Before starting here, please re-read the note titled please read me. The full interactive work is on my website via this link.

You knew nothing as you entered the infamous Jeon Publication’s building for your first interview. You had no idea that the city’s most well-known and connected socialists and media executives obsessed over every single detail the magazine had to offer. For the first time in your life, you were met with identical copies of the girls you saw on Instagram, and Pinterest. You had never seen a real pair of designer shoes in your life, shoes that you could bet cost more than your monthly rent. 

You had never laid your eyes on such beautiful men. Perfectly toned— but not overly muscular, the type that resembled the male models you saw on magazine covers when you stood in a checkout line. 

You check your phone, it was exactly eleven A.M. You stand in line to board the elevators, taking in a deep breath. The variety of women you encounter remind you of runway models: skinny and poised. Their lips never stopped moving, and their gossip was punctuated by the sound of their stilettos clacking on the floor. You were sporting an unflattering “guest” sticker on your thrifted black blazer as you boarded the elevator.

You allow yourself to relax for a moment during the swift, quiet ride. Deep, sultry, and most important of all— expensive perfume mixed with leather fills the metal box encompassing you all. The doors opened silently, reverently to a variety of stark white reception areas. All filled with chic furniture and slim bodies.

“I can’t believe he’s actually dating Suzy. She. Is. Such. A Bitch. I mean, really— how can he put up with her?” Chattered a twenty-something girl in a leather blazer and thigh high heels sprinkled with Louis-Vuitton symbols, looking more suited for a late night in Soho than a day at the office.  

“I know. Total bitch. She’s not even that pretty,” agreed her friend, with an empathetic shake of her head.

By the will of whomever, you arrived at the sixteenth floor and the elevator slid open. You were on time. Interesting. If you’re comparing your potential work environment to an average day at a high school, that is. When you slither out the elevator, you’re presented with a sign that reads ‘Jeon Human Resources Office’ in glowing white letters. 

The human resources receptionist eyes you carefully as you saunter closer to her desk. She introduces herself as Jennie and without another word she points toward a space encompassed by chairs and scattered magazines. You sit down, eyeing the pieces that are closest to you. 

You look down at your cheap, mismatched suit and very wrong shoes and wonder why you even bothered. “So dear, you’re looking to break into magazines, are you?” The woman from the desk asked, eyeing the magazines beside you. 

You nod, rubbing your sweaty palms against the rough texture of your worn out pants.

“Dear, can you tell me the name of the editor in chief of Runway?” She begins, looking pointedly at you for the first time since you sat down.

Nothing. Completely and totally blank, you couldn’t remember a thing. You’d never read an issue of Runway in your life. Who cared about fucking Runway besides supermodels and people who can flush one-hundred dollar bills in the toilet? It was a fashion magazine for fucksake, you weren’t even sure if it even had any writing in it at all. 

You stammered for a brief moment, different names of editors you just forced yourself to remember moments ago all swirling in your head, dancing in mismatched pairs. Somewhere deep in the recesses of your mind, you were sure you knew his name— after all, who didn’t? There was only one man as prominent in this industry as him.

“Uh, I can’t quite remember the name. But I know I know it, of course I know it.” Your hands flapped around in an attempt to make your words more believable. “I mean, everyone knows his name, I just, I can’t recall-“

The receptionist stared at you for a moment, her dark eyes fixated on your reddening face. “Jeon Jeongguk,” she near-whispered, with a mixture of reverence and fear. “His name is Jeon Jeongguk.” 

Silence ensured. For what felt like hours, neither of you spoke, but then, Jennie must have made a decision to overlook your crucial fuckup. You didn’t know then that she was desperate, aching, to hire another assistant for Jeongguk. Desperate to stop him from calling her day and night, grilling her about potential candidates, schedules and quite literally everything else. 

Jennie was tired, overworked, and desperate to find someone, anyone, who Jeongguk wouldn’t reject. And if that meant in the tiniest near-impossible possibility that you would get hired, it’s a chance she would take. 

Jennie smiled tersely and told you that you were going to meet with Jeongguk’s two assistants. Two? Who needs two assistants?

 “Yup,” she confirmed as if she read your thoughts with an exasperated look. “Of course Jeongguk needs two assistants. His current, senior assistant, Namjoon has been promoted to be Runway’s beauty editor, and Irene, the junior assistant, now has Namjoon’s old position. Which means, the junior position is open for someone!” Her pointer finger lightly poked your chest, “Someone like you.”

