Things I Wrote at One Time or Another

SEVEN

A/N: Oh my god, one of my favorite things. I created this oc for this BTS fanfiction; Sung JunHa--I don't remember much but he's this very popular solo artist who was abused by his manager. Anyway, he goes to Big Hit Entertainment; Dasan's to be his new manager. He falls in love with Yoongi *shrug.* From what I remember, Luoyoung is his secretary and his closest friend, Dasan's his new manager, Huson is his previous manager; the rest of the characters are real managers??? Problematic but I was seventeen I think--I didn't finish this chapter, hopefully I find more bits.

𝓼𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷 | sjh + bts

chapter one - intro. new world

The wind filtered in, the curtains tailing around the doorway to the balcony as the room settled in the silence between them. His fingers uncurled around the wine glass, his rings shimmering in the reflection before he returned it to the armrest on the chair. Huson kept his eyes fixated on his client, unredeeming and cold as they pierced through his demeanor. Junha remained sat against the chair opposite to his manager, his arms draped along the armrests as he tried to remain unfazed, his eyes sullen and uninterested in the scowl that formed on Huson's lips.

What you pulled today was unacceptable, he stated the skin around his rings tightening. Do you understand what you practically risked? Thanks to me, you're still confirmed for your performance in Brussels— you lucky you have me at all. Huson paused for a moment, glaring at him intently and scoffed. But you can understand that. He looked away for a moment,pressing his rings against his teeth to keep himself from lashing out. Junha's arms fell to his side as he watched the anger build up, his cool demeanor crumbled and he found himself sunk down to the height of a child.

"I'm sorry . ." he heard himself say, but his voice sounded off — like it didn't belong to him. This utterance seemed to only enrage Huson even more, he whipped towards the young man: grasping his wine glass and hurling it against the wall beside his head. Junha huddled in his chair as Huson ran his hands through his hair in frustration. I'm only trying to d what's best for you, he forced out. Why can't you understand that? Why are you always fucking things up!?

"I'm sorry, Huson — please, Mr. Lim, let me do better, I'll be better —"

Shut up! Huson exclaimed, thrashing whatever was left on the table. Junha lifted his feet, fearing for his life as Huson struggled to pull himself together. You're a useless piece of shit, you know that? No one understands how worthless you are but me! Huson heaved, he stood up from his seat and took slow paces around the apartment. It's only a matter a time before you die out.

Junha settled in his seat, letting the words sink in. His eyes left the distraught silhouette of his manager and moved towards the doorway to the balcony. From the curtain a hand reached out towards the ledge, grasping the marble edge. He sat in his chair and watched as his body made its way towards the ledge, both hands gripping onto the marble as one foot lifted itself beside them. He managed his balance before stretching up straight, his hands outstretched beside him. Huson's voice was muffled by the noise of traffic underneath. He looked back only once and Junha could hear himself calling out to body about to fall, but his lips hardly moved.

" —ake up . . " a voice punctured through the heavy weight of sleep. Junha returned to consciousness, his head moving slightly as he realized he was wearing a night mask. "Junha, we're landing." Luoyong announced, his hand resting on Junha's arm as he took off the mask. Junha flinched at the sudden contact, only half awake. He looked up to realize it was just Luoyong and apologized, his assistant returned to his seat before speaking, "Another one?"

Junha nodded, looking around first class and finding everyone buckling themselves according to the voice on the intercom. Doing the same, he turned to look at Luoyong who sat next to him across the aisle. "I didn't snore too loud, did I?" He asked, running his thumb and index finger along the corners of his mouth to catch any left over drool. Luoyong smiled, shaking his head, his thick glasses slid a bit down the bridge of his nose causing him to quickly push them back up as a reflex. "I love you, Lou." Junha cooed in English, causing his assistant to blush out of embarrassment.

Junha grinned, sitting back in his chair as he watched the Earth grow from nearby windows. Hello, Seoul, he thought.

"Dasan!" Hobeom exclaimed as a figure hurried into the office, knocking over his pile of papers in the process. Files and white sheets fluttered like dust as the other manager hurried towards his desk. Dasan seemed completely oblivious to the path of destruction he left in his entrance, busying himself with getting his ID tag around his neck and opening up his email on his computer.

"You're late," Hobeom stated, "Kwangtae already offered to pick up your client." He sat back in his desk chair, watching as Dasan buried his face in his hands. " I would've covered for your ass but the coffee machine is broken so I'm in a bad mood—where were you last night, anyway?"

Dasan sighed, running a hand over his face. "I had a rough night," he said. Hobeom gave him a look, as if questioning his choice of adjective. The distraught man chose to ignore him for the rest of the morning as he messaged Kwangtae on updates on his client and to thank him for covering for him. In the process, he found an odd stain near the collar of his shirt. Upon closer inspection he realized it was the same shirt he had worn last night at the bar.

Mangjeol Dasan had a destructive affiliation with bars, often indulging in excessive drinking and unnecessary bar fights. It's almost as if another side of him reveals itself in the confinements of pubs, a drastic contrast to his usual kind, passive, and arguably push-over self, into a loud, rowdy, and reckless fellow. No matter how much he tries, he can't find the strength to cut the ties that hold these two people together inside of him.

He quickly looked around to make sure no one had noticed the stain and drew his jacket closer around him, rousing some slight suspicion from Hobeom as he picked up his files. He was about to dial Kwangtae when he heard Hobeom clear his throat awfully loudly beside him. He looked up to find Chang Jeonghun striding into the office, as Sihyuk's assistant, he oversees minor affairs within the company. His immediately landed on Dasan, who was trying his best to seem invisible.

The young man's eyes widened, earning the swoon from female coworkers who happened to be idling around. He was a handsome addition to the staff, and anyone with a pair understood that and despised him for it. "Mr. Dasan, what are you doing here? It's past 11, shouldn't you be picking up Sung Junha from Incheon Airport?" He asked, hovering over the older man as he leaned over his desk, hiding his phone.

"That's right, however . ." he glanced Hobeom's way, hoping for salvation but his colleague immediately looked the other way, not wanting any association at the moment. He pretended to be scouring for some important file in his disheveled stack of papers.

" . . uh . . actually, Kwangtae's picking him up for me . . " he admitted, shamefully.

"How come?"

Dasan looked up towards him again and thought, "Uh, he offered, you know, he probably won't admit it but he's a huge fan of SEVEN—"

"Really? I thought he hated that kind of music." Hobeom piped up, a cold smirk curled on his lips as Dasan gave him a death glare behind Jeonghun's back.

"Then why would he work—I know, it's surprising right?" he concluded, grabbing his phone and standing up. "I need to go call him, make sure he's on his way back, excuse me." he said, quickly exiting out the office. He entered an elevator, heading to the top floor, and dialed Kwangtae's number.

"Hey, Kwangtae— thanks for covering for me, are you on your way back now?"

"Actually, I think . . I think I missed him? He's supposed to be back on the 11 flight?" Kwangtae asked, phone to his ear on one hand and sign in the other. It read 'Vincent Montgomery' as request by Junha himself, Kwangtae couldn't understand where he came up with the name and why he didn't think it would seem odd at all for him to be addressing himself as an Englishman. He had been standing there for almost 30 minutes, waiting for the client to arrive through the tunnel, however, Junha hasn't appeared yet.