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Hongjoong has never considered himself short-tempered. After all, he became a designer who managed to establish his brand with zero connections within the industry and no investments from powerful and influential people. If he didn’t have a never-ending well of patience, he wouldn’t be here right now.
Here, as in Paris, a week before his very own and very first big fashion show. Hongjoong has been dreaming about it since the first time he pricked his finger with a needle when he was left to his own devices in the backroom of the store where his mother used to work. He saw a single drop of blood welling on the pad of his finger and wondered how beautiful a loose blouse of the same color would look on someone. Since then, steadily, Hongjoong has been climbing up from the shithole he had to call home.
This show means so much to him. It’s the peak of his career as a relative newcomer to the big fashion scene. It’s a final boss you have to fight to open the next quest — a worldwide known brand with its own retail chain instead of small showrooms. That’s why the show must be perfect. The venue, decorations, guests’ seating arrangements, and most importantly, the clothing line itself. Hongjoong can’t waste this opportunity and more than generous help from all the friends he made along the way up here.
Hongjoong looks out the open windows, the chilly evening air billowing the curtains and making it look like a scene from a particularly moody music video. Occasionally, Hongjoong can see glimpses of the Eiffel Tower through the curtains; it’s been a week since he came to Paris, but up to this day, the view makes his guts churn with anxiety and anticipation as if his mind refuses to believe that he’s here, in Paris, that in a week, roughly at the same time, he’ll watch the models slowly going up the stairs with Jongho’s honey voice singing, “You were like a climbing star, getting back to the skies, where you belonged all along”.
Technically speaking, the show Hongjoong has in mind is not that difficult to execute, as he needs a bare minimum of decorations, relying more on his clothing and background music. It should have a powerful start to take guests aback with a dance number choreographed by Wooyoung, who is currently one of the best choreographers in Southeast Asia. The dancers will, of course, all wear altered items from Hongjoong’s past collections to highlight his point of repurposed and sustainable fashion. After that, a second segment, a much calmer one, will start. The venue will be plunged into darkness with Jongho’s vocals painting a perfect background for models to walk from behind the guests’ seats to the runway and then up to the raised platform to stand there, bright and beautiful, like stars in the sky, their slow pace and elegant yet simple looks reflecting the mood of the song. Hongjoong painstakingly chose every model himself, trying to create a vision that would work for them, flourishing from how mutually complementing the model and the outfit are.
The third and final act of the show should be grand and powerful in its own way, driving the point with the meaning behind Hongjoong’s choices rather than with action. For this part, both professional models and regular people will walk the runway, models dressed in simple clothes from Hongjoong’s side project, a line meant to be affordable for everyone, and more inexperienced people wearing Hongjoong’s collection for the new season, showcasing his skills as a designer able to come up with clothes that will fit anyone and everyone.
This closing part is where the root of Hongjoong’s current anguish lies. There is this one outfit in Hongjoong’s mind: flowing, eerie silhouette, sparkling crystals, burgundy red and black light fabric, golden thread weaving patterns shimmering under the lights of cameras. After months of dreaming about it and weeks of working on variation after variation, Hongjoong has it in the room, hanging from a mannequin, ready to be adjusted to its model. Hongjoong doesn’t even feel arrogant thinking it’s the best design he has seen so far this season. The dress looks gorgeous, and any woman would kill to wear it to an award ceremony or even the Met Gala. But the thing is, Hongjoong doesn’t see a woman wearing it.
Hongjoong doesn’t like playing this “strictly women and men’s clothing lines” game; he’s a firm believer that as long as it suits your taste and makes you feel comfortable, you can wear it and fuck everyone who thinks otherwise. It’s one of the core principles of his brand. But every time Hongjoong looks at this dress, his brain refuses to imagine a woman wearing it. All he can see is a man, so confident and empowered, his long legs peeking through the high slit, slender wrists hugged tightly by the embroidered sleeves, torso wrapped in a corset that’s not restrictive but definitely snatches his waist in just the right way.