“Listen, __, I know you’re fresh out of college and probably not completely familiar with the inner workings of the magazine world.” She paused dramatically, searching for the right words to not offend you with. “But, I feel it’s my duty, my obligation to tell you what an incredibly magnificent opportunity this is. Jeon Jeongguk…” 

She paused again, just as dramatically, as if she were mentally bowing to the man. “Jeon Jeongguk is single handedly the most influential person in the fashion industry, and, obviously, one of the most prominent magazine editors in the world.” She ecstatically flailed her arms around the office. “As you can clearly see.”

“The chance to work for him, to watch him edit and meet the famous writers and models, to help him achieve all he does each and every day, well, it’s a job million girls would die for.” 

Jennie was now grinning ear to ear, her hands found their way into a death grip around your shoulders. “Not to mention, he’s gorgeous.” She finished her monologue with a wink, releasing you. 

“Well- I mean, yes, it sounds wonderful.” You expressed, briefly wondering why Jennie was trying so diligently to talk you into something that a million other girls were apparently dying for. However, there wasn’t time to think about it. She picked up her phone and sang a few words, and within minutes she was escorting you to the elevators to begin your interviews with Jeongguk’s two assistants. 

You were beginning to think Jennie was starting to sound a bit like a robot, but then came your meeting with Irene. You were now on the seventeenth floor, waiting in Runway’s unnervingly white reception area. 

It took exactly forty five minutes, you were counting, before a tall, thin girl emerged from being one of the glass doors. A calf-length tight black skirt hung from her hips, and her long black hair was curled and completed with a pearled pin that read ‘Dior’ attached near her temple. Her skin was flawless, even from where you were sitting you could tell there wasn’t as much as a single blemish on it. She didn’t smile. 

She sat beside you, looking you over, earnestly but with little actual interest. Then, unprompted, whom you presumed to be Irene launched into a description of the job. Her voice monotone as if she’s gone through this a dozen times already. As if she had little faith that you were any different from the rest, and as a result wasn’t planning on wasting much time on you. 

“It’ll be hard, no doubt about it. There will be fourteen-hour days, you know— not often, but often enough,” she rattled on, not looking at you. “Plus, it’ll be important for you to understand there will be no editorial work. As Jeongguk’s junior assistant, your only responsibility is to accommodate his needs. From ordering his favorite coffee to going on shopping trips with him. Which are, always fun. I mean, you’ll get to spent time with this marvelous and gorgeous man. And gorgeous he is,” she breathed, looking as if she was in a daze, staring at the ceiling in awe. 

“Sounds great,” You said and meant it. Half of your friends immediately began working after graduation and had already clocked in half a years worth into their entry-level jobs. It didn’t matter what they were doing, banks, advertising firms, it all sounded like shit to you. And on the slim chance they had free time to meet up all they would do is whine about their long days, their coworkers, and above all, their utter boredom. 

While you weren’t particularly ecstatic about fashion, you’d rather do something you loosely deemed “fun” than get sucked into the life all your friends were dealing with.

“Yeah, it is great. Like really great. Anyway, nice to meet you. I’ll get Namjoon for you to meet, he’s amazing.” As quickly as she finished and departed behind the glass, another figure appeared.

The striking man introduced himself as Namjoon, Jeongguk’s senior assistant who’d just been promoted. But you couldn’t focus at all, why did everyone who worked here look like supermodels? Namjoon was wearing a tailored black suit, from the shirt underneath to the blazer that hugged his muscles as if it was destined for him. His dyed-grey hair was parted to the side, combed but not completely slicked down with gel. Black rimmed glasses that had ‘Prada’ engraved onto the side of them rested on his soft nose bridge. To say you were in awe of the man was an understatement. 

“I’m Namjoon, as you’ve probably already been told,” he started, pushing his glasses upwards with his middle finger. “Nice to meet you, I was just promoted to an editor position, which is one of the bonuses of working for Jeongguk.” Namjoon’s lip quirked up, eyes bright with adoration. 

“Don’t get me wrong, the hours are long, and the work is tough, but Jeongguk is amazing. You’ll get to skip years and years of working your way up the ladder with just one year for him; if you’re talented, he’ll send you straight to the top.” Namjoon rambled on. You were beginning to get the impression that everyone here had a hard on for Jeongguk.

