pairings: stylist!fem reader x fashion photographer!hyunjin
synopsy: working as a stylist for one of the most notorious fashion magazine in the world, you've always been aware of the harsh competition and rivalry that characterizes your job. What you certainly didn't expect was for it to presents itself in the form of a blonde-haired Adonis fashion photographer called Hyunjin, whom the company seems to enjoy pairing with you for every editorial that you're assigned to. Though, perhaps something hidden lies under the back-and-forth bickering and the incessant teasing. Something that seems to emerge as the two of you collaborate for the next issue's shoot and find yourself backing each other's up in this cruel industry.
genre: work rivals au | 90s fashion magazine industry
warnings: homophobic comments (not from the main characters). kinda slow burn-ish. just a few kisses.
notes: honestly I just adore the fashion world so much, especially the magazine industry, so I wanted to use it as a backdrop. I also believe in the power of writing to express something deeper than the mere plot (yes, even in ff - I am insufferable like that), so I added a scene to comment on the phenomenon of male bisexuality (but honestly it also concerns female bisexuality) as often disregarded or dismissed as either heterosexuality or homosexuality.
Let me know your thoughts! And if you notice some mistakes, do not hesitate to point them out - we love constructive criticism here.
«HONESTLY, I THINK THE HELMUT LANG TOP WAS MUCH BETTER, NO?» Hyunjin points out as he observes in concentration - his perfectly shaped brows furrowed slightly, a pair of rectangular Prada glasses resting on the tip of his nose - the photos he's been shooting for the past twenty minutes.
Assistants hurry between clothing racks while somebody adjusts a reflector, yet - even in the middle of these sounds - he doesn't even have to turn around to identify the person who scoffs loudly right behind his back. Already knows it comes from none other than you.
You can't deny that Hwang Hyunjin is an ace at his job: he's one of the most sought-after photographers in the fashion industry and he has an incredibly trained eye for both composition and styling, since he has previously worked as a stylist when he was fresh out of school. After catching the public eye with his unconventional shots, though, he quit the job to utterly devote himself to photography - which you'd probably admire if it wasn't for the fact that your editor-in-chief seems to particularly enjoy when the two of you work together and continuously assigns you editorials with him.
And, again, you'd probably love being paired with a talented and innovative artist if it wasn't for the fact that Hyunjin has the ability to infuriate you in just a few seconds while utterly reveling in it - constantly highlighting faults in your styling choices, teasing you with endless remarks and keeping you on set until late at night, way past your working hours.
Nonetheless, you love your job - more than anything else in the whole world. Watching garments come alive beneath the studio lights has always felt like magic unfolding. There is nothing that you adore more than creating an entire visual universe through the use of clothing, fabrics and styling - even if it means compromising with Hyunjin's absurdly demanding personality and his overachieving work ethic.
You highly respect that, honestly - even if you'd never admit it to him.
«Of course, you'd say that» you retort with a peeved look on your face, glaring at him menacingly as he turns around to look at you straight in the eyes - an annoying smirk plastered on his pretty lips, painted a soft dusty pink that enhances the slight blush on his cheeks due to the high temperatures in the studio.
«Why? Is there a problem, Y/N?» he asks with fake innocence, taking his glasses off before passing one hand on his blonde buzzcut - probably still unaccustomed to the new length, since his hair previously reached his shoulders - then pushing them on the top of his head.
You march towards him until you two stand in front of each other, then you point your manicured finger against his broad chest - he's wearing a black Gucci silk shirt that cascades over his well-built physique and you mentally curse Tom Ford for creating such alluring pieces that make this self-absorbed man even hotter than he already is. After all, at the office, he's known as "Fashion killer" - a nickname people assigned to him due to his killer looks and his sleek clothing style, which you unfortunately also have to acknowledge.
«We have been shooting this editorial for three fucking days, Hyunjin, and you've told me to get rid of that top on the very first day because it was "absolutely atrocious", you fucking cu—» you start snapping at him, but are interrupted by his warm palm pressed firmly against your lips (great, now he's smudged your beautiful lipstick).
He bends slightly to reach your height - though it really doesn't take him much because you always wear high heels and you've never been a short girl. A faint smell of cedarwood and expensive cologne - Dior, definitely - enveloping your sense of smell.
«Calm down, darling» he whispers at you, the glint in his eyes clearly suggesting he's utterly entertained by your reaction, «My opinion has changed as we worked. Plus, aren't you happy that I finally share your vision? You were so proud of that top, and now I'm telling you that we can finally use it».
Oh, the sheer audacity - you think about strangling him, really, but the odds are not in your favour.
The entire team seems to adore him for some inexplicable reason; the models always speak highly of him as one of their favourite photographers to shoot with, and even the editor-in-chief always takes his side when your bickering becomes more spiteful than usual, requiring an intermediary. If it wasn't for the successful and mesmerising shoots that you always end up producing, he'd already have you separated - but it's impossible not to see how your quarrelling ends up creating the best shots of each issue.
«You're right, I'm so grateful that you have changed your mind right now, after I've told you at least four times that the Chloé shirt was unflattering on her» you rebut sarcastically, rolling your eyes as you add with clear irritation: «Let me fetch it for you, so we can actually get this shoot done».
He simply observes you with a bemused expression, tongue wetting his lower lip as you turn around and stomp furiously towards the racks - your high ponytail swinging left and right each step you take. Only a few seconds later, though, he calls out your name - making you halt abruptly: «Y/N, bring the leather jacket, too. You know, the one you paired with the top the first day? Thank you!».
You don't give him the satisfaction of seeing your fed-up expression, feeling him snicker proudly as he's well aware that his provocations have flawlessly hit the target.
God, how much you'd pay to punch that smugness out of his vexingly handsome face.
A few exhausting weeks go by before you and Hyunjin finally have the opportunity to show the result of your work at the customary Monday morning meeting at the main office. As your colleagues are sitting around the elongated table - sipping coffee while observing you with weary eyes that you definitely mirror back -, they listen to the two of you explaining the concept behind the photoshoot before they immerse themselves in the printed pictures that Hyunjin has laid in front of them.
You listen closely as he motivates in depth the choices he's made concerning the unusually heavy editing - your eyes following his elegant hands as he singles out details of the photos that you hadn't even noticed with a quiet admiration, one that sometimes can't help but appear when you finalise your projects and have to recognise how meticulous and visionary Hyunjin is. His voice completely immersed and earnest, missing his usual teasing tone.
