Defenseless

“We got a new client coming,” Seunghoon says. He has just ended a call and now he is smiling at him.

“Please, don’t let it be Song Minho,” Jinwoo pleads, walking towards Seunghoon’s desk, sitting on the chair in front of him.

“Indeed, it’s Song Minho but, why not him? Do you have something against him?” he wonders, still smirking, raising his perfectly crafted brows inquiringly.

“I only know what’s on the press,” he says, honestly. He is not much of an idols person, he only likes IU, and, fortunately for him, she has never been in any scandal that he had to fix. GD, the other exception, is very much out of their company’s league – Jinwoo is more than happy to assist only to their concerts if that means that they are out of trouble.

Song Minho’s case, though, is tricky. Dating rumors are hard to fight – most idols never recover from them, falling into disgrace in the worse instance.

As far as Jinwoo is aware, Song Minho, a raising idol rapper from a popular company has been caught with a lady. Five different outlines have posted the pictorial with a brief explanation. Thousands of fans have deserted him, his social media accounts are flooded with hate – and some supporting comments. Cleaning his name after this would be tough and complicated, reverting the situation, mission impossible – trying to push another scandal for citizens to forget, the only wise thing to do but, sadly, their company is small and they don’t have other stunts to put on to cover this.

And, since he is tracking fame, his name will be dragged on the mood, will be out in the mouth of all the press and journalists, they won’t let it rest until leeching everything, until milking it dry – until they don’t get any more clickbait headlines or money out of him. Silencing such a media case, out on the wind... there is nothing to do, nothing in Jinwoo’s power and talent and hard work to enable it, its magnitude too big for such a tiny company, escaping their capacities.

Jinwoo likes to help his clients to recover after the fall to disgrace, but he doesn’t deal with idols – too fragile, too complex, too many people involved; that’s Seunghoon’s field, he does relaunches of forgotten actors, brings up old names, back to hit fame again. Gives them some simple charities to support, some advertisement campaign – nothing big or fancy, just enough for their names to emerge back to the surface.

“Why did you accept him?” Jinwoo cries out, ruffling his hair, already stressed. He knows that he will have to handle it, that Seunghoon has enough work on his plate – that he is already taking anti-anxiety pills to survive.

“Because he called us,” as simple as it is, it has to be more to it. Minho is important enough to get covered by a more experimented publicist company that it’s not LeeKim S.L – though taking in a big profile like him would launch their firm, get more clients coming but that only in the remote, nearly impossible case they can deal with Minho’s situation, relapses it. Jinwoo looks at Seunghoon suspiciously, aware that there is something fishy, something funny in between that he is not telling him. Seunghoon shrugs. “He owes me, so instead of going to another firm, he is stuck with us. So, please, do your best to charm him, just in case we can’t help him further,” he adds, surrendering, smirking.

“I’m not going to seduce a client. I did it once to save us from going to the court!” Jinwoo restores, rolling his eyes. “And it was pretty disgusting, you know he put his tongue deep in my throat,” he recalls, softly laughing. He doesn’t want the situation to be repeated – he doesn’t want to get involved with anyone, client or friend.

“You’ll have to take him,” he says with a hint of something else, his eyes lightening under the cloudy Monday afternoon, the sun shading the sky in hues of red and blue, agonizing in the faraway horizon, slowly withering, bending to the moon rising above it. “Because I have to leave now,” he adds, looking at his watch, “Seungyoon has rehab in ten and I’m already late,” he says, apologetic. Jinwoo can’t be mad at his friend for leaving early, for leaving him alone to deal with whatever is to come because Seungyoon, Seunghoon’s boyfriend, has had a car accident on his driving training and he has to take care of him – and Jinwoo has to mind the company on his absence.

“Send my best regards to him,” he waves him off, leaving his tiny office.

“Oh, Song Minho will be here in five!” he yells, busy pushing a stack of papers inside his leather bag, rushing to the door, to the afternoon that is still buzzing, alive, on the outside.