“We probably won’t see each other often, but, feel free to stop by my office if you need any assistance.” His eyes loosely scanned over your attire, not in a demonizing way but with pity?

When Namjoon wrapped things up he went to notify yet another interviewer. So what if you didn’t know who Jeon Jeongguk was? Everyone else certainly seemed impressed enough. You figured having the prestige of Runway on your resume was sure to give you more than enough credibility when you eventually applied to work for other companies. Besides, weren’t millions of girls dying to get this job?

After another half an hour of ruminations, a slender woman came into the reception area. She said her name, but it didn’t register in your brain. You were busy trying to process the abundance of information that's been lodged in your brain within these few hours. 

After another look-over, the girl led you to Kim Taehyung’s office, Runway’s executive editor and an office favorite, apparently. Your first thought upon meeting Taehyung was— why was he working in an editorial magazine when he could very clearly be on the actual Runway. He was tanned, brown hair covering his eyebrows, yet, his face didn’t lose it’s expressiveness. Taehyung sported a deep crimson suit with a white button up underneath, and a black vest on top of it.

Taehyung talked to you for hours. When you weren’t busy drooling over how gorgeous he was, you listened to what he was saying. Taehyung seemed like he genuinely loved his job, excitedly speaking about the “word” aspect of the magazine. 

“I know it's surprising but, I have nothing to do with the fashion side of this place,” he declared proudly, winking at you, “crazy I know. So, save those questions for someone else.”

When you told him this job sounded appealing, and that you had no particular interest or any background in fashion, Taehyung’s smile only grew wider. “In that case, __. You might just be what we need around here. I think it’s time for you to meet Jeongguk, and if I may offer a piece of advice? Look him straight in the fucking eye and sell yourself. Sell yourself hard and he’ll respect you.”

Taehyung bent forward, “Jeongguk is hard to please, but he respects honesty. Just make sure you don’t pass out, he has that affect on people.”

As if on cue, the nameless girl from before swept in and escorted you to Jeongguk’s office. It was exactly a forty-second-walk from Taehyung’s, but you could sense all the eyes on you. They peered at you from behind the frosted glass of the editors’ office and from the open space of the assistants’ cubicles. You didn’t want to imagine what they were thinking of you. How you had the balls to saunter into the worlds most prestige fashion magazine’s building in your thrifted, non-designer clothes: expecting to be hired.

And then you were standing in his office, a wide-open space of huge windows and bright light encompassing it. No other details made an impression that day; you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. 

You’d never seen a picture of Jeon Jeongguk, you didn’t know he even existed till a couple hours ago. But, fuck, was he a looker. Jeongguk was wearing an off-white cream colored suit. Unlike Namjoon, who had a vest and tie underneath, Jeongguk wore a button-up that matched the color of his blazer exactly, no vest or tie in sight. 

The first two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, leaving glistening collar bones for you to ogle at. A variety of rings covered his hands, you noted briefly that his right hand was covered in what appeared like tattoos. When your eyes moved upward, you sharply breathed in. 

Jeongguk’s hair was jet black, parted similarly to Namjoon’s, but much longer. His bangs were curved, giving the appearance of volume in his hair. While the other side was slicked back, tucked behind a pierced ear. Is that an eyebrow and lip piercing?

Jeon Jeongguk was fucking gorgeous, and that was putting it lightly. 

He had turned his heard upward to look you in the eye, but he did not stand to greet you. Jeongguk did not smile, and your brain was finally beginning to register why Taehyung warned you to not pass out in his presence. 

Jeongguk’s eyebrows were lightly knitted, and that’s when you noticed: he was staring at you, intently, mentally noting your mortifying attempt at grace with what seemed like amusement. Condescending and awkward, yes, but, not, particularly mean-spirited. He spoke first.

“Who are you?” 

Your name stammered out of your mouth.

“And what brings you to Runway, __?” He asked, dragging out the ending syllables of your name, never taking his eyes away from yours. 

“Well,” you stammered, awkwardly moving your legs to cross the other, “I interviewed with Jennie and she told me that you’re looking for an assistant.” You began, voice shaky. When he nodded, your confidence increased slightly. “And now, after meeting with Irene, Namjoon, and Taehyung, I feel like I have a clear understanding of what you’re looking for in an assistant, I’m confident I’ll be perfect for the job.” Jeongguk looked amused for a moment but continued to seem unfazed. 

