Epilogue: To Where You Are (I Am Coming)

“I don’t know,” Jinki murmurs, eyeing Kibum’s proposal. “This is usually Minhee’s portfolio-”

“And travel is usually Youngdo’s, but that didn’t stop Bon & Partners from ordering extra copies because of my article.”

Jinki sighs; a sign that he’s giving in. The Okinawa article – and how happy the clients had been with it – is a trump card Kibum has kept in hand, to be played at a crucial moment like this one. “She won’t be happy. She’s already done the prep for this month’s concerts.”

“That’s life.” That sounds mean, even to his own ears. Kibum is not a writer who poaches articles and he hates people who do it, but this is an exception. He’ll buy Minhee a ticket to any other Hex-Oh concert with his own money if she wants, but he must attend this one. In fact, he’ll buy her one anyway; if not for her leaving the list of names of back-up dancers and live band members on her table, he would never have known that Taemin will be dancing with Hex-Oh on the Seoul dates of their Tempo tour.

“That’s not how I run things,” Jinki admonishes. “But I guess… whenever you insist on taking a particular thing, it usually turns out well, so you can have this one. What’s the angle you’re going for anyway?”

Kibum restrains his expression, containing his triumph. “You can read the article and see.”

Jinki sighs again, but his expression is fond. “What other editor will let you bully them like this?”

“You’re the best, yeonggam,” Kibum replies. “That’s why my best work is for you.”

*

In a sea of mostly teenage girls and university students, Kibum feels out of place. The press tag around his neck is probably the only thing that keeps him from being called out as a ert; though there are male fans commenting on the videos and photos posted by fansites of the group, precious few of them are in attendance.

He wanders around the venue before the concert and snaps photos of the merchandise booth, thronged with fans spending more generously than a politician in election year, the pockets of international fans amongst local ones and the larger than life banners of individual members lined up outside the stadium as if they’re flags.

The angle he’s taking for this article is going to be a controversial one. It’s supposed to be about the concert – that’s why the entertainment company had given him a press pass, after all – but he’s going to focus on the commodification of fan labour. He’s done a lot of research into fandom discontent about how promotions have reduced from year to year and how companies essentially rely on fans to market idols once they’re past their debut years. It will be largely complimentary about the group itself – depending on how they perform – but critical of the company itself.

But the article occupies only a small part of his thoughts, the vast majority of which is given to Taemin. He follows the other press members into the stadium and takes his prime seat, right in front of the stage, and waits with growing anticipation as fans start streaming in. There are banners on the seats, with fanchants to sing along to during a certain song, and Kibum eyes the curtains behind which the idols must be waiting.

Taemin must be there too.

The lights dim and a cheer runs through the entire stadium that makes Kibum’s hair stand on end. Although he’s not a fan of Hex-Oh, there is something undeniably electric about the atmosphere at kpop concerts that cannot be replicated by non-idol artists. These fans are not here for the music, they’re here for the idols – and it shows.

Then, a roar, as the curtains open and a heavy bass reverbs all around. The sound of chairs scraping the floor fills the stadium as fans come to their feet and Kibum rises too, caught in the sweeping wave of emotion. That, and he needs to stand too if he hopes to see anything.

Six cloaked people walk out on stage. The lights come on and their cloaks drop to reveal the faces of the Hex-Oh members. The crowd goes wild. Kibum winces at the volume at which the fans are screaming; most of them will lose their voices tomorrow if they keep this up and judging from the fancams he’s seen, they definitely will.

But he’s a little disappointed too. The first song is performed with just the six members of Hex-Oh; he photographs them and makes a notation that they are definitely lip-syncing, and waits for the song to be over.

For the second song, back-up dancers emerge from the wings. He counts six of them, all women, before the male dancers come out, led by Taemin.

His hair is black and he’s heavily made-up, with smoky eyeliner and red lips, but he’s still unmistakably Taemin. Kibum cheers with the fans this time as Hex-Oh’s debut song starts playing and waves his hands fruitlessly, wishing that he had the foresight to purchase the pretty purple lightstick that all the fans have.

The back-up dancers, all twelve of them, stay onstage for the first part of the concert. It’s entirely lipsynced, but Kibum’s can’t really blame the idols; all of the songs are dance tracks with vigorous choreography and large swathes of lyric-free electric synths. He takes a couple of photos for the pretty costumes the idols are clothed in, but mostly, he spends his time watching Taemin at work. His camera, which is supposed to be trained on the idols, often finds Taemin at the centre of the shots he takes during the first set.

The fancams do him little justice, Kibum realises. To see Taemin dance with his own eyes is to realise that he’s looking upon an artist, a prodigy. The best parts of the choreography are reserved for the idols, but Taemin turns what little he’s given into a performance that is his own. Like all of the other dancers, he gets no attention at all from the crowd; no cheers or screams, but to Kibum, he is all he has eyes for.

After six songs, the idols and the dancers troop offstage and a VCR plays. The fans sit and Kibum realises that he has a problem.