As always, it's a complete success.
The editor-in-chief compliments the setting choice, the skilful editing and the chic white Helmut Lang top from the new collection that one of the models is wearing underneath an oversized leather jacket. Wow - I really love that top. I thought you were using the recent Chloé collection, but this fits the concept so much better.
Twenty minutes later, you hurry outside the meeting room because you still haven't had your morning coffee and desperately need a sip of it. However, you are stopped by the senior editors who block the door to suggest celebrating the launch of the next issue with a team dinner at a glamorous restaurant near the company building. Soon, everyone agrees and, despite not really having the desire to go through an entire evening with your haughty and slightly pretentious coworkers, you nod along - aware that you can't really refuse.
After settling on the date - that week, on Friday night -, you dash towards the coffee machine, leaving the group still chatting behind. Unaware that somebody is trailing after you until you reach the shared restroom and, as you turn on the machine which begins hissing noisily, Hyunjin's tall figure casually leans on the furniture by your side - his face beautifully hit by the morning light passing through the windows.
You pretend not to notice his presence hovering over you, hoping that he might leave or not bother you, but he obviously can't take a hint or, more probably, is aware that you don't have any desire to interact with him but enjoys riling you up any time he can.
«Can you make one for me, too?» he asks with the usual confident smile stamped on his lips, extending you another cup so that you can fill it with coffee.
«Mmm» you pretend to consider it, as you lift your own mug and bring it to your mouth to take a sip. Only after that, you add: «Yeah, I don't think so. We're not on set, I don't have to follow your orders here».
He giggles - and you hate how hot you think his airy laugh sounds as it echoes in your ears.
It's a disgrace to humanity, really, how agonisingly beautiful Hyunjin is. With his sharp jawline, full lips and intense gaze, he could have everyone he desires at the snap of his pretty long fingers.
If you have to be honest, the first time you met him you were left awestruck by his looks - though, a few seconds later, your ex-colleague Sarah elbowed you and whispered in your ear that you didn't stand a chance 'cause "sorry babe but he bats for the team as us". After that, you got to know him, worked with him, and whatever infatuation you had vanished in thin air as he bossed you around and provoked you for his own amusement. Though sometimes, it felt like there was still an unspoken tension that he simply enjoyed fueling.
«But you love taking my orders» he counters while reaching for the machine - his toned arm brushing your side as he places his cup and presses the start button. Lingers for an instant before stepping back.
You glare at him - your left eyebrow arched as you don't budge from your position, not wanting to make it any easier for him to prepare his own coffee. Also, even if you'd never say it out loud, you don't really mind his touch as he grazes your skin, nor his tall figure leaning over you as he takes the hot beverage in his hands.
«Anyway» he starts, clearing his throat before he looks you in the eyes with an expression that feels so different from his usual one - gentler, more authentic. «I just wanted to say that we did a really good job - I think this shooting was one of our best so far».
You hum quietly in response, focused on blowing on your coffee. Though you soon feel the obligation to add something as you notice him gazing at you expectantly, as if waiting for a real response.
In fact, you only now realise that he still hasn't made a single malicious observation since he followed you out of the meeting room.
«Yeah, I loved it, too,» you say, meeting his dark eyes, «Perhaps you should try and listen to me the first time I recommend something, though».
He immediately groans at your words, but you can see a glint of amusement in his reaction - as if the constant banter between the two of you actually entertains him, rather than annoying him.
He pokes his tongue against the side of his cheek before answering smugly: «Whatever. You should be grateful that I listened to your words».
You think that's your clue to leave, before what seemed like the beginning of a normal conversation turns into another one of your childish arguments. So you finish drinking your coffee in silence before walking past him to exit the room.
Hyunjin doesn't say anything, his eyes following your body - covered with a Yohji Yamamoto white shirt and a Gucci black pencil skirt that fits you perfectly - as you head towards the door. Continues to sip his black coffee, until, right when you push the handle, he exclaims:
«See you on Friday night, Y/N!».
SOON THE WEEK GOES BY AND FRIDAY NIGHT ARRIVES WITH MUCH MORE SPEED THAN YOU HOPED FOR. You don't necessarily detest the idea of going out and eating at a nice restaurant - especially the one that your colleagues always pick, because it's incredibly exquisite and refined. What you don't look for, though, is the inevitable gossip that comes with it - the noisy questions about your love life, the snarky comments about someone's work, the petty remarks about somebody else's behaviour.
Luckily, they never particularly target you.
Perhaps it's because you have too many accomplishments under your belt for your work to be criticised and picked apart, or because you've always presented yourself as quite unbothered and withdrawn - not really worth the talk 'cause they don't possess any valuable information that could be used as material for their buzzing chitchat.
So, when you enter the elegant Italian place near the main office - wearing an elegant Ann Demulemeester top that exposes your back tattoo paired with a pair of sartorial black trousers from the same collection -, they all greet you with pompous enthusiasm, already sitting comfortably around the table in the middle of the private room that you usually reserve for this kind of gathering.
The crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the marble floors, as you exchange a few greetings - some kisses on the cheeks that still make you uncomfortable despite it being a normal recurrence, a few waves from the other side of the table as people temporarily interrupt their chatter to welcome you. The room is filled with the low murmur of conversation blending with the soft clinking of wine glasses, as the scent of expensive perfumes and freshly baked bread invade your nostrils.
As you settle in an empty chair, fixing your pierced Dior saddle bag on its back, you can't help but notice that Hyunjin still hasn't shown up. You wonder if he's in the bathroom, hiding as much as he can from this tedious dinner before the plates are served, but soon your doubts are cleared as one of your coworkers - an editor named Julie - voices your silent question: «Hyunjin isn't here yet?».
A few people nod as an answer, while Samantha - an older editor who has a tendency to judge harshly others, making you scoff under your breath every time she speaks with her monotone voice and bitter tone - adds, scornfully: «Oh, well, he probably wants to make an entrance, doesn't he always? Everything has to revolve around him».
A few people chuckle awkwardly, while others look down at the menu in their hands, pretending they haven't heard her harsh comment.
You glare at her, annoyed by her arrogance and feigned superiority.
