ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: something new | ljn
summary | in a freak chance, your boss’ top makeup artist falls ill right before new york fashion week, and you’re the only intern who could even begin to take over for her. so, you spend a couple of days as lee jeno’s personal makeup artist.
genre | lee jeno x fem! reader, idolverse/real world, nyfw! jeno x makeup artist! reader, (emotional) fling-ish…i realized i didn't tag this w an actual genre its like angst-ish with a bit of fluff lol
warnings | there’s like one suggestive line, y/n had an embarrassing kpop phase in high school
wc | 4.4k
a/n: i literally need to be sedated. his heels … his heels … HIS HEELS … i need a lobotomy rn fr. shout out to my bff for life rin for getting me through the past two days
ft. people i made up
YOU FELT LIKE PASSING OUT.
Thank god you were relatively close with Stella, because, if you weren’t, you’d probably have been trampled a long time ago. It had taken nearly an hour to even get into the hotel due to the scale of fame most of its residents had, and, even after you’d made it in, making it to the room where you’d be working was even harder. Being an intern makeup artist for a fashion brand was fun, up until you’d actually had to go to an important event.
Quickly, you took out your bottle of water, taking a few sips before you really did throw up. When you’d originally been told about this, about your emergency subbing in, you’d felt over the moon—now, you wanted nothing more than to go to your dingy little apartment in Newark and watch a random reality TV show.
“I want to go home.”
“I want to go home.”
“Oh, come on,” Stella groaned, looking at you. You envied her nonchalance, but her lowballing of your anxiety upset you quite a bit—she’d been doing this for ten years, and you were an intern who’d been doing it for four months. “Bossman said he was going to give you someone easy, yeah? Probably a guy. Someone who only needs light foundation and enhancement. Be glad you aren’t Yuri.”
Yuri, one of your other superiors, was taking over for the best makeup artist in your lineup. Two days ago, she’d produced a shiny, new, positive COVID test, leaving your entire team in shambles—and, given the short amount of time, they had to fall back on the interns. They had to fall back on you.
Finally, you made it to your destination—the front of a line to get into the hotel room. The security guard motioned to see your IDs, which both you and Stella produced with ease. The moment he verified, he stepped out of the way, allowing you to enter a world of absolute, utter chaos. People ran around with safety pins and eyeshadow pallets, and you could’ve sworn you heard yelling.
Luckily, your boss had been waiting for you both, it seemed. “Girls!” he exclaimed, coming up and placing a hand on both of your shoulders. “So glad you’ve arrived. Welcome to your first fashion week, [First]! Play your cards right and you can get a permanent hire, I’ll bet.”
“Yeah,” you said, laughing nervously. Your boss patted your shoulder twice, giving you an almost nostalgic smile.
“Stella, you’re over with the women, as always. Have fun! [First], you speak Korean, right?”
You furrowed your brows, wondering why this was relevant. “Uh, yeah?”
Your boss removed his hand from your shoulder, clapping excitedly. “Lovely! I’m giving you a very, very special job that not even Miss-COVID-Positive could pull off.”
He sidestepped past you, and you paused, blinking a couple times before you spun around and rushed to catch up with him. He walked right out the door you’d just waited nearly twenty minutes to enter, strutting down the hall in red-bottomed heels and the most expensive suit you’d ever seen. You struggled to keep up, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the less-than-fancy clothes you were wearing (black sweats that looked like dress pants and a loose t-shirt); then again, Stella had looked worse for wear than you had.
“Where are we going?”
“Peter Do has a very special guest this year, and we need a Korean speaker to follow him around and make sure he looks perfect during the whole event. There’s worry he might not have the easiest time making it around as most of the models do.”
You wondered what that meant. Jokingly, you asked, “Is an idol coming, or something?”
Your boss didn’t respond, he just kept walking, stopping once you reached the elevator. He swiftly pressed the “up” button, waiting for the elevator to finally appear. You stopped next to him, more nerves rising in your stomach. “Sir, please don’t tell me I’m going to have to follow a k-pop idol around.”
“Why? Is that bad?”
You cringed, remembering your high school days—you’d been obsessed, listening to every group under the sun and spending your free time tweeting about those same groups. As such, you knew more than a little bit about how idol lives were, and what they had to endure.
