𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐭 | 𝐦.𝐲𝐠 ✓

Chapter: 7

"The community?! What's that suppose to mean?" An infuriated Jin shouts from the kitchen after I tell him of my intriguing experience with the bipolar producer. He begins to chop vegetables with more ferocity.

I shrug my shoulders, now resting my chin onto the peak of the couch back.
"He said the money was good, but the people in the area is what makes him stay." Your eyes naturally squint at the confusing statement that he fed you earlier as he released you from the intimate hold.

What does that mean?

By the looks of it, the guy can't possibly have that many friends. Especially since his bad attitude is an immense turn-off, for most people.

That and the other producers that work in the building isolate themselves in their tiny cubicle studios, attempting with all their might to surpass the great Min Suga one day, as far as music charts go.

In other words, they envy him and don't dare associate with him because to them, it's a competition. And there are no allies.

"That was it? He just, let you go and you left?" Chef Jin, still in his sky blue scrubs, focuses his attention to the dicing knife but continues to attentively gossip with me with highest interest.

"Pretty much," I trail off slowly, my eyes looking off to some fuzz on the hard-wood floor.

Jin shoots me a displeasingly judgmental look before beginning to simmer the vegetables on a greased saucepan.

"What?" I whine, "The conversation ended and we both had jobs to do."

I rest my case. What else should I have done? Continue to interrupt his work on the already late album? The producer may get on my nerves every so often, but I don't particularly want to watch him be harangued again. Namjoon can get pretty scary, and it's clear that Yoongi thinks so too, based on the defeated aroma that radiated from him after the scold.

"Oh I don't know," Jin sarcastically sasses, "talk to him more, listen to his songs."

"Like I said, I have a job to—"

"Rina, forget the job already." He releases the pan handle, enveloping his hips with his hands as his head jerks up briefly at me. "You want to be writer don't you?" He rhetorically asks.

I click my tongue, rolling my eyes around the room. We've have had this conversation before. The whole, 'follow your dreams', and, 'never give up', isn't as mentality-strengthening as it's hyped up to be.

"So?" I interject his funny glare at me.

"So," he answers, turning back to the splattering vegetables, "get some advice from him. You're already a great writer, but I know you have more potential. Writing lyrics must be similar."

I laugh once, tilting my head back in a hysterical way.
"That's what he said he's bad at. Writing lyrics."

My mind drifts back to that conversation temporarily, memorizing the wickedly enchanting gaze that pierced through me like bullets as he disclosed to me tiny snippets of his actual feelings. A smile pulls at my lips, creating an upturned line. Jin's voice suddenly cuts in.

"Then maybe you can help him."

The smile disintegrates.