Chapter Text
From: District 9 Galleries <[email protected]>
To: Hwang Hyunjin <[email protected]>
Subject: “EXPOSITION” Application Notification
Dear Hyunjin Hwang,
Thank you for submitting your artwork for consideration for our upcoming juried exhibition, “EXPOSITION.” Our jury of practicing creative professionals and gallery directors reviewed over 100 applications, and had the extremely difficult task of selecting only as many works that can fit in our gallery space.
Unfortunately, your submission was not chosen for the exhibition.
This was a highly competitive process, and not an easy decision for our jurors. There was immense talent displayed in the applications received, and we hope that this outcome will not discourage you. Please continue to create. We look forward to seeing you apply for other exhibition opportunities offered here at District 9 Galleries in the future.
Sincerely,
Victoria Black
Curator of Exhibitions, District 9 Galleries
Hyunjin’s finger hovers over the tiny garbage can icon.
It’s so tempting. Not to mention, it would be infinitely better for his mental health to never read those words again. But Hyunjin is a glutton for punishment, his awful brain ever eager to wallow.
So instead, he moves it to the folder in his inbox specifically for rejections.
And then he scrolls through the entire folder—which has accumulated forty-seven emails in the eleven months since he graduated from the School of Visual Arts with a BFA in Fine Arts—and reads through every single one. He tells himself it’s therapeutic. Keeping these reminders of his failures will make the victories that much sweeter. When they happen. Which, they will. Eventually. Good things come to those who wait, or whatever.
Hyunjin just wishes that waiting wasn’t quite so prolonged or painful.
With a heavy sigh, he pockets his phone in his apron and stands up from the tiny table pushed into the back corner of Blueprint’s staff locker room where he takes his breaks. He’d originally picked up shifts at the tiny Brooklyn café part-time during university, but now he spends nearly more time here than he does at home (which is depressing, considering he certainly did not leave South Korea and go into near-debilitating academic debt for a degree in latte foam art—regardless of how good he is at it).
Up front, the lunch rush is beginning to trickle in.
Hyunjin hops behind the register to ring in an order for Iced Americanos from two teenage girls, and then gets started on making the beverages. Next to Hyunjin, his coworker (and friend, and roommate) Jisung slathers a customer’s bagel with extra cream cheese. “Well?” the younger man asks, “did you hear back?”
Trying to keep his voice light, Hyunjin replies, “Yeah.”
“And?” Jisung pushes, gesturing with his free hand.
“Another rejection.” He hands the finished drinks to the girls, and then leans against the counter in defeat, running a hand through his blonde hair. It’s getting long again, almost to his shoulders. “I don’t know what more I can do. That was the last gallery with an open submission call for the next month—at least.”
In retrospect, Hyunjin knows he was a fool. He thought there had been something so poetic—almost romantic—about choosing to follow his heart halfway around the world and pursue his true passion in university. Those four years had been indescribable: uplifting and destructive, foundational and revolutionary. Hyunjin doesn’t regret them, or the experiences they brought. But he does regret his lofty aspirations. It’s only now, transitioning out of academia, when he’s beginning to understand that, sometimes, passion on its own simply isn’t enough.
Jisung bites down on his bottom lip in thought. “What about Tortoise and the Hare? Can you pick up any more shifts?”
“No,” Hyunjin groans. The bookstore is where he usually works a few nights a week and every other weekend. “Only the managers are allowed to be full-time, and I’m already pushing the part-time maximum.”
“Shit.”
“Tell me about it.”
Jisung wraps up the bagel he’d been preparing and slides it across the counter to one of their regulars. “Would they consider promoting you?”
“I doubt it. But if I pick up any more jobs I’ll have even less time to try and make new stuff for future exhibitions than I already do. And I’ve exhausted my current pieces.”
“Double shit, that’s rough.”
Both men look up as a customer finishes their meal and leaves with a wave. Hyunjin grabs a washrag and flings it over his shoulder. “Take my advice,” he says, heading over to wipe the table. “Stay in school. As long as you possibly can.”
🎶🎨🎶
Hyunjin is greeted by the familiar smells of Thai takeout and weed when he unlocks the apartment door that night. He and Jisung had parted ways at the end of their shift: Jisung going home, and Hyunjin finding his way to a local park where he set up an easel and drew ten dollar caricature portraits for passing tourists until the sun dropped behind the surrounding buildings and he lost the light.