The dress looks and is expensive, it’s one of the highlights of his new collection, after all, but Hongjoong couldn’t find anyone capable of wearing it and bringing it to its full potential among the roster of regular folks taking part in his show. With a heavy heart, Hongjoong made an exception for his dress, offering Yeosang, a professional model, to wear it. But although, usually, Yeosang has no issues with absolutely killing wearing feminine clothes and looks gorgeous in skirts Hongjoong designs for him, he and the dress don’t work out. Perhaps if Yeosang dialed his regular visits to the gym down, but knowing his personal instructor, San, that won’t happen anytime soon.
So now Hongjoong has a breakdown in his hotel room, looking at the dress pensively and angrily munching at chicken wings as if they offended him.
“No luck?” Yunho asks carefully, stepping into the room, fresh off a call with someone who was on a call with someone who said someone told him they might have a problem. Hongjoong doesn’t delve much into such things, knowing that Yunho will take care of everything, and if he can’t, then no one can, and Hongjoong will have to live with one of the three alternatives Yunho already has on hand.
“I’m thinking about not including it in the collection at all,” Hongjoong mumbles, licking his fingers clean.
“That bad, huh,” Yunho sighs, sitting down beside Hongjoong and taking a wing from the box. It’s home-cooked fried chicken, perfectly crunchy outside and tender inside, seasoned to Hongjoong’s taste. Wooyoung is such an angel to provide them with meals, knowing full well how draining the last couple of weeks before the show are.
“I love Yeosang, but he can’t wear it,” Hongjoong exhales and fumbles for his phone in defeat, texting Yeosang about his decision.
“Then who can?”
“I need someone…” Hongjoong waves his hand vaguely, “tall and gorgeous, preferably with dark hair. And it should be, it must be he. With a face like it came off the painting. He should be lean and fluid in his motions. I want him to flow like a river over the catwalk. You know what I mean?” Hongjoong glances at Yunho, hoping that his best friend of almost ten years will have an answer for him.
“Well,” a smile tugging Yunho’s lips has nothing good about it. It looks like Yunho knows a secret and enjoys not telling Hongjoong about it. “I have two things to tell you. One: you desperately need to be laid. Two: I know whom you are talking about.”
Hongjoong purses his lips but graciously allows the jab to slide in favor of asking a more pressing question, “So, whom?”
Yunho puts his hand forward dramatically, signaling Hongjoong to stop with questions, while he scrolls through one of his work phones, letting out a victorious “got you,” once he finds what he has been looking for. With a smug smile (he definitely should spend less time in Wooyoung’s company), Yunho turns the phone toward Hongjoong, putting it so close to his face the designer needs a few seconds to focus on the picture in front of him. Once he does, he’s met with the sight of the most gorgeous human being to have ever graced the world. Hongjoong’s eyes skim over the photo (an Instagram post from some trip), noting down all kinds of details at once: elegant posture, sweater from YSL last year women’s collection, face straight from a Renaissance painting, pouty lips made to be kissed, wrapped around a straw of the baby-pink drink.
Hongjoong’s hands suddenly itch to start working. Oh, he would dress this angel in plain and simple lines, soft fabrics, nothing vulgar and revealing, classic silhouettes meant to highlight rather than show off, subtle yet effective…
“I knew he’d set you in the mood,” Yunho’s dry chuckle pulls Hongjoong from the work frenzy, and he almost trips over the box with leftover wings, trying to snatch Yunho’s phone.
It’s pathetic, but Hongjoong’s fingers tremble a bit when he closes the Instagram post that Yunho found for him and starts scrolling through the guy’s profile.
His, or sometimes their , name is Park Seonghwa, they're a working model based in Seoul. The profile seems to be a mix of Seonghwa’s portfolio and photos from personal trips and get-togethers, which gives Hongjoong whiplash with how hot Seonghwa looks in promo shots for a new line of Hyunjin’s men’s jackets and how soft, almost dorky they pose with three boxes of Lego sets, barely able to hold all the box in hands.
“I want him,” Hongjoong whispers to no one in particular, stuck on staring at Seonghwa’s selfie he took in bed. Who gave him the right to look so beautiful in a slightly blurry picture taken on a frontal camera and with no makeup on?
“I bet you do,” Yunho laughs, “You should still have his number somewhere.”
“I what?” Hongjoong’s jaw drops. Yunho facepalms and takes his phone, scrolling quickly and then giving it back, with a new Instagram post opened on the screen.
