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The Rightish Reasons

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Kim Seokjin had known this meeting would come someday. Every actor has a steady ticking sound in their mind, the clock pendulum of their careers swinging like the sword of Damocles over their heads. For some it's fast, for some it's slow, and he'd always imagined his would plod past right around the average. He hadn't been a child star, avoiding that dark beginning, and his handsome face paired with his moderate skill should have carried him through a serviceable career as a romantic lead, with a shot at transitioning to long-suffering father or corporate asshole before he faded away.

He'd had it mapped out, a little luck carrying him through the rough patches, and he'd thought his agent would sit him down and tell him it was over when he was forty-five at the earliest.

Instead he's twenty-eight, and it's over.

Woo Nayoung is alone in the conference room, which is the first sign. She always has at least three people orbiting her, passing notes and bringing coffee cups, not really out of necessity but for the look of industry. He'd been drawn to her for that look, the sleek artifice of her image, and when he'd broken in his first drama and been offered anyone he'd wanted he'd chosen her from the agency's slate without hesitation. He'd always had good instincts.

Those instincts are screaming now as she doesn't tap away on her phone to emphasize her importance. There's a certain look she gets sometimes, when she's five drinks in and starting to feel the first stirrings of a real emotion, and hints of it lay across her as she says, "They're going in another direction."

"Let me guess - any direction but mine," says Jin dryly. "Or should I say, any direction but gay?"

He's proud of the steadiness of his voice, even prouder of the sharpness of his tongue. Things are shit, but he's going to go down smiling, because that's the only thing he has left.

"You know it's more than that," says Nayoung. "But yes."

"Can we wait it out?" he asks. "I'll do theater. Take time off for my health. Learn guitar. In a few months…"

That flicker of emotion is gone, and that's the second sign.

"Sweetie," she says, which is what she says when it doesn't matter what she calls someone. "We might have had that option, if you hadn't punched him in the face. Blurry videos at a gay club, we can bury. Vindictive exes with photo proof? Buy them off. I've successfully disappeared sex tapes, drunken marriages, and any number of screaming matches. Even if you'd just done it in private, we may have had a chance. But you did it in a grocery store, in front of a hundred cell phones. This isn't going anywhere."

Jin doesn't bother to say that the guy deserved it, which is patently obvious. Lee Dongwoo, ex-weekend hookup, minor musical talent and current world contender for biggest piece of shit, had taken their mutually agreed cooling off a little less mutually than Jin had believed at the time. Which was fair enough, but then he'd looked the different trajectories of their careers and unilaterally decided that if his own couldn't ascend more quickly that Seokjin's should be brought into alignment.

So he'd come out of the closet, and he'd dragged Seokjin with him.

To be honest, had that been all,Jin would have left it alone. With some drunken rants, of course, and a lot of vindictive scribbling across printed out headshots, but he'd never been ashamed of his sexuality. Discreet, yes, to keep the machinery of his career turning more smoothly, but never ashamed. He'd never wanted to go public, and certainly not for a whiny shit like Dongwoo, but he'd have rolled with it. Acted.

But of course Dongwoo didn't leave it there. In his bid for authenticity, honesty, and headline volume he'd outed everyone with a name that Jin had ever slept with, and a couple more who'd unsuccessfully tried. Which was bad enough, but one of them had been a young guy, a mistake borne of the exultation of a new part and a lot of soju, and that kid had made it all the way to the hospital in his unhardened anxiety.

Jin hadn't even been able to send him flowers under his own name.

So when he'd seen Dongwoo in his neighborhood, buying pork like he wasn't ending people's worlds, he'd punched the shit out of him and punched himself right out of romantic leads forever. Gay was undesirable but overcomeable, these days. Gay and angry wasn't, the image of him in handcuffs superseding everything else he'd so carefully curated himself into, and Jin loved acting and he wasn't going to get to do it ever again.

"Guess I'll really have to get good at the guitar, then," he says. Pushing through it, reaching for that first role again. A boy with a smart mouth and a pretty face, who lit up every room he entered. Seokjin's eternal type. "Thanks for letting me know."

He gets up to leave, his smile not slipping at all, and in her impeccably timed, excruciatingly scripted way, Nayoung says, "There is one option."

"No to porn," says Jin, only half-joking because he knows her well. She's his best friend, in many ways, and that's a lot to unpack so he doesn't.

"Reality television," she says, even more horrifyingly.

