[infinite] picasso's not a photographer (and neither is the price tag); myungsoo/woohyun; g
Title: Picasso's Not a Photographer (and Neither is the Price Tag)
Pairing: Myungsoo/Woohyun
Rating: G
Summary: Myungsoo's a photographer who likes to look beyond the surface -- but he ends up at a dinner party hosted by the rich socialite Nam Woohyun, who only looks at the surface.
Word count: ~2,700
Originally written for yooruce at kpopvalentines
picasso's not a photographer (and neither is the price tag);;-
// A photographer went to a socialite party in New York. As he entered the front door, the host said ‘I love your pictures - they’re wonderful; you must have a fantastic camera’. He said nothing until dinner was finished, then: ‘That was a wonderful dinner; you must have a terrific stove.’ -- Sam Haskins //
Myungsoo likes grasping moments. He likes people -- when they’re at a distance, blending into the landscape, making a perfect snapshot. He likes the idea of capturing scenes, transient moments, capturing something beyond the surface.
So it goes to say that he doesn’t like parties very much, much less high class, socialite parties. He’s more than content to stay behind in his darkroom developing prints of his day’s roll of film rather than brushing shoulders with strangers and making pointless small talk -- but Sungyeol had pestered him to come as his plus one and okay, Myungsoo thought, maybe he’d humour his best friend just this once. Plus, the host apparently has connections to a magazine Myungsoo wants to get his photosets featured in.
It couldn’t hurt to spare one night making pleasantries.
It’s seven in the evening, and Myungsoo’s standing in front of looming double doors. The street is lined with similar houses -- actually, Myungsoo’s not sure they can even be called houses. They’re all two, three storeys tall; a single property is the size of the entire townhouse block Myungsoo lives in, no doubt a proud symbol of prosperity in Korea’s struggling economy.
He reaches his hand out to the shiny metal knocker, and sighs. Sungyeol’s late, as usual, and had told him to go on ahead without him. Great friend, Myungsoo thinks sarcastically, dropping the knocker onto the door with a thunk.
The double doors open to a young man, who looks Myungsoo up and down. The man’s hair is gelled to a stiff peak, and he’s wearing a snazzy dress suit, complete with black and silver rings, and a thin silver necklace, a stark contrast to Myungsoo’s cardigan and faded jeans. He’s young, probably not much older than Myungsoo himself, and rather handsome, with a strong, defined jawline.
The man’s eyes travel to the camera hanging from Myungsoo’s neck, an old film SLR passed down from his late uncle, and ‘ahh’s in apparent recognition.
“You must be Sungyeol’s guest -- the photographer! L-sshi, right? Sungyeol’s told me about you. Nam Woohyun at your service, please come in.”
Myungsoo offers a wary smile and steps in. It’s not the first time he’s been to a party -- he’d attended a magazine’s end-of-year celebration last December, having just featured in the last issue as ‘L, handsome photographer extraordinaire’ -- but it is the first time he’s been to such a high-end party, so he’s not quite sure what to expect.
“I love your pictures,” Woohyun starts, flashing Myungsoo a blinding smile as he escorts him past the empty foyer to the party room. “They’re wonderful; you must have a fantastic camera. Not that...old one you’re carrying now -- one of those big, expensive digital ones. Top of the range stuff, right?”
Myungsoo raises his eyebrow out of amusement, but he feels a twinge of annoyance. He’s absolutely certain now that Woohyun hasn’t actually seen any of his photosets. Woohyun turns to him expectantly, as if awaiting some kind of confirmation, and Myungsoo decides to just nod and smile to appease him. It’s easier than trying to explain that he uses the exact ‘old’ camera he’s carrying now to someone like Woohyun who obviously doesn’t care for anything other than the price tag.
“Anyway,” Woohyun says, leading Myungsoo through the doorway, “Sungyeol says you’re good. You might be the next Picasso.”
