Managing BTS

A Destructive First Impression.

A/N: Bit of a longer chap xxx

"Taehyung, I don't think shoving a pencil up your nose is such a good idea."

"Let the boy shove what he wants, where he wants."

"Yoongi, I didn't even know you where awake."

Crash

"Namjoon! Did you just destroy the piano?!"

"...will I have to pay for that?"

It's barely been five minutes and my uncle has (bravely) left me alone in the studio with the boys.

The plan is for us to 'bond' now before properly starting work tomorrow.

And as per usual for me, absolutely nothing is going to plan.

So far I have been made subject to fleeting conversations I struggle to relate to (techy music stuff) , witnessed one of the boys showing off how far things can go up his nose, and suffered internal pain as another draped himself across the piano only for it to collapse underneath him.

A single ivory key impales my foot.

This is chaos.

Seven boys cramped into a tiny container of a room(smaller than my flat- and that's saying something) is simply not going to work.

I'm struggling to even stand comfortably without bashing my head against the sloping ceilings.

The boys are pushing and shoving each other, buzzing with excitement, but with no form of outlet.

I'm beginning to feel like a sardine trapped in a tin.

A tin made up of only extremely loud, rowdy, sardines.

I need air.

Navigating my way through the bodies compressed within the room, tacitly creating a swimming motion with my arms to push them out of the way, I press myself against the glass of the only window in the room.

The street below seems so...peaceful.
The rain landing softly upon the cobble—creating tiny, baby, puddles in the nooks and crannies of the pavement.

My eyes latch onto a woman slipping out from a shop. Instinctively, pulling out an umbrella to protect herself from the damp. I run a hand through my own matted, frizzy locks. Why didn't I think of bringing an umbrella? She smooths down her skirt before stepping fully out into the rain, hair swishing as she walks, unharmed.

How can one be so composed?

I hear another crash from behind me and the silence which follows makes me cringe.

One day I'll master the art of being a composed, in control, organised, wonderful woman.

But for now, I'm just going to have to deal with the fact one of the boys have accidentally pushed another into a picture frame.

And now the floor is covered in glass, as well as piano parts.

Cripes

Biting my lip so hard I can actually almost taste blood, I cross my arms and run my eye across each of the boys now grouped around me.

Guilt ridden from the mess they have created, not one dares to meet my gaze.

"Guys, I think we need to redo our first impressions, because something tells me your actually not a group of vandals." I gesture to our decimated surroundings.