Their other roommate—and Jisung’s boyfriend—Changbin, pokes his head out of the kitchen as Hyunjin comes inside and kicks off his shoes. “Hey,” Changbin says, before pointing down the narrow hallway. “There’s leftovers if you want them.”
“You are my hero,” Hyunjin rushes forward to hug him, and Changbin pretends to grimace.
Once free of Hyunjin’s limbs, Changbin returns to the dishes (most of which Jisung had left behind that morning), and Hyunjin proceeds to their main living space. It’s a bit cramped, with a television mounted on the wall since the floor is dominated by a massive L-shaped sectional that all three of them had pooled their funds together to afford, and a coffee table that is currently covered in a spread of takeout dishes.
Flopped in the corner of the couch is Jisung, wearing a holey tank top and baggy track pants, taking another hit of the lit joint in his hand. He nods as Hyunjin enters the room and curls up next to him before grabbing one of the containers of food.
Hyunjin lifts open the lid. “Oh, fuck yes, pad thai. I needed this.”
Jisung laughs, and Changbin’s voice carries through from the kitchen. “Hey Jinnie, did you get a response yet?”
“I wasn’t selected.” For the second time that day, Hyunjin deeply regrets ever telling his friends about his artistic endeavours, because of course they are all supportive and invested in his success—but that means he has to share his failures, too. Those have been happening a lot more often lately. Exclusively, in fact. He’s grateful when Jisung doesn’t say anything, and simply hands Hyunjin the joint with a knowing look.
It’s going to be a long night, and Hyunjin hopes he doesn’t remember a single thing.
🎶🎨🎶
“Fuck them!” Jisung exclaims, waving his hand and spilling beer down his front. He leans forward, and almost spills more of it into Hyunjin’s lap. “They just don’t see the vision.”
It’s now past one in the morning. Changbin, the only one who has to work before noon, went to bed shortly before midnight. Hyunjin commandeered the corner seat of the couch from Jisung, who now sits cross-legged on the floor.
The high wore off a few hours ago, but they are now both rather drunk to compensate for that.
Hyunjin takes the beer from Jisung’s hand and has a sip. “But that’s the problem! If no one sees the vision, then maybe it’s just that I don’t have the vision.” He collapses against the couch, releasing an exaggerated sigh. “My shitty paintings are the only common demoni—denominator.” He takes another sip from the bottle, and adds, “I should have never gone to art school.”
“Don’t say that,” Jisung admonishes. “Your paintings are fucking great.”
“Well, you’re the only one that thinks so.” Hyunjin is moping, and he knows it, but he doesn’t care. His brain wants him to wallow, and he is not someone to do anything half-assed.
Jisung leans back on his hands. He looks Hyunjin up and down, his tongue pinched between his teeth, deep in thought. “At least, if all else fails, you’ll have that.”
“That…what?”
“That! ” Jisung exclaims, gesturing at Hyunjin. “Y’know, your face and your lips and your hands and your…everything.”
Hyunjin bursts out laughing, his head falling back and hitting the wall. “Sungie, I think it’s past your bedtime.”
Jisung sticks out his tongue and flips Hyunjin the middle finger, but proceeds to stand; his legs wobble like those of a newborn foal. He stumbles through the door to the room he shares with Changbin, closing it behind him. There’s a loud thump! sound—probably Jisung hitting his mattress—followed almost immediately by snores.
Alone, Hyunjin stares into space as the silence of the room curls around him. He knows that Jisung was joking, but he can’t get the other man’s words out of his head. Money has always been tight since he got here, but he’d be lying if he said it hadn’t been growing more dire since graduation—especially once his student loans went into repayment. Now, he admits that he finds himself…curious. They’ve joked about shit like this before, but is he actually desperate enough to try?
He stands, and retrieves his laptop from where he’d left it on the counter of the kitchenette that morning before hiding away in the safety of his bedroom. Where’s the harm in a little…research, right? Hyunjin’s just being responsible and exploring his options. All of his options.
Still, he makes sure he’s opened a private browsing tab before pulling up a search engine and—
Pausing.