Jinwoo splashes some freshwater on his face, brushes his hair back in place, and waits for Song Minho to come over, gathering all the information available. In a few minutes he has a board understanding of what is going one with him and he has accomplished to look professional and ready despite the hot stickiness that comes from the humid sunset and that makes his face sweaty– his eyes are clean and focus, the red rim covered with makeup, his lips glossed and his smile in place prepared to greet a new client. He re-read the report he has managed to type down hurriedly and takes a few extra notes just to be sure he has all the data collected, all the facts he might need to work on this.

There is a knock on the door, a small face peeking. He doesn’t do justice to the pictures – in photographs, Minho looks hazard, board, dangerous but the man in front of him is not intimidating at all, not when he smiles shyly at him, bowing politely. He has the aura, of course, powerful and charming, with glimmering, sparkling eyes and little dimples on his cheeks, borderline cute but still an idol even when he is wearing nothing fancy – and maybe Jinwoo doesn’t know a thing about trends and fashion but a pair of jeans, a shirt under a cardigan is something he would wear on the daily (it is something he is nearly sporting right now but, instead of a cardigan he is wearing a blazer). The only sign of him being famous is his scandalous bright blonde that could blind the sun alone.

“Sorry for coming to you with so sort notice,” he says, shaking his hand politely. He smiles at him and it is warm, natural. Jinwoo has worked with idols at the beginning of his career but none come close to Minho’s kindle greeting which means a lot. At least Jinwoo has a good first impression of him which helps him relax, trying to block out all of his prejudices against idols – troublemakers all the time.

“So, what’s the story?” Jinwoo gestures for him to take a seat and he takes a pen and paper and gets ready to work with him. He doesn’t do pleasantly conversation – not this late, not when he wants to go back home, exhausted, drained after hours working with people walking on eggshells and broken glasses, on the edge of the cliff, hanging, waiting to be rescued by him.

Minho resumes him what he already knows: Dispatch took a shot of him with a girl, sold it as a dating scandal to everybody who wanted to buy it. On top of that, the alluded girl has jumped into the fame wagon revealing that they were, indeed, dating without leaving time to Minho to refuse the allegations. So now he is caught in the middle of the storm, in a scandal that hasn’t even happened, to begin with, the press following him around, releasing statements about his unexpected romance with a girl whose name is now trending topic, her career rocket-propelled up to the highest places – and how unfair it is that a scandal is getting her up and dragging him down.

“Are you two dating?” Jinwoo knows the answer but has to ask anyway, ensuring that he has all the data, all the details to come up with a plan.

“I don’t even know her.” he replies, perplexed, eyes round and big and shocked, “and I don’t do girls,” he adds, sotto voce.

“Ok,” Jinwoo says taking notes and nodding to the papers on his desk. When he looks up Minho has a sour expression, one that expresses regret for what he has just said – and Jinwoo understands why.- Jinwoo takes a second to think of something to say to him, to reassure him – he won’t air his uality, he won’t be the talk of the town due to this (he already is, credits to his own persona), this is all strictly confidential. “I hope you know that you can trust me. I’m not going to expose anything you say to me,” he explains, a hand covering Minho’s, a kind gesture to provide him with some solace, to shield him from more pain – a promise that he is not alone. “Then, isn’t she a cover-up?” he tilts his head, watching Minho sideway, his expression is of utmost terror.

“No! I’m not seeing anyone. I haven’t in years,” he explains, hands brushing his receding hair – and Jinwoo feels the empty space beneath his palm. “The girl on the pictures it’s my sister, Danha,” he continues, pointing at the papers on Jinwoo’s desk. The shoot shows only their backs but Minho is so easily recognizable: yellow neon hair and clothes no-one else would dare to pull up together. But the girl could be anyone. Brown, long hair, a cap, a bit of a profile, but nothing definitively, remarkable. But some desperate attention seeker – someone who isn’t afraid of any kind of black-lash, someone in need of a stunt to refloat her career - has admitted to being that girl and so the show has begun.

