The Seven Passengers (BTSxTitanic)

Chapter 2: Seokjin

It was odd to be in a room full of people who all seemed to look up to my dad like he was some kind of hero. A part of me wanted to see him through their eyes just for a moment. 

I tried to picture him as the kind, generous man they have painted him to be. I even tried to imagine my father without his title, without his authority. Would he still be praised and seen from rose-tinted glasses by everyone on this ship?

Yes, he designed the Titanic. Every decoration that cluttered the fireplace and every placement of white tile found on the floor below us was made by his executive decision—the only decision that mattered, really.

I snapped back to the conversation happening right in front of me and rely on context clues to keep up. Reputation is a virtue in my family. Your name is the only part of you that you own and Father will see to it that both his sons are fully armed with riches, nothing else.

"So where is the new member of the family?" Mr. Lee asks as he inhales his cigar. 

My eye twitches. New member of the family. I have not considered him to be part of our family, in fact, he is more of a chore than anything. The sad part is that he's twenty-four and has no ambitions. The only thing he is worth is his art. That kid can paint wonders.

"Jungkook is meeting with Lady Eleanor to discuss important business regarding the Titanic's design. He gets inspiration from our father, you see, and wants to complete a portrait of the ship's beauty."

Mr. Lee hums and recalls a memory of his grandchildren's painting. I zone out. 

Jungkook now owes me four times for lying about his whereabouts. Well, technically I did not fully lie. He probably is completing a portrait, just not of the Titanic or with the company of Lady Eleanor, who seems to be very fond of marrying one of us. Most likely me since I put up with her tiring conversations.

I glance over Mr. Lee's shoulder and spot Father smiling among guests. He is the center of attention, grabbing the small audience with his tales at sea when he was a boy with his father. 

Everyone has their eyes glued to him, at his bravery. There's something he has that captivates guests. Maybe it's his charm, or his ability to talk his way out and in of everything. He has tried teaching me his ways, but after one story became the talk of the week, Father revoked my permission to speak. 

Instead, I am a spectator. 

I prefer hearing the tales of my grandfather anyway. His bravery is the one strength I wish was passed down to me. I'm envious, but that does not stop me from being entranced by his adventures. 

I can never be tired of hearing about his stories.

 I excuse myself from Mr. Lee which was perfect timing as he was about to show me a thin stack of pictures most likely of his entire family. I respect that, though I am too exhausted to pretend that everyone looks adorable.

Just as I turn to leave, I spot the faintest reflection of myself in the glass window. I look sad, but that's because I know I'm sad—my eyes show it. But to everyone else, I look happier than I am. 

To everyone else, I look valuable.