He had assumed that with his position right in front of the stage, he would be visible to Taemin; that even if Taemin doesn’t notice him on his own, he’d be able to catch his attention somehow.

Reality is far from his assumptions. Though his seat is close to the stage than any other, it’s clear that, with the lighting focused on the idols and the rest of the stadium cast in darkness, faces in the crowd would not be discernible to the people onstage. Then there’s the fact that the front of the stage belongs to Hex-Oh; the backup dancers are positioned behind them. And having seen Taemin dance, Kibum understands now that even if Taemin were standing at the front of the stage in his section, he would still be invisible to a dancer who loses himself in his art the way Taemin does.

He needs a new plan.

Kibum goes through the motions of photography and note-taking through the second section of the concert, which consists of mid-tempo tracks, whilst scheming a way to get Taemin’s attention. Finally, as one of the idols announces that he’ll be chatting with the fans while the other members change costumes, Kibum sees his opening.

There are many guards patrolling the area, constantly telling fans to put their phones away; in his section alone, there are two men and two women, each one looking as strict as the last.

The one that looks the least strict is a young woman who seems a little out of her depth; Kibum guesses she must be new. When she walks past him, he flags her down. “Excuse me, miss?”

Her expressions change so fast, from suspicion when he calls her to relief when she spots his press tag to suspicion once more – probably as she remembers that the press can sometimes be a foe instead of a friend. “Yes?”

“I need your help with my work,” he starts, hoping to convince her that he’s acting in a professional capacity - that he’s not one of the fans trying to stalk the idols – because his request is definitely going to be a suspicious one. “I’m a journalist and I recently wrote an article in collaboration with Lee Taemin, who is one of the back-up dancers. If I can just-”

Already, she looks skeptical. “I can’t let you backstage.”

There goes that plan. No matter, Kibum smoothly says “No, that’s not it at all.” He takes a copy of Bon & Partner’s biannual magazine from his bag and shows it to her. “The article has been published and I want to give him a copy of the magazine, but I lost his contact number.”

Just then, the crowd cheers. She glances at the stage and turns back to him with a discouraging expression. “I have to work, sorry.”

It’s not a rejection, Kibum tells himself. There are three other guards and the concert isn’t over yet; he will convince one of them to give his magazine – with his phone number scrawled inside – to Taemin before it’s over.

Until then, he will work. After all, he promised Jinki an article.

*

The lights come on, filling the whole stadium and indicating that the concert is indeed over. A hum of voices, so different from the screaming earlier, fills the stadium as fans gather their things and slowly leave. Many of them are taking selcas against the backdrop of the empty stage.

Kibum packs his things too, everything apart from the magazine he is determined to have delivered. One of the male guards had rejected his request too, but he’s not giving up yet. He will throw the damn thing at the tour bus if he needs to.

Right then, the first guard returns to him. “Sir, you’re the one who wanted to see one of the back-up dancers, right?”

Yes, he is. “No, not see him,” Kibum says, lying so that he seems to be only casually interested in Taemin. “I just wanted to pass him a copy of the article. It would be helpful to get his contact number again, but that’s not a life-or-death issue.”

Her eyes narrow, as if she can sense his dishonesty.

Kibum keeps his expression neutral and careless.

“Okay,” she finally says, reaching out for the magazine. “I’ll pass this to the stage manager, he’ll decide whether to give it to…”

“Lee Taemin-ssi.”

“Yes. Please wait here, if he says no I’ll return the magazine to you.”

Watching her take off at a half-jog, Kibum feels an uneasy thrum of nervousness deep in his gut. Months have passed and seasons have changed, he’s been on a few dates and who’s to say that Taemin hasn’t met someone too? In the emptying stadium, Kibum questions the wisdom of his actions for the first time since he spotted Taemin’s name on Minhee’s paperwork. What does he expect from this?

But just as quickly as the doubts set in, it dissipates. He’s here because, no matter the outcome of this meeting, Taemin is a person he cares about. Even if Taemin were to return the magazine unread, this would not have been a waste of time; Kibum will walk away knowing that Taemin is happy and secure enough to reject the companionship he’s offering. If Taemin were to come out with a wedding band around his finger, Kibum will congratulate him and invite both him and his wife to dinner.

In the now quiet stadium, the creak of the door opening is loud. Kibum whips around to see whether what sort of expression the guard is wearing; whether she brings good news or bad.

But the person pushing the door open isn’t the guard, it’s Taemin.

Taemin, whose hair is damp with sweat and whose wide eyes look on him with disbelief. “Kibum?”

“Hey,” Kibum replies, with a half-hearted wave. What sort of greeting is appropriate for a situation like this?

“How… I mean, did you come to see me?” Taemin still looks incredulous as he walks towards Kibum. It takes him back to the time at the beach when Taemin had accused him of stalking.