The ceilings of the main room are sky high, decorated with fancy chandeliers which radiate a warm ambience. Myungsoo stands at the doorway, taken aback. There are four waiters with trays of canapés and gourmet finger food travelling in figure eight patterns around the room. Woohyun calls one of them over and passes a glass of rose-coloured wine to Myungsoo.
“Enjoy,” he says, eyes twinkling as Myungsoo accepts the glass. “And look forward to dinner -- it’s made by yours truly.”
Myungsoo doesn’t do much talking for the rest of the night. He knows he’s meant to be introducing himself to the dozen or so people in the room, expanding his ‘network’ or whatever Sungyeol calls it (“because you’re getting famous, Myungsoo-yah, people want to know you”), but he finds himself just loitering around and glancing warily at the silver platters that pass by. He tests out a green leafy thing, then immediately spits it out into a tissue and pockets it inconspicuously. Woohyun’s flitting around the room, making conversation with all the guests.
Sungyeol turns up half an hour later, looking slightly ruffled at the edges. Myungsoo glares at him as he’s escorted into the room by a grinning Woohyun, who has an arm wrapped around Sungyeol’s shoulders.
“Hey, hey, L-sshi, look who’s here,” Woohyun sing-songs, smiling blindingly. Sungyeol gives him a little guilty wave. “Sungyeol and I were just talking about getting your photos onto BLINK. I can do that no problem -- that publication’s part of a publishing company my father passed down to me. Just one phone call to the director and...”
Myungsoo groans internally. How ironic that this thick-skinned idiot who just lumped photography together with Picasso is the head of one of the most widely distributed photography publications in Korea.
“...anyhow, less talk, more dining. Sungyeol’s here, so let’s start dinner.”
When Woohyun turns away and claps his hands at the waiters, signalling for them to rearrange the tables and seat the guests, Sungyeol turns to Myungsoo.
“Hey, don’t start any funny business here, alright? Remember, this isn’t your studio,” he mutters into Myungsoo’s ear. Myungsoo grimaces. “Just play along, and maybe both of us can get something out of tonight.”
“This is Lee Howon,” Woohyun says, pointing at the man opposite Myungsoo. “He’s the CEO of an insurance company.”
They’re all seated at the dinner table, with their steaks (which Woohyun proudly reminded that he had made himself) in front of them. Myungsoo nods a polite greeting, but it’s not like he actually cares about this Lee Howon or his insurance company. He doesn’t have anything worth insuring besides his camera and photography collection anyway.
“In case you were wondering, photography equipment’s covered in our insurance policies.” Howon smiles. “You must be L-sshi, the rising star photographer.”
Myungsoo smiles back. He picks up his fork.
“Woohyun-sshi, do you think that if I bought that new Nikon, my photos would turn out as well as L-sshi’s?” Howon asks, more in jest than in sincerity, but Woohyun nods anyway, swallowing a mouthful of salad.
“Oh, yeah,” Woohyun laughs, waving his steak knife around. “With something that expensive, I’d be more surprised if it didn’t turn out well.” The words come out of his mouth so smoothly, so easily, that Myungsoo flinches, wondering if Woohyun’s trying to insult him or just dense.
“Technology’s so advanced nowadays,” Woohyun continues, cutting into his steak, “that all you need to do is press a button, and voila, the perfect picture comes out, isn’t that right, L-sshi?”
Myungsoo clenches a fist under the table. Sungyeol’s sending frantic signals back at Myungsoo to keep it calm, and Myungsoo grits his teeth. He smile-grimaces at Woohyun, who takes it as acknowledgement and turns to Howon, gloating.
“See?”
Myungsoo stabs his fork into the too-rubbery steak.
“Even the expert agrees with me. I’m telling you, Howon-ah, there’s no real standard anymore. Hey, if you decide to take up photography and want your stuff published, just come to me, I’ll put you in BLINK--”
“--that was a wonderful dinner,” Myungsoo says briskly, interrupting Woohyun. He wipes his mouth with a napkin, throws it on the half-eaten steak, and scrapes his chair back loudly to stand up. His mother always told him that if he had nothing good to say, then he should keep his mouth shut -- and that’s exactly what he’s done, but he can’t stand it any longer. He’d rather not deal with Woohyun’s ignorance.
