double exposure | yuta/taeyong; nct

Chapter 1

Taeyong watches out the tinted van windows as they pass through an unfamiliar city. He's seen Tokyo in movies before, in anime, in pictures, but it's his first time actually traveling to Japan. The buildings flash in the bright spring sunlight, glass seeming to shimmer and ripple. It's just about midday, and the streets are busy with the rush of lunchtime, bodies packed neatly onto the sidewalks wherever Taeyong looks.

"We'll be there in ten," his manager says from the driver's seat. He glances at Taeyong in the rearview mirror. "Did you upload your selfie yet?"

"No," Taeyong says, tearing his gaze away from the street and fumbling for his phone.

"Hurry. We won't have time once you get there; you're going straight to touch-ups and then sound check."

Taeyong snaps a quick picture and posts it to his story, captioning it "excited for today's show!" in Japanese. He checks to make sure it's uploaded, and then clicks his phone off, going back to staring out the window.

Taeyong's always wanted to visit Japan, but unfortunately this trip isn't for leisure. He's here to promote his first Japanese mini album, which means back-to-back promotional shows and interviews, with only a few free nights to go out and explore the city. He's not as well-known here as he is back home in Korea, so at least he'll be granted a certain degree of anonymity, but he also knows he can't actually relax or treat this like a vacation. His fans know he's here, and there are cameras everywhere.

Still, he's grateful for the opportunity to travel. His company pays for the tickets, a portion of his food, and his rental condo, where he'll be staying for the next month or so. And he is excited to share his new album. The only problem is he'll be alone. All his friends are in Korea, and while Taeyong likes his staff just fine, it's not the same.

They pull up to a tall building; there's a valet that meets them at the sidewalk. A few curious fans inch closer, but there's a small security team coming out the front doors, so Taeyong has nothing to worry about. His manager pops the door open with the push of a button. "Go on," he says, unfastening his seatbelt and opening his door, too.

Taeyong scoots off the seat, patting his pockets for his belongings, and then stretches one slim leg out the open door. He hops down onto the pavement and is immediately gestured forward by a member of the security team. They escort him and his manager inside the building.

A receptionist takes them from there, swiping them into the elevator and taking them up a few floors. "We have another guest wrapping up now," she explains. "You can freshen up and get your mic while you wait."

Taeyong ducks into a waiting room. He's followed quickly by his staff; he's soon surrounded by stylists and makeup artists for last-minute changes. He gets his in-ears; he drapes them over his shoulders, securing the mic pack on his waistband, then gets his mic taped to his face. He'll be dancing and they don't want it to fall off. It's nice to not have to worry about it, but that doesn't make it any more comfortable.

A different staff member comes to retrieve him, and Taeyong leads the mess and bustle of the waiting room behind, following him down the hall to the elevators, and then backstage for sound checks. It's not a live audience, just a huge film crew, so there's no awkward juggling to be dealt with.

He sees the other artist, the one who went directly before him, from across the room and freezes. He recognizes him immediately—an immensely popular j-rock star, known for his sharp wit and entrancing vocals. And his S-tier good looks, like he was drawn by an artist whose hands were blessed by the gods. Or so his fans say. Though in their defense, seeing him now, Taeyong has to say he agrees.