Where the hell is he supposed to start? He sits there, hands frozen over his keyboard, debating. Finally, he types in: How do you make money with your body? The first few results are about how to sign up to test drugs or participate in medical trials, or the best places to sell plasma or breast milk or—sperm? Definitely not what Jisung had in mind. After that, the results shift into the territory he’s expecting: OnlyFans, camming, selling pictures of your feet (which, absolutely not ). The further Hyunjin falls down the wormhole, though, the more he realizes that he’s not comfortable with the idea of turning his body into a sexual commodity for other people.
This is such a stupid idea. He should have never listened to Jisung.
He’s just about to close his laptop and forget this whole internet escapade ever happened, when he spies a link near the bottom of the page: What is escorting? He clicks it and—okay, this is definitely more in his comfort zone. Getting paid to essentially be hot and keep people company?
Hyunjin thinks he can definitely manage that.
Another search spiral ensues: what information to include, where to post, what sorts of pictures to use. Then there’s an hour spent perfecting his profile—and maybe he borrowed most of the lines for his about section from examples he found online, and maybe some of them are cheesy, but it’s fine. He takes a deep breath and hits Upload.
Refusing to risk overthinking it, he promptly shuts his laptop and sets it on the floor. This can be a problem for future Hyunjin, he thinks, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow.
🎶🎨🎶
Initially, the constant vibrations of his phone make Hyunjin think that someone is trying to call him. He sits up, disoriented, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the palm of one hand while the other sifts through his bedsheets for the offending device. Eventually, he finds it wedged under his thigh.
He looks at the screen, blinking until his vision focuses.
The vibrations weren’t from a phone call. They’re notifications—at least a dozen, filling up his entire lock screen. He clicks one, confused.
Oh.
It’s not that Hyunjin had forgotten he’d signed up for the escorting website, but he’d certainly convinced himself it had been a dream. Apparently, he must have not opted out of receiving alerts whenever there was activity on his account, though, because that’s what every notification is for: profile views, profile likes, messages…
This seems like a lot of inquiries.
He swallows nervously, and reaches down to grab his laptop. It’s dead. Hyunjin sighs before kicking away the last of his bedsheets and walking out to the living room. He sits down on the floor in front of the couch and plugs the computer into its charger. It takes a few minutes, but soon the screen lights up.
Hyunjin hadn’t logged out of the website before falling asleep, which is probably for the best because he does not remember what he’d set the password as. He navigates to his inbox, and blanches.
There are a lot of messages.
Embarrassed and self-conscious, Hyunjin slams the laptop shut. What has he gotten himself into? He pauses to take a few deep breaths, listening for the sounds of movement elsewhere in the apartment. When all he hears is silence, he opens the laptop—and begins to sift through his inbox.
Ultimately, he finds himself able to delete a large majority, because clearly people can’t read and didn’t comprehend the blatant “Any solicitations for sexual favours will be ignored and blocked.” Or, worse, they did read it, and just didn’t care. Gross.
“What are you doi—wait! Who wants you to step on their dick in stilettos?”
Hyunjin startles with a high-pitched yell, dropping his laptop. Behind him, Jisung jumps over the back of the couch, laughing. He is a blur as he steals Hyunjin’s laptop from him and bolts down the hall. “Binnie!” he yells with glee. “Changbin! Jinnie is entering his whore era!”
“I am not!” Hyunjin yells desperately, hitting his knee on the coffee table as he struggles to stand up. “Fuck,” he hisses, rubbing the injured joint as he sprints after Jisung, who’s run to his and Changbin’s room and is now bouncing on their bed, waving the laptop wildly.
“What?” Changbin mumbles, his groggy morning voice rising an octave in annoyance.
“It’s not what it looks like!” Hyunjin exclaims.
Jisung smirks. “Oh really? Because it looks,” he says, glancing at the screen, “like a profile on… Sugar + Spice. Your profile, in fact.”
Hyunjin’s arms drop to his side helplessly. He flops onto the bed and covers his face with his hands. “Jisung made me do it.”
“Wha—I did not!”
“Yes you did!” Hyunjin argues. “You said, and I quote, ‘if all else fails, at least I’ll have my…face and lips and hands and…everything.’”
Jisung rolls his eyes. “Where in that did I say ‘join a sketchy sugar baby site,’ though?”
“Well, what else could you have possibly meant?”
“Not that!” Jisung exclaims.
Between them, Changbin has taken the laptop from Jisung and is having entirely too much fun. “This guy wants to smell your armpits,” he says conversationally. “And this other lady thinks you’d look adorable in a ‘proper’ collar.”