Confused, Hongjoong looks at the photo: Seonghwa is sitting somewhere, hugging a bouquet to his chest, looking so soft with barely there makeup and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses on. And then it abruptly dawns upon him. Seonghwa is holding the flowers Hongjoong sent him. The arrangement of the bouquet is the same Hongjoong sends all the models taking part in ad campaigns for his brand. But Hongjoong would remember him, no?
As if reading his mind, which after a decade of friendship is more than possible, Yunho explains even before Hongjoong asks a question, “He was a model for your capsule rings collection, you paid attention to hands only then, so Jinsik didn’t include face shots in portfolios.”
Ah, Hongjoong was on an overseas trip and couldn’t meet the models personally. That explains why Hongjoong is almost a year late to meet his new muse.
“Set me a meeting immediately, wine and dine whoever you need, I need him wearing the dress,” Hongjoong says with enough desperation that Yunho doesn’t tease him.
Seonghwa comes to Hongjoong’s temporary workshop the next day. He’s awkwardly standing at the door, barely having stepped into the room, looking around as if it’s the first time he finds himself in such chaos. Yes, Hongjoong is not the tidiest person in the world, especially this close to the show, but it wasn’t a problem before. Now, though, Hongjoong notices a slight frown finding its way to Seonghwa’s forehead as he’s browsing the mess of drafts, fabric pieces, way too many needles and pins lying around in the open that is probably safe, and feels embarrassed.
“H-hi,” Hongjoong stutters as if he is not a considerably famous designer.
“Hi. Nice to meet you in person,” Seonghwa smiles, and Hongjoong hates being repetitive, be it in his designs or words, but Seonghwa looks so fucking gorgeous.
“Yeah, likewise,” Hongjoong fleetingly thinks about the unhealthy amount of time he spent looking at the shots of Seonghwa’s hands. Hunter looked at him weirdly when Hongjoong basically begged him to search for any kind of archived photos from that shoot. Hongjoong would be lucky if Hunter wrote it off on a language barrier rather than his boss losing his marbles.
“So,” Hongjoong clasps his hands, the sound echoing across the room like thunder. “What do you say about a chance to close my show next week?”
“Your show?” Seonghwa’s eyes widen, which should be impossible, yet here they are, becoming even rounder, sparkling under the warm light of numerous lamps scattered around the workshop. “Your show during Paris Fashion Week?”
“Exactly,” Hongjoong can’t help the note of smugness in his voice. After all, he has the right to be proud of himself and all the people who helped him to get there.
“Oh, I’m not sure…” Seonghwa's eyes dart away for a second, and Hongjoong belatedly realizes that he hasn't offered his guest to sit. Moreover, he simply doesn’t have any place available. While he’s working on designs, any flat piece of furniture is considered a working station. So much for the first impression.
“Let’s see the piece I have in mind for you, and then you will decide?” Hongjoong suggests, beckoning Seonghwa to follow him to the next, smaller room with a few tall mirrors and mannequins.
When Hongjoong unveils the dress to Seonghwa’s eyes, the latter exhales with so much sheer wonder that Hongjoong feels his cheeks heating up. Hongjoong is no longer used to feeling so anxious about someone’s reaction to his creations, so he starts circling the mannequin, explaining something utterly irrelevant in technical terms that not every designer knows. He’s rumbling, and he knows it, but Seonghwa listens to him attentively, his eyes sparkling with interest, an occasional question or two falling off his lips and making Hongjoong feel elevated from all the attention his design gets.
“It’s beautiful,” Seonghwa hums, the pads of his fingers carefully caressing the intricate pattern sewn along the rim of the sleeve. Hongjoong nods mutely, his eyes glued to Seonghwa’s profile and the gentle line of his ear peeking out between the long dark hair.
Too enticed by Seonghwa’s beauty and mental debates about which hairpin design he has lying around that will suit the long curls best, Hongjoong is caught off-guard by Seonghwa’s next question.
“And where is the outfit you want me to try on?” Seonghwa asks, facing Hongjoong with an innocent look on his face.
“Where…” Hongjoong blinks a few times, his mouth agape. Didn’t he? Surely he mentioned that the dress was for Seonghwa, no? And even if he didn’t, wouldn’t Seonghwa realize that Hongjoong was showing him his outfit?
