My Model ☆ Jaeyong & Markhyuck ✔

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"Hello, what's your name?"

"Lee Taeyong, I am here to audition as a model for the cover."

The fear was evident in his eyes. His hands were shaking as he handed over his information to the strict looking woman who kept panning him up and down, as if rating him before the audition could even start.

He was then led to a waiting room where he sat at the far back, clutching onto his stuff for dear life. The men who sat there too or paced around were all gorgeous in Taeyong's eyes. He started to get insecure, seeing their defined features, strong facial expressions and no visible imperfections on their skin.

They started to call names, the people called would enter a different room from which the clicking of the camera was heard. Before he could manage to overthink even more, the moment he dreaded so much finally came.

"Lee Taeyong, come in, please."

He rubbed his palms against the back of his jeans as they sweated in anxiety. He entered the aggressively lit room which had a small studio in the corner.

There was a backdrop with a camera and professional lights pointed on it. Together with the man who must have been the photographer, there were also three other people sitting behind a long table. One of them was the same woman who took his information at the start.

They were very intimidating, holding notepads and pens which they clicked on occasion.

"Hello," he bowed as he whispered the greeting.

"Hi, how are you, Taeyong?" the man sitting in the middle smiled warmly. He was wearing a beautiful make-up look, with bold coloured lipstick and sharp eyeliner. "Nervous? No stress, honey, just be confident. That's what we like in here."

Taeyong smiled back, but the anxious feeling at the pit of his stomach wasn't wearing off. He took off his leather jacket to show off his slim body in a simple white t-shirt. Pairing it with high-waisted pants, he was flaunting his long legs and overall very nice built.

Leaving his belongings on a chair near the door, he walked over to the white backdrop and watched the photographer play with the camera for a bit.

"Just do your thing, kid. Pose like you want," he said. "Try to look like you're better than everyone else."

He relaxed his posture, doing multiple poses he found appropriate and what he practiced at home. He stuck out his tongue, winked, worked with his hand placement. By every change he made, he heard a click and a flash appeared.

The heavy eyes of the judges were excruciating, together with random comments of the photographer; he forgot how much weight it puts on your ego.  

"Okay, great, Taeyong. Go back to the waiting room, we'll tell everyone the results in thirty minutes."

The boy breathed out in relief, bowing quickly before basically speed-walking from the room. He slopped on the chair back in the waiting room and slowly felt at least a bit of the anxiety washing away.

He took out his phone, scrolling through anything really, and counting down every minute. The situation around him was very tense — there were some whose legs kept bouncing, some were sighing every minute and some just stared at nothing.

One of them will get the job and become the representative model for the magazine. Only one.

Half an hour seemed to pass in seconds instead of minutes; at last the woman came out of the room holding a notepad and putting on glasses to see them all better.

She looked around, before smacking her lips and looking down at the paper.

"You are all very great, but we still had to settle only for one name..." she started dramatically. Taeyong felt his heart beat fasten and he bit his lower lip in anticipation. "Kim Jongin. Congratulations."

Very handsome and tan man stood up with a wide smile, flashing his extraordinary looks, coming up to the lady and shaking her hand.

Taeyong and many others, on the other hand, didn't look that happy. Their shoulders dropped in disappointment.

The waiting room slowly started emptying and Taeyong was taking way too much time to process what happened. He was rejected, again. After so many tries, so many auditions, he was never enough.

Was there something wrong with him? Did he have to lose more weight? Was he not pretty enough?

He walked headlessly around the crowded streets of the busy city. He kept colliding with people, but he only looked at the ground, while few tears slipped from his eyes.

When he came home, to his warm and sunlight filled flat, he just passed the kitchen, aiming right for the bathroom.

Splashing some cold water on his face, feeling it drip down his neck, he stared at himself in the mirror.

"You're not good enough," he whispered, touching his cheeks and pulling them backwards to make his cheekbones stand out more. He also ran his finger over the scar he had near his eye, pouting at how visible it must have been on the photos.

"No one will ever want you as their model."

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