The other guests are quiet now, either stunned at Myungsoo’s audacity or anticipating the ensuing drama. Sungyeol shoots a glare at Myungsoo, tugs at his pant leg and hisses at him to sit down, but Myungsoo bats his hand aside and bows to a perplexed Woohyun. He turns his back and walks out of the room, clutching his old film camera tightly to his chest.
Myungsoo hesitates at the doorway. Surely it would be rude to leave without a compliment. Turning around, Myungsoo flashes the biggest, fakest smile he can muster.
“You must have a terrific stove.”
“You are an idiot,” Sungyeol hisses at Myungsoo, voice distorted over the loudspeaker of the phone. “You are the king of idiots. Didn’t you want to get into BLINK? Go ahead, burn your bridges, and burn mine too. I can’t--” Sungyeol sighs. “Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? Having my plus one storm out on a dinner? Hosted by Nam Woohyun? You’re lucky I’m not there to strangle you right now, but I will the next time I see you.”
Myungsoo sighs. He’s in the middle of slotting his film onto the developing reel, both hands stuck through the arm holes of the light-proof bag, so he can’t even hang up on Sungyeol. “Strangle me, whatever. I’m not interested in BLINK anymore. I’ll take my photos in peace, and you can look for a funding breakthrough with your fashion designs next party, okay?”
Sungyeol makes an annoyed ‘tsk’. “Easy for you to say. Oh, Woohyun suddenly asked for your address when I was leaving yesterday. I, uh, gave him the address of your studio.”
There’s a knock at Myungsoo’s door just as Sungyeol finishes his sentence. Myungsoo glares at the phone. He never gets visitors -- so there’s only one person it could be.
“I hate you.”
“Serves you right. You should be grateful Woohyun’s even interested in you after you walked out like that.”
The knocking on the door gets louder and more persistent. Myungsoo sighs and takes his hands out of the bag. “I have a visitor, no thanks to you. I’m hanging up.”
“L-sshi!” Woohyun greets, raising a hand as Myungsoo pulls open the door. Myungsoo regards him with a cold expression. “I take it that you’re well after leaving halfway through yesterday’s party?”
“Woohyun-sshi. Why are you here?”
Woohyun pokes a head in through the entrance. “I’m just wondering why you left. No one’s ever left in the middle of one of my parties before. Come on L-sshi, it won’t take--”
“--can you go away? I’m busy.”
Woohyun purses his lips and pushes his way inside anyway. Myungsoo scoffs in disbelief. Woohyun links his hands behind his back and leans forwards to observe the rows of photos on the wall, nodding in apparent approval. “No can do. I’m a busy man too, and my time is gol-- oh my god, look at the floor, L-sshi, how old is this property?”
Myungsoo sits down and grabs a developing container from his desk. He uncaps it and takes out the reel. “As old as my camera, which, by the way, I use to take all my photos. Say what you have to say. Then get the hell out.”
“Sungyeol says you’re rich. Why don’t you move away from here?” Woohyun wrinkles his nose in distaste. Myungsoo narrows his eyes.
“Not everyone’s like you. Maybe I like it here.”
“But,” Woohyun protests, “it’s so dirty, and this heater’s at least ten years old.”
Myungsoo looks over his shoulder at Woohyun with silent contemplation, eyebrows furrowed slightly. “I really don’t like you.”
Woohyun cocks his head to the side, walking over to lean on Myungsoo’s desk, knocking over a film canister. Myungsoo shoots him a glare. “Aw, come on, what’s there not to like? I’m rich and handsome, and I have a nice car. Plus, I can even dance,” he adds, striking a Michael Jackson pose. He straightens his shirt and chuckles, looking pleased at himself.