“Binnie, let's not kink shame,” Jisung says.
Changbin retorts, “I’m not. I’m just letting Jinnie know his options.”
Hyunjin groans, finally managing to swipe the laptop away from Jisung. “I specifically said I wasn’t looking for anything sexual. It’s not my fault these people can’t read.” Before either of his friends can say anything else, he turns and heads back to the living room.
Jisung and Changbin follow. “Hey,” Changbin says gently, “If this is what you want, obviously we support you.” They join Hyunjin on the couch. “We just want you to be safe about it, y’know?”
“Thanks, mom,” Hyunjin says dramatically, rolling his eyes.
A hand swats at the back of his head. “I mean it,” Changbin adds.
“I know,” Hyunjin answers. “I’ll be careful.” He looks at his friends, and then sighs. “Would you feel better if you helped me go through them?”
Both friends nod, and Hyunjin surrenders the laptop.
🎶🎨🎶
Becoming an escort is not as easy as the internet made it out to be.
Hyunjin, Jisung, and Changbin spend the rest of the morning sifting through Hyunjin’s inbox. The majority of inquiries, much to Hyunjin’s dismay, are from more people who clearly hadn’t read his profile. He deletes those instantly, and blocks the users as an added precaution. Thankfully, there are messages from people actually seeking an escort for dates and companionship. He saves those to sort through later.
When Jisung’s friend Minho stops by that afternoon, Jisung and Changbin waste no time in updating him on the state of Hyunjin’s life, though perhaps they should have waited until after Minho had taken a sip of his coffee. The man nearly chokes when he hears, coughing over and over. “Shit, it went up my nose,” he mourns before staring Hyunjin down with wide eyes. “Are you serious about this?”
“Yes?” Hyunjin says with a shrug of his shoulders, but it comes out sounding more like a question.
While Jisung and Changbin provide Minho with a ranked list of Hyunjin’s worst suitors, Hyunjin clicks on the newest message to appear in his inbox. He reads it through once—and then twice. And then a third time, just for good measure.
BangBang97:
Hi, I am currently looking for an escort and came across your profile. The arrangement I’m looking for would be entirely non-sexual! I’d just like some company…and to maybe go out occasionally? Just for fun! It might also require you to act as a plus one/companion for a fancier event or two.
Please respond if you would be interested in discussing further details.
It seems so…harmless. But it’s also ridiculously vague. Honestly, it sounds almost too good to be true. This is exactly the sort of arrangement Hyunjin had been looking—hoping—for. He moves the cursor into the chat box and clicks, staring at the blinking vertical line that appears, waiting for him to begin typing.
He can ignore it. He can log out. He can delete his account and pretend this never happened. But he also can’t, because he needs the extra money. Fuck it, he thinks.
JiniretXO:
hello
this is actually my ideal arrangement
soooo this sounds too good to be true lol
…sorry if that sounded rude
i’m new to this
BangBang97:
That’s okay, I’m new to this as well! I never thought I’d find myself in this position, honestly. First time for everything, though, I guess?
JiniretXO:
yeah
my thoughts exactly
BangBang97:
Ideally, I’d rather meet in person to negotiate the terms of this arrangement, and stuff like scheduling and payments. You can choose the place! Whatever makes you most comfortable is fine with me. Just like, give me a date and time? 🙂
Hyunjin can’t believe his luck.
He grabs his phone and pulls up his calendar, just to make sure he doesn’t accidentally interfere with any of his scheduled shifts.
JiniretXO:
okay!
0325 for location?
it’s a lounge in astoria
how does this weekend sound? the 9th @ 2:30PM?
BangBang97:
That sounds perfect!
Um, I’ll be the one in all black sitting at whichever table’s closest to the door?
…
Sorry, I just realized how creepy that might have sounded.
🎶🎨🎶
Hyunjin glances nervously at his phone, double-checking the time.
There’s still ten minutes to go, but he’s already been lurking around outside the lounge for fifteen minutes. “You don’t have to do this, you know?” Changbin says next to him. His friend had accompanied him, just in case BangBang97 was, in fact, a total creep.
“Are you offering to pay my loans?” Hyunjin quips, and Changbin rolls his eyes. “It’ll be fine,” he adds, to reassure himself more than anything else.