Despite not being on your best terms with Hyunjin, it bothers you how she seldom talks down about him, conveniently when he's never there - as if he were nothing but a conceited prick who doesn't deserve the popularity he is surrounded by or the recognition he receives. In fact, despite your ongoing feud, you are the first one to recognise his innate talent as an artist: not having once received a formal training or education, he's been able to shoot photographs that nobody has ever conceived before, adding a personal touch in every single image he captures - both with his professional camera or a banal polaroid lying around. You've seen him kneel everywhere to find the perfect angle or spend twenty minutes adjusting a model's sleeve before pressing the shutter only once - so you know he deserves the credit he gets.
You part your mouth to speak up, not certain about the words you'll utter but aware that somebody has to call out her excessive and unreasonable rudeness towards him. Before you can do that, though, Hyunjin strides into the room confidently - a black baker boy hat hiding his buzzcut while a crisp white shirt stretches around his broad shoulders, the first few buttons left open as his collarnbones peek out.
You can't help but ogle him a few seconds too long, silently taking in his polished style and the natural self-assurance that exudes from his figure - a characteristic that you envy him for, considering how you still often feel insecure about your physical appearance even if you're in your late twenties. Always thought that by that age, you'd have already mastered the art of accepting and loving yourself unconditionally. Evidently, you weren't aware of the serious identity crisis that people in their twenties usually go through - deeming it the beginning of adulthood.
Some editors and assistants greet him enthusiastically, pulling him in for a quick embrace or two polite kisses on the cheeks before he can reach an empty chair.
«Hi» he eventually greets everyone politely, setting down a few seats away from you, at the other side of the table, «Am I late?».
Julie hastily reassures him, informing him that some people are still missing and that the orders haven't been placed yet. As he adjusts comfortably on his seat and slips off his hat to place it in his leather bag, he seems relieved - 'cause, despite his cheeky and sometimes brash attitude, he's always been taught to act mannerly and detests the idea of coming off as rude because of his lateness.
As you glance at him furtively, your eyes meet, and he slightly grins at you - his left eye closing subtly in a wink that feels somewhat mocking, arrogant and seductive all at once.
You pretend not to notice, shifting your focus back on the conversation around you while hoping that your heartbeat slows down as soon as possible - cussing him mentally for being so pretty that sometimes you can't help but gawk at him with fascination, despite having moved on from your fleeting crush a long time ago.
Just hoping that the night will go on peacefully.
After almost two hours of endless chattering interrupted only by the arrival of savoury dishes that you happily share with your coworkers, you excuse yourself and go to the bathroom - the desire for an instant of solitude pushing you to pretend you have to retouch your makeup. You take a deep breath, reassuring yourself that the night is almost coming to an end and you must bear only an hour at best.
You smooth the fabric of your black top, pressing your lips together to even out the lipstick you've just reapplied as you check your appearance in the mirror right next to the door. As you linger there, eyes still fixated on your face, you hear, outside the women's restroom, Samantha's voice talking with someone else - her drunken state clear as she raises her tone without a single care.
«Honestly, I don't get why the editor-in-chief always puts him on a pedestal - isn't he just too much?» she comments as she leans against the wall, soon adding: «Sure, Hyunjin's good but... I just think people overestimate him because of... well, everything else».
«You mean because he's pretty?» another person inquires, but you can't seem to recognize whom the voice belongs to.
«Because he's different, you know. Loud, dramatic - it probably comes with being gay, no? They always have to be over the top».
The other woman responds by cackling, as if their conversation is nothing but a mere joke. «Actually, I've heard he's bisexual. Can you believe that?».
«Bisexual?» Samantha snorts amusedly, the word itself appearing foreign on her tongue. «Please, there is no such thing. A man who dates men is gay, that's it. I don't understand how girls can still find him attractive».
At that moment, utter disdain and repulsion grow inside you, and, before you can stop and persuade yourself into acting more collectedly for the sake of keeping a peaceful work environment, you push the door open with more force than intended. Then, you position yourself in front of them - arms crossed, a scowl evident on your face.
«You are unbelievable! Do you even hear yourself?» you blurt out aggressively, observing how Samantha slightly steps back as if caught by surprise. «You're talking about a colleague's sexuality as if it were some kind of office gossip. Do you realise how disgusting that sounds?».
Samantha and your other colleague - whom you have now identified as one of the recent hires in the IT department - seem temporarily at a loss for words after your angry reaction. Soon, though, the senior editor recovers, folding her arms across her chest defensively.
«We were just making conversation», she deadpans.
«Conversation?» you repeat, letting out a humourless laugh as your brows unconsciously arch. «No, you were gossiping about a colleague's sexuality».
She presses her thin lips together, only narrowing her eyes.
«You don't have to like Hyunjin», you continue, your voice quieter now. «Hell, I'm the first one who doesn't get along with him. But talking about who he sleeps with as if it somehow determines his worth?».
You shake your head. «That's just embarrassing».
Samantha lets out a dry laugh, staring you up and down.
«Oh please, Y/N, you're the first one who loathes him - don't go around acting like his knight in shining armour. Plus, for what? Are you attracted to gay men now? Do you think he'll make an exception for you?» she snickers at you before looking at the woman by her side, in search of approval.
You can't contain your indignation as you process her words, wondering how it is possible for a grown woman to act so tactlessly, speaking of another person with such effortless wickedness. So you take a deep breath and step closer, glaring at her before answering with hostility.
«God, Samantha, you're so pathetic» you state, a slight smirk appearing on your face as you continue, tauntingly. «What, you're still not over the fact that he turned you down, aren't you? Is that why you have to convince yourself that he can't also like women?».
You observe with satisfaction the shift in her composed façade as she listens to your words - the colour draining from her sunken cheeks as she parts her red lips but stays silent, unable to come up with a response.
You don't even wait for an answer, starting to walk away from them. Only stopping for a second as you add: «Oh, and please, pull yourself together. It's embarrassing to act this aggravated over a simple no».
As you return to your seat - jaw clenched and eyes sharp - you decide to make up an excuse and call it a night. Can't stand the idea of having to sit again with the two of them while pretending that you haven't overheard the most revolting conversation and are definitely unable to bring it up in front of your other coworkers.
Therefore, you rush to your chair, leaning towards Julie to inform her that you need to leave because you received a call from your mother and she needs you to come to her place - explaining calmly that "there is nothing to worry really, but, you know, she's getting old and sometimes she needs a bit of help".
She nods in agreement, reassuring you that you don't have to worry and that the dinner is coming to an end anyway, so you won't miss out on anything. Thanking her with a grateful smile, you grab your purse and put it on your shoulder before bidding farewell to everyone - an echo of byes yelled back at you, mostly drunkenly.
