The Seven Passengers (BTSxTitanic)

Chapter 10: Namjoon

The lighting is perfect outside. I capture pictures of couples walking the deck holding hands and children running around with big smiles. Frank and John could never get these kinds of photos on land. Something about being close to the water just makes smiles appear happier, fuller even.

I travel downstairs and take a moment to adjust my eyes. I'm not blinded by sunlight, but it's close enough: gold. A grand staircase unravels at my feet with an angel statue of a baby cupid supporting a small lamp in its chubby hands. Behind me sits a grandfather clock engraved with decorations so small I'd have to be an ant to see the details.

I can hear the room begging for a picture.

I set up the camera at the bottom of the stairs and wait patiently. Guests passing by only give me a glance before turning away to more pressing matters. That's okay, I like to be invisible anyway.

Just as I have a clear shot of the grand staircase, my finger halts. A man has walked right in front of the grand staircase. His back is toward me, a neatly pressed crimson red sweater and white collar shirt underneath. He stood with arms crossed as he stared up at the statue like he was critiquing it.

I clear my throat, which gets his attention. The man turns and almost misses me if it wasn't for the camera.

"Oh, am I in the way?" he asks with wide eyes. He looks scared. Too scared. It's only a camera, after all.

"It's okay, I was just waiting for the perfect time," I assure him.

The man steps to the side and gestures for me to take the picture. I hurry and line up the camera before a loud click emits from the camera. I'm usually good with getting the angle just right. Hopefully, this camera will do the room justice.

I don't realize the man has been watching me until I turn to leave. "That's one of the older ones, isn't it?" he points to the camera. "My father has some stored away when he dabbled in photography."

I turn the camera over. "It's nothing much, just one I borrowed from work." The man hums, amused. Why is he so proper? I haven't seen him hunched over at all, his posture makes mine look like a camel's.

"Are you a journalist for the Titanic? I can show you around to view some of the artwork." he offers. Is he now trying to make me feel insignificant? I'm not that dumb. I know where stuff is...somewhat.

"With all due respect, I think I'll manage on my own."

The man looks hurt as if I rejected him too harshly. Was it harsh? I didn't think it was. Although maybe he took it that way and I didn't notice. His eyes are wide. Is he scared of me?

"Yes, I should have known you obviously know your way around the ship," he says. "Take care, then."

"Wait," I blurt. Yes, I feel bad. I don't know why, but I do and I cannot let someone like him have a bad day because of me. "Would you mind standing in front of the grand staircase? I promise to make you look good."

The man's cheeks flush and his ears turn an equal shade of pink. "You want me to pose for you?"

"Yes, in the middle if you don't mind."

The man shuffles to the middle and places both hands at his side like he's in the military. He looks so stiff. I compliment his shoes, which loosens his shoulders, but I have to keep talking in order to get him relaxed.

"What do you want to do when we're in New York?"

"Well, my father will be investing in an art gallery where his designs will be displayed along with my brother's. I suppose we will be staying there for a few years until I am old enough to take the artwork to other places across the globe. Father does like to make an impact after all," he forces a half-hearted laugh that sounds more like pain.

"No, no. I asked what you wanted to do."

The man stares at me with such a confused stare. I peek out and meet his eyes. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Oh, no-no, you're right. I, um, just have never been asked that question before. N-not to say that I have never been asked personal questions, well, that wasn't a personal question I guess," he fumbles. It takes him a moment to really think before he frowns. "I'm not quite sure what I want to do."

"That's okay, you don't have to know yet," I say. The man shifts in place. I of all people can see discomfort from a mile away, in which this man is sweating. "What's your name?"

"Kim Seokjin."

My hands go numb and I almost drop my camera. I ask him to repeat his name and he does with a raised eyebrow. No way is this Kim Seokjin. That would mean his father would be Kim Nam-Jung, the man who struck gold and made a fortune in collecting priceless paintings. The man donated to three charities, five schools, and six churches, or so I'm told.

"You're Kim Seokjin?" I feel pale. I think I might actually be sick.

"Yes," he chuckles the awkwardness off. "Would you mind telling me your name?"

"Oh! Um, my name is Kim Namjoon. I'm a journalist working to write a story for the ship as an advertisement. If you don't want your picture in the paper, I can scrap it so you remain anonymous. Also, if you ever need anything—"

"I will be sure to ring you, Mr. Kim," Seokjin laughs. "And you can take my photo. I don't mind."

I reel myself back and settle on just nodding from now on. I take the picture with a loud click and Seokjin returns back to me. I then realize my hands are shaking and I place them behind my back.

"Would you still like me to show you around now that we are on familiar terms?" Seokjin asks politely.

My jaw drops. To work with the son of a wealthy man aboard the Titanic, viewing his original designs. I might just faint. This is a dream, a dream that Frank and John could have never had in a thousand years.

"Yes, that would be delightful."