Myungsoo carries on with unravelling his film from the reel. He ignores Woohyun, who’s now hovering around behind him, humming a tune and stepping around the chemical stains on the floor. Woohyun inspects the settee in the back corner, but forgoes sitting on it. Myungsoo rolls his eyes. Probably too dirty for him.
“L-sshi,” Woohyun says after a minute. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Why don’t you decide?” Myungsoo says, getting up to hang his film up on the clothing line to dry. “You’re the socialite, I’m the photographer. You should be the one who knows how to read people, not me.”
“Okay, okay,” Woohyun sighs, raising his hands in front of him. “I shouldn’t have barged in here like that, but I was really curious, why did you leave so suddenly yesterday? We hadn’t even gotten to discussing BLINK--”
“--and I’m really curious why you would insult your guests to their faces,” Myungsoo says in annoyance, clipping a weight to the end of each strip of film. He turns and stares at Woohyun. “Didn’t you get it?”
“Get what? ...Did you send me a present?”
Myungsoo breathes out deeply. “When I said that you had a terrific stove.”
“Well,” Woohyun replies, scratching his head in puzzlement. “My stove is top of the range…”
Myungsoo eyes him in disbelief. “Have you ever lived somewhere where things aren’t top of the range?”
“God, no,” Woohyun replies, sounding shocked. “I upgrade everything as they come. No use having out-of-date household appliances -- like this heater.” Woohyun kicks it, and it rattles menacingly. He jumps away. “It won’t explode, right?”
Myungsoo shakes his head in exasperation and turns back to inspecting his film with a magnifying glass.
“But really, tell me, what did I do wrong?” Woohyun asks, tone serious. “It keeps bugging me. I’m a person with values, you know; I apologise for the mistakes I make.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Myungsoo mutters under his breath. “You were fine waltzing into my studio without permission ten minutes ago.” He puts his magnifying glass down and swivels around to face Woohyun. “Okay, Woohyun-sshi, I’ll tell you what’s wrong, but first, I have a question. What is photography to you?”
“Well, photography’s taking photos,” Woohyun answers simply. “With big, expensive cameras and lenses -- oh, did I tell you, Howon showed me the new Nikon something-or-other he wanted, costs fifteen grand--”
“--and that’s exactly what’s wrong,” Myungsoo explains in resignation. “You’ve got it all backwards. Photography isn't all about fancy equipment or the newest camera model. You don’t need a fifteen-thousand dollar camera to take a great shot -- but you need the feeling, and the skill. Good photography doesn’t come from the camera, but the photographer.”
There’s a beat of silence as Woohyun processes Myungsoo’s words. He blinks, tilting his head to the side.
“So you’re saying,” Woohyun says slowly, “that it’s not the camera, but the person?”
Myungsoo nods. “Photography’s never about the price tag.”
A look of comprehension dawns over Woohyun’s face. Finally, Myungsoo thinks. He can’t believe that Woohyun’s taken so long to figure out something so simple, being the head of BLINK of all publications. But then again, he thinks wryly, the privileged never see past the surface of their comfort zones. Woohyun’s probably only owns the company by name and left all the creative direction to someone else.
“Okay. I get it. But then...” Woohyun closes in on Myungsoo, lips twitching in amusement. Myungsoo frowns, slightly unnerved, and slowly backs away onto his workstation, fingers searching for support at the edge of his desk.
“What are you doing?”
“If your outstanding photos aren’t because of your camera, then maybe my wonderful dinner wasn’t because my top-of-the-range stove.” Woohyun smirks. He leans closer towards Myungsoo, until he’s only an inch away from Myungsoo’s face. He lowers his voice to a whisper. “What I’m saying is...I’m just that good, right, L-sshi?”
Myungsoo looks at Woohyun’s slightly raised eyebrow, the slanted upward curl of his lips, and scoffs. He leans forward, staring Woohyun in the eyes, closing the distance...then tilts his head at the last moment so that his lips hover against Woohyun’s ear.