Minho could have refused the claiming, proving it to be fake, but the press went mental over it, like hyenas, feral to ruin someone’s reputation. And Minho was the perfect victim; he stayed still, said nothing and then, when he reacted, it was all too late, his name was everywhere, dragged, observed, criticized. Some showed support – fans, mostly, - but the majority of the citizen were shocked and they all loved a good scandal to break up the monotony, to throw shame to someone: a circus to have fun while damaging someone’s image, someone’s reputation – as if dating was a crime. And this was the perfect example.

That was when he finally contacted them – but the damage was already done.

Jinwoo takes a look at the press coverture: massive. He is the first page in all the gossip magazines, journalist are scrutinizing all of his movements, there is already an interview with his alleged girlfriend who is revealing some juicy comments, none of them real. It is impossible to stop.

“Let me be frank, Song Minho, this is going to be hard. No way we can stop this. It’s out, everywhere. I can make some calls, chill out some news, but the water is turbulent and it’s going to be a wild ride,” he exposes quickly, he doesn’t want to give him false hopes. But Minho endures the truth better than others have, nodding, understanding. Changing the general public’s view will be complicated so they better focus on his fans. He wants to preserve them so the campaign they will launch, tailored exclusively for Minho, will keep them in mind. Jinwoo will come up with a solid plan to reverse the situation. “But I think we can do something. Is your sister a public image?” he asks, scribbling on a paper.

“No,” he says, raising a nearly invisible brown.

“Does she want to be?”

“I don’t think so. And I don’t want my family involved,” Minho says fiercely, protectively. Jinwoo nods. “Please,” he adds, always polite. Jinwoo nods – of course, no-one would like to drag their family into a stunt if avoidable.

“Does your sister have Instagram?” Jinwoo smiles at him reassuringly and Minho relaxes for a brief moment, holding his warm glance, smiling slowly back at him.

“She does but, why?” he replies, his voice unsure, not following Jinwoo’s thoughts.

“I’ll need access to it. Her username and password. I’ll make a contract for it, don’t worry, everything legal,” he says, already on his computer, typing fast. In two minutes, Minho has a contract in front of him and an outline of Jinwoo’s ideas. He reads it carefully.

Granted access to his sister’s accounts, familiar pictures, him to not speak with anyone about the subject. He doesn’t see where this will go but he likes how Jinwoo has conceived this in no time.

“So, how is this going to work?” he asks, more curious than invested – he needs to speak with Dannha first before agreeing on it.

“So we will leak her Instagram. People will find out that you have a sister. Because, I can see she never tagged you, so there is no trace there,” he says, scrolling down Dannha’s Instagram, showing him. “We will need some happy family pictures. You post something about your childhood. Fans take the bail, follow the dots and they discover that you have a sister. And that said sister is the woman you were caught out with. End of the problem.”

That sounds so effective. Jinwoo hasn’t finished the explanation as Minho is already signing it. After handing the contract back to Jinwoo, he fishes his phone from his LV handbag and makes a call.

“Dannha, I need you to provide access to your Instagram account. It’s for covering up the mess. If you agree, of course, no pressure”, there is a bit of back and forth conversation that Jinwoo tries to follow and then Minho hangs out, looking straight at him. “She agreed. But she wants a copy of the contract and all that you will do on her behalf,” he asks, writing down the password on a post-it, scribbling fast.

“I’m on it,” Jinwoo says, already sending her the details to the email Minho has provided. Minho grins at him, half assured that his controversy will die soon, half allured by how diligent Jinwoo is, how he has come up with this idea on the spot, how beautiful his smile is, how good and kind he seems to be – warm, sincere, with a soothing voice and stellar eyes that shimmer while thinking, like almonds, wrinkling while typing, concentrated. He likes him very much, the way he works, the words he says.

“So now we are exclusive,” Jinwoo says, shaking his hand.

“I like how it sounds,” Minho replies, smirking. His voice is electrifying, throws shivers down Jinwoo’s spine, brights the sky of his life for a second, and, then, he is smiling back at him, shimmering.

“I’ll e-mail you the plan later on with the fare,” he says, professional again, all traces of gleam fading away.