It was in this exact moment you realized you desperately wanted this job, in the way people yearn for things they know are unattainable. It might not be law or doctoral school, but fuck, it felt like a challenge— a real challenge. Because you were an imposter here, you knew you didn’t belong, had known that from the moment you stepped onto the Runway floor.

“Yet, you don’t read Runway?” Jeongguk leaned over his desk, peering at you even more intently than before.

“No.”

“And before today, you had never heard of me?” 

You bit your lip, the confidence you boasted minutes ago diminishing into nothingness. He had set you up with the first question, elevating your confidence just to crush it with the reality that you were nothing more than a phony. 

“Uh, well, no.”

“And you have no style or sense of fashion.”  Jeongguk was no longer looking in your direction, eyes focused back on whatever catalog he was looking at before you barged into his office.

“Well— that depends on-“

“That wasn’t a question.” Jeongguk’s eyes bounced from the model on the paper to you, then back to 

the paper.

“As I said before, I’m confident that I can be-“

Jeongguk released the magazine from his fingers, letting one side flap back onto the desk. He widened his legs and leaned back into his chair, elbow resting on the arm rest. He then raised his pointer and middle fingers in the air, and with an unchanged expression, he spoke, “That’ll be all.” 

You blinked, mind drawing a blank. Did he just kick me out? That easily? That’s it? You lightly scoffed, taking one last good look at Jeongguk before turning around, heading for the door. What a fucking asshole. Sure, you didn’t fit in. Fuck, you really didn’t fit in. But, to not give you a chance? You just wasted god knows how many hours talking to everyone around here, essentially being taught how to work the damn job before you even got it. Just for him to dismiss you like a piece of lint on his designer suit. 

You stop. Might as well give him a piece of my fucking mind.

“Listen, you’re right. I don’t fit in here. I’m not glamorous, covered in designer from head to toe. Fuck, I bought this watch off of Depop.” You lift your arm, pointing at the Seiko watch you haggled off a teenager on Depop. “And as you’ve so generously mentioned, I clearly don’t know anything about fashion.” 

You take a hesitant step forward, this is depressing. You were begging at this point, for an ounce of recognition from a man you knew nothing of hours ago. From a fucking stranger. “But, I’m smart. I learn fast and if you hire me, I will work hard.” 

Jeongguk doesn’t respond, but you notice the quirk in his brow. His eyes dismiss you when you hear a voice drawing closer from the hall. 

“Jeongguk, we got the exclusive on the red silk for Seokjin, the piece with the huge feathered arm.”

 You don’t hear the remainder of the unknown person's sentence because you bolted through Jeongguk’s glass doors and toward the elevator without a glance back.

What the fuck?

Nothing. Completely and totally blank, you couldn’t remember a thing. You’d never read an issue of Runway in your life. Who cared about fucking Runway besides supermodels and people who can flush one-hundred dollar bills in the toilet? It was a fashion magazine for fucksake, you weren’t even sure if it even had any writing in it at all. 

You stammered for a brief moment, different names of editors you just forced yourself to remember moments ago all swirling in your head, dancing in mismatched pairs. Somewhere deep in the recesses of your mind, you were sure you knew his name— after all, who didn’t? There was only one man as prominent in this industry as him.

“Uh, I can’t quite remember the name. But I know I know it, of course I know it.” Your hands flapped around in an attempt to make your words more believable. “I mean, everyone knows his name, I just, I can’t recall-“

The receptionist stared at you for a moment, her dark eyes fixated on your reddening face. “Jeon Jeongguk,” she near-whispered, with a mixture of reverence and fear. “His name is Jeon Jeongguk.” 

Silence ensured. For what felt like hours, neither of you spoke, but then, Jennie must have made a decision to overlook your crucial fuckup. You didn’t know then that she was desperate, aching, to hire another assistant for Jeongguk. Desperate to stop him from calling her day and night, grilling her about potential candidates, schedules and quite literally everything else. 

Jennie was tired, overworked, and desperate to find someone, anyone, who Jeongguk wouldn’t reject. And if that meant in the tiniest near-impossible possibility that you would get hired, it’s a chance she would take. 

Jennie smiled tersely and told you that you were going to meet with Jeongguk’s two assistants. Two? Who needs two assistants?