“I think you need new tastebuds. Now get out of my studio.”
Pairing: Myungsoo/Woohyun
Rating: G
Summary: Myungsoo's a photographer who likes to look beyond the surface -- but he ends up at a dinner party hosted by the rich socialite Nam Woohyun, who only looks at the surface.
Word count: ~2,700
Originally written for yooruce at kpopvalentines
picasso's not a photographer (and neither is the price tag);;-
// A photographer went to a socialite party in New York. As he entered the front door, the host said ‘I love your pictures - they’re wonderful; you must have a fantastic camera’. He said nothing until dinner was finished, then: ‘That was a wonderful dinner; you must have a terrific stove.’ -- Sam Haskins //
Myungsoo likes grasping moments. He likes people -- when they’re at a distance, blending into the landscape, making a perfect snapshot. He likes the idea of capturing scenes, transient moments, capturing something beyond the surface.
So it goes to say that he doesn’t like parties very much, much less high class, socialite parties. He’s more than content to stay behind in his darkroom developing prints of his day’s roll of film rather than brushing shoulders with strangers and making pointless small talk -- but Sungyeol had pestered him to come as his plus one and okay, Myungsoo thought, maybe he’d humour his best friend just this once. Plus, the host apparently has connections to a magazine Myungsoo wants to get his photosets featured in.
It couldn’t hurt to spare one night making pleasantries.
It’s seven in the evening, and Myungsoo’s standing in front of looming double doors. The street is lined with similar houses -- actually, Myungsoo’s not sure they can even be called houses. They’re all two, three storeys tall; a single property is the size of the entire townhouse block Myungsoo lives in, no doubt a proud symbol of prosperity in Korea’s struggling economy.
He reaches his hand out to the shiny metal knocker, and sighs. Sungyeol’s late, as usual, and had told him to go on ahead without him. Great friend, Myungsoo thinks sarcastically, dropping the knocker onto the door with a thunk.
The double doors open to a young man, who looks Myungsoo up and down. The man’s hair is gelled to a stiff peak, and he’s wearing a snazzy dress suit, complete with black and silver rings, and a thin silver necklace, a stark contrast to Myungsoo’s cardigan and faded jeans. He’s young, probably not much older than Myungsoo himself, and rather handsome, with a strong, defined jawline.
The man’s eyes travel to the camera hanging from Myungsoo’s neck, an old film SLR passed down from his late uncle, and ‘ahh’s in apparent recognition.
“You must be Sungyeol’s guest -- the photographer! L-sshi, right? Sungyeol’s told me about you. Nam Woohyun at your service, please come in.”
Myungsoo offers a wary smile and steps in. It’s not the first time he’s been to a party -- he’d attended a magazine’s end-of-year celebration last December, having just featured in the last issue as ‘L, handsome photographer extraordinaire’ -- but it is the first time he’s been to such a high-end party, so he’s not quite sure what to expect.
“I love your pictures,” Woohyun starts, flashing Myungsoo a blinding smile as he escorts him past the empty foyer to the party room. “They’re wonderful; you must have a fantastic camera. Not that...old one you’re carrying now -- one of those big, expensive digital ones. Top of the range stuff, right?”
Myungsoo raises his eyebrow out of amusement, but he feels a twinge of annoyance. He’s absolutely certain now that Woohyun hasn’t actually seen any of his photosets. Woohyun turns to him expectantly, as if awaiting some kind of confirmation, and Myungsoo decides to just nod and smile to appease him. It’s easier than trying to explain that he uses the exact ‘old’ camera he’s carrying now to someone like Woohyun who obviously doesn’t care for anything other than the price tag.
“Anyway,” Woohyun says, leading Myungsoo through the doorway, “Sungyeol says you’re good. You might be the next Picasso.”
