeshadow and people clinking wine glasses to a life subjected to escaping paparazzi along with the spice of delicious scandal rumours sprinkled at every corner—all glamour and no depth. Yoongi is here for the networking; to pour someone a drink, chat about materialistic obsessions, slip a business card into potential clients' hands with a firm handshake.
"I do good work," he says to Kim Namjoon, who is armed with a predatory smile and a history of sweet words aimed to stab friends in the back. "Give me a call some time."
Namjoon takes the card with a flick of his wrist and walks away, confident, long legs carrying him like he's high off the glory and fame. And he is—everyone here is, to some degree.
Yoongi knows that he won't be receiving a call back. He isn't even sure if the other man had been sober enough to understand what he said.
The entire place is starting to look more and more like a mess and Yoongi begins to feel nauseous at the overwhelming smell of champagne and atmosphere filled with poison burning up his lungs. The guests look at themselves in mirrors more often than they look at each other, as if seeing their own faces in backstage Gucci shows isn't enough. It's about time to go, he decides, picking up his jacket and making way to the exit.
"Hyung!" There's a call from behind him and when the photographer turns around, he sees Jimin waving his hand at him. "Are you leaving?"
Yoongi nods before diverting his attention to the black-haired boy running to catch up with Jimin. "Your friend?"
"This is Jeon Jungkook," Jimin introduces. "He's a stylist, my costume designer to be specific. We came here together."
The photographer hums in acknowledgement. Jungkook looks young, and not just in the sense of age. He looks like he only recently landed a job in this industry no more than a few months ago at most, Yoongi guesses. There's a kind of hope, innocence, in the kid's eyes that seems real and not simply an illusion created by sparkling eyeshadow. Give it some more time and he's sure that the twinkle in Jungkook's eyes will fade soon enough.
When Jimin excuses himself to grab a drink, Yoongi feels a hole being drilled into his head from Jungkook's stare. He raises an eyebrow and asks, "Got something to say?"
The stylist leans in closer, expression morphing into something resembling concern. Something Yoongi hasn't seen in a long while. "I think Jimin is starving himself to death."
Yoongi blinks. A second passes before he barks out a laugh, no humour behind it whatsoever. "What the fuck does that mean? Am I supposed to care?"
The look of horror on Jungkook's face is almost hysterical. "Well, I keep having to adjust the sizes of his clothes… he's lost an unhealthy amount of weight these past couple of weeks and—you're Min Yoongi, right? Jimin looks up to you so if you tell him to stop I'm sure that he'd listen." His words end on a plea, almost as if he's about to get down on his knees and beg for help. Yoongi wonders if he knows anything at all about what fashion is made of.
"Kid, Jimin is doing the right thing. He's doing what's necessary to become the next big supermodel, and if that means his diet has to consist of nothing but hairspray and powder, sleeping pills and overpriced jewelry, then those sacrifices will be worth it. And if he wants to make it on to Vintage or Elle, he's going to have to do more than that."
With Jungkook rendered speechless, Yoongi merely chuckles and slips into his coat. "You should stick to designing flashy suits and sculpting perfection on slender frames, Jeon, because that's where your money is coming from. Lace the fabric with a couple of fake accessories, pick up your paycheck, and show your models off to the world as your creation." He gives the younger boy a wave before turning to head out the door. "Tell Jimin it was nice talking to him for me."
.
Jung Hoseok, fellow photographer, is something else. The closest person Yoongi would call a friend.
They meet up for the first time in almost half a year in a shop that sells special lenses for cameras. Their conversation falls into something soft and familiar, and Yoongi thinks that he may have missed the other photographer more than he'd like to admit.
"So," Hoseok says while fidgeting with the equipment in his hands, "top model this year is going to be Kim Seokjin again, huh? I thought for sure Kim Taehyung was going to gain massive popularity after that photoshoot with you."
Yoongi shrugs. "They've both been fighting each other for number one ever since the Berlin Fashion Show three years ago. Taking a couple of photos with me isn't going to change much." Because in the end, the small margin of difference in their popularities doesn't mean shit in the grand scale of things. They're both just sculptures that have learned to breathe, clay figures with artificial hearts.
"Come on, everyone knows that you could get anyone to the top of the charts with just one shoot. I'm almost kind of jealous at how good you are at this job." Hoseok shakes his head, smiling. "I heard Park Jimin has been steadily climbing the ladder and I bet if you work with him, his ratings would rise up instantly."
"Ah, Jimin," Yoongi muses. "He's… getting there."
Hoseok looks up at him in surprise. "First name basis? You guys have a thing going on or something? Is he a good fuck?"
"Why?" He asks, picking up an item from the shelf and hands it over to Hoseok for him to check out. The way he says it, his tone, is almost like a challenge. "You interested?"
"Nah, you know casual hookups aren't my thing."
Yoongi snorts at this. "Right. You actually care about feelings."
The younger boy laughs as he goes over to the cash register to pay for the equipment. "At least I'm not obsessed with finding the perfect human being like you, Yoongi."
And Yoongi rolls his eyes because, well, why should he settle for anything less?
.
Time is completely lost on Yoongi when he finally lands in South Korea. It was warm in Europe, where he came from, but Seoul weather has a reputation of being unforgiving, especially during the winter.
Luckily, he's indoors, setting up lights and cameras for the last photoshoot of the season. His client today is not a surprise, something he's been anticipating for a long time, really.
Park Jimin walks into the room looking absolutely dazzling. He makes his way to where the photographer is as a makeup artist trails silently behind him, brushing up his face and combing back stray pieces of hair.
"Hey," Yoongi says, and he's surprised to the point of speechlessness at how the person in front of him has been transformed.
"Hey," Jimin replies, and the stretch of his lips this time isn't too big or too small. It's a self-satisfied grin that's been practiced over and over again, until all its genuine qualities have been lost. "I've dreamed of working with you ever since we first met back in Tokyo and I almost can't believe it's happening. How do I look?"
When Yoongi inspects Jimin now, he sees hollow eyes devoid of emotion staring back at him. Concave cheeks highlighted with a pretty pink shade of blush and a smile made of glass directed to no one in particular. This is what he's been searching for his whole career—the one thing he's always wanted to capture on camera. Jimin looks like a real model now, complete with a mannequin-body and plastic skin.
Picture perfect.
He leans in, pulls the younger boy toward him with a hand to his hips that's all bones and captures his shiny, glossed lips; whispers, "Beautiful."
a/n: i have so many wips and i honestly did not expect to finish this one first. let me know what you thought of it!