Bewitched - Chapter One
*I'm writing this as if they were Korean-Americans, so I'm doing without the formalities, it's just easier for me when I craft the scenario.
I smeared my hands with black gelatin paint that mimicked dirt. I stared down at them, my face scrunched up in disgust. So much for a job with a six-digit salary, I felt like I was back in kindergarten and playing in the sandbox. I sighed.
"One sigh takes away a year from your life, you know."
Nichkhun was leaning against the table on one hand, the other holding a water bottle. I rolled my eyes and ignored him.
"What's up with this hobo concept of yours? Did you just recently rewatch Zoolander?" I mocked. Normally, a tone like mine would be viewed extremely disrespectful, considering he was my boss. Well, technically, which in no way overruled the fact that I had become the only person he could rely on over these past three years that I had worked with him.
"Want some orange mocha frappuccino?" He smirked and then cackled in that weirdly infectious laughter of his. I stared at him unaffected.
"Only if you pay for it." I said as I carefully rubbed my hands together, creating more consistency in the paint. "Okay, I'm ready, where's this charmer that you speak of?"
"Wait, I haven't introduced you guys?" Nichkhun appeared shocked. I blinked at him. "Oh god, I really thought I had. My bad. Come." He grabbed me by the elbow and dragged me along despite my protest. We arrived at the dressing room where a few staff were bustling around, fussing with the outfits. It wasn't too hard to spot him; he was the only model-looking person in the whole room, no offense to my colleagues. Height-wise, anyway. He looked decent; clean, smiley, sporting a boy-next-door kind of look. Nothing about him impressed me.
"Jang Wooyoung, this is Park Jooyeon, my personal assistant slash makeup artist slash coordinator," I rolled my eyes at his long-winded title for me that he took pride in for unknown reasons. It was fucking stupid. "You'll be working with her a lot, so please get acquainted with each other." Nichkhun smiled between me and the guy. Then he was approached by a staff member and strolled off, leaving me to my own devices.
"Nice to meet you." He smiled at me, his hand outstretched.
"Nice meeting you too," I said out of courtesy. "I would shake your hand but," I held up both of my hands and displayed the paint smeared across them. "Not possible unless you want to get dirty." I shrugged.
"What if I do?"
I looked him in the eye. He was serious, except for that little twitch in the corner of his lips that showed me he was just like any other man, trying to act suave and impress. I scoffed inwardly.
"Well, then, suit yourself." I grabbed his extended hand and shook it as if there was no substance rubbing between our palms and creating a strange sensation. His eyes betrayed how surprised he was. "Actually, why don't we get straight to business. Take off your shirt."
He widened his eyes and arched his brows, but he complied, slipping out his yellow t-shirt in front of my eyes. I gave his torso a once-over; again, nothing impressive. Working with models day and night had desensitized me to even the finest physique. I didn't even flinch. My heartrate remained the same, and so did my gaze.
The instant he tossed away his shirt I smeared a finger on his arm, leaving a trace of the black paint. He tried to suppress a double-take, but I felt it. I silently chuckled at taking him by surprise thrice in a row. I continued smearing my fingers on his arms, then I rubbed my entire palms against his chest, down to his abs, rubbing out the paint here and there. This was actually kind of fun, it reminded me of this creative arts class back in college where we painted with our hands.
"You must be in this field for a long time."
I glanced up at him, my hands continuing to roam over his torso. It was a statement and not a question, but somehow I felt the need to say something.
"Yeah."
Then he suddenly grabbed my wrist. I almost yelped.
"What are you doing?" I glared at him.
"Or maybe you're just abnormally calm," said he, giving an irrelevant answer as he let go. I couldn't detect mockery, but I felt mocked regardless. I suddenly disliked him. I didn't like being ignored. He made me feel irrelevant. I hated that feeling.
"Could you let me finish my job here?" I said through gritted teeth, my glare unchanging.
He looked at me and opened his mouth slightly as if about to say something, but closed it without another word. He just looked away.