The ceilings of the main room are sky high, decorated with fancy chandeliers which radiate a warm ambience. Myungsoo stands at the doorway, taken aback. There are four waiters with trays of canapés and gourmet finger food travelling in figure eight patterns around the room. Woohyun calls one of them over and passes a glass of rose-coloured wine to Myungsoo.
“Enjoy,” he says, eyes twinkling as Myungsoo accepts the glass. “And look forward to dinner -- it’s made by yours truly.”
Myungsoo doesn’t do much talking for the rest of the night. He knows he’s meant to be introducing himself to the dozen or so people in the room, expanding his ‘network’ or whatever Sungyeol calls it (“because you’re getting famous, Myungsoo-yah, people want to know you”), but he finds himself just loitering around and glancing warily at the silver platters that pass by. He tests out a green leafy thing, then immediately spits it out into a tissue and pockets it inconspicuously. Woohyun’s flitting around the room, making conversation with all the guests.
Sungyeol turns up half an hour later, looking slightly ruffled at the edges. Myungsoo glares at him as he’s escorted into the room by a grinning Woohyun, who has an arm wrapped around Sungyeol’s shoulders.
“Hey, hey, L-sshi, look who’s here,” Woohyun sing-songs, smiling blindingly. Sungyeol gives him a little guilty wave. “Sungyeol and I were just talking about getting your photos onto BLINK. I can do that no problem -- that publication’s part of a publishing company my father passed down to me. Just one phone call to the director and...”
Myungsoo groans internally. How ironic that this thick-skinned idiot who just lumped photography together with Picasso is the head of one of the most widely distributed photography publications in Korea.
“...anyhow, less talk, more dining. Sungyeol’s here, so let’s start dinner.”
When Woohyun turns away and claps his hands at the waiters, signalling for them to rearrange the tables and seat the guests, Sungyeol turns to Myungsoo.
“Hey, don’t start any funny business here, alright? Remember, this isn’t your studio,” he mutters into Myungsoo’s ear. Myungsoo grimaces. “Just play along, and maybe both of us can get something out of tonight.”
“This is Lee Howon,” Woohyun says, pointing at the man opposite Myungsoo. “He’s the CEO of an insurance company.”
They’re all seated at the dinner table, with their steaks (which Woohyun proudly reminded that he had made himself) in front of them. Myungsoo nods a polite greeting, but it’s not like he actually cares about this Lee Howon or his insurance company. He doesn’t have anything worth insuring besides his camera and photography collection anyway.
“In case you were wondering, photography equipment’s covered in our insurance policies.” Howon smiles. “You must be L-sshi, the rising star photographer.”
Myungsoo smiles back. He picks up his fork.
“Woohyun-sshi, do you think that if I bought that new Nikon, my photos would turn out as well as L-sshi’s?” Howon asks, more in jest than in sincerity, but Woohyun nods anyway, swallowing a mouthful of salad.
“Oh, yeah,” Woohyun laughs, waving his steak knife around. “With something that expensive, I’d be more surprised if it didn’t turn out well.” The words come out of his mouth so smoothly, so easily, that Myungsoo flinches, wondering if Woohyun’s trying to insult him or just dense.
“Technology’s so advanced nowadays,” Woohyun continues, cutting into his steak, “that all you need to do is press a button, and voila, the perfect picture comes out, isn’t that right, L-sshi?”
Myungsoo clenches a fist under the table. Sungyeol’s sending frantic signals back at Myungsoo to keep it calm, and Myungsoo grits his teeth. He smile-grimaces at Woohyun, who takes it as acknowledgement and turns to Howon, gloating.
“See?”
Myungsoo stabs his fork into the too-rubbery steak.
“Even the expert agrees with me. I’m telling you, Howon-ah, there’s no real standard anymore. Hey, if you decide to take up photography and want your stuff published, just come to me, I’ll put you in BLINK--”
“--that was a wonderful dinner,” Myungsoo says briskly, interrupting Woohyun. He wipes his mouth with a napkin, throws it on the half-eaten steak, and scrapes his chair back loudly to stand up. His mother always told him that if he had nothing good to say, then he should keep his mouth shut -- and that’s exactly what he’s done, but he can’t stand it any longer. He’d rather not deal with Woohyun’s ignorance.