But he doesn't leave, because stupid hope curls his heart, just like she'd known it would. He could act past that hope, he knows. He could suppress it ruthlessly and walk out the door and become some new version of Kim Seokjin, but he doesn't. He has one button, and he'll never stop letting it be pushed.

"Tell me," he says, sitting down again, and that's how it begins.


"We're so excited to have you," says Han Sangchul for the hundredth time behind Jin's makeup chair.

Jin smiles back, because being on the director's good side solves a lot of problems on set, and this guy is prone to repeating himself and also cleaning out his ear with his finger but he's not a menace. He'd walked Jin through the pre-shots with easy competence, doing them in only one or two takes, and that will mean fewer long days. Jin would smile at him for that gift alone.

"Very excited," adds the woman behind him, one he'd just met today. Park Hyebin, studio liaison, executive producer, and not nearly so easy to read. "Destined Hearts has never done a gay airing before, and we expect it to be our highest rated series yet."

He nearly laughs, because she says it so triumphantly, and because it's nice to have someone who says these things clearly. He's here to date a dozen men at once to prove he's still gentle enough for the screen - and pretty enough, not that that needs to be proven - and to help a sagging show with their lack of media presence. They're both getting something out of this, and he'll gladly do his part.

"And of course, to capture your journey towards your destined heart," she adds belatedly.

Over his dead body, is what he wants to say, but instead he says with a practiced twinkle, "My mother is even more excited about that than you are."

Hyebin nods appreciatively, padding away on her sensible shoes at someone's call, snapping for Sangchul to join her, and Jin is blissfully alone. Besides the makeup artist, of course, who's doing her job in the businesslike way of makeup artists everywhere. He loves them the most of anyone on set, and this one is even better than usual because she'd told him matter-of-factly that he needed less makeup than any bachelor she'd ever worked on.

He'd started to see some wrinkles around his eyes in the last few months, but he could carry that with him at least.

The seat next to him gets a second victim, and he half-turns in surprise before he realizes it's not one of the Men of Destiny, as he's been calling them in his mind. He's been expressly forbidden from knowing anything about them, the studio knowing what kind of people they want and Nayoung feeding them his preferences to keep him in the dark. The better to capture his genuine reactions, they'd explained, and he hasn't had a genuine reaction to anything in at least a decade but he finds their optimism adorable.

No, this is their host, Kevin Koo. American, for the shocking Western flavor they're trying to bring to this show, but with impeccable Korean and a winning smile. Jin had done his research, preparing for this role as diligently as any he got, and Kevin is an even more frustrated actor than himself after his time in the Hollywood machine. He'd thought that might make him bitter, had gotten ready for grudging conversation and under-the-breath comments, but typical of his countrymen Kevin's almost too friendly.

"Is your mom actually excited?" he asks with that comforting, polished grin.

"About me being on television again? Absolutely," says Jin. "About my heart's destiny? She could take it or leave it."

Kevin laughs. "Well, my sister Stateside is so excited she's almost in cardiac arrest. She loves you. At some point she's going to beg me to get your autograph hard enough that I won't be able to say no, so I apologize in advance," he says. He pauses, then adds in a slightly less breezy tone, "I'm a fan too. You bring a lot of nuance to roles that don't ask for it."

"Thank you," says Jin. "So do you."

Their eyes meet in the mirror, and they say a lot more than words ever could about this stupid, intoxicating, ridiculous life they've chosen.

"Anyway, consider me your love sherpa," says Kevin. "I've only been here a couple of seasons, but there's a rhythm to it. They just want a good show, which means they want you to look good because you're the hero. And I'm there to help in whatever way I can. If you get in trouble, if you need a lift in a scene, just let me know."

Jin nods agreeably. "Do we need a code word or something?"

"I think I'll figure it out."

They finish up their makeup in companionable silence, both running through their lines until they're finally called to the gravel-lined driveway that will bring Jin his Men of Destiny. He straightens his well-fitting suit, twisting the cufflinks into the correct position, and tries not to roll his eyes if at all possible.


When he'd thought about the introduction shoot, about having a succession of hot, available men present themselves to him like wine selections, he'd thought it might be depressing. He'd thought it might be thrilling. He'd even thought it might be boring, in the part of him that's too cynical to be exposed to the public.

What it actually is is surreal.