As you exit the private room, though, you bump into a hard chest and your hand instinctively comes up to hold your nose, cussing at the abrupt impact that shoots pain right at the level of its bridge.
«Fuck, sorry» Hyunjin blurts out agitatedly, his own hands reaching out towards your face to check how much damage he's caused: «Careful, let me see».
You glare at him threateningly but comply with his request, removing your palm slowly to let him have a look. Trying not to meet his eyes as his finger puts pressure under your chin, pushing you to tilt your head upwards so that he can inspect your face more easily.
«Mmm», he mumbles, his face inching towards yours as his thumb gently brushes the tip of your nose, eyes almost crossed as he focuses on your reddened skin. His finger lingers on your nose as he continues, «Well, nothing's broken, so you can't ask me for compensation. But we'd better ask for some ice».
For a split second, you can't muster a single word.
Instead, your eyes tentatively move towards his face and you can't help but feel utterly enthralled by the sight of him so close to you - his smooth skin, the gentle curve of his upper lip, the light brown mole right beneath his left eye.
For some reason, the conversation outside the bathroom flashes through your mind without a warning - not the insult, nor the harsh comments. Only the IT department girl's statement when she said that Hyunjin is actually bisexual. The word settles somewhere deep inside your chest and, for the first time, your brain allows itself to consider something that it had dismissed long ago.
«It's fine, really» you interject rapidly, jolting away from his delicate touch. Your palm itches to cover your nose again, but you restrain yourself from looking too hurt - fixing the strap of your purse, instead. «I'm going home, I'll just put some ice on it when I get there».
«What? No!» he exclaims, his hand lowering back against his side after you've distanced yourself from him. «You live, like, at least twenty minutes away from here if you take the metro».
«Well, thank you for reminding me how long it takes to go to my house, Hyunjin», you comment sarcastically.
He shushes you, stealing a quick glance behind your figure - the door is still open and he can see your colleagues chatting as they finish the last dishes left on the table, the sound of chewing still filling the room. Then, returning his attention to you, he instructs you: «Wait here. I'll take my things and drive you there. And, for once, try saying thank you instead of arguing, okay? Don't make me drag you to the car».
He doesn't wait for an answer, stepping into the room with a warm grin and taking his bag and hat from the back of his chair. He says goodbye and excuses himself, explaining that he has "to rush home because he has to take care of his sick cat".
As he skips towards you - you've moved a few centimetres away from the door so that it doesn't seem like you are waiting for him if your coworkers glance outside-, you scoff loudly.
«What? You look like a cat - you know, one of those small black ones that hiss aggressively but are quite harmless. And you are hurt, aren't you?» he replies, shrugging his shoulders as he walks past you and towards the entrance of the restaurant.
You stand firmly, folding your arms against your chest with exaggerated irritation before he turns towards you - an amused smile on his lips, his baker hat once again on his head -, continuing to walk backwards.
Smirks as he urges you, «C'mon, kitty, my car is parked right outside».
The chilly temperature inside your apartment hits you pleasantly as you walk inside, Hyunjin's figure trailing right behind and closing the door while you hang your bag near the entrance. You immediately head over to the kitchen, without looking back once.
The car ride was unexpectedly comfortable - a few R&B tunes playing from the radio of his brand-new BMW while he drove in silence and you gazed outside the window, nose almost pressing against the glass as you took in the beauty of the city covered by the blanket of the night.
You hear him step behind you silently as you bend down and open the refrigerator, taking out the ice bag to rest it on your still reddened nose. As you straighten your back and turn towards him - he's now sitting on a stool at your kitchen island, his elbows propped against the marble -, you wave the object in your hand to catch his attention.
Then you say with a poker face, «Okay, look, Mr saviour. I have the ice. You can go now».
He simply chuckles at your attitude, leaning his chin on the palm of his right hand as he observes how you wrap the ice with a cloth before pressing it gently against your skin.
«Wow, you're not even offering me a glass of water, kitty? Or maybe a house tour?» he rebuts, looking around as if he's signalling he wants to explore your apartment.
Luckily, you've always been a tidy person and there is almost nothing lying around apart from a few magazines stacked on the leather sofa that's visible from the kitchen and your sewing machine on the top of your coffee table - a few fabric rolls next to it.
Hyunjin notices that your place is decorated in the same way you dress: mostly in black and white, with a minimal approach that feels carefully curated and precise rather than monotonous and simple.
«You've already been here» you deadpan, leaning against the counter with your hips as you hiss slightly at the sudden coldness on your nose.
He wets his lower lip with the tip of his tongue before returning his attention towards you. Rolls the stool back a few inches, one shoe absentmindedly tapping against the wooden floor before replying: «Oh, right - your housewarming. Back when you didn't hate me».
You can't help but roll your eyes as you reply, huffy: «As if the resentment only comes from me. Please».
Hyunjin's arms lower until they're both extended over the countertop in front of him. He stretches for a second - his neck cracking as he turns it left and right while the muscles in his arms elongate for an instant before relaxing as he rests them back on the kitchen island.
«But it does» he contradicts you, once again nearing the stool to the kitchen island before explaining himself better: «I don't hate you. I actually enjoy working with you».
You arch your brow, questioning the authenticity of his words as soon as they leave his mouth - your memory clearly recalling every time Hyunjin has doubted your styling or refused to cooperate because "Sorry, darling, but I really can't see the vision here". Can't stop yourself from huffing, before retorting: «What are you talking about? You literally always boss me around and complain about every choice I make».
He just shrugs his shoulders, drumming his ring-covered fingers against the countertop as if searching for the right words: «I mean, everybody disagrees on some things - I just do it more than others. But half of my favourite editorials are the ones we've shot together».
You still for an instant, caught by surprise. Never once in your time at the magazine did you think that Hyunjin actually liked working with you. So, for a brief moment, you search his face for the usual conceited expression, convinced he's about to laugh it off and admit it's just a joke. But he doesn't - simply watching at you, almost patiently.
«Well... you could be nicer, then».
«I am nice» he defends himself promptly - as if he were a kid wrongly reproached by his parents and needed to vindicate himself before his punishment was carried out. Then clarifies, «It's just that you're so easy to tease and I really can't help myself».
You stare at him, trying to suppress a smile for an unknown reason before muttering a simple "Fuck off" that makes his own smile grow wider and a breathy laugh escape from his throat.
There is something different tonight, you think.
