Chapter 1: Zoom Lenses and Facial Astronomy
As a professional part-time photographer and full-time freelance illustrator, Korn’s life was usually a peaceful routine of dodging client revisions and drinking iced black coffee that tasted like despair. But today, he was trapped in a blindingly bright studio on Sukhumvit Road, trying to capture promotional stills for Thailand’s newest rising television heartthrob: Phakin.
Phakin was currently sitting on a velvet stool, looking effortlessly ethereal in a pastel oversized sweater. He was the kind of handsome that made people trip over trash cans—tall, sharp jawline, broad shoulders, and an irritatingly symmetrical face that practically begged to be sketched.
Korn stood behind his tripod, squinting through the viewfinder of his Canon camera. Click. Click. Click.
“Great profile, P’Phakin! Tilt your chin down just a fraction to the left,” the director called out from behind the monitor.
Phakin shifted, and the studio lights hit his left cheekbone at an entirely new angle.
Korn froze, his finger hovering over the shutter button.
Through the crisp, high-definition zoom lens, Korn stopped seeing a generic celebrity and started seeing a map. Right below Phakin’s left eye, trailing down his cheek toward his jawline, were four tiny, perfectly spaced dark moles.
Korn blinked. He zoomed in closer.
One, two, three, four.
“Is he... is he secretly a galaxy?” Korn muttered under his breath, completely forgetting where he was.
“Cut! Let’s take a five-minute break!” the director shouted.
The studio instantly descended into organized chaos. A stylist rushed in with a powder puff, another staff member shoved a bottled water into Phakin’s hand, and Phakin himself let out a long, dramatic sigh, stretching his arms over his head.
Korn lowered his camera, pulled out his digital tablet from his backpack, and instinctively began to sketch. His illustrator brain had completely hijacked his motor functions. With a few swift, practiced strokes of his stylus, he connected the four dots on a rough facial outline.
Yes, definitely the Little Dipper, Korn thought, nodding in satisfaction as he shaded in the background with tiny digital stars. Wait, no. The handle is upside down. More like a very confused Orion’s Belt.
“What are you drawing?”
Korn yelped, nearly dropping his tablet onto the concrete floor.
A shadow loomed over him. Phakin was standing right there, having bypassed the entire glam squad. He was towering over Korn, smelling faintly of expensive cedarwood and mint gum, peering directly down at the tablet screen with intense, heavy-lidded curiosity.
“Ah—nothing!” Korn scrambled, his face heating up to the color of a ripe tomato. He frantically tried to swipe to his home screen, but his thumb betrayed him, leaving the glowing, undeniable constellation sketch staring right back at them.
Phakin stared at the screen. Then, slowly, he raised a long finger and poked his own left cheek, right where the cluster of moles sat.
“Is this...” Phakin’s lips twitched upward into a slow, dangerously charming smirk. “Are you mapping out my face like a GPS navigation system?”
“I am a professional artist conducting... advanced topographical research!” Korn squeaked, his voice cracking like a terrified adolescent boy’s.
Phakin chuckled, a rich, warm sound that echoed in the quiet corner of the studio. He leaned in just a little closer, his dark eyes sparkling with outright mischief.
“Topographical research, huh?” Phakin murmured, tilting his head so the studio light caught the exact constellation Korn had just drawn. “So, illustrator-nim... what’s my forecast? Am I going to rain on your parade today, or are we clear skies?”