 “Yup,” she confirmed as if she read your thoughts with an exasperated look. “Of course Jeongguk needs two assistants. His current, senior assistant, Namjoon has been promoted to be Runway’s beauty editor, and Irene, the junior assistant, now has Namjoon’s old position. Which means, the junior position is open for someone!” Her pointer finger lightly poked your chest, “Someone like you.”

“Listen, __, I know you’re fresh out of college and probably not completely familiar with the inner workings of the magazine world.” She paused dramatically, searching for the right words to not offend you with. “But, I feel it’s my duty, my obligation to tell you what an incredibly magnificent opportunity this is. Jeon Jeongguk…” 

She paused again, just as dramatically, as if she were mentally bowing to the man. “Jeon Jeongguk is single handedly the most influential person in the fashion industry, and, obviously, one of the most prominent magazine editors in the world.” She ecstatically flailed her arms around the office. “As you can clearly see.”

“The chance to work for him, to watch him edit and meet the famous writers and models, to help him achieve all he does each and every day, well, it’s a job million girls would die for.” 

Jennie was now grinning ear to ear, her hands found their way into a death grip around your shoulders. “Not to mention, he’s gorgeous.” She finished her monologue with a wink, releasing you. 

“Well- I mean, yes, it sounds wonderful.” You expressed, briefly wondering why Jennie was trying so diligently to talk you into something that a million other girls were apparently dying for. However, there wasn’t time to think about it. She picked up her phone and sang a few words, and within minutes she was escorting you to the elevators to begin your interviews with Jeongguk’s two assistants. 

You were beginning to think Jennie was starting to sound a bit like a robot, but then came your meeting with Irene. You were now on the seventeenth floor, waiting in Runway’s unnervingly white reception area. 

It took exactly forty five minutes, you were counting, before a tall, thin girl emerged from being one of the glass doors. A calf-length tight black skirt hung from her hips, and her long black hair was curled and completed with a pearled pin that read ‘Dior’ attached near her temple. Her skin was flawless, even from where you were sitting you could tell there wasn’t as much as a single blemish on it. She didn’t smile. 

She sat beside you, looking you over, earnestly but with little actual interest. Then, unprompted, whom you presumed to be Irene launched into a description of the job. Her voice monotone as if she’s gone through this a dozen times already. As if she had little faith that you were any different from the rest, and as a result wasn’t planning on wasting much time on you. 

“It’ll be hard, no doubt about it. There will be fourteen-hour days, you know— not often, but often enough,” she rattled on, not looking at you. “Plus, it’ll be important for you to understand there will be no editorial work. As Jeongguk’s junior assistant, your only responsibility is to accommodate his needs. From ordering his favorite coffee to going on shopping trips with him. Which are, always fun. I mean, you’ll get to spent time with this marvelous and gorgeous man. And gorgeous he is,” she breathed, looking as if she was in a daze, staring at the ceiling in awe. 

“Sounds great,” You said and meant it. Half of your friends immediately began working after graduation and had already clocked in half a years worth into their entry-level jobs. It didn’t matter what they were doing, banks, advertising firms, it all sounded like shit to you. And on the slim chance they had free time to meet up all they would do is whine about their long days, their coworkers, and above all, their utter boredom. 

While you weren’t particularly ecstatic about fashion, you’d rather do something you loosely deemed “fun” than get sucked into the life all your friends were dealing with.

“Yeah, it is great. Like really great. Anyway, nice to meet you. I’ll get Namjoon for you to meet, he’s amazing.” As quickly as she finished and departed behind the glass, another figure appeared.

The striking man introduced himself as Namjoon, Jeongguk’s senior assistant who’d just been promoted. But you couldn’t focus at all, why did everyone who worked here look like supermodels? Namjoon was wearing a tailored black suit, from the shirt underneath to the blazer that hugged his muscles as if it was destined for him. His dyed-grey hair was parted to the side, combed but not completely slicked down with gel. Black rimmed glasses that had ‘Prada’ engraved onto the side of them rested on his soft nose bridge. To say you were in awe of the man was an understatement. 

“I’m Namjoon, as you’ve probably already been told,” he started, pushing his glasses upwards with his middle finger. “Nice to meet you, I was just promoted to an editor position, which is one of the bonuses of working for Jeongguk.” Namjoon’s lip quirked up, eyes bright with adoration. 