The same two limos circle like a carousel, expelling a new choice with businesslike precision every time they stop. As expected the men all look great, handsome and well-styled and in many ways indistinguishable from each other. Jin does his best, but they blend together in a string of waiters and bartenders and all of the other euphemisms that they use to avoid coming out and saying they've always wanted to be on screen. They try to hide it, but it's in the eyes, and Jin doesn't begrudge them the way they play to camera instead of him.

And there are a couple of superfans, which Nayoung had warned him to be gratified to have. And he is, truly, even if he doesn't always know what to do with the adoration.

The fifth contestant, a Kim Minho, nearly passes out when Jin smiles at him in greeting, which causes a recording pause while they hurriedly revive him. Jin intensifies his easy geniality off-camera, speaking with Minho gently until the starstruck light in his eyes is at more manageable levels because otherwise they'll be here all year. They re-record their introduction with less fainting before Jin sends him on his way with a gentle goodbye that nearly kills him all over again.

Jin sorts them into categories as they keep coming, the fame seekers and the fans and the pretty boys and the charisma bombs. Everyone has a gimmick, and a lane, and it helps him escape the Limo Wonderland to analyze. To see this as the show it is.


The king of the beefcake category appears behind the sixth door, a wide-eyed guy named Jeon Jeongguk who's eschewed the expensive suits of the previous candidates in favor of skintight leather pants, an even darker black dress shirt, and some kind of harness around him that tapers his waist into nothingness. As a wide-shouldered guy himself Jin appreciates the artistry, and despite his best efforts his eyes linger around his pelvis a little too long.

"So what do you do?" asks Jin as soon as the introductions are done.

He'd meant for work, an easy ice-breaker question that he'd been commanded to ask them all, but instead of answering Jeongguk drops to the ground and starts doing one-armed push-ups like he's in military service. He does them rapidly and with no apparent effort, and Jin's too world-weary to blush but his mouth definitely drops open.

"I'm a personal trainer," Jeongguk says to the ground, switching hands with an easy clap. "I get people in shape."

"I imagine you're very successful," says Jin, his voice only slightly awed.

Jeongguk rises off the ground after his set is over, and he smiles a big smile full of teeth. Cute, Jin thinks, and almost adorably earnest despite the way the leather clung to his ass as he'd moved.

"I could bench press you, probably," he adds, his eyes assessing him like it's a real thing he's considering trying.

"Let's save that for the second date," says Jin, fighting back laughter and reaching for the smooth flirtation expected of him in this situation.

Jeongguk's eyes light up. "I get a second date with you? Wow, my aunt's going to be really jealous!"

Kevin coughs, and Jin can barely keep it together as he says carefully, "We'll see how the rest of the night goes, okay?"

"Okay," says Jeongguk. His face furrows in concentration before he adds, "I liked your movie where you were a boxer."

He says it with the vague air of a person who'd just watched it for the first time that morning, and even then had only half-paid attention, and Jin can only nod helplessly. "Thank you. It was a tough role to prepare for."

"Next time call me to help," says Jeongguk, dropping into a a boxing pose, and that's the end of their introductory time. Jeongguk leaves with a wave, bouncing on his feet as he heads into the mansion behind them, and Jin watches him go in disbelief.

"Is he for real, do you think?" he asks Kevin, who's no longer trying to hide his laughter. "And if he is, why is he dressed like the main act at a bondage night club?"

Kevin's only answer is, "If he tries to bench press you tonight, make sure I'm nearby. With a camera crew."


Jung Hoseok, eighth contestant and the only guy to opt for neon green as a suit color, gets the second tick on Jin's mental list because he's also the only one to get a real laugh out of him. Not his usual interview laugh, boring and genial, but the one he reserves for private rooms and people he actually likes.

Hoseok steps out of the limo with so much energy it's like there are bees chasing him, and he slides down the red carpet with casual grace, snapping his hips to an invisible beat. Jin's just putting him into the sex appeal category when he smiles hugely and make two fingers hearts directly next to his face, transforming him entirely into sweetheart.

"Want to hear a joke about a construction site?" he asks without preamble.

"Sure," says Jin. As long as they don't try to touch him or take off any clothes, he'd been instructed to play along with whatever these guys suggested, and he does like jokes.

"Ah, never mind, I'm still working on it," he says, then cackles so hard he almost falls over.