What if he didn’t want to wear it?
“It’s… I thought–” Hongjoong takes a deep breath, trying to keep his tendency to overthink at bay. “I wanted you to wear it.”
“Me?” Seonghwa asks as if he heard something incredulous. “Are you asking me to wear it?” He looks back at the dress, quickly retreating his touch as if burnt.
“You don’t like it? Hongjoong murmurs resignedly, swallowing around a lump lodged in his throat.
“No, I love it, it’s a stunning dress, it’s just–” Seonghwa darts his eyes across the room, slumping into himself a little. Slowly, Hongjoong starts realizing what he’s getting at, and then Seonghwa confirms it by saying, “I don’t think I’m the best candidate to wear this dress.”
“You're kidding me? You’ll look delectable wearing it,” Hongjoong blurts out, clasping a hand over his mouth as soon as the words leave it. “Uhm, I meant, don’t get me wrong…”
“It’s fine,” Seonghwa waves off his concerns with a small but genuine smile and gives the dress a once-over again, whispering softly, “If you want, I’d love to try it on.”
“Okay, great, then let’s do it,” Hongjoong doesn’t even try to hide his relief, hurrying to find a measuring tape on a cluttered table. “I’ll take your measurements first, okay? The dress was originally made to fit Yeosang's size.”
“Yeosang? Kang Yeosang?” Whatever resolve Seonghwa mastered is vanishing quickly. “Wouldn’t he–“
“Nope,” Hongjoong now knows where it’s going and won’t stand Seonghwa assuming someone is more worthy of wearing this dress than him. “He tried it on, and it didn’t feel, uhm, how to say it, uhm, complete? I have something else prepared for him, so don’t worry, you’re not stealing his place. Either you and this dress are made for each other, or I’ll have to put it away and find another look to close the show.”
Although still seemingly unconvinced, Seonghwa doesn’t protest anymore as Hongjoong writes down his measurements, carefully wrapping the tape around Seonghwa’s shoulders, waist, wrists, and hips. Hongjoong tries to keep his touch light, barely there, but his heart still skips a beat when he takes Seonghwa’s hand and turns it around to check the mark on the tape.
As expected, Seonghwa’s shoulder size is smaller than Yeosang’s, as well as his waist, so it’s nothing a few pins here and there won’t fix for now.
Which brings them to the actual fitting part.
“Uhm, I think you will need help getting into the dress,” Hongjoong says, looking at the zip-up and the haphazard stitches attaching it to the fabric critically. One careless movement and the dress will literally fall apart. And even though some part of Hongjoong, one that needs to be laid by Yunho’s assessment, isn’t against such a turn of events, Hongjoong’s rational side is winning in this argument.
“Yes, I think so too,” Seonghwa nods, taking off his cute pink sweater, revealing a black tank top underneath it, and it’s a bit too much for Hongjoong’s sanity.
“So, I will call Yunho, my assistant, he should be here somewhere and–“
“Can’t you help me?” Seonghwa asks hurriedly and judging by how he purses his lips afterward, he wasn't about to let the question out.
“If you… want?” It sounds so unsure that Hongjoong mentally cringes at himself. So much for being confident.
“Yes, please,” Seonghwa nods, the apples of his cheeks going pinkish, and grips the zipper of his pants. Ah. Yes. He’s trying out a dress.
Hongjoong tries his best not to stare, keeping his eyes firmly above Seonghwa’s waistline or glancing around if his help is unneeded. But once the dress is on, Hongjoong has to actually look at Seonghwa to assess the dress and leave markings for the future. Hongjoong tries not to dwell on how smooth Seonghwa’s skin is under his touch and how he shivers lightly when Hongjoong keeps tugging at the neckline of the dress, trying to determine how low it should be and if he should add more embroidery and crystals to it. He hears Seonghwa’s breathing hitch when he pulls the zipper's slider slightly down, and its cold metal surface touches Seonghwa’s bare skin. Hongjoong is embarrassed to admit it, but the onslaught of sensations and feelings he experiences right now is so powerful that he can barely focus on the dress.