“Don’t get me wrong, the hours are long, and the work is tough, but Jeongguk is amazing. You’ll get to skip years and years of working your way up the ladder with just one year for him; if you’re talented, he’ll send you straight to the top.” Namjoon rambled on. You were beginning to get the impression that everyone here had a hard on for Jeongguk.

“We probably won’t see each other often, but, feel free to stop by my office if you need any assistance.” His eyes loosely scanned over your attire, not in a demonizing way but with pity?

When Namjoon wrapped things up he went to notify yet another interviewer. So what if you didn’t know who Jeon Jeongguk was? Everyone else certainly seemed impressed enough. You figured having the prestige of Runway on your resume was sure to give you more than enough credibility when you eventually applied to work for other companies. Besides, weren’t millions of girls dying to get this job?

After another half an hour of ruminations, a slender woman came into the reception area. She said her name, but it didn’t register in your brain. You were busy trying to process the abundance of information that's been lodged in your brain within these few hours. 

After another look-over, the girl led you to Kim Taehyung’s office, Runway’s executive editor and an office favorite, apparently. Your first thought upon meeting Taehyung was— why was he working in an editorial magazine when he could very clearly be on the actual Runway. He was tanned, brown hair covering his eyebrows, yet, his face didn’t lose it’s expressiveness. Taehyung sported a deep crimson suit with a white button up underneath, and a black vest on top of it.

Taehyung talked to you for hours. When you weren’t busy drooling over how gorgeous he was, you listened to what he was saying. Taehyung seemed like he genuinely loved his job, excitedly speaking about the “word” aspect of the magazine. 

“I know it's surprising but, I have nothing to do with the fashion side of this place,” he declared proudly, winking at you, “crazy I know. So, save those questions for someone else.”

When you told him this job sounded appealing, and that you had no particular interest or any background in fashion, Taehyung’s smile only grew wider. “In that case, __. You might just be what we need around here. I think it’s time for you to meet Jeongguk, and if I may offer a piece of advice? Look him straight in the fucking eye and sell yourself. Sell yourself hard and he’ll respect you.”

Taehyung bent forward, “Jeongguk is hard to please, but he respects honesty. Just make sure you don’t pass out, he has that affect on people.”

As if on cue, the nameless girl from before swept in and escorted you to Jeongguk’s office. It was exactly a forty-second-walk from Taehyung’s, but you could sense all the eyes on you. They peered at you from behind the frosted glass of the editors’ office and from the open space of the assistants’ cubicles. You didn’t want to imagine what they were thinking of you. How you had the balls to saunter into the worlds most prestige fashion magazine’s building in your thrifted, non-designer clothes: expecting to be hired.

And then you were standing in his office, a wide-open space of huge windows and bright light encompassing it. No other details made an impression that day; you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. 

You’d never seen a picture of Jeon Jeongguk, you didn’t know he even existed till a couple hours ago. But, fuck, was he a looker. Jeongguk was wearing an off-white cream colored suit. Unlike Namjoon, who had a vest and tie underneath, Jeongguk wore a button-up that matched the color of his blazer exactly, no vest or tie in sight. 

The first two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, leaving glistening collar bones for you to ogle at. A variety of rings covered his hands, you noted briefly that his right hand was covered in what appeared like tattoos. When your eyes moved upward, you sharply breathed in. 

Jeongguk’s hair was jet black, parted similarly to Namjoon’s, but much longer. His bangs were curved, giving the appearance of volume in his hair. While the other side was slicked back, tucked behind a pierced ear. Is that an eyebrow and lip piercing?

Jeon Jeongguk was fucking gorgeous, and that was putting it lightly. 

He had turned his heard upward to look you in the eye, but he did not stand to greet you. Jeongguk did not smile, and your brain was finally beginning to register why Taehyung warned you to not pass out in his presence. 

Jeongguk’s eyebrows were lightly knitted, and that’s when you noticed: he was staring at you, intently, mentally noting your mortifying attempt at grace with what seemed like amusement. Condescending and awkward, yes, but, not, particularly mean-spirited. He spoke first.

“Who are you?” 

Your name stammered out of your mouth.

“And what brings you to Runway, __?” He asked, dragging out the ending syllables of your name, never taking his eyes away from yours. 