For once, you feel like he isn't smiling because he's joking around.
«I'm serious, though. I like working with you, Y/N. Don't you know that the first time we were paired together it was because I suggested you?» he asks with a voice ever so gentle - a tone that you usually only hear when he gives instructions to the models or coordinates the staff on set, never quite directed to you.
You freeze - the ice bag almost slipping from your fingers. A dazzled "...What?" makes its way out of your parted lips before you can even properly register it.
«Well, I had seen your work before in the magazine and I thought your styling would pair well with my photos» he explains composedly, as if he hasn't just revealed something that you could have never imagined.
The surprise that you feel is so much that you stutter for a second in response, incapable of grasping what he's admitting. Somewhere outside, a car horn echoes through the street below.
After the noise has quieted down, you murmur, «I- I didn't know».
He absorbs your reaction as if he's been wondering how this scene would play out in his head and he can finally see it play out in front of him. Toys with one of the silver rings adorning his fingers, before adding, «Well, now you do. So start hating me a little less, okay?».
«I don't hate you» you try to justify your behaviour, crossing your arms while you continue to press the ice on the bridge of your nose. «It's just that when we work together we tend to clash and you do love istigating me, so I can't help but react».
He laughs softly, lifting his hands in the air as if admitting defeat. It's a grin that is far different from the sly ones you're used to seeing across the studio - warmer, friendlier.
«I guess you're right» he agrees, before continuing. «I really don't know why I do that, it just happens. I guess it's because I feel comfortable with you».
Your lips form the shape of the letter O, shoulders loosening as you take in his words and everything he's admitted this evening. Your mind trying its best to process the peculiar situation you're in and how inexplicably comfortable you feel with him sitting inside your apartment, talking with you without any ironic remark or childish squabble.
It dawns on you, then, that perhaps comfort has always been there - hidden beneath the endless bickering and sarcastic jokes. Maybe you have simply mistaken it for hostility all along.
A silence lingers between the two of you for a few minutes - one that doesn't feel overwhelming or awkward, but rather seems the perfect moment to gather your thoughts. For both of you. The hum of the fridge fills the absence of words, as your eyes fix temporarily on the ice bag pressing against your nose, not really looking at him.
It's Hyunjin, once again, that interrupts it.
His voice is more serious than before, lacking the teasing tone it usually has. Avoiding eye contact as he focuses on twisting one of his rings, before uttering: «Y/N... Thank you».
You're about to ask the reason why he's thanking you but he anticipates you as he explains himself, inhaling deeply as if he needs to muster up the courage to utter the next words: «I insisted on driving you home for another reason, apart from your nose. I actually heard what happened outside the restroom».
You gulp, not expecting this confession. Decide against dwelling upon it, as you motivate your actions with a simple, «It's nothing, Hyunjin. Someone had to tell her she was out of line. I did what every person with common sense would do».
He presses his lips one against the other until they form a straight line , before the corners of his mouth lift slightly in a faint smile, «Well, I guess you're right,» he agrees. Then quietly adds, «Still...Thank you».
You lower the ice bag, mirroring his facial expression back without responding with words. Basking in the comforting silence between the two of you, without the need to fill it with meaningless talk.
A few minutes later, Hyunjin clears his throat and stands up - his tall height suddenly making your studio apartment look smaller than before. He fixes the top of his hat before looking you in the eyes and whispering, «Okay... I'd better go home, now».
You nod, repeating back, «Okay».
He doesn't move immediately, though. Instead, his eyes linger a few instances on your face - brows knitting together almost imperceptibly as he studies the bridge of your nose one last time, making sure the redness has already started to subside.
After that, he turns his back to you and reaches the white door at the entrance - his hand curling around the handle firmly, pulling it down and opening the door slightly, before pausing. He glances back over his shoulders, gaze immediately meeting your eyes, already fixated on him.
For the first time since you've met him, Hyunjin seems oddly hesitant - as though leaving your place requires just a little more effort than he's anticipated.
You arch an eyebrow, prompting him to continue, «What now?».
He opens his mouth, as if he's about to reveal another important truth that will discombobulate your night even more. In the end, he simply asks: «Will we still fight on Monday?».
You smile barely, «Obviously».
A quiet laugh slips past his lips - a sound that seems to suddenly make your heart beat faster. You pretend not to be affected by it as he slightly shakes his head, adding, «Good night, Y/N».
Then, he steps outside and lets the door close shut behind him.
You stay motionless - the ice bag no longer cold in your hands.
You reach the refrigerator and place it back inside, before shutting it closed - your reflection greeting you as it appears on the stainless steel. A faint smile decorates your lips but, as soon as you notice it, you suppress it, shaking your head as you thread your fingers through your hair. No longer glancing at your image, you head towards the bathroom to rinse your makeup off.
THE NEXT TIME YOU CROSS PATHS WITH HYUNJIN IS ON A LATE AFTERNOON, after the editor-in-chief has called you the night before with a clearly distressed tone, begging you to replace Alexis - another stylist that works in your team - because she's not feeling well and has returned home. Elaborates that you need to drive for an hour, because the shoot will be held on a private beach and the rest of the team is already there, waiting for Alexis's substitute.
It doesn't take you that long to accept the request, especially when he mentions that Hyunjin's also been assigned to this shoot because Mario Testino has defaulted on them without any previous notice. You pretend it's not one of the reasons you rush to say yes, though. It feels even stranger now, after the heartfelt conversation you've just shared.
The next morning, you hop in the car that the company has provided you and reawaken your rusty driving skills - after all, you have stopped driving since you moved to the city, preferring the use of public transportation over being constantly stuck in traffic.
It doesn't take you a lot to get a hold of things and get comfortable with the vehicle, soon speeding up the highway as you try to reach the set in the least amount of time possible. You don't want to make the other staff wait - aware that they've already been requested to stay longer than they've initially accepted.
You eventually reach the parking lot outside the beach in about 45 minutes and, after having taken out the clothing from the backseat and having locked the doors, you rush towards the crew, already standing near the ocean - the strobes and the reflection positioned on the grainy sand, while a few racks of clothing stand right behind them.
You hasten towards the garments, but stop to greet everyone with a polite smile plastered on your bare face - you didn't have the time to put some makeup on and even your dark hair, usually combed or styled in a high ponytail, is gathered in a messy bun with a few loose strands escaping the hair tie and fluttering in the salty breeze as you move swiftly.