“People are taking pictures of them for every single second they’re out and about,” you said, beginning to overthink as you stepped into the elevator. Your boss pressed the 15th-floor button, but you barely cared, at that point. “One mistake, one slightly-off line, and it’ll be documented forever. Forever, boss. What do I do then? Sit and cry? I’ll never survive that. And if people see me with them? What if there are, like…weird rumors?”
“You’re overreacting,” your boss said. The elevator doors slid open faster than you could comprehend that you were going up, and, suddenly, your boss was emerging into the hall. You, once again, nearly got left behind, stumbling out of the elevator to try and stay with him. This floor was incredibly quiet, with not a single sound echoing through the halls. It was eerie. You would’ve thought it would make you feel better, but it hadn’t—at all.
He stopped in front of room 1567 and knocked. You stood behind him, almost hiding as the door swung open to reveal a woman in her early 30s if you had to guess. “Come, come!” she exclaimed, stepping out of the way to let you in. You followed your boss, a sense of dread overtaking you.
And then you made eye contact with Lee Jeno.
He was standing in the middle of the room in front of a huge mirror, with three people fussing over his outfit. You stood there in shock, flashbacks of being a 16-year-old girl and fussing over “Chewing Gum” filling your mind, and your very short time as an NCT fan. He was just as gorgeous as you’d remembered him being, with jet black hair and a physique any man would die for. You looked over his outfit, impressed with what Peter Do had done, and—
He was shirtless.
You looked away almost instantly, feeling your cheeks burn at the realization. You decided to tune into your boss’ conversation with who you’d assumed to be Jeno’s manager as they talked vigorously. “[First] is our best intern, and is essentially already part of our team, so I wouldn’t worry. She’s also fluent in Korean, something Stella was not, and will be able to heed anything the client wants or doesn’t want. I wouldn’t worry at all.”
“Lovely,” his manager said, turning to you. “We have a little area for you to get set up if our preliminary setup wasn’t to your liking. We have a few instructions for what the designer is looking for as well. After his appearance tonight, we’d like you to demo tomorrow’s look so that we can accept or deny anything. He’s nearly done with outfitting, so it shouldn’t be long.”
It was standard protocol, stuff you’d heard every time you shadowed Stella or Yuri at similar events, yet you felt like you didn’t understand a thing. Nevertheless, you smiled and nodded, bidding goodbye to your boss and following her to your station.
They’d set it up perfectly, allowing everything to be easily grabbed among a sea of products and tools. There was a sleek, black chair in front of you, and you were easily able to lower it to a better height for you. His manager left, and you sat in the bathroom, alone.
The first thing you did was take out your phone and enter a mostly unused group chat that hailed from your high school days. The last time someone had talked was last year, and it was discussing how an old classmate was already married with two kids—they were not gonna believe this one.
“My client for New York Fashion Week is Lee Jeno from NCT.”
Instantly, texts began flooding in, ones of disbelief and shock.
“No fucking way, you liar!!!”
“Make him fall in love with you!!!”
“Kiss him for me omg.”
You smiled, giggling at your phone. Then, the sound of heels clacking on the ground like mini-earthquakes caused you to practically throw your phone on the counter. You dropped your purse next to it, standing up straight and hoping you didn’t look too much like a deer in headlights. He walked in, wearing the most intense heels you’d ever seen and, once again, not wearing a shirt.
“Hello,” he greeted, and your mind immediately switched over to Korean-mode. You hoped you wouldn’t fail at speaking it, given you hadn’t spoken it much since you’d started working this job.
“Hi!” you exclaimed, hoping you didn’t sound too idiotic. “Um, go ahead and sit down, and we can start.”
He nodded, following your orders to the T. His manager stepped in, leaning against the door while she scrolled on his phone. You picked up a piece of paper, reading over what today’s directions were.
Natural with a slight enhancement of features, exactly like Stella had said. You could do that easy-peasy.
“Is there anything in particular you want me to focus on?” you asked, picking up the sheerest foundation they had. It was certainly a shade too light—you nearly frowned at this, but kept your composure—but you hoped the transparency of it would obscure that.
Jeno thought for a moment before shaking his head, smiling at you. “Do whatever you think is best.”
