tongue-tied ✦ l.jn | ✔

one

You felt absolutely pathetic. You were a journalist at a rather popular magazine, and your editor had finally entrusted you with a centerfold spot. So far, your word document for your article had less than a handful of words: your name. Writer's block, and with only two months until copies were supposed to hit the shelves.

And so here you were, sitting on the small couch in your boss' office, trying not to sound like you were whining to her. But you needed some sort of guidance. Ms. Zhang was sat on the other end of the couch from you, legs crossed, and round frames perched on the end of her nose as she thoughtfully listened to your rant.

Her voice was casual as she simply replied with, "Anything new in your life, Y/N?"

Which was a complete non-sequitur from your desperate plea for a subject. She really just wanted to make small talk while you were having an existential crisis?

Stunned, you blinked for a moment before answering, "Uh, not much. My roommate made me go out to this party a while ago."

"That's nice. Did you have fun?"

You were still completely unsure of why she wasn't addressing your issue, but went along with it, nonetheless, "I guess."

"Meet anyone?"

"Kind of. Seven someones, technically."

"Oh?"

Realizing how that sounded, you grimaced to yourself before giving your boss an explanation of the actual situation. Your roommate NingNing had dragged you to the grand opening of a new nightclub, which she got an invite to thanks to her huge social media following. She was possibly the only actually down-to-Earth influencer you'd ever met—and you'd met plenty, thanks to her. The two of you had been friends since you were kids, before you entered into completely different lives as adults. You had a 9 to 5 while she was being paid insane amounts of money by luxury brands just to post a single photo of herself with their product.

The nightclub of course had a VIP section at the back, which NingNing was easily given access to, as well as you, her plus-one. It was there that you were introduced to Mark Lee, an up and coming young actor with a practically cult following online; Huang Renjun, an extremely popular video game streamer and YouTuber; Lee Jeno, an actual supermodel whose visage was across some of the biggest billboards in the city; Haechan, a pop star that you didn't dare address by anything other than his stage name; Na Jaemin, another streamer and YouTuber who had recently been picked up for a modeling contract; Zhong Chenle, heir to the Zhong family fortune, whose family was involved in anything and everything to do with the entertainment industry and owned the nightclub; and Park Jisung, an influencer more in the same vein as NingNing, with millions of Instagram followers. Apparently, you had made a good enough impression that Chenle gave you your own pass to the VIP lounge—NingNing of course had her own, too.

At the end of your story, Ms. Zhang had a worryingly knowing smile across her lips, "You met seven celebrities in one night?"

"Do influencers and streamers really count as celebrities?"

"You met seven very popular men—three or four of whom are certifiable celebrities—in one night, have access to a private lounge they all frequent, and you still don't have a subject for your article?"

Your jaw may have dropped slightly as you realized this. Immediately, your face turned hot as you refused the idea, "I don't want to exploit them and make them uncomfortable somewhere that's supposed to be free from that kind of stuff."

She frowned as she shook her head, "I'm disappointed in you, Y/N. I thought you understood that journalism isn't inherently exploitative."

"I'm sorry, I know it's not—"

"Are you going to publish horrible rumors and tabloid things with private information they don't want to be out there? Is that what we do here?"

"No, but they're all going to think that's what I'll do."

"Show them those assumptions are wrong. It's all in the way you carry yourself. If you are honest and humble and make them feel comfortable, they should have no reason to doubt what kind of journalist you are."

At this point, you felt like melting into the pinstriped couch cushions in shame. You shouldn't have doubted your boss' vision for her magazine or demeaned your own career. And now you'd made Ms. Zhang disappointed in you. You would've preferred her to have yelled at you.

All that was left was to make her proud.

✦

Three days later and you still hadn't returned to the lounge.

Honestly, you were just being a chicken. And a procrastinator. A procrastinating chicken.

Slumped into your armchair in your living room, you blankly zoned off into the distance as you listened to your playlist through an earbud. NingNing was perched on your kitchen table, feet swinging off the side as she edited some photos on her phone.

As she tapped away, you found your gaze fixating on the visage on the cover of a magazine that had been resting on your coffee table. Squinting your eyes curiously and tilting your head to the side, you asked, "He kind of looks like a dog, right?"

"Who?" Your roommate raised a concerned eyebrow as she peered over her phone screen at you.

"Lee Jeno." You held up the magazine. "He kind of looks like a dog. Right?"

Your friend squinted at the cover then gave you that same look, "No, he doesn't. Y/N, I think the sleep deprivation has finally gotten to you. You're delirious."

"No, I swear, he looks like a dog," you insisted, pulling your earbud out to be able to better argue your point. "A very specific kind of dog, God, it's on the tip of my tongue."

"He doesn't."

You crossed your arms. "I bet the others would agree with me."

"You want to go ask them?" She challenged. "Jisung texted me saying they were all going to be there again tonight."

"If that's what'll convince you."

"I have been begging you to go back for weeks, and now you've agreed to go back to ask them if they agree that Jeno looks like a dog?" NingNing scoffed incredulously.

"Yeah."

"Alright, fine, you weirdo. Be ready to leave at midnight."