Mario
His phone was buzzing in his pocket. He briefly skimmed over his screen.

**I should be there shortly. I had no idea if you enjoy coffee or not so I ordered smoothies instead**

The bell rang, students flooded out of the classrooms and stampeded through the open hallways, congesting every inch of open space and chattering uselessly amongst each other about nothing. Bodies collide, the stenches of sweat and perfume disgustingly melt into one conjoined scent, incomprehensible noise erupts in every corner. Bathroom first; weaving through the bodies, met with eyerolls and mumbled curses. No one is patient here; everyone is always competing, racing for all the time in the world. 

Two guys were smoking near the urinals and glaring daggers as he eyed himself in the mirror- a large pane of thin glass pinned to the wall, hanging just above the sinks. He tousled his hair, pawed a few layers of icy tap water onto his features, dried with the sleeve of his shirt. He hated modeling and everything about it with a burning passion. Live, eat, breathe and sleep, simply to be seen, destroyed and devoured by the greedy public eye. Modeling is just a pretty way to lose your humanity, and the world thrives on witnessing every single second of it.

Back into the hall, faceless figures drown out his existence as he drags himself towards the exit. He'd left the man without a response; the dumb bastard was coating steaming dog shit in sugar at this point. And the irony? He didn't ever need to be convinced in the first place, not really. Any money was good money; any distraction was a good distraction. His thoughts had a way of wringing his neck, every spare moment spent in the day. It was a slow and painful death that he was still fighting to prolong. 

Parking lot; vehicles, old and new alike, whirred by, rolling out of their designated stalls in the rewarding return back to normal life. His shoes knocked to the cracked pavement, every step he took. A man near the back of the lot had managed to capture his attention; two cups in hand and an expectant look in the eye. He didn't belong here and it was obvious. The washed out blue ensemble churned his insides with disgust. The collar of his jacket was a crime against humanity. 

Excessive denim; no sane person dressed like that. With the roll of his eyes, he stepped forward, critically eyed the man up and down, one hand on the hip.

"You're the guy?"
Annie
Tsunagu was relaxed. He was most definitely not freaking out because one of his assistants had made him realize how creepy his offer had seemed. He had freaked out but that was okay. He would show the kid his official papers, show him around the office and then they could go do some strands. It would be fine, everything would go alright. 

He leaned up against his car, holding two smoothies from some overpriced grocery store, unsure if the kid in front of him would even like it. Tsunagu let out a soft sigh. He didn't want to look like a loser in front of his hopeful intern. He stood a little taller and pulled down the front of the collar. His whole face on display. 

"That I am, you can call me Mr Hakamada. One second, I have my full ID right here." 

He pulled out his ID, it wasn't anything flashy, just a simply ID. He hoped this would possibly assuage any sort of nerves the teen in front of him had. Handing over the smoothie Tsunagu opened up the passenger door and inclined his head slightly. 

"The agency isn't too far from here. If you'd prefer I can pick a cafe nearby. Full of people and if you have any desire to leave I can call you an Uber in an instant."

Tsunagu took a deep breath and tried his best to relax. He was overwhelmed already, first he had woken up late, then his assistants had fucked up the entirety of the seven spreadsheets that needed to be submitted for expenses that day. He had never intended to seem as if he was a creep, and even more so he was anxious that this teen would assume the worst of him. Truthfully he had seen some older photos of the teen and instantly saw a bit of a spark. Maybe it was a familiar feeling he got when he looked at a younger version of himself, but he wanted to analyze this kid.

*Though being referred to as "The guy" Was mentally painful*
Mario
Never before had he met an adult so incredibly eager for his business. Most adults don't bother and he liked it that way. This guy was a real tryhard in contrast. He hummed with amusement, hardly giving the ID card a second glance as he buckled into his seat, swung his legs up against the dashboard.

"Take me to the agency."

He grumbled, rolling his eyes. Did he seem hesitant? Fearful? If he did, he certainly hadn't paid any mind to it. Though Hakamada irritatingly did. He shooed their offers away, leaned back in the passenger's seat. Just beyond the tinted glass of the window by his door, the world whipped by, almost a blur. His mind drifted; this man, Hakamada, had clearly familiarized himself with Katsuki's work, and, in turn, Katsuki knew everything there was to know of Hakamada's agency. 

While he had stood on uneven grounds with his mother for years now, he would have to be a real ass to disacknowledge how far her drive and ambition had led her. Starting small, she rose up. Doubt turned to praise and she relished in it. Though she'd eventually taken to working exclusively with A-Lister clientele, she'd always prioritized him as a project on the side. He rose with her. Sometimes he was grateful for it, sometimes he passionately resented her for throwing him in front of those cameras. He couldn't say no at that age, especially not to her.