You can feel Hyunjin's gaze on you long before you actually look in his direction - persistent, attentive, almost enough to make you self-conscious when you realise the outfit you've thrown in a hurry this morning - a sheer white Miu Miu tank top that shows the bralette underneath it, paired with a flowy mini skirt of the same colour.
When you finally do look at him, you find him standing beside the camera - one hand resting on the lens as he watches you cross the beach with an unreadable expression. The moment your eyes meet, he lifts his chin ever so slightly - a greeting you return with a small wave, before redirecting your attention to the clothing racks.
One of your feet sinks in the sand and you nearly trip before regaining balance, a red tint colouring your cheekbones as you silently hope that nobody has noticed it. Luckily, the clothing in your hands is left unharmed from your almost fall - though, your pride can't say the same.
Hyunjin giggles quietly at the sight before leaving the camera behind and stepping towards you. You don't immediately notice him - the sound of the waves muffling his steps -, until his left arm reaches out and takes a few garment bags from your hands, handing them to one of the assistants before you can protest.
He bends slightly, whispering in your ear, «Graceful entrance».
«Shut up» you shoot back, rolling your eyes. The words come out without any real bite and the realisation unsettles you far more than his teasing ever could.
He simply smiles - his hand lifting instinctively, fingertip almost brushing the loose strand by your cheek before freezing midair. For a heartbeat, he simply looks at you, then quietly curls his fingers into his palm and lets his arm fall back to his side. After that, he jogs back to his original position as the models start posing in front of the lens, following the instructions that he's given them before you arrive.
You follow his tall figure as he gets farther away - the Calvin Klein denim set he's wearing showing off his defined biceps and the absurdly tiny waist you can't help but resent him for possessing. After a few seconds, you blink - forcing yourself to tear your eyes away from him.
You don't notice how the assistants momentarily pause, exchanging puzzled glances - one of them parting her lips and pointing in your direction as if to question what is happening, whereas the other simply shakes her head. A few moments after, they silently resume working.
The photoshoot proceeds smoothly, while, for the first time, you and Hyunjin don't really argue with the same fervour as before. Sure, the joking remarks remain and a few bickerings continue to happen, but everyone notices how the two of you seem to cooperate with more serenity than before. Noticing how he waits for your nod before pressing the shutter or how he silently hands you the clips to fix an ill-fitting top before he proceeds to shoot.
At one point, one of the assistants can't help but joke: «Wow... you two haven't fought once today».
You briefly look at each other before the photographer returns his gaze to the camera and responds calmly: «Give us, like, ten minutes».
Everyone laughs and you can't help but join the others - unaware that, behind the lens, Hyunjin is grinning widely, just like you.
By the time Hyunjin calls it a wrap, dusk has already swallowed the beach, leaving only the harsh artificial glow of the production lights as the crew begins dismantling the set and loading the equipment in the van parked outside the beach. Before everyone can leave, though, you thank the entire team - grateful that the shooting went smoothly despite the evening wind suddenly hindering your job and almost making one silk scarf fly away.
One by one, the vehicles begin to empty the parking lot, the assistants and the models waving goodbye through open windows before disappearing down the coastal road. The sound of the waves suddenly feels louder now that the chatter has faded.
You stand near your car, fishing for the keys inside your purse without noticing Hyunjin approaching you until you feel the weight on your left arm - the one still carrying the garment bags - suddenly lighten. It's only then that you look up, understanding that he's taken all the bags so that you can comfortably look inside your purse.
«Can you give me a ride, kitty?» he asks, smirking - his body leaning against the car while you finally find the keys and press the button to unlock the car.
You ignore his question, simply sighing: «Move. The bags need to be in the trunk».
He complies with your request, removing his body so that you can open the trunk. Then he hands you the bag one by one, while you organise them neatly and close it once again. Only after you've completed the task, you arch your eyebrow towards him questioningly and inquire: «Didn't you drive here?».
He toys with the silver ring on his thumb before replying matter-of-factly, «I came with the van».
You narrow your eyes, looking at him as if he were a child incapable of understanding the simplest of things, «Then why aren't you in the van?».
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, the corner of his mouth quirks upwards, as he's just remembered something. Without uttering any word, he circles the car and opens the door to the front passenger seat, only glancing back at you as he says, "C'mon, otherwise we'll arrive in the middle of the night", before sliding inside.
You scoff loudly, faking an irritation that you don't quite really feel, before reaching your side of the car and slipping inside - putting on the seatbelt while ignoring his face turned towards you with a taunting smile.
You reverse the car and exit from the parking lot, eyes carefully fixated on the road as you hear Hyunjin scuffling with something, then notice with the corner of your eye that he's opened the glove compartment and is browsing through the cassette tapes left there.
«Wow, this shit is old» he comments, mostly not recognising the names of the bands and singers, «Do you know who The Kinks are? Creedence Clearwater Revival? The Who? A guy named Frank... Zappa?».
«I mean, yeah? I don't live under a rock» you counter as you enter the highway, shocked that he doesn't know at least some of these names. Can't help but ask, «I'm sorry, but what the fuck do you listen to?».
«Well» he clicks his tongue as he picks one of them randomly and inserts it into the player just to have a background track, «Madonna, obviously. Then like Prince, Björk, Aaliyah, Fiona Apple...».
You interrupt him as a giggle escapes from your mouth, making him whip his head towards you with a questioning expression on his face - brows furrowed as he tries to understand the reason behind your amusement. Actually blurts out a dazzled "...What?" before you can even suppress the grin on your lips.
«No... It's just...» you steal a glance at him, the grin on your lips widening as you add jeeringly, «That is so you, Madonna boy».
Do it again by the Killers starts playing softly, as you press the button to lower your window a bit - a sudden rush of fresh air enters the car.
Hyunjin bends forward, trying to appear in your sight to show you his offended expression while bringing his hands to his heart, dramatically faking a heartbreak. Then, as if suddenly recovering, he straightens his back and points his finger at you: «Then what do you listen to?».
You shrug your shoulders, replying nonchalantly, «Ever heard of Nirvana, Radiohead, Blur? Things like that».
He scoffs, leaning back on his seat and crossing his arms in front of his chest as he grumbles, «Okay, punk».
You can't help but smile a little as you point out, «Literally not punk but okay, Madonna boy».
The tune continues to play quietly between the two of you. Hyunjin doesn't reply but simply rests his head against the window, watching the coastline disappear into the darkness while the corner of his mouth refuses to fall.
