Chapter 10:
Captures Part 1

The studio smelled faintly of film and lilies. Hana said she liked keeping flowers nearby when she worked. They reminded her that beauty could wilt and still be remembered.

V sat in front of the lights, the air humming with quiet tension. Hana adjusted the lens of her Nikon, its metal gleaming under the afternoon sun that filtered through gauze curtains. Around them, stylists worked in soft murmurs.

“Don’t move,” Hana said, voice even but warm. She circled him like an artist approaching a sculpture. “I need to see how the light hits your jaw when you breathe.”

He exhaled. The silk robe they’d chosen for him was a pale gold, so thin it almost seemed liquid. His hair fell loose around his face, a few strands catching the light like threads of fire. The makeup artist had brushed a faint shimmer over his cheekbones, but it was Hana’s vision that made it feel less like styling and more like invocation.

The backdrop was nothing but white cloth, flowing and uneven, yet when she looked through the lens, it became like the inside of a dream.

They had talked about the project a couple of weeks earlier, sitting across from each other in a café. V was wearing a wig, a baseball cap, and a pair of dark sunglasses. That had been his usual get-up when he went out.

Hana’s voice was alive with that particular kind of energy she always had when she talked about her work—a little chaotic but full of conviction.

“I want you for the exhibit,” she’d said, eyes gleaming over her coffee cup. She had been talking non-stop for months now about finally getting a solo exhibit next year. As a fellow artist, V understood the passion behind her eyes. At least, he did before.

“Why me?” V asked, amused.

“You think I’d tell you it’s because you’re pretty?”

He laughed. “Isn’t that usually the reason?”

“Not for this. The exhibit isn’t about faces. It’s about feeling. I want people to stand in front of each photograph and feel something without me having to tell them what it is. Fear, tenderness, love. I want them to lose themselves for a second, to believe in the emotion I’m showing them.”

She paused, her gaze flicking up to meet his. “And with you, it’ll be adoration.”

“Adoration?” he echoed, eyebrow raised, intrigued.

“Yes. Surrender without demand.” She smiled. “It’s the way people look at art, or the way someone might look at you when they don’t think you’re watching.”

V laughed softly, half in disbelief. “Wow. I’ve never seen you this serious before.”

“Of course. I’ve been saving for the exhibit for two years. I’ll pay you, of course—”

“Don’t.”

Hana blinked, caught off guard. “Don’t?”

He smiled, a little sheepish but firm. “If I’m part of your vision, then it’s personal, not professional. You don’t pay someone to feel something real.”

She frowned, half teasing, half protesting. “You know that’s not how it works. Do you understand how famous you are? You can’t just—”

“Then let me rephrase,” he interrupted lightly. “I’ll only agree if you don’t pay me.”

Hana groaned dramatically, slumping back in her seat.

“Non-negotiable,” V emphasized with a grin.

She pointed at him sternly. “Fine. But I’m buying you drinks after the shoot. That’s my condition.”

He chuckled. “That, I’ll take.”

“Good.” She leaned forward, tapping her cup against his. “Then it’s settled. Drinks for art.”

When the shoot ended, the studio dimmed into a soft dusk. Hana packed her camera carefully, humming a song V didn’t recognize.

They left together. The crew waved goodbye, and outside, the night had already folded over the city.

The bar was small, half-hidden between a florist and a tattoo studio. From the outside, it looked like a secret. There was no sign, just a soft amber light spilling from within.

Inside, the walls were covered in framed polaroids and old concert posters. A few women sat at the counter, laughing under the haze of cigarette smoke and jazz. The bartender nodded at Hana in recognition.

“Your usual?” she asked.

“Yeah. And one for him too.”

They found a corner booth. Hana shrugged off her jacket, revealing a sleeveless black top, shoulders freckled from the sun and a tiger lily tattoo swirling around her arm. The bar light painted her in warm tones, like she belonged to every story whispered within its walls.