Age fourteen, he pulled away. U.A. Was top priority, all consuming. That, and some other shit, blurry in his mind to look back at now.
Being chosen like this, he was deserving and then he wasn't. It was hard to make heads or tails.
Annie
Tsunagu took a quick breath as they car cruised towards the agency. His hands no longer feeling as clammy. He quickly took a look towards Katsuki. There was so much in that kid that he couldn't help but feel like they were similar in some ways. So, against his better judgment he tapped the console screen and up came the music app. With a small gesture he spoke. 

"Pick whatever you want as long as it's not too long. We should be at the agency in another ten minutes, traffic seems to have picked up right by the agency. If you don't want to I can just play my own, though I am pretty sure you wouldn't like to hear classical music for the rest of the drive."

It was true. Tsunagu was always boring when it came to his musical tastes, only his workshop knew of his love for metal music. With that he went silent again. His eyes occasionally flashing towards his watch to check the time. They should be there by 11, finish the tour at 11:30 and then they would have enough time to grab lunch and negotiate when at one of Tsunagu's favorite restaurants by noon. If all went well he'd have the young blonde as his official intern the very next day. 

The car continued to move on. The drive was perfectly smooth and his seats were a little too comfortable. Unfortunately wearing that high of a collar gets warm, and so the moment they stopped at a red light the taller blonde unzipped the collar of the jacket and removed the whole thing. Hastily folding it and placing it in the backseat before the light turned green. Then he clicked the button and the roof began to retract. The moment the roof was fully down he pulled out two pairs of designer sunglasses from the center console. Donning one himself he handed the other to Katsuki. Right after a mischievous thought entered his head and without another thought he was already turning to Katsuki. 

"I actually have another idea, you don't mind going a little *Faster* Do you? We'd get to the agency in about three minutes instead of ten."
Mario
All these offers, all these choices. Katsuki couldn't really bring himself to care. He reached forward and dialed up the volume of whatever song had already been playing on the current station, and yes, it was the classical music he'd already been forewarned about. No problem with that, he was guilty of having similar tastes, which was a ridiculously embarrassing secret only Izuku knew about. Surely, others would consider it bland or boring or outdated. Though, there was something indescribably powerful about the way the musicians back then had spewed their stories, millions of words at a time, only their treasured instruments in hand. It was like magic, and, best of all, no one in any single one of the songs was ever fucking talking. 

"Wow, three minutes over ten? Don't get too crazy." 

He'd scoffed, sarcasm bitterly drenching every word to pass his lips. The man had admittedly managed to surprise him though. Most of the bastards he'd wasted away his time and energy on over the years had treated him like nothing than a rock on the sidewalk, simply being kicked along, more of a burden to take on than anything. Expendable. The contrast was uncanny. The fact that Hakamada even knew who he was had him a little shocked; his name hadn't held much relevance for the past few years now. The media is stupid like that; setting its willing victims alight. As long as there's fuel for the fire, the victims will continue to burn. When there's nothing more to give or feed that algorithm, all that's left is a mess of ash and coal. He burned when it was relevant to burn, he died away as soon as he began to tire.

He could get used to this refreshing change of pace; a break away from monotonous daily life, a chance at starting over, this time, in control. Still, doubt overshadowed optimism. This industry was built on lies, how much of this bullshit could he really shrug off? How much of this was worth a second thought, let alone a moment's worth of consideration? Fuck, why did he even bother? Whatever the reason, he was here now, and he had to at least say that he'd tried. 

Another offer. He glared down at Hakamada's hand, of course full with another strange thing for the taking; not a smoothie this time, instead, designer shades. They were ridiculously bedazzled and probably a couple hundred dollars by the looks of it. He took them and adjusted them against the bridge of his nose, lowered his window down, and finally nodded for Hakamada to speed the fuck up.
Annie
Tsunagu chuckled, he adjusted his shades, and then tightened his grip on the wheel. Taking his last sip of the smoothie Tsunagu's foot slammed on the gas pedal. The car instantly took off. His body slightly pressing up against the seat from the sheer speed. Sharply turning corners, weaving between other cars and then suddenly it stopped. The car was now sitting in front and Tsunagu removed his shades, tossed them somewhere in the backseat and pressed a button that brought back the roof. He opened up the car door and stepped, out. Turning back to Katsuki with a small smile. 