You pretend not to notice, returning your attention to the road.
The sky is almost pitch black as you park the car by the side of the road in front of Hyunjin's apartment building. You switch the engine off but make no move to wake him immediately.
He's fast asleep, head tipped awkwardly against the window - his face is completely relaxed, none of the usual smugness or teasing glint visible as he quietly snores. You stare a second longer than necessary before parting your lips to call his name and actually wake him up.
Before you do, though, his head abruptly knocks against the window and he immediately opens his eyes wide, bringing one hand to his forehead as he hisses from the pain.
You can't contain the genuine laugh that escapes from your parted lips as you take in his theatricality and mock him: «Are you done, drama queen?».
He glares at you annoyedly and, in response, he unexpectedly reaches his arm out towards you and nudges your forehead with two of his fingers - a proud expression appearing on his face as you squint your eyes and "Ouch" leaves your mouth.
«Never question my pain again, kitty» he simply states before he stretches his back as best as he can in the small space of the car.
Only after that, he glances outside curiously, asking: «What hour is it?».
«Late» you answer, drily. «So kindly get out of the car».
He grins slightly as he unbuckles his seatbelt, reaching for the door handle with his pretty hand, once again covered in his usual silver rings. The moonlight hits them right as he does so, making them appear shinier than usual.
«See?» he says casually, pushing the door open before looking back at you as if you should already know what he's talking about.
You don't, evidently. So you look at him confused, prompting him to explaim himself better, but he doesn't - not immediately. Instead, he steps out of the car - the cool evening air soon rushing inside - then stops right outside, a hand resting on the roof as he bends down slightly to look through the open door.
«We spent almost two hours together...» he tilts his head to the side, the corner of his mouth lifting into an proud grin. «...and neither of us threatened to kill the other».
A quiet scoff escapes you as you avert your gaze for a moment before replying: «Don't flatter yourself. I considered it several times».
He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head as if he'd expected nothing less from you.
A brief silence settles between the two of you. Not awkward—just comfortable, the kind of silence that you'd never believed you could share with him until that night at your apartment happened. Then he leans slightly, studying your face for a second longer than necessary before saying: «I think this suits us better.»
«This» he gestures vaguely between the two of you. «Arguing because it's fun, not because we're trying to get on each other's nerves».
The words seem to be stuck in your throat as you want to reply - aware that, annoyingly enough, he's not wrong. However, still not quite ready to admit it out loud.
It doesn't really matter to him, though, because he realises that you haven't contradicted him and, maybe, that is good enough progress for now. So he simply jokes, «I'll still make fun of your styling choices, though».
You roll your eyes, rebutting, «And I'll keep reminding you that your artistic vision is insufferable».
Another beat. Then, just as he starts taking a step back to finally go home, he adds almost absent-mindedly, «...You smiled a lot today».
His sudden comment makes your heart skip a beat, catching you completely off guard. Because of all the things that Hwang Hyunjin could have noticed today, you certainly don't expect your smile to be the one thing that has stuck to his mind. Suddenly, such a simple phrase manages to unsettle you more than any flirtatious line ever could.
He doesn't seem to realise the effect those words have on you. Too fixed on flustering you, as he adds: «You should do it more often, kitty».
Before you can come up with one of your usual sarcastic comebacks, he raises a lazy hand in farewell, whispering a "Goodnight, Y/N" and closing the passenger door with a gentle push.
You watch him walk backwards for a couple of steps before turning towards the apartment building, his heavy leather bag - full of all the cameras - resting on one of his shoulders as he secures it with his hand. Just as he's about to disappear through the entrance, he looks over his shoulder once more and yells your name.
With a small wave, he pleads, «Drive safely, kitty!».
You shake your head before leaning towards the passenger seat and screaming back,«Go inside before I change my mind and run you over».
His laughter follows him all the way to the building.
It's only when the heavy entrance door closes behind him that you realise you're still smiling. You stay immobile for another few seconds, trying to grasp the situation - fingers resting loosely on the steering wheel, before finally starting the engine again.
The drive home feels much shorter than usual.
ONE OF YOUR BIGGEST DREAMS EVER SINCE YOU JOINED THE INDUSTRY HAS ALWAYS BEEN TAKING PART IN THE MET GALA, not because you love the idea of the event per se - after all, it's nothing but a fancy dinner full of elites and celebrities to gather enough donations for the Costume Institute to survive - but because you've always loved seeing the superb outfits worn just for the occasion. Often staring a bit too long at the grainy pictures on your television, trying to decipher which brand the outfit was from.
Therefore, when your editor-in-chief suggested you could go there as a representative of the magazine with a bunch of other senior editors, you almost fainted from the overwhelming excitement. Instead of letting yourself fall on the ground, though, you jumped excitedly and clapped your hands to showcase your enthusiasm - reassuring him that you were going to represent the company to its best.
He simply nodded, quite entertained by your incapacity to constrain your emotions, before he told you that the dress was going to be provided for you and you didn't have to bother with anything except enjoy the dinner and entertain the celebrities surrounding you.
You tried to inquire more about the outfit, but he mysteriously brushed it off - telling you that it was a surprise and that somebody else had already taken care of everything for you. You gave up on asking more questions, accepting his words while mentally thanking Alexis 'cause you were sure she was the one to pick it out for you - especially after she had blatantly evaded your intrusive questioning with a knowing smile on her face.
This is the reason why you're now standing in the middle of a luxurious dining room carefully set up inside the MET. Your body is covered by a seductive Gianni Versace black gown with a deep V-neck - your sides exposed to the air as the fabric is held together by oversized gold safety pins that gleam beneath the artificial light with every movement.
Next to you, Julie's greeting a few guests politely and you can't help but feel slightly useless, considering that you've done nothing but admire the location and the dresses that the invitees have on as they walk inside the room with their perfectly styled hair and elaborate makeup.
«Y/N» she leans close to your ear, redirecting your attention towards her as she softly whispers, «Please go do something else and enjoy the evening. I can see you spacing out, and I don't really need you here».
You can't help but smile gratefully as you thank her, before slipping away from the room so that you can get closer to the entrance, hoping that you can discreetly observe the walks down the red carpet without disrupting anyone's work. Before you can reach it, though, as you proceed down an empty hallway that is used mostly by the staff, a hand suddenly wraps around your wrist and almost makes you lose your balance at the sudden tug.
You don't fall, though, 'cause the person stopping you tightens their grip on you and their other hand settles on your hip to keep you steady.