But nothing compares to what Hongjoong experiences when he kneels in front of Seonghwa, deciding to adjust the fabric bunched up at the beginning of the slit. The golden skin, so close yet so untouchable, taunts Hongjoong. It gets even worse when he looks up simply to ask Seonghwa if he should move the slit lower, making it less revealing. When his eyes meet Seonghwa, a spark ignites between them, striking Hongjoong with a sudden realization of how compromising his position is with him on his knees and his hands hovering over Seonghwa’s hips.
Hongjoong stands up, his legs weak and throat dry, and wordlessly gestures to Seonghwa to spin around. Reluctantly, Seonghwa does so, but he’s so careful that the skirt of the dress barely billows. Hongjoong arches his brows, smirking slightly, and repeats the gesture. Seonghwa shyly twirls once, twice, and then starts spinning around himself more confidently, holding onto the skirt like a princess from a Disney movie. A genuine, happy smile graces Seonghwa’s lips as he stops, bashfully tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. The gesture is so gentle and timid, and combined with him wearing the dress, it makes Seonghwa’s image in Hongjoong’s eyes blur a bit, softening the edges, making Seonghwa look like an otherworldly deity, so stunning, beautiful, and beyond the limitations of gender, types or any kinds of bounds, that Hongjoong can't help but admit defeat and accept that whatever he feels regarding Seonghwa can't be put into words.
“What do you think?” Seonghwa asks, slightly breathless. The smile on his face is so radiant, reflecting in his eyes.
“You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” Hongjoong says sincerely, and then, suddenly remembering Seonghwa’s profile description, adds, “Or, well, not... Uhm, well, you are simply beautiful as you are.”
Seonghwa blushes, his cheeks going pretty pink, and shyly looks down, petting the fabric of the dress. Hongjoong worries that he said something wrong and offended Seonghwa but doesn’t risk saying anything else, afraid to cause even more damage.
Finally, Seonfhwa looks up, his eyes glinting wetly, “And what about me in this dress?”
“It was made for you,” Hongjoong says without any hesitation. “I won’t allow anyone else to wear it. It belongs to you.”
Seonghwa swallows, stepping closer to one of the tall mirrors set in the room. Slowly, as if afraid to break apart, Seonghwa straightens up, examining his reflection. Something shifts on his face, something heartbreaking and vulnerable. It shouldn’t be there. Hongjoong knows this expression all too well; he has seen it countless times on the faces of some of his models and clients. And on his own.
Worry. Hesitation. Fear.
“You look like yourself in this dress,” Hongjoong says softly, carefully stepping closer to Seonghwa but trying not to crowd him. “Everything about you in it is perfect. Your shoulders are meant to be out in the open, with jewels dripping down your ears to the neck and clavicles. Your waist is so small and elegant, and these hips could make half of the female models out there die from envy,” Hongjoong can’t deny a warm satisfaction blooming in his chest at seeing Seonghwa blushing more and more with each word Hongjoong says with his soft, soothing voice, “You look like someone happy and free, someone allowed to be whoever you want to be.”
“Hongjoong…” Seonghwa whispers as their eyes meet in the reflection.
“You inspire me, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong doesn’t see a point denying it. “Will you let me inspire you in return?”
Days before the show blur into one big hectic mess of final fittings, rehearsals, and last-minute decisions that affect the whole performance.
Hongjoong would lie to himself if he said that meeting Seonghwa and spending time with him beyond the two fittings for the dress didn’t help him feel more collected. It did. So much so that barely a week after meeting Seonghwa, Hongjoong has no idea how he managed to exist without him.
Seonghwa is… The shortest and simplest term to describe him would be a muse. He inspires Hongjoong to create, sketch, and make rough applications with strips and scraps of fabric in the spare minutes Hongjoong is supposed to spend on having much-needed rest. But Seonghwa’s influence on Hongjoong goes well beyond that.
Before, Hongjoong had a purpose. To establish and maintain a brand that would fit everyone, no matter who they are. But although Hongjoong dreamt and worked hard to achieve that goal, it had little to do with what he wanted (and sometimes needed) for himself. Hongjoong created having other people’s opinions and needs in mind. Seonghwa miraculously made Hongjoong think about what he wanted for himself. And for that, Hongjoong is immensely, wholeheartedly grateful.