Jin laughs too, his high squeak that he never lets out on film, then claps his hand over his mouth in horror which gets Hoseok going even harder. They're not going to be able to use any of this footage, because it's just the two of them laughing like hyenas over something that's not even funny. It's not funny at all, but it loosens something inside of him, and he can't seem to stop even when the director is clearly more than done with them.

"Kim Seokjin," he says when he's under control "And you?"

"Jung Hoseok," says the other guy, still inside the aftershocks of giggles.

"We should talk about something else, so you can get more screen time," says Jin, but before he can ask his standard questions Hoseok shakes his head.

"I'm good," he says, smiling again. "Nice to meet you, Seokjin."

He whips out finger guns, does a spin, and holsters them before jogging off to the house without a backwards look.


Kim Namjoon defies categorization.

"I'm sorry, what's a flavorist?" asks Jin.

He's already off-balance from the height of this guy, and the depth of his dimples, and the way he looks like he's going to chew Jin up and spit him out. Or he had looked that way, before he'd opened his mouth to a voice crack worthy of a thirteen year old boy. He'd apologized a hundred times, and turned fire-engine red, and Jin had needed to pivot so quickly from polite shield wall to soothing blind date that he had whiplash.

"I make food taste like things," says Namjoon, then smacks himself in the forehead. "Wow, that wasn't how I was supposed to describe it."

"Food doesn't already have taste?" asks Jin, both curious and a bit desperate.

Namjoon shrugs helplessly. "It does. I just make it brighter. Increase the taste profile of natural foods, and make artificial recreations of natural tastes when needed. We do a lot of work with army rations. Pre-packaged food in general."

"Ah, so you eat a lot of ready-made stuff?"

"No way," says Namjoon. "Once you see behind the curtain, you only want to eat organic for the rest of your life."

Jin chuckles. "Refreshingly honest, but I'm not sure your employer would appreciate that anti-endorsement. Do you want to do a different take?"

"Take?" asks Namjoon blankly. "Oh. No. They don't even know I'm here. I'm on leave. It's fine. I'd rather say things that are real. How else can someone find their love destiny?"

"How else indeed?" asks Jin, smiling gently. "It's nice to meet you, Namjoon."

When he leaves it's with a little slouch, like he's exhausted from being in his tall and handsome body, and Kevin says, "Wholesome," in an absolutely colorless voice that makes Jin elbow him in the side.


"I'm Park Jimin," says the next Man of Destiny to penetrate the haze and become real.

They're almost done now, just four more left, and Jin's energy is flagging. Jimin is yet another sex boy, the most represented type, though up close he's a little less certain than his smooth runway walk from the car had suggested.

But the instant Jin thinks it Jimin's face sharpens. "You're really hot," he says, putting his hands in his pockets with an admirable knowledge of his own lines.

"How flattering," says Jin. "You're very good-looking yourself. Do you model?"

Jimin smiles like he's heard it before as he shakes his head. "Too short," he says. "Long legs, though."

He pirouettes to show them off and trips on a fold in the carpet, falling heavily into Jin's chest. It's so smooth that Jin's probably the only one who noticed the way his foot found the fold unerringly, the easy movement as he pulls his hands out of his pockets like he'd been expecting it, the careful weight distribution that means they're not even close to falling over as they collide.

He's definitely the only one who feels Jimin's hands squeeze his ass before he jumps back with horrified apologies.

"I know I'm not supposed to touch him," says Jimin, blinking hugely at the crew around them, wringing his hands in excellent distress. "I'm so sorry! I'm just clumsy. Are you okay, Seokjin?"

He looks up at Jin through contrite lashes, hiding his smile so very well. It's a cute smile even just in his eyes, and Jin supposes he's here to be manhandled so it's not like he can blame the guy. He's always regretted that he can't squeeze his own ass with any real satisfaction. "I'm fine, Jimin. Thank you. Would you like to do the spin again for the camera?"

Jimin nods and spins much more slowly, his clumsiness gone as he rotates. His ass is also good in his dress slacks, and the way he lingers in Jin's sightline says he knows it. This guy's going to be trouble, but the cameras will love him and so will the production staff, so Jin makes sure he betrays a hint of interest before Jimin's done. "Very impressive. And I say that from experience with great legs," he says, sticking out his own leg and wiggling it around in his most sexual display so far.

Director Han shoots him a thumbs up.