V found himself watching her between the flickers of conversation. The way she moved and spoke, how different she seemed here compared to the studio.

Hana had always been loud. Dramatic, even. She filled a room effortlessly, her laughter cutting through silence like sunlight through fog. Around the group, she teased, interrupted, commanded attention with stories and half-drunken jokes. In more ways than one, she had the same temperament and ambiance as Han. They're called the chaotic and mischievous twins for a reason. The shenanigans he heard they did when the two were in high school were what branded them that nickname. That was the Hana everyone knew. The one who lived on instinct and warmth. And it was familiar in a way that he was like that too. At least, the V more than two years ago.

When Hana worked, something in her shifted. The noise quieted. The jokes disappeared. She became precise. Her eyes, always bright and restless, narrowed into something sharp and almost holy. In that regard, she was like Kaimin. It was strange, V thought, how a person could contain such chaos and devotion and wear both so easily.

Now, in the bar’s dim light, she was back to being the Hana he recognized, half-smiling, drink in hand, chin resting lazily on her palm. The artist and the friend, overlapping yet never quite merging.

V took a slow sip of his drink. “You’re different when you’re working.”

She tilted her head, amused. “Different how?”

“Quieter,” he said after a pause. “Like you’re somewhere else entirely. Like the noise stops existing for you.”

Hana chuckled. “That’s the only time I actually hear myself think.”

He smiled faintly. “You’re usually louder than me. I didn’t think that was possible.”

She grinned. “Oh, don’t act so humble. You perform even when you’re just standing still.”

V laughed. “And you don’t?”

“I perform to create,” she said, swirling the ice in her glass. “You perform to protect”. She leaned back, eyes on the ceiling light, voice quieter now. “When I’m behind the camera, I don’t have to explain myself. I just see. That’s the only time I can’t be loud.”

He studied her in the glow of the amber light, the way the shadows curved over her face. “You make it sound like you disappear when you’re working.”

“Aren’t artists like that? I’m sure you feel the same.” she said. “And that's why it feels so good that people call creating art an addiction.”

The bar’s jazz faded into a slower rhythm. Around them, the air was warm and low. Hana’s drink caught the light, a glint like captured gold.

V looked at her and realized, not for the first time, that everyone in LMC carried some version of themselves the public would never see. Hana’s just happened to be the most honest when she was pretending not to be.

Hana leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table, the drink half-finished beside her. She was looking at him, but V could tell her mind was elsewhere.

“What?” he asked, smiling faintly. “You look like you’re about to say something profound.”

Her lips curved, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just thinking. You didn’t ask why I brought you here.”

“I figured you just wanted better lighting,” he said dryly.

“Lighting!” she scoffed, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense. “You think I pick my bars like I pick my studio sets?”

“You absolutely do.”

She laughed brightly. “Okay, maybe a little. But there’s more to it.”

He followed her gaze to a couple at the corner, sharing a cigarette, laughing like no one else existed. The smoke rose between them like a secret.

“You noticed, didn’t you?” she asked.

“I did.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

“No,” V said simply. “Why would it?”

“You know, I come here when I want to remember that connection doesn’t always have to mean permanence.”

V tilted his head. “That sounds… contradictory.”

“Not really.” She smiled, slow and small. “I mean, people come here and fall in love for a night. Or an hour. Or maybe they don’t. Maybe they just talk, and it’s still something real. I think that’s beautiful.”

He said nothing, just watched her, sensing the edges of something unsaid.

Hana swirled her drink, the ice clinking faintly. “You probably think I’m cynical, huh?”

V didn’t answer. He just sipped on his drink. Then she turned to him with a grin, lifting her glass. “You, though… you must know all about that, right? Romance. Affairs. Heartbreak. You look like someone who’s had entire poems written about him.”

V laughed under his breath, caught off guard. “That’s an exaggeration.”

“Come on,” she teased, leaning closer. “You’re the muse of half this city. Don’t tell me you’ve never been in love.”

