one

“Here are all the things you need to know about him,” said the older female, handing me a black coloured notebook.

I politely accepted it and said my thanks. Reaching out to touch the foreign leather cover, I bowed to greet her once again before she left professionally. I stood alone in the long hallway of JYP Entertainment. Slowly flipping the hardcover open, I was greeted with pages and pages full of neat handwriting that noted down his habits, do’s and don’ts.

Being a stylist for one of Korea’s top-rising R&B artiste, JB, would be very, very hard.

I spent the next three hours on my bed flipping through the numerous pages. All the trivial details and all these knowledge of someone had to be at the tip of my fingertips.

“He doesn’t like bright coloured clothing… doesn’t like it when people speak to him when he’s on his earphones… doesn’t like it when staff screw up...” I mumbled as I continued down the list.

All these ‘doesn’t likes’, just then what does he like?

His strict and orderly lifestyle reminded me of a prince. Well technically he was, with so many people pampering and taking care of him. Though he was a ‘prince with a temper’, I remembered someone telling me. People had to quit their jobs because of him, which kind of intimidated me a little but I knew my pride was more than that.

Nonetheless, I was excited to work as a stylist. It had always been my dream, especially all those days sketching mannequins and outfits of my imagination. Working behind the scenes in a fashion and entertainment industry, working with such a popular singer…

“He doesn’t like to wear more than three rings on one hand. Would prefer his hair waxed over gel…”

Before I knew it, my eyelids had already succumbed to temptation. The notebook laid lifelessly beside me.

---

I looked at the time on my watch: 5:47 A.M.

Stumbling to the performance venue with stacks of hangers and clothes on my hands, I followed the staff to the waiting room. I was barely awake, and so was everyone else, occasionally yawning as I walked with the heels of my boots clicking, the only sound made in the hallway.

We entered the waiting room with the label ‘Artiste JB’ pasted on the door. Heaving a deep breath, I entered a place which I could practically call home that day due to the long hours spent. Nonetheless, I was motivated to do well on my first day.

I spotted him sitting tiredly in front of the dressing table. A cup of Starbucks was placed before him, and he had his eyes closed. His bed hair was evident plus his earphones were plugged in. His head swayed from time to time as he tried to keep himself awake.

“He hasn’t slept since the comeback.” I heard a female staff whisper to the employee beside her. I took note of their gaze towards him. They were swooned, like typical fangirls who were lucky that they could work with him.

I threw another glance at him, noting the extremely deep eye bags under his eyes. I gazed at the pair in front of me again. They were speaking while hiding behind their mouths, a tinge of obvious shyness in them.

I scoffed, going back to my duties. I arranged his stage outfits on a portable clothes rack, making sure that every piece of cloth was free of creases. He doesn’t like it when his outfit showed even a slightest hint of ignorance.

I was left with nothing to do when the waiting room got frenzied. Multiple make-up artists piled in, carrying countless professional cosmetic organisers with them. The hairstylist put his hair up in a quiff, waxed, I had to make sure. A faint was tapped on his lips. He was dressed in a white mandarin collar, paired with a black blazer.

After all, it was a red carpet event and he had to look formal.

I stood silently in the corner of the room. Everyone looked like they had a task at hand, while I was left alone, bored and jobless. My eyes wandered around, trying to see if anyone needed any help but everyone simply busied themselves.

“Seulgi!” my senior stylist suddenly called out. My ears immediately perked up, attentive and ready to heed her orders. “Bring the shoes!”

I switched on auto-pilot mode. I found a few shoe boxes lying around where the clothes rack was. Opening the first one, it was a black dress shoe which I thought matched perfectly with his current outfit. Without hesitation, I took it out of its box and squeezed my way through numerous staff members to get to him.

I kneeled down, placing the shoes delicately beneath his feet. Waiting for him to wear them, it felt like time stopped.

“Don’t you know that I can’t wear shoes with heels?”

His voice was sharp, loud and altogether piercing at the same time. The whole room fell into deafening silence at the first word he spoke that day.

I looked up at him, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion. His gaze darkened, and it felt like air was being out of me in that suffocating space. The more intense his gaze held, the more intimidated I was.

I don’t remember reading about requirements for his footwear yesterday.

“Ah...” I tried to utter, but it felt like my voice had been sewn to the back of my throat. I was embarrassed, at a loss of what to do and absolutely humiliated. I swallowed a lump forming. I could sense everyone’s gaze on us, casting looks of disappointment and pity on me.

“Let me get another pair for you.”

It was the only line I managed to say. I avoided his gaze and clenched my fist, walking back to where the shoes were located.

I opened boxes after boxes of packaging, but was constantly met with the same type of footwear. They were all either platforms or dress shoes in different colours. I mentally cursed at whoever was supposed to take charge of the shoes. I walked back timidly towards him, his eyes looking at how I returned empty-handed.

“There aren’t any shoes without heels,” quivered my voice in fear. 

My fingers played with each other, and I lowered my head apologetically. Everyone only watched the scene unfold silently.

“Are you ing serious?” he shouted.

The profanity used shook me to my wits. I winced at the choice of words, flinching when he stood up abruptly in anger. My heart was shaking, my hands going clammy. I looked up at the senior stylist for help, but she simply avoided my gaze.

I was welcomed with the inhumanity that engulfed me in that room. No one bothered to speak.

I sensed him casting a last look in my direction of which I made eye contact with. “Forget it.”

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