Jimin checks him out shamelessly, his own implied thumbs up, and Jin straightens his clothes when he's done. "So what do you do for a living?" he asks, expecting the usual waiter line that means entertainment industry. Jimin is the kind of guy who's born for the screen. Maybe a guy he would have hooked up with, in one of those clubs, if their paths had crossed. He certainly knows what he's doing.

"I'm a lawyer," he says unexpectedly, a tinkling laugh falling from his lips when Jin can't hide his surprise. It's a good laugh, sexy and innocent and borne of countless hours of practice, and Jin nearly applauds. His voice drops a microscopic fraction as he adds, "But on the weekends I dance."

And that's the end, and it's good the next guy is boring because Jin doesn't think he can handle another encounter like that so soon.


"I milk snakes," says the hottest guy Jin has ever seen, like it's normal. "Sometimes I model, but it's mostly the snake thing."

Jin looks at his hands, which is a mistake, because he's got great hands, too. Almost as good as his face. Jin's at a total loss, and has been since this guy stepped out of the limo in a long purple cape over an exquisite suit that works on every level despite itself, then spent a solid minute thanking the vehicle sincerely for driving him such a long distance before turning around.

It's the sort of prima donna, fake weird behavior that would usually irritate the hell out of everyone, especially production crews who are exhausted and overdue for their dinner break. But this guy has some kind of magic inside of him, and they'd all let him speak soothing words to a car door until he was done and ready to continue without saying a word.

But that's not the strangest part. The strangest part is that Kim Taehyung could, objectively, fuck him until he cried. It's not even in question, and when he looks at Jin with that straight-on gaze it's clear he's already got them both naked. But it's weirdly formless, like half a dream they're having together, something that won't last once they're not in proximity anymore. Like Taehyung's got everyone naked, all the time, in the nooks and crannies of his mind.

It's more clinical than hot, and Jin isn't aroused, just confused.

"Do snakes give milk?" he asks. "I thought they were reptiles."

He prays they edit that to make him sound like less of a moron, but Taehyung only laughs sweetly. "Venom. For serums and anti-venoms. It's okay, the snakes like it when I do it."

Jin would believe it, and on anyone else he'd think that was an unsubtle handjob allusion but he honestly can't tell anymore. He cuts a look at Kevin, who has a stunned expression on his face, and if Jin doesn't get it together they're going to end up in some kind of on-camera orgy that will definitely steer his career into porn.

"Well, I thank the snakes for letting you go long enough to be here," he says, stretching as hard as he can for suavity.

Taehyung smiles, and Jin feels a little light-headed. "They'll miss me for sure. But I'm really happy I'm here! I love drama."

"For my sake I hope the show isn't too dramatic," says Jin. "I'm here to find love, after all."

That seems to trigger something, and Taehyung steps so close that Jin almost takes a step back himself, except he can't, because apparently Taehyung might also be a snake. At least in part.

"I think," says Taehyung, his breath across Jin's face pleasant and minty. He's not touching him with anything but his roving gaze, so the director lets it keep going, which Jin doesn't like as much as he's trying to make it look. "I think your face tells a different story. But don't worry, I'm going to help you out. You have friendly eyebrows."

He steps away again, totally unbothered as his cape swooshes around him, and Jin knows he's blushing. He knows it, and his ears hurt with it, and he's going to be calling his agent about favors to trade for the editing on this one as soon as he can.

When he says goodbye to Taehyung, who he has to re-orient towards the giant building when he starts wandering towards the nearby woods instead, he turns to Kevin and says, "Not a single fucking word."


The final guy never stood a chance, really. To be the last guy out of the limo after nineteen others was already a handicap, and if Kim Taehyung were a weapon he'd be banned by international treaty, so he was screwed from the jump. There's a piece of Jin that even feels sorry for him as the limo makes its last lap and stops at the end of the path, knowing he won't remember a single thing about him when they're done.

That sympathetic piece dies when a man in well-worn jeans and an enormous threadbare t-shirt with duct tape across the front of it steps out of the car. He's wearing sneakers. And a puffy jacket that's bigger than he is. And a bucket hat that covers most of his face. All in all he looks like a mole person who'd been looking for a warm place to sleep and had amazingly found a limo waiting for him.

He's probably just a PA who'd snuck off for a nap, and he's about to get fired, but honestly, there's no pity inside of Jin for it, because he's wasting all of their time.

So Jin stands politely, waiting for Director Han to cut the cameras and explain to this random employee that they're shooting a TV show, actually, and he should get the hell out of the shot. But nothing comes, and the bucket hat keeps shuffling its way down the drive at glacial speed in the silence.

