That your career as an artist was dead was a fact. That Kim Chaewon asked you to fake a relationship was ridiculous. That she built her entire strategy on a Wattpad romance novel written by a teenager was a nonsense. That all of this would bring trouble was inevitable.
“You are going to be my boyfriend.”
You lowered your sunglasses with one finger until they hung off the bridge of your nose. Your eyes were revealed, staring with utter disbelief at the person who had dared interrupt your zen moment before going on stage.
Standing right in the middle of your dressing room, there was Kim Chaewon.
“Can you say that again?”
You stretched lazily across the chair, lacing your hands behind your neck. This had deeply annoyed you, as your precious nap had just been ruined by a moody minion with a scowl and, apparently, no respect for other people’s rest.
“You heard me. You are going to be my boyfriend.” She repeated, clearly impatient.
Chaewon remained with her arms crossed, watching you intently without missing a single detail of your reaction. She saw you shove your hands into your pants pockets and let out a loud yawn. There was no room left to stretch your legs any further, at this point, you were practically lying flat on that cheap plastic chair.
“If you are going to keep bothering me, you can leave.” You replied nonchalantly, tilting your head toward the door.
That display of pure indifference infuriated her even more.
“Do you have any idea how many guys would kill to be in your place right now, you idiot?” Her shouts echoed off the dressing room walls. Luckily, your entire staff and working crew were outside finishing up the technical details for your stage performance.
“Cool. Go talk to them and leave me alone.” You muttered, hiding your eyes behind your dark glasses once again and pulling the hoodie over your head.
“It has to be you.” Chaewon’s patience had a limit, and it was about to be breached. She stepped closer, with heavy footsteps.
“Are you going to explain yourself, sun-bae-nim?”
Chaewon clenched one of her fists tightly at the insolence in your voice as you dragged out the syllables of that last word.
“Will you accept if I tell you everything?” She shot back immediately.
“Accept what exactly? I don’t know what the hell that brain of yours is thinking.”
Chaewon let out a frustrated sigh, looking up at the ceiling for a second to keep her composure and refrain from screaming a dozen insults right into your face.
“I need a boyfriend. In the eyes of the industry, the press, and basically the whole world.” she began, placing her hands on her hips, finally earning your full attention.
“I want people to stop spreading false rumours about me. I want them to stop shipping my ass with every other person on the Internet, and I want journalists to stop following me everywhere I go looking for whatever they think I’m hiding.”
“I want to break free, even if that means turning everyone against me. Happy enough?”
“No, because you ruined my nap.”
She choked back a scream of pure rage, putting her hands to her head and spinning around in desperation. Seeing her break her flawless idol facade brought a small smirk to your face. At least the show was entertaining.
“For the last time.” She said, turning back to face you with eyes that posed a genuine threat. “Pretend to be my boyfriend.”
You leaned forward in your seat, sitting up and resting your elbows on your knees. A hint of genuine curiosity showed in your body language.
“Why me? It’s a suicide mission, throwing me straight into a lion’s den. I gain absolutely nothing from this.”
“Because you’re a soloist under a shitty agency. Your CEO is bankrupt, and you don’t have a solid fanbase that could cause me any real trouble. Besides that, you’ve never cared about this industry anyway.” She dropped mercilessly, counting off each reason on her fingers.
“Wow. You seem to know a lot about me.” You commented, raising an eyebrow, genuinely surprised by her research.
“I’ve been studying you for a while. You’re the perfect candidate.” She admitted with a smug smile.
“I’m flattered.” You replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Think about it. This is your last chance to get any media attention and relevance. This is going to be your final comeback unless a miracle happens. There are no more banks willing to give your boss a loan.”
You stayed silent for a few seconds, processing her words. She wasn’t wrong.
“The truth is, I’ve been waiting for this moment for a while.” You admitted with resignation, leaning back against the chair again. “You said it yourself: it’s a shitty company in a garbage industry. I want out as soon as possible.” But Chaewon didn’t believe your words.
“Fine. What do you want?” She asked, crossing her arms once more.
“K-pop has me completely burnt out. It’s boring and monotonous. I’m tired of generic commercial hits that mean nothing. I want to produce and write my own music, maybe try different styles.” You confessed, tossing your sunglasses onto the couch behind you.
“I’ll connect you with music producers and top-tier talent. HYBE surrounds itself with the best.” She promised without a shred of doubt in her voice.
“You think so? Because lately you guys sound like a walking Tomorrowland.” You teased, savoring the moment.
“That’s just what the market wants us to be at this moment. But they’re still the best in their fields regardless.” She replied, trying not to take your bait.
Truth be told, Kim Chaewon had many virtues, but being persuasive didn’t seem to be one of them. Luckily for her, you had already made up your mind.
“If I say yes, will you let me sleep?”
“Yes.” She answered before you could even finish the sentence.
“Fine. Let me know when and how this whole thing blows up,” you concluded, closing your eyes once again. “Goodnight, sweetie.”
Chaewon froze on the spot for a second, that word ‘sweetie’ hanging in the air. God, this is going to be so complicated.
“I’ll see you after the show to discuss the terms.”
The slam of the door rattled the dressing room walls, making some of the furniture shake slightly. You smiled to yourself without opening your eyes. For the first time in years, you could feel adrenaline coursing through your veins.
This deal might actually get interesting.
When the music finally cut off in your in-ear, you could hear a few timid claps from the audience. You knew all too well that your music never quite clicked with the public, no matter how hard you tried.
Every single release had been the exact same story for the past three years. A somewhat successful debut, followed by comebacks that barely scraped together a few tens of thousands of views and a couple hundred album sales. What some might consider a modest start was, in this industry, the chronicle of a death foretold.
And honestly, you had survived far longer than expected. Anyone else would have given up halfway, or crumbled under the lack of financial return. But you kept grinding every single day, waiting for a miracle that never seemed to arrive. Quitting was the easy way out, but this was what you loved, no matter how badly things were going.
Back in the dressing room, you collapsed heavily onto the couch. Your performance had been decent, but the apathy was still lingering.
While changing your clothes, removing your makeup, and helping the rest of the staff pack up the equipment, you couldn’t stop thinking about the proposal you had received earlier.
Will this actually lead anywhere?