“Do you know anything about this person?”
“No? Not really?” He checks his phone again; three minutes to go. “In their last message, they just said they’d be sitting at a table near the front, and wearing all black.” He shrugs. “And there’s no one sitting at that table ye—”
“All black as in like… everything?”
“I don’t know. I guess?”
Changbin pinches the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t think to clarify? Do you even know if they’re a guy, or a woman, or—”
“What’s their gender matter, if all I’m doing is going to parties or whatever with them?” He may be very, very gay, but it’s not like his sexuality would impact his ability to be good company for someone. “It’s not like I’m fucking them.”
“I don’t mean… Did you not look at their profile? Y’know, to gauge what you were getting yourself into?”
Oops. Hyunjin honestly hadn’t. “Uh…no?”
“Your complete lack of self-preservation is…terrifying as hell,” Changbin mutters.
Hyunjin looks up, and slaps his hand against Changbin’s arm. “Wait,” he gasps. “Maybe that’s him?”
Walking down the street towards the lounge is a man. He’s got a medium build, and the broadest shoulders Hyunjin has ever seen in his life. But, far more noticeably, he is wearing black from head-to-toe. A subtly bejeweled black shirt layered beneath a black jacket, with black jeans ripped across the thighs and knees, and black combat boots. The man greets the lounge’s bouncer with a wave as he heads inside, and sits down in a green velvet chair at a table right next to the door.
Hyunjin takes a deep breath, and rests a hand on Changbin’s shoulder for support. “Holy shit,” he whispers, the words slipping out by accident.
Changbin quirks an eyebrow. “I thought you said this was going to be a non-sexual arrangement.”
“Because it is. It’s not a crime to acknowledge when a guy is objectively hot, though.” Hyunjin rolls his shoulders back, standing taller. “Here goes nothing,” he says. He strides towards the lounge, holding up his ID at the door, and heads towards where the very attractive man dressed all in black is settling into his seat and asking the bartender for a glass of water.
That’s when Hyunjin freezes. How is he supposed to introduce himself? He never put his real name on the website anywhere, but he reckons referring to this man by his Sugar + Spice username is going to be awkward and uncomfortable—
“It’s you.”
Hyunjin’s brain snaps back into his body to find the man staring at him, standing up from his chair. He’s even more handsome up close: a sharp jawline; a strong nose; deep brown eyes framed by long lashes. Hyunjin blushes, “Uh, yeah. H-hello, uh…”
“Christopher,” the man replies. “But I usually go by Chan. Or Chris.” He extends a hand, which Hyunjin takes. Chan’s grip is firm as they shake hands, but his skin is soft. He smiles, and Hyunjin can’t help but notice Chan’s dimples. They break apart, and Chan gestures for Hyunjin to sit.
“Would you like something to drink?” Chan asks.
“Uh.” Under the table, Hyunjin plays with the sleeves of his yellow knit sweater. “Sure. Just—water’s good.” Fuck, why is he being so awkward? Conversation has always been something that’s come naturally to him, but now he feels stilted and forced.
Chan signals to the bartender with a flick of his hand, who brings over the two waters, but also two glasses filled to the brim with a bright pink liquid. He sets those down with a wink and a bright, “Those are on the house, babes.” Glancing at Hyunjin, he adds, “You look like you need to loosen up a little.”
Hyunjin wishes he could disappear, melting further into the chair.
“Thank you.” Chan offers the bartender a small smile as he walks away. “So,” Chan says, before stopping to take a long sip of the pink beverage, ignoring the water entirely. Then he laughs, rubbing his hands over his face. “Sorry, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
“Me either,” Hyunjin replies honestly. “I’m Hyunjin, by the way. I probably should have started with that.” Should he have, though? Would he have been better off making a name up? Chan had shared so readily. But maybe, unlike Hyunjin, he had thought ahead, planned ahead, of meeting a total stranger. Maybe that’s not his name at all, though the wording felt too specific—
Across the table, Chan is staring at him, pondering something. “Hyunjin… Are you a native New Yorker?”
Hyunjin laughs. “No, not even close. I moved here from Korea four years ago for university.” He reaches forward and takes a long sip of water. “You have an interesting accent,” he says, desperate to maintain some sort of conversation.
“I was born in Korea, but I grew up and spent most of my life in Australia, before moving back to Korea in my late teens. I just recently relocated here to New York for work,” Chan replies.
