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"MISTER KIM!The model is here to see you as requested!"
Willow shuffles around a little awkwardly as she stands behind the agent that had led her to the infamous fashion designer's lair.
She was still a new name in the modelling industry so it came as a surprise when she had booked one of the biggest fashion magazines in the country. Naturally , that meant working with the best of the best, and Kim Sunoo was the best of the best.
"Come in!" a voice drifts out, it's shockingly high-pitched and honeyed, the kind of voice that lures people in and gets them to do whatever the speaker asks of them. Hana was cautious though, Sunoo's reputation preceded him. Tales of his perfectionism were not sparse, he was a difficult man to please, and had been known to ruin careers with the shake of a head or the slight frown in his eyebrows.
The agent rushes her in, whispering about making sure you she whatever Sunoo wanted her to do, and then taking their leave just as quick, terrified to be in the same room as the fashion designer of the century.
She wrings her hands nervously, stepping forward and taking in her surroundings. it wasn't unlike any other studio Hana has been in.
Messy fabrics and half-completed outfits strewn over pages of designs and measurements, mannequins standing half-dressed and lifeless, and in the centre of it all, the mastermind of the methodical chaos you stood in, was Kim Sunoo himself.
He tuts, making a note on the design he was currently working on, not having acknowledged the models presence yet, so she stands there awkwardly, waiting for him to instruct her.
Hana's eyes can't help but trace over his features while he works. It was only natural, she was a model, she'd learnt to have a sharp eye for the physical body, to be critical of herself and others whether she was on the clock or not.
His face was perfect. he was wearing specs that perched neatly on a nose other models would pay for. His lips, although currently downturned in a frown as he perused his work, were set in a natural pout that accentuated his features, his eyes sharp and calculating behind the soft, round frame of his glasses. You could mistake him for the model for a big-brand eyewear company.
Her eyes glide down to his shoulder where his tank top strap had slid down to the middle of his delta, and a sharp 90 degree angle, his collarbones protruding and proud.
She's almost in disbelief at his pure beauty, how someone like he could be slipped under your radar, under everyone's radar. People knew him for the beauty he created, not the beauty he seems to possess so much of.
She's so caught up in him she doesn't notice he's finally taken notice of Hana; quick, assertive eyes running over her own body, calculations and images of clothing pieces already forming in his head.
"Son Hana, right?"
Her eyes flick up to his, blushing slightly at having been caught. Hana clears her throat, nodding, not trusting her voice to speak.