Hyunjin stands in front of you - charming as ever. A baroque shirt falls elegantly on his chest, decorated with intricate black and gold designs that perfectly match the palette of your own dress, while a pair of leather trousers covers his long legs.
«I knew it'd look great» he states proudly - his fingers slipping from your wrist to your hand as he interlaces your hands and lifts them up, making you twirl in front of him. «You look stunning, kitty».
You're distracted for a second, becoming hyperaware of his warm palm pressing against yours, your hands fitting surprisingly well together. You've spent months imagining what it would feel like to punch Hwang Hyunjin in the face, but never once had you imagined that holding his hand would feel infinitely better.
It takes you a few seconds before you tilt your head, knitting your eyebrows. «Wait... You are the person who chose the dress?».
He nods boastfully, grin wide as he notices that you haven't tried to escape from his hold. He tightens his grip slightly, relishing the way it feels incredibly natural to keep your fingers intertwined.
Opens his mouth to ask, «Where are y-».
He doesn't finish his question as you interrupt him, after having once again inspected his outfit thoroughly and noticed a clear fil rouge. So you point at yourself, then at him, questioning, «...Did you do this on purpose?».
He loudly gulps, eyes averting from you for a moment as if, for the first time in his entire lifetime, Hyunjin actually feels flustered by your observation. Soon recovers, though, as he cheekily replies, «Maybe».
The sound of the gala feels strangely distant now, muffled by the thick stone walls separating the staff corridor from the crowded ballroom. On the other hand, the echo of your beating heart seems incredibly louder in your ear as you meet his gaze - fixated on you, waiting.
«Most definitely», you retort.
He rocks back on his heels and tips his chin up with a feigned smile. «Thought we'd look cute».
You stare at him for a bit, at a loss for words. You can't exactly pinpoint the moment when Hyunjin's cocky grin stopped making your face turn red from anger and, instead, started making your cheekbones flush a delicate tint of pink. Perhaps, it wasn't a specific moment but, rather, the accumulation of the times you spent together after that team dinner, almost a month ago. Suddenly, you don't feel like pretending that things haven't changed - not anymore.
So you ask him, «Wanna go take a look at the exhibition?».
He accepts instantly, starting to loosen his fingers because he's not entirely sure that you're comfortable with walking hand in hand through the art galleries - possibly stumbling into other people from your workplace who'll inevitably notice your proximity with interested faces, exchanging silent glances before disappearing in the hallways.
Nevertheless, you surprise him - tightening your own hold impulsively as you turn around and start pulling him towards the wing of the museum intended for the exhibition. It's such a simple gesture that you barely notice it - Hyunjin, however, certainly does.
As you amble in front of the breathtaking clothing protected by tall display cases, the sound of your high heels echoing in the empty rooms, you can't help but stop every few steps - nose almost pressed against the glass as you bend forward to study the masterpieces showcased inside. You've spent years admiring garments like these from magazine pages, convinced that you'd never get close enough to appreciate every stitch, every line, every material. But now they stand only inches away and you can't tear your gaze away from them.
Hyunjin thinks you look adorable - like a kid admiring the candies in a window shop with wide eyes, finger pointing at the ones he likes best in the hope that his mother will buy them for him. So he slows down every time he notices your eyes lingering on a certain fabric or slightly squinting as you read the museum label mounted beside it.
Lets you lose in your own little world, admiring you silently.
Doesn't speak a word until you're the one to burst the peaceful bubble you were immersed in. Glancing at him briefly before returning your attention to the beautifully-crafted Yves Saint Laurent smoking in front of you, you admit with a sincere tone, «You know... I used to dread seeing your name next to mine on the schedule».
Hyunjin smiles sadly, letting your hand free as you turn towards him to look him straight in the eyes. Only confirms, «I know. You weren't exactly subtle».
You take a deep breath, biting your lower lip as you become aware that the words you have been trying to suppress these weeks are finally surfacing from the deepest corners of your heart. You don't feel pressured, though - noticing how he simply waits, gaze never leaving yours as if he'd gladly miss the event and stay here the entire evening with you instead.
With a bit of hesitation, you continue, «Now… I think you're the first person I look for».
His dark eyes somehow look even prettier now—as if every teasing smile you've detested had simply been hiding this expression all along. He takes a step closer to you, and one of his hands lifts, hovering over your cheek without really touching it yet. You notice how his gaze pauses on your lips for a moment before meeting your own.
His usually loud voice comes out as a murmur, as he whispers, «Y/N... Can I kiss you?».
His self-assured façade seems utterly vanished, replaced by an uncertainty that you've never quite seen on him. It makes you feel special - knowing that he's showing this side of himself to your eyes only.
You let a breathy laugh, while you inch towards him - a pretty grin plastered on your rosy lips as you completely embrace what's happening between the two of you. No longer able to deny it.
«You seem so unsure for someone who is always so bossy» you mock him softly.
He feels his chest tighten as your hand lightly rests on it.
And he tries to respond, really, but the words are stuck in his throat as you grab the fabric of his shirt and pull him towards you - your lips finally pressing against his after all the time you both have dreamt of doing it. So he finally rests his hand on your cheek, feeling the softness of your skin as his thumb brushes against it lovingly.
You feel the warmth settling on your cheekbones as you clench the hand on his shirt while pressing your body even closer to his - desperately trying to engrave the taste of his mouth in your memory after you've wondered for so long what it would be like. Savouring the sweetness of his mouth before he puts some distance between the two of you, catching his breath. Forehead resting on yours, unable to fully let you go.
As you meet his half-lidded eyes, you can't help but giggle.
«What?» he whispers softly, his breath hot as it hits your skin.
«Nothing...» you say as you barely pull back - your hands automatically coming up to fix the collar of his Versace shirt, smoothing the crimpled fabric absent-mindedly after you've clutched it too tightly. «...I'm just glad you asked to work with me, after all».
He immediately grins back, his arms sneakily wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him so that he can once again rest his forehead on yours. Simply replies, «Yeah... Me too».
Then he bends downwards, pressing another chaste kiss on your pouty lips - never wanting to restrain himself again.
On the other side of the museum, the gala continues exactly as planned - glasses clink together, cameras flash, conversations drift beneath crystal chandeliers.
Hidden away in the silent exhibition hall, between garments that have survived decades of fashion history, the two of you finally surrender to your feelings—no longer rivals sharing a byline, but simply two people who have finally stopped pretending.