“All right,” you nodded. “Oh! By the way, I’m [First], and I’m your main makeup artist for this week.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” he replied, relaxing in the chair. “I’m glad I’ll have one familiar face around.”
“Me too.” You began to paint the foundation onto his face, basking in the moment of shock you went through. You were doing Lee Jeno’s makeup—Lee Jeno, who you’d fawned over and loved all throughout your high school years.
“You’re new to this?” he asked, looking at you while not moving his face at all. You swear your heart palpitated at his question, even if it was a meaningless formality more than it was actual curiosity.
“Um, I guess? I’ve been interning for about eight months now. Hoping for an official position once the year-long residency is up,” you said, laughing nervously for the ninetieth time today. “You’ve been doing this for six years now, right?”
Jeno’s eyes widened for a split second, and you wondered if that had been the wrong thing to say. You doubted he wanted to hear that you were an NCT fan way back when, given how awful the sasaeng presence was for his group.
“Wow, you know?” and a smile blossomed on his face, causing your heart to beat even faster. “I didn’t think I’d run into anyone who knew NCT while I was here.”
“Oh, give me a break,” you said, putting your foundation brush down and picking up an eyeshadow palette. “NCT are huge. Up there in terms of international fame. I’ll bet most—if not all—people here know who NCT are or have heard the name. Plus, a bunch of people will come to see you. Promise.”
God, you probably sounded immature and awful as you said that. You finished lightly outlining his natural features with a very light brown, uncomfortably setting down the palette. Suddenly, an idea came to you, and you hoped it didn’t look too stupid.
“I guess you’re right,” Jeno finally said, his smile dropping in the slightest. He must’ve been nervous; you would have been too. In a new country, alone, with none of the seven people you’d spent your whole adolescence with…you’d be horrified too.
You scoured the cart for any sort of brown eyeliner, feeling a bit calmer knowing Jeno didn't think you were an embarrassing idiot. Taking the brown eyeliner, you paused, biting your lip.
“Um, would you mind if I kind of…held your face for a second? It would just be a second, not too long or anything.”
“No, no.” Jeno shook his head. “Go right ahead.”
Softly, you pressed your fingers against his face, trying to keep your hand as steady as possible. You gently pulled his skin, widening the range in which the eyeliner could reach. His skin was impossibly soft, and you could only begin to wonder how long his morning routines must have been. He was perfect.
As cleanly as possible, you pressed the tip of the eyeliner to the beauty mark right under his eye, filling it in as dark as possible. That was his most noticeable and memorable feature, in your opinion, and having it stand out seemed ideal to you.
You pulled away, staring at his face for a second. He almost looked better before you’d started, but you shook off the feeling and smiled. “I’m just gonna put on some tinted lip balm and you’ll be on your way.”
You picked up the small tube, twisting it up so that the slightest bit would protrude from it. You placed your fingers on his face to steady your hands once again, gently brushing on the light pink gel.
If you were insane enough, you would have kissed him.
“You’re all good!” you announced, smiling. “Go out there and wow the world in your 90cm heels.”
He chuckled at your joke, standing and instantly towering over you. You practically had to look straight up to see him comfortably. “I’ll see you soon, [First].”
He and his manager left the room, leaving you alone. You assumed you should just wait until he returned, so you sat down in the makeup chair, basking in the warmth he’d left behind.
—
To no one’s surprise, you’d fallen in love—or, had a really intense crush on—with Lee Jeno over the two days you’d worked for him.
Every time you were left alone with him, taking his makeup off or retouching it before he went back out into the world, he fired questions at you and you fired them back. You felt like you’d known Jeno for years, even if it had only been two days.
When he left, you knew he’d stop thinking about you, too—in a world surrounded by the country’s most beautiful people, you didn’t stand a chance at occupying even a sliver of his mind. Or, maybe you did; maybe your absolute unremarkableness in a sea of greats stood out to him.
You saw him walk in through his reflection in the mirror, alone, manager not in tow. He wasn’t supposed to be here, so you didn’t move from the makeup chair, simply looking up from your phone and staring at him through his reflection. “Did something happen?” you asked, finally looking towards him. A simple sweep of his face showed no flaws in his makeup, so he had no reason to be here. “I don’t see anything wrong.”