“I’m here for work,” Kibum answers, because that’s true too. “And of course I recognised you. I waved at you a lot, but you didn’t notice me. I hope it’s okay that I asked for you-”

Taemin nods, cutting Kibum’s question off as he comes to stand in front of him.

Up close, Kibum can see how the corners of his eyeliner have smudged; how his face has been wiped clean of make-up but his lips are still faintly tinged red with the remnants of his lipstick. He’s shed the outer layers of his outfit and is now only dressed in a white t-shirt, black slacks and slippers.

In his eyes, Kibum sees the same nervousness that he himself feels.

They’re so close but it still feels like they’ve got an ocean between them.

“Your hair is black now,” Kibum says. “It looks good on you.” He reaches out to brush a strand out of Taemin’s eyes-

-and that’s all it takes.

The next thing he knows, he has both arms full of Taemin. Taemin’s chin is digging into his shoulder and Taemin’s arms are thrown over his and his sweaty body is pressed into Kibum’s clean outfit and it’s the best hug he’s ever received. Kibum holds on to him and breathes in his scent that he’s missed so dearly. “Yah,” he says, hating how shaky his voice sounds “what is this?”

“I didn’t think…” Taemin detaches himself from Kibum, but keeps a hand on his arm as if Kibum will run away if he doesn’t. “I mean, seeing you here… I never thought-”

“Me too,” Kibum says, knowing exactly what Taemin is trying to find the words to say. “But since we’re both here, if you’re not too busy, let me buy you a drink?”

“Ah!” Taemin exclaims. “Ah, I have to change! Sorry, we have a time limit to shower and change, the stage manager will have my head if the costume’s not returned in time. Can you wait for a while? I’ll take like ten minutes, I promise.”

“Go, go.” Kibum shoos Taemin backstage. “I’ll wait here.”

“Even if I take longer, don’t go anywhere!”

Kibum laughs. “Even if security tries to drag me out, I’ll cling to the beams or something.”

*

Taemin does end up taking far more than ten minutes to get changed and Kibum very nearly does get his arse kicked by security for wanting to linger in the stadium so long after the concert is over.

A saviour comes in the form of the security guard from earlier, the girl who so kindly delivered Kibum’s magazine and message to Taemin; she coaxes Kibum to wait near a specific exit and promises that she will tell Taemin where to find him.

With nothing to do but wait, Kibum sits on a bollard and observes the dynamics of the crowd of fans post-concert. A mass of them are waiting by a different exit, all for the opportunity to wave as their idols drive past them in a van with heavily tinted windows. It’s the royal treatment that even royals don’t get these days. Kibum doubts that there are adoring crowds waiting to wave at the Queen every time she visits Parliament or the races. Others are lingering, chatting and comparing merchandise. Some have trailed off into the night; perhaps they live far away and need to catch the last train home. Or perhaps they’re not quite as enamoured with their idols as the others.

The summer air is balmy despite the late hour. Kibum dressed light for the concert but he’s still sweaty and uncomfortably warm and yearning to go somewhere with air-conditioning.

“Kibum?”

Taemin’s changed into a black t-shirt and jeans and he’s covered himself up with a mask and that ugly bucket hat, but underneath it all his eyes are smile-crinkled. He’s got a messenger bag slung over his shoulder and Kibum can see his magazine rolled and stuffed into a side pocket.

“Hey.” Kibum stands up and stretches the kinks out of his back. “So, shall we get to the subway first and then decide where to-”

“Come this way,” Taemin says, cutting him off; he grabs the sleeve of Kibum’s shirt and tugs him along, towards the back of the stadium and away from the crowd. “There’s another station down this way, but it’s a longer walk and the fans won’t use it.”

“They still stalk you?”

No sooner has the question passed his lips than a couple of wolf whistles ring out behind them. Taemin’s cheeks, what little of them are visible, turn red and he drops Kibum’s hand. Kibum turns to see who it is, but all he sees is a flash of golden hair and one of the stadium doors swinging shut.

“Sorry,” Taemin says, “my colleagues are s, all of them.”

“Oh, that was them?” Kibum reaches out to take Taemin’s hand again, but thinks better of it; they’re in public and it’s not dark or un-crowded enough for public displays of affection to go unnoticed. Instead, he catches up to Taemin so that they’re walking side by side, shoulder to shoulder.

“I was supposed to have dinner with them, it’s what we do after concerts,” Taemin explains. “So they all wanted to see who was stealing me instead and like, I’m sure I won’t hear the end of it tomorrow. I’m one of the younger dancers, but I swear, I’m the most mature one sometimes.”

“Aigoo, my poor baby, suffering so much because of this thoughtless hyung,” Kibum teases, earning him an exasperated glare from Taemin. “Tell me, what can I do to make it up to you?”

“Oh,” Taemin says, that one word carrying within it a promise of mischief. Kibum grins and Taemin’s grinning too when he leans in close to whisper in Kibum’s ear. “Actually, there’s two things: feed me and me.”

“As you wish.”