Jin narrows his eyes, tapping his internal foot impatiently and refusing to let it show. This must be a prank of some kind, something for the ending highlight reel, some way for them to capture his frustration to show in some preview edit, something. And he's not going to give in.

He's Kim Seokjin, boy next door and beloved future son-in-law. Assault charges aside he's the softest man in the world.

Though this bucket hat guy makes his fist a little itchy.

When he finally - finally - arrives at the end of the graveled drive, he blinks up at Jin with a limply interested gaze. He's wearing makeup against all odds, heavy around the eyes, so either this prank is more elaborate than it deserves or this really is Jin's last Man of Destiny. In some sense of the phrase, anyway, but not the grandest sense, because Jin isn't going to fall in love with anyone on this show but he's definitely not going to fall in love with this gremlin. Maybe anti-love, if that's a thing.

"Hi, I'm Kim Seokjin," he says, a charming smile on his lips. "You are?"

"Min Yoongi."

It's totally flat, though his mouth moves in the approximation of a smile as he does it, like a person who's being operated by internal clockwork that's not quite synced up to human emotion. Jin's exhausted, and not in the mood for this, and he already misses Taehyung's weird energy. At least that had given him something to work with.

"Nice to meet you," he says instead of all of those things. "You've made some bold sartorial choices tonight."

The clockwork springs back to life as a real smile fires underneath the shadows of the hat. "Thanks. I wanted to be comfortable."

"Some might ask why you'd come on a dating show, then."

"Hot guys are always comfortable to be around," says Yoongi, shrugging, that real smile still tugging his mouth. "You'll do."

Jin feels his nostrils flare, because this isn't the sort of shit he takes from people, but he's doing a job here and he's going to keep doing it. "Thank you. So what do you do?"

"This and that," says Yoongi. "Most of the time I'm a rapper."

It explains a lot, including the laconic shuffle, and Jin relaxes now that he's been properly classified. Fame-seeker, for sure, and the best way to get him gone is to give him what he came for.

"Ah, that's so interesting," says Jin, laying it on a little thicker than he needs to. "Do you have a stage name?"

"That's forward of you," says Yoongi, eyebrow arched. "We barely know each other. But be nice to me, and I might just tell you later."

Jin knows he doesn't hide his annoyance this time, at this guy who thinks they're actually at a bar trading flirtatious introductions instead of trying to do a job, and he quickly laughs to give them something nicer to cut to. "An interesting strategy," he says. "You really are a bold guy. Bold enough to wear duct tape on your shirts and also risk no one ever learning who you are."

It's a bit pointed, and Kevin shifts next to him like he's going to jump in, but Yoongi gets to it first. "They're the same boldness, actually," he says, pointing at his chest. "This is my merch. I guess it's not allowed on this show."

Good lord. At least Yoongi's honest. Maybe a little too honest, and Jin tries to steer him back towards something that could actually be usable. "If you won't tell me who you are, you have to at least demonstrate your skill. I don't wait around for just anyone."

Yoongi's mouth curves, and the clockwork is totally gone inside of its wickedness. It's not a transformation, not enough to part the veil and change him into a human, but he's suddenly a very pretty gremlin. "Good things come to those who wait," he says. "But trust me, I'm excellent with my tongue."

"Look, they're not going to be able to air that," says Jin finally, exhausted of trying to get this guy on his page. "Top notch flirting and all, but let's work within the decency guidelines, okay?"

"Oh, of course," says Yoongi. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

He doesn't say it any special way but Jin can smell the smugness wafting off of him, and he allows himself a quick roll of his eyes. "It's fine. Let's just do the answer again, okay? I asked you to demonstrate your skill."

Jin puts a pleasant smile back on his face, expectant and open, and Yoongi blinks a couple of times and looks up at him with that same easy grin. "Good things come to those who wait," he says again. He crosses his arms this time, a little more combative, though his expression doesn't change at all. "But trust me, I'm great at sucking cock."

The entire crew bursts into nervous laughter, including Kevin, and Jin throws his hands up as Yoongi looks inordinately pleased with himself. Director Han calls for a shot of Yoongi walking to the house and then dinner, which Seokjin thankfully gets to take in the production trailer instead of the house. He doesn't even bother to watch Yoongi's snail-paced walk to the mansion, spinning around and hoping they have aspirin on the menu.