“Will you meet with me tonight?” he finally asked, looking at you with a sort of desperation in his eyes. “I want to see you before I leave. I won’t be back in tonight. My manager’s about to come tell you that you’re free to go home, but…please don’t go home.”
You sighed, thinking about how idiotic it would be to ride the train home, alone, to Newark at night. If you were thinking reasonably, you should’ve said no. If you were thinking reasonably, you would’ve considered the chance that all eyes were on Jeno right now, and being caught sneaking into his hotel room past 7pm would have resulted in your face all over the internet.
“What time?”
“If you’re okay waiting, I’m staying at this hotel, so…I could let you into my room after my manager tells you. Room 1911 on the nineteenth floor. Okay?”
You should’ve said no. You really should’ve said no.
Instead, you nodded, mumbling a quiet “okay.” The smile that appeared on his face after that was brighter than you’d ever seen him smile over the past two days, and, with that, he disappeared from the room. You picked your phone up off your lap, wondering what your friend would say to you after hearing all of that.
“Girl, bring a pen,” she joked, causing you to roll your eyes.
“Nothing’s gonna happen. I won’t be signing any NDAs. I’m not going to initiate anything, and I won’t let him initiate anything. We live thousands of miles away from each other, and I don’t want to kill myself with emotion.”
“You say that…” your friend trailed off, giggling. “Well, I guess I should hang up then. Seems like the manager is coming to let you down gently—d’ya think she knows?”
“I hope to god she doesn’t.”
The line went dead, and you slowly lowered your phone from your ear, staring at the wall. If you could sit down in a room with your sixteen-year-old self and tell her, “In six years, you’ll be having an emotional fling with Lee Jeno from NCT,” she’d laugh and call you too lame for that.
Just like it was forewarned, Jeno’s manager came in with a smile on her face and a small, pink gift bag in her hands. “[First],” she began, watching as you stood up from the chair to face her. She handed you the small bag, which had an interesting sort of heft to it—you wondered what it was. “I’m happy to let you know that we’re done for today, and you’re officially relieved of your duties. I’ve let your boss know that you did a wonderful job for us and for Jeno, and to certainly consider upping your position from intern to an official employee.”
“Thank you so much,” you smiled, half-bowing. “I’m thrilled to have the opportunity, and I had a wonderful time working for you.”
“Well then,” she said, wiping her hands together. “You’re off! Have a safe trip home, and treat yourself well!”
“Thank you!”
And you slipped out the door, practically running towards the elevator. You bobbed and weaved through people in the halls and realized it would be a better idea to take the stairs up, so that’s exactly what you did. The sheer adrenaline of sneaking up to a top idol’s room fueled you to keep going up and up, even if it felt like the air had been suffocated from your lungs.
Each new step made you feel more insane. This bond you’d formed with a boy you barely knew—it felt ridiculous. It felt dangerous. Nevertheless, you kept going—up, and up, and up. Up, towards an impending doom you could’ve avoided.
Reaching the door with the big nineteen on it must’ve been what people felt like when they reached an oasis in the desert. You pushed the door open with ragged breaths and a weak physique, trudging down the hall with heavy legs. You counted the numbers on the doors, finding yourself at the one in the middle of a dead-end hall.
1911. You knocked twice, and the door was thrown up—Jeno grabbed your arm and tugged you inside, slamming the door shut behind you. “Not to hold you captive or anything,” he said sheepishly, looking through the peephole of the door. “But you need to stay here until, um, 7ish? You can watch TV or something. The room’s already been swept for bugs, so feel comfortable…okay? I’ll be back.”
Someone knocked on the door, and you wondered whether or not you would’ve been dead meat if you hadn’t been fueled by pure adrenaline as you walked up the stairs.
“Jeno! We need you now!”
Jeno ushered you out of sight from the door, grabbing his keycard off the decorative table that sat near the door. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, half-nodding at you. You both stared at each other for a second, with you still trying to catch your breath from your 7-flight hike up here.
Then, without any warning, Jeno walked up to you, grabbed your shoulders, and pressed a feathery kiss to your lips. It was fast, chaste, too quick for you to understand what was happening before someone was banging on the door again and he was rushing out to meet them.