“Ok, I’ll be waiting for it, to see how this works out,” Minho shakes his hand again, walking to the door, bowing and thanking him for his time and efforts.

“We will do out best but, remember, this might take time,” and Minho should feel constricted but he feels joy instead at the perspective of another meeting, of calls late at night with rewarding news.

Minho checks-up Dannha’s Instagram.

It’s been a day but the modifications have already been done – Jinwoo must have some hacker abilities because he added pictures that weren’t there before: family pictures, them as babies with lovely captations and bright smiles, hands holding, waving with chubby arms at the camera. He had said that, in a week, they will leak it so people – mostly his fans, the target they are aiming for, - will take the lead and resolve that the girl in the picture with Minho was his sister. They have to: until now he has lost so many fans, has received so many hate and threatening comments – not the usual jealous hiding behind a keyboard, this time is accurate, real and he fears for his reputation to be shattered to pieces, that, after this, his career has to end with a stain that no time or effort can dilute.

He remembers the way he said “We are exclusive,” as if meaning something else, how he joked because the reality of it was too close to his core. He was properly stunned, properly whipped by his beautiful voice, the glint of his eyes, the spark burning inside his smile, the way he was immersed in his case from the start, the warmth that came from his lovely hands pressing his palm.

Jinwoo, the one standing from him, the one proving the truth when he is so defenseless, so merciless thrown to be consumed by the press, being ruined by a false stunt, globed down by something he hasn’t done. He has promised to do all in his power to improve his reputation, to let the truth shine on it.

He is thinking about him – on the past few hours he has been thinking about Jinwoo a lot, - when he gets a call. The ID number is unknown but his guts tell him to answer – he hasn’t given his private, personal phone to anyone other than his company, his family and Kim Jinwoo for quick access to contact him.

“Hello, I’m Kim Jinwoo! I have good news for you!” he says with a cheerful tone. “I’ve got the name of the paparazzo who sold your pics. I can frame him, buy them, see if he has more, maybe one from the front?” he explains, content and Minho’s heart thumbs fast at the information, at hearing his charming voice. “But first I want to know your budget and if you agree to this, of course,” he adds, gently, switching back to professional.

Minho takes five seconds – checks his bank account with one hand on his other phone.

“As much as he asks. I want to end this agony as soon as possible,” he says because this is a torment, he hasn’t slept since the press printed his face on all the national tabloids, not with his fandom divided, people hating him, people coming at him. But, beating inside his chest lays his name and the way his eyes twinkle and how warm his hands had felt on top of his and maybe he can endure it for a bit longer if that means hearing his voice, seeing him again.

“Ok, then. I’ll call you back with whatever I can get from this,” he waves his goodbyes and hangs up, leaving behind a smile blooming on his face.

With his allowance settled, he makes the call. It rings four times and then it’s answered by a rough voice.

“This is Kim Jinwoo, from LeeKim Publicists,” he introduces himself, though he knows the man on the other end of the line – he knows most of the paparazzi working for the tabloids, a lot of the journalist writing for the press.

“For who are you working this time?” he greets him with a hint of a smile. Jinwoo can see him getting up from an unmade bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, shaking the cobwebs from his head.

“Song Minho,” Jinwoo answers, cheerfully, pretending that what he is about to ask it’s nothing, keeping it light. “You were the one who took the shoots, right? Nice one,” he praises him even though they both know it was terrible – the quality, the focus out of place; it was even worse printed but it made a lovely headline all the same.

“Not my best work,” he says, laughing, and that’s good, that’s promising, “I was out of work, so I wasn’t carrying my good lends; I had to use my mobile and the camera, at night, does nightmares” he jokes, explaining the situation to him without having to ask, ”I just knew it was him. Like, who else would be with that hair and that razzle-dazzle clothes? And he was with a lady, that screamed good money,” he says, apologetic. Jinwoo knows that most of the paparazzi loath their jobs, but that the tabloids pay good money, “so I took a shoot and call it a day.”

“So, do you happen to have more pictures, perhaps?” he inquiries, expectant. At the other end there is laughter.