“Well,” you stammered, awkwardly moving your legs to cross the other, “I interviewed with Jennie and she told me that you’re looking for an assistant.” You began, voice shaky. When he nodded, your confidence increased slightly. “And now, after meeting with Irene, Namjoon, and Taehyung, I feel like I have a clear understanding of what you’re looking for in an assistant, I’m confident I’ll be perfect for the job.” Jeongguk looked amused for a moment but continued to seem unfazed. 

It was in this exact moment you realized you desperately wanted this job, in the way people yearn for things they know are unattainable. It might not be law or doctoral school, but fuck, it felt like a challenge— a real challenge. Because you were an imposter here, you knew you didn’t belong, had known that from the moment you stepped onto the Runway floor.

“Yet, you don’t read Runway?” Jeongguk leaned over his desk, peering at you even more intently than before.

“No.”

“And before today, you had never heard of me?” 

You bit your lip, the confidence you boasted minutes ago diminishing into nothingness. He had set you up with the first question, elevating your confidence just to crush it with the reality that you were nothing more than a phony. 

“Uh, well, no.”

“And you have no style or sense of fashion.”  Jeongguk was no longer looking in your direction, eyes focused back on whatever catalog he was looking at before you barged into his office.

“Well— that depends on-“

“That wasn’t a question.” Jeongguk’s eyes bounced from the model on the paper to you, then back to 

the paper.

“As I said before, I’m confident that I can be-“

Jeongguk released the magazine from his fingers, letting one side flap back onto the desk. He widened his legs and leaned back into his chair, elbow resting on the arm rest. He then raised his pointer and middle fingers in the air, and with an unchanged expression, he spoke, “That’ll be all.” 

You blinked, mind drawing a blank. Did he just kick me out? That easily? That’s it? You lightly scoffed, taking one last good look at Jeongguk before turning around, heading for the door. What a fucking asshole. Sure, you didn’t fit in. Fuck, you really didn’t fit in. But, to not give you a chance? You just wasted god knows how many hours talking to everyone around here, essentially being taught how to work the damn job before you even got it. Just for him to dismiss you like a piece of lint on his designer suit. 

You stop. Might as well give him a piece of my fucking mind.

“Listen, you’re right. I don’t fit in here. I’m not glamorous, covered in designer from head to toe. Fuck, I bought this watch off of Depop.” You lift your arm, pointing at the Seiko watch you haggled off a teenager on Depop. “And as you’ve so generously mentioned, I clearly don’t know anything about fashion.” 

You take a hesitant step forward, this is depressing. You were begging at this point, for an ounce of recognition from a man you knew nothing of hours ago. From a fucking stranger. “But, I’m smart. I learn fast and if you hire me, I will work hard.” 

Jeongguk doesn’t respond, but you notice the quirk in his brow. His eyes dismiss you when you hear a voice drawing closer from the hall. 

“Jeongguk, we got the exclusive on the red silk for Seokjin, the piece with the huge feathered arm.”

 You don’t hear the remainder of the unknown person's sentence because you bolted through Jeongguk’s glass doors and toward the elevator without a glance back.

It's Tuesday and you're watching Love Island because it was Myra’s day to pick, and Myra just had to pick Love Island. She's on her third Ben & Jerry's—no, not her third spoonful, her third fucking pint— and she has a lot of feelings about Olandria. Like, a concerning amount. You stopped asking follow-up questions twenty minutes ago.

You're on your phone. Scrolling without really looking at anything, your eyes burn, given that you edited for six hours. Right now, you deserve to sit on your ass and watch hot people pretend to like each other.  

You almost scroll past it. It's a video of Jeongguk of BTS on his motorcycle and you stop. You stop for longer than a second.

You read the caption, then read it again, and again. 

He's looking for an editor.

Huuuuuh. Four years of editing. Three music videos this year. A reel that has gotten you every job you've had since 2022. You look at his DMs. You look at the caption again. You look at his DMs. You type in Korean—not perfect Korean, good enough Korean (thank you K-Dramas, and Cha Eunwoo)— keep it short, link the reel, send it. 

“What are you doing over there?” Myra asks, words almost incoherent given that spoon is basically deep-throating her.

“Jeongguk of BTS is looking for an editor,” you say, rereading your message one more time. 

“Hm,” she mumbles, “Oh my good, look at Andrea! God, I fucking hate her!”