There’s a hint of something solemn in his voice, though Hyunjin can’t quite place it. But he remembers how he felt when he first arrived, entirely alone and with an okay understanding of the English language (at best). He’d found it strange and overwhelming, how a city so big and bustling and full of people could feel so isolating, in a way that Seoul never had—despite the similar energy. But Hyunjin figures that’s because he’d had his family, his friends, and his dog. In New York, it was just him. At least, it had been until he met Jisung and Changbin. Both had also come from Korea to study, and they’d quickly become friends. It never fails to amaze Hyunjin, how easily the feeling of home can be found in a person. Or people, in his case.
That makes him think of Chan, and what the other man was hoping to get out of this arrangement of theirs. Perhaps that’s the feeling he’s chasing, too.
“So,” he says, reckoning that now is as good a time as any to transition to the actual conversation they’re here to have, “what made you decide you want to hire an escort?” He takes a sip of the pink drink—it’s some kind of fruity lemonade, where he can barely taste the alcohol—glancing up at Chan as he sucks up more of the liquid through his straw.
It’s Chan’s turn to sink into his chair. He plays with the chain link bracelet on his wrist. “Honestly, I’ve always been a bit of a lone wolf? And it’s never bothered me. My work keeps me busy, and I love what I do. But moving here… I guess I underestimated how…lonely it could feel?”
“I understand that,” Hyunjin says.
“Yeah,” Chan continues, sounding a bit deflated. “Anyways, between my schedule and the move—I just realized how badly I was craving—”
“Company?” Hyunjin interjects gently.
Chan exhales. “Exactly.” He takes a long drink of water. “I hadn’t like, planned to go the escort route. I just found myself on the site and it seemed…appealing, y’know? Putting yourself out there can be so daunting and exhausting and this seemed effortless by comparison? Or, maybe easy is the better word? I just want…something simple and straightforward.” He hides his face in his hands again. “Fuck, sorry. Word vomit. You were the first guy whose profile popped up, and you looked cute and sounded fun and I didn’t want to overthink it like I do everything else so… Well, here we are?”
“Here we are.” Hyunjin leans forward, resting both of his elbows on the table. He plays with the straw in his drink. “So,” he starts, “how do you picture this…arrangement working? What do you want out of it? My boundaries were pretty clear.”
“They were, and I completely respect them.” Chan drums the fingers of his left hand on the table. “I’m coming into this just looking for someone to be able to spend time with. Good company, fun conversation. If you think you'd be comfortable with it there’s often events I need to go to for work that are…uh, fancier? Exclusive? It would be nice to not have to go to those alone. That would be ideal.” He leans back. “If not, just company would be nice…like, lowkey dates? But not date dates! Platonic dates. A distraction from my work, more than anything, I guess.”
“That could be fun,” Hyunjin admits. “What do you do for work?” The question slips out before he realizes how invasive it sounds; his eyes widen like saucers. “You—you don’t have to ans—”
“No, it’s fine,” Chan replies. “I’m a record producer. You’d find out anyway given some of the events we’d go to. If you want to go, that is.”
Hyunjin wasn’t lying when he said that the events sound like fun, but now he isn’t sure how best to bring up the very large elephant in a very small room: compensation. Because no matter how fun something is, if it’s not paying more than he’d make working a shift at the café or bookstore? It’s not worth it. And really, that’s kind of the entire reason he’d gotten himself into this situation in the first place, isn’t it?
He’d done some research about this at least after first agreeing to meet with Chan, but once again the internet had largely failed him. All the price ranges he found were for arrangements involving sex in some capacity, and while he learned how to price his art in university, Hyunjin has no idea how to place a value on just his time. Especially for…this.
Chan picks up on Hyunjin’s silence and hesitancy. He leans in, lowering his voice. “Did you want to discuss this part somewhere a bit more private?” Hyunjin nods. Both men stand, and Chan leaves two twenty dollar bills on the table before they leave.
🎶🎨🎶
Jisung and Changbin ambush Hyunjin as soon as he gets home.
Hyunjin had been hoping to sneak his way to his bedroom and avoid an interrogation, but clearly that isn’t going to happen. He lets his friends lead him into the living room, and plops down on the couch when Changbin, very firmly, says, “Sit.”