“If I had they would be printed already,” he says, humored. “I just saw them on the streets, you know?” he sighs, probably sensing that he won’t get any more cash out of it, “but if it helps you, I wouldn’t say they were dating. They acted friendly, close, but I observed them for a little since they were going on my direction anyway; they didn’t hold hands or act cheesy or anything. Weird.” And this is good, this could help – though Jinwoo doesn’t know how, yet.

“Would you say that in an interview?” Jinwoo takes quick notes on his computer.

“Well, I prefer not to but... I guess so, depends on how well you are willing to pay,” the man replies, “I know how this business works,” he continues and Jinwoo agrees with him, nothing comes for free – but Jinwoo has Minho’s money to pay for it.

“I don’t think we will go this route but it’s good to have you as a backup,” he explains, hearing the disappointment from the other side, “thanks for your time and sorry to have woken you mate,” he adds before hanging up.

“The Seoul Story, Koreaboo, AllKpop?” he smiles, entering Seunghoon’s cubicle.

“Are you asking which one is trashier or are you kidding?” he swirls on his office chair, relaxed, siping from his mug of tea. He smiles back, welcoming Jinwoo who is entering his office holding a file.

“Minho’s case,” he provides him and shrugs his shoulders. “I’m going to sell them a link and some inside information and wait for their article about him and his sister dating,” he jokes, “how is Seungyoon?” he asks, sitting on the desk.

“He is good. Getting too pampered and spoiled but, how to resist his pouty face?” and Jinwoo knows exactly what Seunghoon means.

“I’m glad he is getting better and that he has such a good boyfriend taking care of him,” he waves, retracing to his own space. Unlike Seunghoon, he has work to do, seeds to plant, a plan to take care of, someone to protect.

The Seoul Story contacts him five minutes after he has sent them the e-mail. They promise to analyze the Instagram account he has provided and to make a non-biased article if they find proves or something relevant, interesting to the public. It’s good enough for now – they have someone trusty on their side and, when they release the article they will get bucks from the tabloids because obviously they won’t leak the source.

Jinwoo scrolls down Dannha’s Instagram once more before giving them a green light to use it. He is not sure of how they will link all without revealing Dannha’s account or her name but he has faith. He would be taking anxiolytics if working with any other magazine but he is relaxed – maybe the herbal tea that has arrived at his office thanks to Minho has something to do with it. Minho was so excited when he released the state of things to him this morning that he went to get him a present as a proof of gratitude. It took a week but all is sailing well, going the way Jinwoo wants to.

He stares at one of the pictures he had posted on Dannha’s behalf – it’s one of Minho as a child, chubby and cute with squishy cheeks with adorable dimples at the end of his smile. He can see a hint of the man he has become, on the curb of his lips, the light on his eyes (intelligence, talent, passion). He chuckles at it and Seunghoon makes a noise between a cough and a strangled man dying.

“Whipped,” he snarls, stalking at his computer. Seunghoon has his arms around the chair, tugging him still and, just in case, he sits on top of him, his tights heavily sinking on his skin. “Look at this cutie, how he is babbling for Minho!” he pinches his bones and makes fun out of him as usual. “I hope you’ll have to seduce him, just to save us again,” he keeps joking and Jinwoo fights back but Seunghoon has a valid point – a point that sounds the same way his heart does whenever he thinks about Minho. It hasn’t been long but he has been updating Minho daily, calling him mostly – since he can’t work while under the fire. Talking about the case but also about how double standards is the society, how much Jinwoo has done to help others, about Minho’s music, about his family occasionally – he has asked about his sister, about what happened on this or that picture, just light and casual. “And, oh!” he exclaims, finding the shipping box, “he has sent you a present,” and his smirk gleams dangerously – Jinwoo wants to break it with a punch but he likes Seungyoon enough to refrain the urge to shush him up. “Whipped twice!” and he begins to sing “What is Love” with his high pitched voice.

“He is a client,” he points out, kicking his shin. Seunghoon springs and squeals but keeps on laughing.

