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Summary
"Mr. Seo, you really think he's the one?" Minho asks softly, tapping his pen against the desk.
"He seems-"
"From his letter," yes, Mr. Bahng wrote a physical letter, "he doesn't seem the most... shall we say, professional? " Minho cuts him off.
"I mean he's got the degree, job experience, and most importantly, personal experience. It's not everyday the therapist has spent two years in inpatient," Changbin mutters, smiling out the window, the one onlooking the fading sun on the city's horizon.
"Still, he's not professional. I personally would not have chosen him," Minho hisses, rolling his eyes.
"Well that's not your job to decide, now is it? How 'professional' his letter is is rather unimportant to me. He seems like he's got heart. He's been through it. That's what the kids need. They need someone who understands them," Changbin pauses, jabbing Minho in the arm, "not just someone who's studied their symptoms."
Minho lets out a sharp laugh.
"So, you're really gonna hire this guy?"
"Yes."
"And you're sure? That this is a good idea? Minho asks.
"Obviously. I know what these kids need."
"So you should probably get to writing his acceptance letter."