His friends sit down on either side of him, Jisung lazily throwing his leg over Hyunjin’s thigh. “So,” he says with a smirk, “how did it go?”
“It went well,” Hyunjin offers.
Truthfully, it had gone better than well. It’d gone great, even excellently. Ultimately, he and Chan had ended up continuing their conversation aimlessly traversing the streets of the city. They had settled on prices as easily as if they’d been discussing the weather: $250 an hour for platonic dates or events related to Chan’s work, and an additional $2000 on top of that for any event that required travel or staying overnight (and any related expenses would also be covered). Hyunjin had nearly tripped and fallen into traffic at the latter—because, what the hell? With that agreed upon they exchanged phone numbers, he gave Chan his Cash App information, and they parted ways.
It was barely two minutes later that Hyunjin’s phone had vibrated.
Cash App
Christopher Bang sent you $250
(Had he needed to lean against the nearest building with his head between his legs until he could breathe normally again? Perhaps.)
“Define ‘well’ for us,” Changbin says, to which Hyunjin simply holds up his phone and shows them the notification still on his lockscreen.
“H-holy shit,” Jisung stammers. “And you’re telling us you didn’t fuck him? Not even like, a handjob?”
Hyunjin groans. “For the last time, it’s called escorting, not prostitution. There is nothing sexual happening here—which is how we both want it to be.”
Changbin has been strangely silent, looking at Hyunjin’s phone with his eyebrows knit together, deep in thought.
“What?”
“It’s just… Hold the fuck up.” Changbin pulls his own phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants. He taps and swipes at the screen rapidly, then shoves it in Hyunjin’s face. He’s staring at the Spotify app, and a k-pop song Hyunjin recognizes from the radio—but doesn’t know the name of—is playing. But that matters less than the fact that Changbin has pulled up the song’s credits, because there’s no denying what Hyunjin is reading. There, listed as the sole producer, is Bang Chan.
“You’re shitting me,” Jisung says. “You are absolutely shitting me. You’re going to be an escort for fucking Bang Chan?”
“I—maybe?” Hyunjin says. “He mentioned he goes by Chan sometimes. And that he’s a record producer. But I didn’t think—”
Jisung stands, hands on his hips. “Jinnie, be serious. Please.” Then a pause, followed by, “I need a drink.” And then he disappears into the kitchen.
Hyunjin glances at Changbin, who seems to have short-circuited. He stands, without saying a word, and heads towards the kitchen. Hyunjin collapses fully on the couch, staring at the ceiling. How does he get himself into these sorts of situations? He lifts his phone over his head, and—purely out of curiosity—types “Bang Chan” into the internet search bar.
The first hit is a goddamn Wikipedia page.
Chan is famous enough to have a Wikipedia page. Granted, it’s not an overly detailed or lengthy Wikipedia page, but—still. There’s barely anything about his personal life besides that he was born in Korea and then moved to Australia where he built his career prior to returning to Korea. He hadn’t lied about anything, which is comforting. Or Chan had figured Hyunjin would look him up. And—holy shit, he’s only twenty five? The section dedicated to his producing discography is over 100 songs long, and there are some very well-known musicians on the list.
He can’t stop himself from opening up his messages.
Hyunjin:
so
when you said record producer
you meant ✨ record producer ✨
Noted.
Chan:
I take it you ogled?
*googled
Hyunjin:
not on purpose
but
yeah
my roommates are soundcloud rappers and recognized your name
i…may have been curious lol
they won’t tell anyone. and obviously neither will i
Those three cursed dots keep appearing and disappearing.
Chan:
Thanks.
Sorry I wasn’t more upfront about it. I didn’t want it to matter, especially since it was part of the reason I even sought out our sort of arrangement. But I also didn’t think it would matter? I mostly work with k-pop acts, and lots of them aren’t as big in America as they are in Korea.
Plus, it’s not like I’m famous for my face lol
Hyunjin:
that could be debatable lmao
He hadn’t meant to send that. He shouldn’t have sent that. He absolutely, positively, should not have sent that.
Chan:
Unlikely
But since you know now…the first event I’d like to have you join me at is an industry party. It’s some sort of like, pre-awards show thing?
Very fancy, lots of famous people
Veeeeeeeery boring to go to alone lol
It’s happening next Friday night
Hyunjin:
It’s a (platonic) date 🥰