You put your phone down and watch thirty more minutes of Love Island. Myra has moved on from Olandria and is now invested in whether Nick is genuinely in love with her or not, which you have thoughts about but keep to yourself because you made the mistake of sharing thoughts about Nick last Tuesday and lost forty minutes of your life.

You check your DMs the next morning. Nothing. You check them Wednesday. Nothing. Thursday you edit an entire commercial, invoice a client, eat leftovers standing over the sink, and do not think about it once. The message hasn't been read, which is fine, he has twenty-something million followers and probably gets a thousand DMs a day and you sent yours in ninety seconds on a Tuesday night because Myra was yelling about Andrea. This is fine. This is a normal thing that happened and is now over.

Friday afternoon your phone lights up.

You read it once, put your phone down, pick it back up, read it again.

Okay. You type back yeah in about four seconds, he sends his number, and then you spend the next twenty minutes doing absolutely nothing productive while pretending you're doing something productive. At 2:38 your phone rings, and your chest tightens. 

This is fine, this is fine. It’s just Jeongguk. Just another celebrity. It’s all perfectly fucking fine.

The call connects and he's already talking, mid-sentence about something, to someone, relaxed, and you clock immediately that it is very much not the end of his day. It has to be something like three in the morning in Seoul and Jeon Jeongguk is on a video call with you in what appears to be a very nice, very dark room, looking like that.

You had the camera off. You turn it on, and he stops mid-sentence.

There's a pause, and then he laughs—a little loose around the edges in the way someone who has had a few too much drinks finds everything slightly funnier than it actually is. "Oh," he giggles and covers his mouth with three fingers. "I'm sorry, I just wasn't expecting—" he trails off, looks to someone off camera, says something you don't catch. 

"Nothing," he says, looking back into the camera. "You're just very attractive."

You blink. Ooooookay. "...Thank you?"

"Are you always this awkward or is it just me," he says, and he's still smiling, chin dropping into his hand.

"I'm not awkward, you just called me attractive in the first thirty seconds of a business call."

"Oh, sorry, is this a business call?"

"Well, I certainly thought it was."

He hums, considering the possibility and tilts his head slightly, and you notice his hair is falling into his face and how he’s not doing anything about it. "So, tell me how you work," he says. 

And you do.

You tell him you've watched enough of his content to know what he gravitates toward—the way he edits his own stuff is instinct-heavy, fast cuts when the energy's high, long holds when he wants you to sit in something. You can work clean and professional, proper music video layout, or you can go the other direction—looser, more reactive, the kind of edit that feels like it was made at 2am by someone having the time of their life. You’re good at both.

"It just depends on what you're actually trying to say," you tell him.

He's nodding. He's been nodding for a while, actually. His elbow is on his knee and his chin is back in his hand and his eyes are, hmmmm.

His eyes are not all the way on.

You stop talking.

"Are you drunk," you say. This is probably, no scratch that, this is, the most unprofessional fucking business call you’ve ever had. 

He doesn't answer immediately. The smile just gets a little wider, slow, and he nods. Once, very fucking deliberately.

You stare at him. "You called me for a business meeting, Jeongguk."

"I called you," he says, with great patience, "because I wanted to talk to you."

There's a beat of silence.

"Your Korean is pretty good," he adds, like that's a totally normal thing to say right now.

"Come to Korea," he says.

"What."

"For a week. Feel it out, see if we work well together." He says it like it's the most reasonable thing anyone has ever suggested. Like people get invited to Seoul on a drunk FaceTime at 4am all the time and it always works out fine.

"You're drunk," you remind him.

"I'm a little drunk," he corrects, which is not the rebuttal he thinks it is. "I'm still serious."

"Those two things can't both be true right now."

He shrugs. One shoulder, unbothered. "Come for a week. If it doesn't work you go home, no problem. If it does—" another shrug, "—then we make something good."

"Jeongguk."

"Hm?"

You look at him. He looks back at you, perfectly content, hair still in his face, smile doing something very annoying. You are trying to have a rational conversation with someone who called you for a business meeting at 4am while drunk and has just invited you to another country like that's a normal ask.

"I need the clips first," you say finally. "Send me the clips."

"Already planning to."

"And then we'll talk about Seoul."

"Sure," he says, and his smile only gets worse. "It's on you though." He tilts his head. "I'll send you the ticket details soon."

You open your mouth. Close it.

This is fine. Totally fine.

"Goodnight, Jeongguk."