#baesiinja

     [⌘]     Jimin has a job interview to attend to in twenty minutes. The problem is that he's on the other side of the city, the streets are jammed with people and all of the taxi's are driving right past him. He's nearly gotten ran over two times, the icy wind is slicing through his skin and his bones wouldn't be able to keep up with it much longer.

     He sways his hand in the air when he see's the yellow cab, watches it as it gets closer and waves more frantically when it drives past and stops to pick up a woman further down the street. Jimin sighs watching it, furrowing his brows as he shoves his hands in his pockets and waits for another cab. It's getting ridiculous, he thinks as he looks back at the road with determined eyes. Finally, he see's a cab pull over on the other side of the street. He watches it for a while, not seeing a sign of it waiting for anyone. So he makes a break for it, runs past the active traffic and angry drivers beeping their horns loudly. He shouts an apology as he runs past, nearly getting hit by a red car if it hadn't stopped right before him. He looked at the displeased driver before bowing and saying a flustered "S-sorry!".

When he gets to the other side of the street he slows down, merely jogs to the cab as white puffs of air escape through his lips. Finally, he smiles to himself as he opens the backdoor, huffing out a sigh of relief when he leans down to get inside. Then he freezes, locks eyes with the person already sitting inside. A handsome man sitting back staring at him, blonde hair and dark eyes. Jimin's eyes fall to the strangers long torso before he breaths out a small "Oh," He mentally punches himself, because after moments of staring at the car he didn't even take time to see if someone was already inside. He cursed under his breath before bowing slightly, eyes falling from the stranger and down to the ground--

{ baesiinja }

Dozens of people worked there, dozens of little, young, unexperienced, untalented young men and women were dying for that opportunity, they would sell their kidneys to do that job instead of him. But no, of course not, Mr. Kim had to pick exactly him, probably one of the most stressed and busy employees of the company. He was overly qualified to do that, that's why he wasn't his boy, like he had called him. As if he didn't have enough with the daily paper work.

Yet, here he was, jumping out of a cab that had brought him to that model agency, that shiny, tall, square building that shed arrogance, that aura of snobbery, falseness and personal interests. It wasn't his ideal environment, hell, he was starting to get nervous, not for the interview but for his clothes instead. Maybe he had dressed to fancy, no he was fine but...shit his hair, and that building was so full of glasses he could check himself at.

There was no time. With eager steps he entered the reception, a gentle young woman showed him the way towards the photo session where the models he had to interview were currently working at. A frustrated sigh left his lips as the lift carried him up, the song playing in it was known and catchy, James hummed along, tried to relieve some nervousness.

At the end, it wasn't worth it, most of the models were so plain stupid. Their answers were all the same, copy paste, like robots. And those people earned two times his salary? When they couldn't even tell where  Paris was? James tried to hold back his laughter, handwriting messy and trembling against his notebook (yes he was old fashioned), until his lungs gave up, the chuckle hot and bubbling in him, coming out in a loud snort. Apologizing quickly and repeatedly he ended with that irrelevant, plastic looking girl with ankle-killing high heels.

His watch ticked two pm, lunch break which was relieving, but there was still a boy he had to interview, a few questions actually. However, it felt as if the model had been avoiding him since he had spotted before, and honestly, James didn't blame him. The sooner this ends, the sooner I'll be back at the office. Once again, he sighed and approached the boy. 

First impressions matter, even more in such a world as the modeling, and boy, boy. Dimples. The model showed dimples as he spoke, nothing forced, well, actually everything about him seemed so natural, a great contrast with the plastic robots he was surrounded by a few minutes ago. The next thing he noticed were his eyes, dark brown, intense and mysterious, as if the secret of life was kept locked in them. Then his lips, and James really had to shake it off of his mind.