I was convinced that it was going to be a long day.
I smeared my hands with black gelatin paint that mimicked dirt. I stared down at them, my face scrunched up in disgust. So much for a job with a six-digit salary, I felt like I was back in kindergarten and playing in the sandbox. I sighed.
"One sigh takes away a year from your life, you know."
Nichkhun was leaning against the table on one hand, the other holding a water bottle. I rolled my eyes and ignored him.
"What's up with this hobo concept of yours? Did you just recently rewatch Zoolander?" I mocked. Normally, a tone like mine would be viewed extremely disrespectful, considering he was my boss. Well, technically, which in no way overruled the fact that I had become the only person he could rely on over these past three years that I had worked with him.
"Want some orange mocha frappuccino?" He smirked and then cackled in that weirdly infectious laughter of his. I stared at him unaffected.
"Only if you pay for it." I said as I carefully rubbed my hands together, creating more consistency in the paint. "Okay, I'm ready, where's this charmer that you speak of?"
"Wait, I haven't introduced you guys?" Nichkhun appeared shocked. I blinked at him. "Oh god, I really thought I had. My bad. Come." He grabbed me by the elbow and dragged me along despite my protest. We arrived at the dressing room where a few staff were bustling around, fussing with the outfits. It wasn't too hard to spot him; he was the only model-looking person in the whole room, no offense to my colleagues. Height-wise, anyway. He looked decent; clean, smiley, sporting a boy-next-door kind of look. Nothing about him impressed me.
"Jang Wooyoung, this is Park Jooyeon, my personal assistant slash makeup artist slash coordinator," I rolled my eyes at his long-winded title for me that he took pride in for unknown reasons. It was fucking stupid. "You'll be working with her a lot, so please get acquainted with each other." Nichkhun smiled between me and the guy. Then he was approached by a staff member and strolled off, leaving me to my own devices.
"Nice to meet you." He smiled at me, his hand outstretched.
"Nice meeting you too," I said out of courtesy. "I would shake your hand but," I held up both of my hands and displayed the paint smeared across them. "Not possible unless you want to get dirty." I shrugged.
"What if I do?"
I looked him in the eye. He was serious, except for that little twitch in the corner of his lips that showed me he was just like any other man, trying to act suave and impress. I scoffed inwardly.
"Well, then, suit yourself." I grabbed his extended hand and shook it as if there was no substance rubbing between our palms and creating a strange sensation. His eyes betrayed how surprised he was. "Actually, why don't we get straight to business. Take off your shirt."
He widened his eyes and arched his brows, but he complied, slipping out his yellow t-shirt in front of my eyes. I gave his torso a once-over; again, nothing impressive. Working with models day and night had desensitized me to even the finest physique. I didn't even flinch. My heartrate remained the same, and so did my gaze.
The instant he tossed away his shirt I smeared a finger on his arm, leaving a trace of the black paint. He tried to suppress a double-take, but I felt it. I silently chuckled at taking him by surprise thrice in a row. I continued smearing my fingers on his arms, then I rubbed my entire palms against his chest, down to his abs, rubbing out the paint here and there. This was actually kind of fun, it reminded me of this creative arts class back in college where we painted with our hands.
"You must be in this field for a long time."
I glanced up at him, my hands continuing to roam over his torso. It was a statement and not a question, but somehow I felt the need to say something.
"Yeah."
Then he suddenly grabbed my wrist. I almost yelped.
"What are you doing?" I glared at him.
"Or maybe you're just abnormally calm," said he, giving an irrelevant answer as he let go. I couldn't detect mockery, but I felt mocked regardless. I suddenly disliked him. I didn't like being ignored. He made me feel irrelevant. I hated that feeling.
"Could you let me finish my job here?" I said through gritted teeth, my glare unchanging.
He looked at me and opened his mouth slightly as if about to say something, but closed it without another word. He just looked away.
I was convinced that it was going to be a long day.