Chapter Text
Kim Taehyung isn’t dead, of this Namjoon is sure.
This Saturday will be exactly one year since Kim Taehyung was shot with a .22 pistol thirty seconds after he walked on stage for the final concert of his world tour. Approximately ten months ago, rumors appeared in the papers that the shooting was a hoax.
The end of Kim’s spangled career has become shrouded in mystery, even as there was never any doubt that the career in question was over. Once frenzied record sales have slowed to a creep. The young people who could be found a year ago running around the streets emulating Kim’s glitter makeup, platform boots, and decadent androgynous style have largely moved on to a darker, bigger-haired, more metal aesthetic.
No one has seen or heard from Kim, not since those three gunshots punctured the introductory notes of “Man’s Last Romance” in The Orpheum Theatre twelve months ago. But few seem to care anymore. Public interest has forgotten about it, moved on to other scandals.
Kim Taehyung may not be dead, but the glam rock sensation known as Vincent Danger and his band V and The XYZs are now nothing but a memory. To Namjoon, the memory is vivid, and the mystery must be solved.
Because Namjoon was there. At The Orpheum, a year ago. He watched as Vincent Danger went down, and Kim Taehyung didn’t get up. He saw the shock on the band’s faces as the music halted, heard cries of elation turn to cries of devastation and despair as chaos erupted in the crowd around him.
Namjoon had been in attendance at that final concert of the Vincent Danger World Tour with a press badge hooked to his belt loop, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t also a fan. He’d followed the career of Kim Taehyung both professionally and personally.
He’d even had the opportunity to ask the man a question at a press conference once, back in ‘72. He remembers how nervous he’d felt as he asked him what was in store for his upcoming album. Kim, wearing a feather boa and a scintillating smirk had replied with three words: “complete, utter farce.” Sales for that album ended up breaking records.
That was three years ago, when Namjoon’s career as a music reporter was just getting started and Kim Taehyung’s reputation as a glam god was already making global headlines. There was something about the rock star that always made Namjoon feel a part of something, interconnected with humanity. With the stars. Many fans seemed to express a similar affinity. Kim Taehyung - Vincent Danger - was more than just a singer, more than just a performer.
He was a unifying force. He was magic. He was sex.
There was a time when all Namjoon had to do when he had someone over was throw on a V and The XYZs album, and he was sure to get laid. Not so much lately. Namjoon is hopeful he might find an opportunity to connect with someone among the dwindling group of fans convening this week.
For the memorial concert. A concert Namjoon’s editor didn’t ask him to cover, but that he plans to attend anyway.
Meager ticket sales aside, Namjoon is mostly hoping the concert will attract the people who can give him answers. Ideally just one answer. To the one question: What happened to Kim Taehyung? If Namjoon can solve the mystery, surely his magazine’s readers will want to hear about it.
The concert will be on Saturday. At the Orpheum, of course. Same date, same place, in a valiant attempt to reset time and reclaim the music and the starlight. The headliners are a mix of musicians whose liminal success seems to have diminished along with Kim Taehyung’s, the lineup probably more notable for the musicians who won’t be appearing than the ones who will.
Most people agree that Kim Taehyung isn’t dead, but they’ll memorialize him anyway. As a symbol for the loss of glam rock - a fad to some, a revelation to others; a phenomenon now devoid of life (at least in this part of the world). There promises to be copious glitter, tears, cover songs, and a smorgasbord of intoxicants.
Today is Monday. By Saturday, Namjoon will have answers. More than just one.
Namjoon sits now in one of the vinyl-seated booths of the empty Bitters End Saloon. He sips a bourbon and fiddles with his clunky portable tape recorder. The owner of the saloon is doing renovations and let Namjoon take over this corner of the bar for the week. Ladders, drop cloths, and red-tinted lamp shades cast eerie shadows around the space. The owner comes and goes, moving quietly about the empty establishment, re-stocking, cleaning, supplying Namjoon with free drinks and peanuts. Namjoon has fired up the jukebox to make things seem a little friendlier, a little more on-brand for the men he’ll be meeting here.
Every interview began with a phone call. “Hello, my name is Kim Namjoon, I’m a journalist with Beat Hearts magazine. I’ve been looking into the disappearance of singer Kim Taehyung, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to answer a few questions for me.”
Responses have varied from reluctant vagaries to enthusiastic oversharing to immediately hanging up. Only four contacts of any worth agreed to meet with him in person. One by one they will arrive at Bitters End Saloon and sit in the booth across from Namjoon. What answers do they have? What part of the puzzle do they complete? What happened to Vincent Danger?
“Hi. Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me. Can I offer you a drink? I’m going to record this conversation, is that alright? Good. So tell me, how did you meet Kim Taehyung?”