CYPHER | BTS

02: NEW PATH

- T W O -

April 09, 2020
Thursday

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Choi June
Three years later.

Cosmetology has always been something I viewed as more than a hobby. It was something I lost the love in doing over the years, but after that one, very crucial night three years ago, I found myself coming back to my roots.

It was like painting a picture on a human being in order to make them feel more beautiful. How could I not love it?

I always saw the good in everybody and that included my clients. They come in to get pampered up so they could feel beautiful, but I always made sure to reassure them that they already were.

Every feeling and opinion I could ever have on someone depended on their character. Despite loving makeup, I look deep into one's heart and portray the amount of beauty they have inside and put that on their face.

But I've become programmed to think this career of mine was useless to my life; financially and physically. Makeup made me feel good, because it was something I was good at and it was something I loved doing. But my relatives have always been so against it. It's typical for them to expect something greater from me.

Lawyer, doctor, engineer, anything that could make good money. Although my parents are fine with it, I could never escape the aunts and uncles who constantly compared me—a broke makeup artist—to their stable kids who had their lives all planned out.

Not to mention, I was the only one out of all my cousins to be tragically single.

I was still young—twenty three years old—so I never expected anything to happen too quick. But I've got to say, watching my cousins who I've grown up with and loved jump into relationships so quick, made me wonder what the hell I was doing wrong. I've dated before, but the concept of marriage scared me.

It seemed pathetic, but so did love. In all the twenty three years I've lived, I've never experienced an ounce of romantic love and so, I grew up not really believing in it.

"June." My entire body freezes, hands and legs tensing. I sucked in a breath at the sound of that chilling voice I've grown accustomed to literally fearing, it made me seem like the biggest wuss in all of South Korea.

You really can't blame me though. You'd fear her too if you got to really know her.

I glanced away from my confused client to the entrance of the back of the shop. There, my manager stood with her arms crossed, a look of utter annoyance twisted on her overly baked wrinkles as she tapped her foot onto the polished floor impatiently.

I could already tell from the look on her face and from the tone of her voice when she called my name out, that this wasn't a good sign. But like always, I had to mentally prepare myself for the scolding I was about to receive even though every time I got one, it never led to anything too severe.

It was always a write up or a dock off my paycheck—which was totally illegal in my case, but for some reason, I've just let her push me around for years for the price of doing what I love.

Pathetic, I know.

But love makes you crazy like that, I guess.

"I'll be right back," I promise my client. She was a kind regular, who always requested that I, out of all our other employees, do her makeup.

It made me feel special, like people were actually enjoying the art I created on their faces. It was either that, or she enjoyed my arguably sincere personality—which would totally be okay too.