He hesitated. The silence stretched. “Love is complicated,” he said finally. “And I’m not as good at it as people think.”

Hana tilted her head, studying him. “You mean you’re good at looking like you’re in love.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him. “Maybe that’s all anyone wants from me.”

For a moment she said nothing. Then, almost lazily, she asked, “Have you ever found someone of the same sex attractive?”

The question landed lightly, but there was a current underneath it. Honest. Maybe even personal.

V took a moment before answering. “Attractive?” he echoed, swirling the last of his drink. “Sure. Beauty’s beauty.”

“That’s a diplomatic answer.”

He laughed quietly. “But it’s true.”

Hana tilted her head, studying him with that familiar sharpness. “I don’t mean beautiful like a painting or a song. I mean…” She paused, searching for the word. “Like wanting someone. Wanting them close. In that way.”

V had no idea if he should answer her. But then Hana’s eyes softened. “You know… I had a feeling about you.”

“What kind of feeling?”

“The kind that says you’d understand,” she said. “This place. Me bringing you here.”

V raised a brow. “Understand what exactly?”

She leaned her elbow on the table. “That love doesn’t always follow the rules people want it to.”

He hesitated for a moment. “You’re not wrong.”

Her grin widened, pleased. “So there is a story.”

He huffed a small laugh. “You brought me here to confirm your theory?”

“Maybe,” she said, smirking. “Or maybe I just wanted to talk to someone who wouldn’t make it weird.”

V glanced at her. “Has someone made it weird before?”

She shrugged, her smile faltering just slightly. “Sometimes. People don’t always mean to, but they do. I used to try to hide parts of myself just to make them more comfortable.”

He frowned. “You don’t do that now?”

She hesitated. “No. I just… stopped giving people the chance to get that close.”

“So, you’re only into women?”

She traced the condensation on her glass. “I like everyone,” she said finally. “People. Energy. The way someone makes me feel for a second.”

“The rest of the LMC doesn’t know?” he asked quietly.

“God, no.” Her laugh was light but defensive. “No one stayed long enough to meet them anyway.”

V tilted his head. “That sounds like you’re deliberately choosing people who won’t stay.”

“I don’t do deep,” Hana said lightly.

V raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe that.”

“Then you don’t know me that well.”

“I think I do,” he said quietly. “You talk about feelings in photographs like they’re eternal, but in people like they’re temporary. That’s not someone who doesn’t do deep. That’s someone who’s scared to.”

Her gaze lifted, sharp and vulnerable all at once. “And what about you? You think you’re any different?”

V looked down, smiled faintly. “No. I think we’re both trying to prove we’re fine.”

Hana only laughed, tapping her nail against the rim of her glass.

“So, even Suhyun doesn’t know?”

The name seemed to catch her off guard.

“Su?” she repeated, feigning nonchalance as she reached for her drink again.

“Aren’t you two close? From university days? You’re the one who invited her to LMC, right?”

Hana’s response came too quickly, almost tripping over itself. “No. She doesn’t.”

V raised a brow, quietly watching her.

“She doesn’t need to,” Hana added softer now, eyes trained on the melting ice. “She’s... not the type to care about things like that.”

There was something in her tone like she wasn’t convincing herself as much as she wanted to.

He swirled his drink absently, studying her. “You sound like you’d rather she never found out.”

Hana gave a small, uneven laugh. “Some people, you just want them to keep seeing you the same way. You don’t want to risk that changing.”

“She’s special to you,” V said, not as a question.

Hana’s smile flickered. “She always has been,” she murmured. “But not in a way I can do anything about.”

And then, as if realizing how much she’d said, she sat back, shaking off the weight with a dramatic sigh. “Wow, listen to us. We’re like two tragic leads in a slow jazz bar.”

V smiled faintly. “You started it.”

“I regret nothing,” she said, regaining her usual brightness. But her laugh didn’t quite reach her eyes, and for the first time that night, V saw through her dramatics. How much of them were armor.