The other guests are quiet now, either stunned at Myungsoo’s audacity or anticipating the ensuing drama. Sungyeol shoots a glare at Myungsoo, tugs at his pant leg and hisses at him to sit down, but Myungsoo bats his hand aside and bows to a perplexed Woohyun. He turns his back and walks out of the room, clutching his old film camera tightly to his chest.
Myungsoo hesitates at the doorway. Surely it would be rude to leave without a compliment. Turning around, Myungsoo flashes the biggest, fakest smile he can muster.
“You must have a terrific stove.”
“You are an idiot,” Sungyeol hisses at Myungsoo, voice distorted over the loudspeaker of the phone. “You are the king of idiots. Didn’t you want to get into BLINK? Go ahead, burn your bridges, and burn mine too. I can’t--” Sungyeol sighs. “Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? Having my plus one storm out on a dinner? Hosted by Nam Woohyun? You’re lucky I’m not there to strangle you right now, but I will the next time I see you.”
Myungsoo sighs. He’s in the middle of slotting his film onto the developing reel, both hands stuck through the arm holes of the light-proof bag, so he can’t even hang up on Sungyeol. “Strangle me, whatever. I’m not interested in BLINK anymore. I’ll take my photos in peace, and you can look for a funding breakthrough with your fashion designs next party, okay?”
Sungyeol makes an annoyed ‘tsk’. “Easy for you to say. Oh, Woohyun suddenly asked for your address when I was leaving yesterday. I, uh, gave him the address of your studio.”
There’s a knock at Myungsoo’s door just as Sungyeol finishes his sentence. Myungsoo glares at the phone. He never gets visitors -- so there’s only one person it could be.
“I hate you.”
“Serves you right. You should be grateful Woohyun’s even interested in you after you walked out like that.”
The knocking on the door gets louder and more persistent. Myungsoo sighs and takes his hands out of the bag. “I have a visitor, no thanks to you. I’m hanging up.”
“L-sshi!” Woohyun greets, raising a hand as Myungsoo pulls open the door. Myungsoo regards him with a cold expression. “I take it that you’re well after leaving halfway through yesterday’s party?”
“Woohyun-sshi. Why are you here?”
Woohyun pokes a head in through the entrance. “I’m just wondering why you left. No one’s ever left in the middle of one of my parties before. Come on L-sshi, it won’t take--”
“--can you go away? I’m busy.”
Woohyun purses his lips and pushes his way inside anyway. Myungsoo scoffs in disbelief. Woohyun links his hands behind his back and leans forwards to observe the rows of photos on the wall, nodding in apparent approval. “No can do. I’m a busy man too, and my time is gol-- oh my god, look at the floor, L-sshi, how old is this property?”
Myungsoo sits down and grabs a developing container from his desk. He uncaps it and takes out the reel. “As old as my camera, which, by the way, I use to take all my photos. Say what you have to say. Then get the hell out.”
“Sungyeol says you’re rich. Why don’t you move away from here?” Woohyun wrinkles his nose in distaste. Myungsoo narrows his eyes.
“Not everyone’s like you. Maybe I like it here.”
“But,” Woohyun protests, “it’s so dirty, and this heater’s at least ten years old.”
Myungsoo looks over his shoulder at Woohyun with silent contemplation, eyebrows furrowed slightly. “I really don’t like you.”
Woohyun cocks his head to the side, walking over to lean on Myungsoo’s desk, knocking over a film canister. Myungsoo shoots him a glare. “Aw, come on, what’s there not to like? I’m rich and handsome, and I have a nice car. Plus, I can even dance,” he adds, striking a Michael Jackson pose. He straightens his shirt and chuckles, looking pleased at himself.