The door slammed shut behind him, and you stood there, wondering what in the world you’d done to deserve this.
–
It was 7:30 now, and Jeno hadn’t shown up. You were beginning to get antsy, making sure the curtains obscured the whole room every twenty minutes and attempting to focus on the TV show you decided on. Of course, it never worked, and you were constantly picking up your phone and trying to find anything to keep yourself occupied.
So, when the door opened and a boy with 5-and-a-half-inch heels stepped inside, you felt a sudden wave of relief rush through you in waves. You stood up from the bed, letting your phone fall onto the duvet as you watched him walk deeper into the room. Jeno practically ripped the shoes off, sighing in relief now that he was finally free from the heels.
“Sorry,” he said, a bit out of breath. You would be too if you had to walk in those heels.
“For what?”
“Earlier.” You mentally took yourself through those chain of events, remembering the first 30-minutes of alone time in which you had attempted to process it, and then the succeeding 3-and-a-half hours in which you had tried to forget it. “I didn’t ask.”
“Um, it’s okay,” you said, trying not to shrink into yourself. “I didn’t mind that much.”
If you were more honest, you would’ve said, “It haunted me a bit, but then I learned to live with the shock.” Were you angry? Not at all. Was being kissed by a celebrity, an idol with a manicured personality, that you were in love with in high school shocking and hard to process? Yes.
You sat down on the edge of the bed, turning away as Jeno pulled his fancy polo shirt over his head and opted to change into an SM Town concert t-shirt. When the rustling of clothes was over, you looked to see him in complete lounge wear rather than just a new shirt, and now you were thinking about how Lee Jeno changed in the same room as you.
He took a seat next to you on the edge of the bed, and it was silent again. You could practically feel the warmth radiating off of him, or maybe it was your mind making it up simply because you were so close to him. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you felt like shoving your face into a pillow and screaming like a teenage girl.
“Look,” he started, suddenly turning towards you. You half-mimicked his action, knowing that, if you looked him in the eye, you’d practically melt. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I’ve known you my entire life. I feel like I was always meant to cross paths with you, like—like it was destined, or something. I know it’s only been two days, and I know I’m flying across the world tomorrow, but can we please keep in touch?”
You cleared your throat and, inexplicably, you felt like crying. This felt impossible—no amount of bad sleep schedules and bad planning would keep you two in the know with each other. And, every time he came back to New York, you’d repeat this cycle over and over again. Even then, you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.
“I guess, but…” you felt bad feeling him relax and then immediately tense up again beside you. Mustering up all of your courage, you turned towards him completely, locking eyes. “You have to promise me you won’t forget about me and leave me cold turkey, okay? My life isn’t like yours. It’s slower. It’s easier to build connections. So, if you…if you just promise—”
“I promise,” he cut you off, faster than you could even comprehend it. Once again, he cupped your face in his hands, looking at you with such gorgeous eyes that you could’ve passed out right then and there. He was the son of Aphrodite, the living manifestation of pure and unbridled beauty, the type you can't contest even if you wanted to. He was everything you were not, and, yet, he still seemed so infatuated with you.
“Okay.”
Jeno pressed his forehead against yours, and for a moment, you just stood there. You draped your arms around his neck, and, for a moment, you just sat there. Basking in the presence of each other, something you wouldn’t get for a long time after tonight. If there even was an “after tonight,” that is—there was always the chance that you’d never hear from Lee Jeno again after this, and you’d fade away into nothing but a memory in his mind.
Or, maybe it was the opposite. Maybe you’d talk every day, sending pictures and calling when viable. Maybe you’d look at makeup artist listings at SM Entertainment without telling, applying and destroying the whole world you’d worked so hard to build here in New York. Maybe you’d send him a picture of you on a plane and a time, and you’d fly, and you’d land, and you’d be met with him in his full glory.
Maybe you’d have one of those romance-movie moments, the type of moment you’d see on a Hallmark Christmas movie, where you ran and hugged each other, where he lifted you off the ground and spun you around. Where you kissed amongst a huge crowd of people, trying to get to their final destination and glaring at you stopping in the middle of the walkway.
Or, maybe you were delusional. You didn’t care, because, as Jeno connected his lips with yours for the second time tonight, much slower and more thought out, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this was something new.
thank you for reading!