“So I hit home!” he revels, all cheeky, “anyway, in no time he won’t be a client anymore. I hope you are ready for your confession,” he is so happy to be the one messing around he doesn’t care that he is annoying Jinwoo, that he is interrupting his work. “Oh, you were only daydreaming,” he points out when Jinwoo pouts and complains, “you have nothing to do but to think about him, which is adorable and makes me want to stay and witness how cute you can get while in love,” he teases him, friendly. He hasn’t been in love before – he hasn’t been in so many years, not after he got his heart smashed, not after engrossing himself with work. And he isn’t in love, he just finds Minho attractive – even when he shows up with the most random fashion choices, - funny, interesting, intelligent and kindhearted. He has talked with him enough to know – but not enough to fall in love. And so he tells Seunghoon because, otherwise, he will never leave – and mayhap he will be of some help. “Just ask him out,” he says simply. “That’s what I did with my puppy,” he grins.

“He is a public icon, I don’t want you to have to clean this mess,” he says, already thinking ahead, already analyzing, weighing the pros and cons.

“Just don’t get caught!” he recommends and, with a last smirk at him, Seunghoon leaves the room.

There is a torrent of comments about Minho. Again, he makes it to the front page but this time his name is followed with apologies, with explanations of what they have done wrong. The Seoul Story has released the article and it’s making numbers. Even ty Koreaboo is stating that the girl they linked with Minho was found out to be his younger sister. There is a buzz of news and Minho finds that it’s easy to breathe. With his name cleared he feels alive, all that a few weeks ago was stolen from him is back – freedom, work, no more Jinwoo.

Jinwoo has urged him to do an interview, to show the public his side of the story, how disappointing all the situation was, how unfair. He hasn’t mentioned the supposed girlfriend – Jinwoo isn’t following her case, he isn’t interested in such a trash person. But Minho, magnanimously, has forgiven her – which only proves that he is a good man, indeed.

Minho sits on his couch – the one Jiho has gifted him, - and thinks on a way to see Jinwoo again. They have met a total of four times: the first meeting, then to provide him with the childhood pictures, another one to discuss the course the situation was taking and, the last, to prepare the interview. In total it doesn’t up to more than half a day together which saddens his heart – he likes Jinwoo’s company, he laughs easily at anything, he has an interesting point of view, has a pretty mind and he wants to get to know him better, get a chance with him, the one that makes his heart alive, beating beautifully, singing like a song he is about to write (a song about Kim Jinwoo).

He lets a week slip through his fingers before asking him out – for a dinner, a thank you for helping him with his own scandal, - but Jinwoo refuses.

“You are a client I just rehab. You shouldn’t be going out until the storm has fully passed; until your name is not associated with anything but music,” he remembers him, breaking all his dreams.

“Then come to my place,” he offers, smirking. “I have security, no way you will be caught up. Besides you can also say that you are visiting Seunghoon,” he adds, convincingly, cunningly.

“You live in Seunghoon’s condo?” he exclaims, surprised – he is already slapping Seunghoon for never mentioning it.

“You never asked,” Seunghoon, who is passing by, butts in.

“Why should I ask about him when I didn’t even know him?” Jinwoo wonders, looking at Seunghoon, ignoring for a second the man at the other end of the line.

“But will you come? I’ll cook!” he insists.

“Do you cook?”Jinwoo blinks, half-convinced, half unsure, totally amused by the way Seunghoon is cracking up.

“If he cooks?” he yells, excitedly, holding his laughter in, “last time we had to call the firefighters! He burnt his kitchen, needed to rebuild his house,” Seunghoon delightedly explains, “that’s how I met Seungyoon,” he adds with a smirk. “Nothing binds you more than three hours on the streets with a bathrobe”.

“So maybe I should... decline?”

“No, I won’t cook, I’ll get take-away, what do you fancy?” Minho is persistent and Seunghoon gives him a thumbs up, encouragingly.

“Just go, have fun. I won’t charge you if things end badly on the tabloids,” he promises between guffaws.

“Ok, meet you there at half-past eight,” he says, smiling like never before.