In such a short period, Seonghwa became vital to Hongjoong in small, sometimes unexpected, but always appreciated ways. Highly motivating yet still cute emoticons, sent early in the morning to give Hongjoong strength to go through the day, prettily arranged lunch boxes with vegetables (a necessary evil) and sweets (blessing), tea instead of coffee, reminding Hongjoong about something he was definitely supposed to write down but totally forgot.
Brief but tender touches that feel grounding and small, secretive smiles exchanged during rehearsals. Late-night conversations that make Hongjoong feel utterly vulnerable yet relieved.
Kisses, sweet and gentle, long and passionate, promising something more once the show is over, and Hongjoong can finally let out a breath of relief.
Hongjoong can only hope he was able to soothe Seonghwa’s anxiety even half as efficiently as Seonghwa eased his during this hectic week.
It’s mostly thanks to Seonghwa that Hongjoong is standing so calmly in front of several screens, monitoring the show. So far, he hasn’t faced any major issues; a stuck zipper here, a wrong necklace put on a model there, a last-minute switch of the faulty pair of shoes. Actually, Hongjoong can hardly believe that in about half an hour, the show will be over, and he’ll have to go and greet the public, walking Seonghwa, the jewel of his collection, down the runway.
At his nod, a mellow instrument composition starts playing from speakers, indicating the beginning of a small intermission before the third act. It'll give the guests a couple of minutes to get into the mood and buy Hongjoong time to ensure that everything is perfect and everyone is ready.
But as Hongjoong glances over the small crowd of models queuing up, he realizes that Seonghwa is far from feeling calm and collected. He stands a bit further from all the other models since he's the last to show up on the runway. It’s not his first fashion show, albeit the previous ones weren't that big and didn't have so many influential guests. Still, his hands tremble ever so slightly anyway, and there is a spark of fear where there should be only joy and confidence as if the dress and the atmosphere overpower Seonghwa. Hongjoong feels physically unwell, seeing Seonghwa so meek, worriedly spinning in front of the mirror and looking at his reflection so intensely and scrutinizingly, as if his mirror copy holds all the answers to his questions.
The intermission will be over in less than a minute, but Hongjoong nods to Minjae, letting him take over for now, and makes his way toward Seonghwa. He doesn’t say anything, wordlessly appearing behind Seonghwa, who startles slightly but subtly leans back, pressing his back to Hongjoong’s chest. It’s exciting and frightening at the same time how easily Hongjoong reads Seonghwa, determining what he needs by this small movement alone.
“You look stunning,” Hongjoong whispers, standing on his toes to reach the shell of Seonghwa’s ear. Their eyes meet through the reflection, and Hongjoong can’t help a smirk at seeing the pink blush on Seonghwa’s cheeks peeking through the layers of makeup. “I bet all the guests will talk about you for days to come, and no one will pay attention to the dress. Did I tell you I sent pictures from the promo shoot to Olivier?”
Seonghwa shakes his head, his eyes widening in sheer surprise.
“Do you know what he told me?” Hongjoong lowers his voice to a barely-there whisper, knowing for a fact that his breath is fanning against the sensitive skin of Seonghwa’s exposed neck, “He looked through photos and said, quote, ‘They will be the ruin of you, Joong’. And you know what? Looking at you right now, I want to be ruined by you,” Hongjoong can feel the body pressed to his chest, shivering from something that isn’t fear. Good.
“But first, my dear Seonghwa, you need to ruin them for me. Will you do it for me?” Hongjoong nods toward the entry to the grand hall, where the first notes of Jongho’s powerful vocals intertwine with the polite cheer of the audience. Hongjoong needs to be there, guiding the models, now is not the place and time for such a heavy flirting, but later…
(When Hongjoong will hook his hand around Seonghwa and lead him along the runaway like it’s an aisle leading toward the altar…)
Later.
Hongjoon will lead Seonghwa to the altar later.
“Go get them, my Siren,” Hongjoong murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to Seonghwa’s earlobe, appreciating how warm it is, red from embarrassment, and steps away from Seonghwa, getting back to his show. He knows that after the show he’ll get a special prize, a gift to celebrate all the efforts he put into his dream coming true. The gift will be him slowly freeing Seonghwa from the dress. But that’s for later.
For now, Hongjoong has a fashion world to conquer.