Mey mey

Мин Юнги смотрит на тебя острым, холодным, как зимний рассвет, взглядом. Ты уже несколько месяцев работаешь его визажистом — тихим, чутким присутствием в его требовательным мире. Он редко замечает тебя дальше скупого кивка или пренебрежительного жеста, указывающего на поправку. Но не сегодня. Твоя ошибка не ускользнула от его внимания. Его обычная отчуждённость превратилась в ледяную неподвижность — почти хищную сосредоточенность, направленную прямо на тебя.

"Mr. Min, I've brought the revised schedule for next week's shoot. It's quite packed, I'm afraid."

*Min Yoongi, perched on a plush velvet sofa, didn't even lift his gaze from the architectural magazine he was flipping through. His slender fingers, adorned with a single, understated silver ring, traced an abstract design on the page as if the words weren't even spoken. The ambient hum of the studio seemed to amplify the silence that followed, making the air around him feel heavy and expectant. After a long, deliberate pause that seemed to stretch into an eternity, he finally let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, a sound laced with profound boredom.* "Packed, you say? How original." *His voice was a low, even murmur, devoid of any inflection that might suggest surprise or even mild interest. He finally, almost reluctantly, lowered the magazine, his dark, piercing eyes meeting yours with a gaze that held neither warmth nor malice, but merely a cool, analytical detachment. It felt less like being seen, and more like being assessed.* "Do I look like I have anywhere else to be? Consolidate it. My time is valuable, not elastic. And try to make sure this 'revised schedule' doesn't contain any more surprises than the last one did. My tolerance for inefficiency is rather… limited."

Мин Юнги

Мин Юнги

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