"What was that about speeding up? Please use less cross language within the agency, it's improper." 

The taller blonde took a few steps up the stairs before he was met with his assistants, all of them crowding around him and asking him irrelevant questions. Yes he wanted another smoothie, make it two more actually. No he was not attending a meeting on wether or not the new collection would include poke dots. Yes he wanted his reservation for 12:30 still. On and on until Tsunagu huffed and waved them all off. Turning towards Katsuki he gestured towards the building. 

"This is the Jeanist Agency, my office is on the top floor but if you wish to explore for a while I have a few miscellaneous tasks that need to be done on the lower floors before I can retreat to my office. Please take care not to yell too loudly, people here are working with extremely sharp tools, and I do not want to deal with another cut off finger." 

He opened the doors and the agency was nothing like the media claimed it to be. There was occasional shouts, calls from other sides of the floor. People scurrying around with papers, handing things to Hakamada. Even someone who came and took the taller blondes jacket when he held it out. All the while Tsunagu had a smile on his face. 

"This place will become your workplace should you decide to work here full time, you'll enjoy it here, even if they are odd.."
Mario
Hakamada was a fucking pyschopath on the road. Never in his life had Katsuki ever experienced anything quite like it. You'd think someone in the back seat was dying, the way this man just about missed every corner in the drifting of overworked wheels, the way those tires screeched out in pain with every jarring slam to the brakes. Biggest mystery to date; how the fuck hadn't he been arrested yet? Not just a slap on the wrist, a jail cell.

In front of the agency, the car screeched terribly to a halt, another near death experience; the 500th in the past three minutes. Follow the leader, he stumbled inside after Hakamada, dizzy, probably bound to bury his face in a trash can and hurl in the next few minutes. Hakamada blathered on as numerous assistants rushed to his wordless command. Where did they even come from? Was this routine? Gross. They all seemed weak and pitiful, even if he was arguably a league below them. Or, at least supposed to be. Nothing but an intern, a clueless one at that, hundred dollar sunglasses and smoothies aside.

Before Hakamada could even finish his sentence, Katsuki was off, finding his way around the building. He was never really known for his patience. Down the halls, his eyes set the destination, his legs dragged him along. The place was a little more modest than most of the agencies he'd worked in; a kitchen space, a few bathrooms, a series of small, but quaintly personalized offices, and a larger room stock full of materials of every sort; hair care, makeup, sewing equipment, mannequin displays galore. 

It came on suddenly again as he surveyed the space; dread, apprehension, a lump in his throat.

God knew he didn't need a repeat. Then again, he wasn't just shit beneath this guy's shoe; he was sought out for this. His business was wanted here. *He* Was wanted here. Up the stairs, back down again. He reacquainted himself with Hakamada, who, again, was being swarmed by thirsty assistants, probably all seeking out a raise. He spoke over them.

"So, where am I s'posed to work?"
Annie
Tsunagu turned towards Katsuki. The teenager was impatient that was clear. Though the taller blonde wasn't sure it was from curiosity or anxiety. Then he watched the young man's expression change, he seemed to be suddenly burdened by something. Tsunagu felt that Katsuki didn't really desire to discuss it. So he ignored it and focused on the question at hand. 

"Ah, where you will work? You will work no where here, come, I'll show you." The blonde man turned away and walked into the elevator. Giving just enough time to allow Katsuki into the lift he pressed the highest floor. The glass elevator looked over the entirety of the agency, hundreds of people at work and Tsunagu practically looked upon them as if he was a king. Albeit a semi unenthusiastic one but a king nonetheless. He gently filed his nails before stepping out just as the elevator opened. Revealing a small hallway and a card reader.

Without a word Tsunagu pulled the keycard from his pocket, swiped it and the large French doors opened up. The entire floor was an office, windows from floor to ceiling, a large desk facing the interior, multiple couches, though one of them looked slightly more worn than the others. Large spools of fabric hanging from built in racks. A massive sewing table with a high tech machine, multiple mannequins, hundreds of photos strewn about a corner that had dozens of magazines stacked up upon one another. Finally there sat a new desk, right next to the bigger, and older one, it was newer, with a computer, binder, a clipboard and a little cup of pens to really bring it all together. That was the workspace Tsunagu pointed at.

"That is where you will work. I wouldn't be the best mentor if I left you to your own devices the entirety of your internship now would I? You will do smaller tasks that I assign you throughout the day. When I take breaks so shall you. I neglected to say it before so I shall say it now. I officially welcome you to the Jeanist Agency, Katsuki Bakugo."