Myungsoo carries on with unravelling his film from the reel. He ignores Woohyun, who’s now hovering around behind him, humming a tune and stepping around the chemical stains on the floor. Woohyun inspects the settee in the back corner, but forgoes sitting on it. Myungsoo rolls his eyes. Probably too dirty for him.
“L-sshi,” Woohyun says after a minute. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Why don’t you decide?” Myungsoo says, getting up to hang his film up on the clothing line to dry. “You’re the socialite, I’m the photographer. You should be the one who knows how to read people, not me.”
“Okay, okay,” Woohyun sighs, raising his hands in front of him. “I shouldn’t have barged in here like that, but I was really curious, why did you leave so suddenly yesterday? We hadn’t even gotten to discussing BLINK--”
“--and I’m really curious why you would insult your guests to their faces,” Myungsoo says in annoyance, clipping a weight to the end of each strip of film. He turns and stares at Woohyun. “Didn’t you get it?”
“Get what? ...Did you send me a present?”
Myungsoo breathes out deeply. “When I said that you had a terrific stove.”
“Well,” Woohyun replies, scratching his head in puzzlement. “My stove is top of the range…”
Myungsoo eyes him in disbelief. “Have you ever lived somewhere where things aren’t top of the range?”
“God, no,” Woohyun replies, sounding shocked. “I upgrade everything as they come. No use having out-of-date household appliances -- like this heater.” Woohyun kicks it, and it rattles menacingly. He jumps away. “It won’t explode, right?”
Myungsoo shakes his head in exasperation and turns back to inspecting his film with a magnifying glass.
“But really, tell me, what did I do wrong?” Woohyun asks, tone serious. “It keeps bugging me. I’m a person with values, you know; I apologise for the mistakes I make.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Myungsoo mutters under his breath. “You were fine waltzing into my studio without permission ten minutes ago.” He puts his magnifying glass down and swivels around to face Woohyun. “Okay, Woohyun-sshi, I’ll tell you what’s wrong, but first, I have a question. What is photography to you?”
“Well, photography’s taking photos,” Woohyun answers simply. “With big, expensive cameras and lenses -- oh, did I tell you, Howon showed me the new Nikon something-or-other he wanted, costs fifteen grand--”
“--and that’s exactly what’s wrong,” Myungsoo explains in resignation. “You’ve got it all backwards. Photography isn't all about fancy equipment or the newest camera model. You don’t need a fifteen-thousand dollar camera to take a great shot -- but you need the feeling, and the skill. Good photography doesn’t come from the camera, but the photographer.”
There’s a beat of silence as Woohyun processes Myungsoo’s words. He blinks, tilting his head to the side.
“So you’re saying,” Woohyun says slowly, “that it’s not the camera, but the person?”
Myungsoo nods. “Photography’s never about the price tag.”
A look of comprehension dawns over Woohyun’s face. Finally, Myungsoo thinks. He can’t believe that Woohyun’s taken so long to figure out something so simple, being the head of BLINK of all publications. But then again, he thinks wryly, the privileged never see past the surface of their comfort zones. Woohyun’s probably only owns the company by name and left all the creative direction to someone else.
“Okay. I get it. But then...” Woohyun closes in on Myungsoo, lips twitching in amusement. Myungsoo frowns, slightly unnerved, and slowly backs away onto his workstation, fingers searching for support at the edge of his desk.
“What are you doing?”
“If your outstanding photos aren’t because of your camera, then maybe my wonderful dinner wasn’t because my top-of-the-range stove.” Woohyun smirks. He leans closer towards Myungsoo, until he’s only an inch away from Myungsoo’s face. He lowers his voice to a whisper. “What I’m saying is...I’m just that good, right, L-sshi?”
Myungsoo looks at Woohyun’s slightly raised eyebrow, the slanted upward curl of his lips, and scoffs. He leans forward, staring Woohyun in the eyes, closing the distance...then tilts his head at the last moment so that his lips hover against Woohyun’s ear.
“I think you need new tastebuds. Now get out of my studio.”